The Little Redhead

Author's Note: I suggest skipping this last chapter or reading only the first part, unless by some miracle you've become interested in the characters.

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I don't pay any more attention to him. I remain on the floor, eyes closed, frustrated and aroused, thinking of what I'll do when I'm alone. Without really thinking about it, I start stroking my stomach with my fingertips slowly up between my breasts and then back down, not quite as far as I'd like, then back up.

I hear him going back and forth from the cabinet in the room. I ignore him. Let him do what he wants.

Finally, I realize he's not moving around anymore. I can feel him watching me. I stop moving abruptly and open my eyes, peeking at him.

He's standing across the room by the pedestal that is like the one I was on in the auction room.

"Come here," he says.

I comply. As I start to walk over, I see a dildo machine next to the pedestal, like the one in the auction room. I stop walking for a second, then start moving again.

I come up to him, and he moves me into place. He shackles my arms above me and shackles my ankles to the platform, just as before. He stands back and looks at me for just a second. He gives the chain on my nipple clamps a tiny, quick little tug, then gets the dildo machine and sets it below me. He positions it and then reaches behind the platform. He brings out the hip thing with the clit-vibrator on it, similar to the one at the auction.

Then he does something completely out of character. He waves the hip-thing in front of me, smiles and waggles his eyebrows at me, as if to say, "See, look at this! Look what I have for you! A present!" He bends down right away to attach it, before he catches the look on my face, which is fear -- the first real fear I've felt since last night. That wasn't him. I've never seen this guy before. Has he gone crazy?!

I feel like something unimaginable is going to happen and I don't know what. I don't want to be afraid anymore, but I am starting to be a little afraid again. Nothing else tonight made me afraid, but this craziness does. I just watch him attach the clit-thing, though. I'm not afraid of the thing itself.

He pushes the dildo machine into me, gently, and switches it on. He turns on the clit machine. It's a little different than the other. It vibrates a little more. I don't really react. I am still aroused, but I have that strange I've-waited-too-long-and-now-my-pussy-is-sad feeling, and I feel reluctant. I just stand there, liking it and not liking it. I don't quite understand what he's doing.

He walks over and sits on the floor with his legs splayed out in front of him, leaning back against the pedestal that I was just shackled to.

He just sits there and watches me, the dildo machine moving up and down inside me, making the nipple clamp chain sway slightly. I look back at him, not embarrassed, slightly scared, and wondering what's going on. I start to get into the vibration and the dildo and stop thinking as much about him. It looks like he's going to just sit there and watch me. Let him watch!

I close my eyes, tip my head back a little, and pay attention to the feelings. I'm not as scared and humiliated as I was at the auction, so it feels even better. The dildo machine's steady rhythm is arousing just in the fact that I know it's just going to keep going on that way and going and going, whether I like it or not, it's only job being to continue until I come.

I'm getting really excited again. I open my eyes, and look at him to see what he's doing. He's still just watching me, a little smile on his face. I realize abruptly that he's doing this for ME! He saw I was frustrated, and he's doing this for ME! I'm amazed.

He gets up and walks over to me, slowly. He reaches over and runs a finger lightly around one tit, then the other. He goes behind me, gets up on the platform and stands very close behind me, his body touching me full-length. I can feel his cock pressing against me. He runs his hands up my sides, all the way up my arms above my head, and back down. What on earth is he doing?!

He runs his hands around to my ass and then down between my legs, stroking me alongside the dildo going in and out. Oh, god, that feels so good. I try to lean back against him, but he's already moving away. Don't go!

He goes back and sits down in the same place. I see that he's hard again. He looks me full in the face and starts stroking himself slowly.

The inability to get away or to control this, the vibration on my clit, the dildo, his hands all over me, the pressure on my nipples, his unwavering look, the sight of him stroking himself as he watches me....It's too much. Oh, god, I'm extremely aroused, my entire body zinging. I just keep looking at him, breathing heavily.

He starts going a little faster. I start to moan a little. We keep looking at each other, and I realize he sees me!

Oh, my god! He sees me! He knows I'm not HER. That asshole! But I can't be mad right now. And I realize I see HIM now, the man I would see if he didn't hate me. I WANT to see him, to know him. And so I keep looking at him. I'm becoming more and more aroused looking at him, this man that I don't really know.

The dildo machine is just going on at its even pace, like a metronome....I can't tell it to stop, to go faster or slower, deeper, or anything. I know it will do its job eventually, whether I like it or not, and just the thought of being at its mercy like that is still strangely arousing. I am moaning more and more, and start trying to fight with the dildo machine a little, thrusting down against it with what little leeway is available to me, realizing I'm very turned on by not being able to move much. As I do this, he starts going a little harder and faster.

He finally lays on the floor full-length, never taking his eyes off of me. He cups his balls and starts playing with them. I find myself wishing I could play with them. I wish he would come over here. I want to touch him!

Thrusting down against the machine does no good. I start moving my hips around and around with the machine trying to go only straight up and down. It feels incredible, the strange pressures feeling slightly intrusive and very intense and good. As he sees me doing this, he starts panting. I realize he's trying to pace himself to me. And he's drinking up the expressions on my face, the motions of my body. Oh, this is too much!

I'm so weak with the long-sustained arousal, with what he's doing to me, I can hardly hold my head up now. I can't take my eyes off of him, though, whether my head is hanging down or tipped back. I'm so excited and have been waiting so long now, that I just want to come, but the dildo machine just plugs along steadily, teasing me. I just have to wait for it. I start moving my head from side to side, still keeping my eyes on him, whispering, "Just come on...oh, please...come on."

Then, he says, breathing heavily, "I just wanted to watch your face as you came, just once...I wanted to see it."

Hearing this, I moan very loudly, a long, "Ohhhh........" Oh, god. And he's going to see it now.... I can't even speak anymore. I just start making non-sensical, but word-sounding noises with each exhale, "Nuh...uh...nee...suh...uh...nuh." And I come so hard I simply can't hold myself up anymore, just like at the auction, but also completely different. Never breaking eye contact with me, except to blink slowly, he lets himself go at the same time, stroking very quickly, grunting and moaning.

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When we're done, he comes over to me and holds me up when he sees that I can't stand and am hanging by my arms. The dildo machine is STILL moving inside me where I am now so sensitive. I don't want it anymore. He leans down and quickly turns off both machines, then holds me up again, both of us panting hard.

When he sees I can stand up by myself, he lets go of me and releases me from the shackles. I just want to lie down. He lets me, and I lay full-length on the floor, my eyes half-shut, panting. He looks at me for a second then announces, "I have to take a leak."

I open my eyes wide at him. Such a normal, mundane thing to say....So out of character for him. He hardly ever talks at all. I laugh. I actually LAUGH as he leaves and think, You just go do that. I shut my eyes.

He leaves me there.

As I lay there, I start thinking about what happened. He KNOWS me! He knows I'm not HER! When did this happen? It was one thing him doing all these things to me, keeping me here, when he thought I was some other, horrible, person, but now....He knows I'm not her and yet I'm still here, in the dungeon room! I start to get angry, really mad, really quite ticked off. In fact, I'm furious. I've never been so mad in my life.

I've recovered now. I get up and stalk down to the bedroom. I stop in the doorway and look in to see where he is, my hands on my hips. He's just come out of the bathroom and is heading towards the bedroom door, still naked. He sees me and stops.

I want to kill him! I'm going to strangle him. I don't care what he does! I don't care if he's more than twice my size. I'm going to kill him.

I run up to him and shove him as hard as I can. He barely moves. I start yelling, shoving him with each sentence. "I'm not her! Don't you know that? I'm not her! You know I'm not her! You know it! You know it, and I'm still here, you..."

He's backing away from me, not stopping me. He starts saying, "I know. I know. I know you're not her. I know." He's backed up against the bed and sits down.

I finally stop for a moment and say, "I KNOW you know. That's why I'm pissed off, you big, stupid...you big, dumb...." I have so many words I want to call him all at once (monster, bastard, son-of-a-bitch, asshole, jerkwad, dick, dickhead, fuckhead....) The list goes on in my head and I'm sputtering to come up with the best one. I can't. None are adequate, yet they all apply. I finally just land on, "Jerk!" As good as any other!

As I yell, "Jerk!" I push him so he flops back on the bed. He doesn't resist me. I crawl up and sit on his stomach and start hitting him on the face with both hands, wildly, as hard as I can, yelling, "Jerk! That's what you are! A big, dumb, stupid, jerk! Jerk!"

He's put his hands over his face, not stopping me, just protecting his face. He starts saying again, "I know! I know!"

I don't pay attention. I keep hitting him, yelling, "Jerk! You jerk! You fucking jerk! You filthy, rotten jerk!" Finally, I start hitting him on the chest. When he moves his hands down to block me, I quickly strike him on the head before he moves his hands back up to his head again. Hah! Got him!

He keeps saying as I keep hitting him, "I know...I know..." Finally, he takes my wrists gently in his hands and holds them, not hurting me, letting me thrash around, but not letting me hit him anymore. He looks me calmly in the face and says, "I know."

I stop trying to hit him and look at him, breathing hard. I'm amazed to see he has a very serious, a very SAD, look on his face. In fact, he looks very, very ashamed of himself, sick....

What the hell is going on here? Something momentous has happened here, and I don't know what it is. I sit back a little, completely baffled now. Finally, I think back to the most important question. I have to ask. "What happened....what did she DO to you? Your girls...."

He just looks at me for a moment, pain leaking into his face more and more. He says, squeezing my wrists a little, "She...she sold them. She SOLD them. My daughters. She sold them." I hear a sob lurking in the background.

I think he means babies. They were babies and she sold them for adoption. The bitch!

I ask, "She sold your BABIES? Why...why would she do that?"

He says, his emotions making it hard for him to speak, "Not babies. Just out of high school. Twins. My only children, my girls. She sold them. To sex traffickers. They paid her to arrange for them to be grabbed with no trouble."

Oh, my god. Oh, my god! I am too shocked to think anything else. Oh, my god! What kind of monster would do that?!

"She sold her own daughters?!"

He answers in short bursts. "Step-daughters. She never loved them. We had a pre-nup. We got divorced. Her doing. She didn't like the settlement. She got plenty, but wanted more. I didn't give it to her. She sold them. Not for the money. To get back at me....For $3000."

He says it again, more loudly, "$3000!!! That's it. That's what she got for them!"

He pauses, then says, almost crying, "Oh, god! Why didn't I just give her more? I don't care about the money. She could have all of it for all I care. I just want them home! I want them to come home!"

I think a moment, trying to process this. I ask, "How long has it been? When were they taken?"

He says as if afraid to say it, choking on the words, "Four months ago."

I have to ask. "Do you think....do you think you'll be able to find them?"

"No....no, I don't." He's finding it very difficult to speak. "I finally admitted to myself that there is no more hope. No hope. I'm not going to find them. I'm never going to find them now. I know it now. I'm never going to find them!" And he throws his head back and says, "Oh, god!" He starts to wail it, "Oh, god! Oh, god!" and then it's just soundless wailing.

For just a split second, I'm scared again. I get up and run across the room, away from him. Then I immediately run right back and lay down on him, frog-like. I wrap my arms and legs around him as much as I can, wishing I could just wrap him up. He's wailing -- neither a masculine nor a feminine sound. Just a very human sound -- an outpouring of grief that can no longer be contained.

I can't take it. I can't take anyone hurting like this! Not like this! I bury my head in his neck and stroke his hair with both my hands. I think about how he must feel, how he must imagine each night the worst scenarios of what his daughters are going through, thinking it might actually be better if they were dead. This thing would be harder than if they WERE dead. No one could stay sane with this kind of grief! Think how crazy I went just THINKING of my daughter being hurt.

I keep stroking his hair and start saying, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." He starts to calm a little, moving into more regular crying, like a man who hasn't cried in a long, long time. I put my cheek against his and hold it there, stroking his hair, just wishing I could suck the pain right out of him, to make him stop hurting like this. No one should have to hurt like this. I realize I'm crying myself.

He finally stops, and I put my head back on his shoulder. We just lay there for a little while.

I finally say quietly, sitting up, "I don't understand something, though. Why pay people to find a look-alike? Why not go after her directly...or is she in jail now?"

He says, "She's dead. She died just a couple of days after they were taken, before I even knew. Freak car accident, not related to any of this."

Ah, hah! "You couldn't get back at her, couldn't make her pay for what she did. That's why you wanted a look-alike, so you could...get back at her."

He shakes his head and says, "No! Well, sort of. That place you were at....I went there looking for my daughters. They specialize in custom requests, as you probably figured out. When they asked what I was looking for, I wasn't prepared. They said, 'Think of someone that you want to get your hands on, but can't.' They meant, like a woman at work or a married neighbor, or someone like that. I couldn't think of anything, so I pulled my ex-wife's picture out and said, 'Her. I want to get my hands on her.'

"When they asked what sort of thing I was interested in doing with her, I couldn't help telling them the truth. I said I wanted to wring her neck, hurt her, torture her until she was dead. They took that in stride, but told me there were limits to what I was allowed to do. I didn't think much more about it. When I went there, I just searched the room for my daughters. They weren't there, and I would have left and tried to search the building, or get someone to talk to me, but...."

He pauses, then continues, "Then I saw you. I couldn't believe my eyes. You don't just look like her, you're the spitting image. It's uncanny."

He pauses a moment, and says, "Actually, you don't look anything like her to me now. But, when I saw you, I kind of snapped. I thought they had done it somehow, actually brought you...her to me, back from the dead where I could now get at her. I went crazy. I hadn't slept more than a couple of hours each night for a long time. I just snapped....I wanted to hit you...her, choke her, make her pay, right then, but I couldn't. Then I saw you looking like she did before I knew what she was really like. So sweet....I had to get you. When we were back in the room, I remembered what she had done. Then I just wanted to...." He trails off.

I say, "But, you KNOW now. Why didn't you let me go?" I realize I'm still sitting on him and get off, backing away from him. "You're still not going to let me go, are you?"

He says, "Yes, yes, of course I'm going to let you go."

"But you kept me here for however long even knowing. How long have you known?"

He replies, "Just today. Well, since last night. I mean, I always knew in a way. I don't know how to explain it. I kept you locked up, didn't call you by her name, so some part of me knew. Yet I didn't know." He stops, and I just wait.

He goes on. "When you said you wanted to die if you couldn't see your daughter, I started to kind of snap out of it. Then, you said you were sorry. That was what did it. SHE did this and would never have been sorry, no matter how long she lived. She was never sorry for anything. Nothing was ever her fault. YOU were sorry, and you didn't even do anything. It took me a while that night that to get my head on straight, but I mostly knew it then."

"But you still kept me here, locked up!"

He says, "You're not locked up. I disabled the security door when I left last night. It's not locked. I thought you would leave. I waited all day to be arrested. Finally I came up, and you were still here."

I say, "I stopped trying that door a long time ago, well, except yesterday before you came." He nods, understanding.

I believe what he's saying. I can always tell when someone is lying to me. But I'm almost afraid to believe this. "It's not locked?"

"Go try it. You can leave. I won't stop you. I won't run from the police and I won't deny anything....Go on."

I go out and try the door. It's open. I go out into the lobby and push the elevator button, feeling almost like I'm doing something wrong. I go downstairs and look around. I find the front door and step outside for a minute, kinky outfit and all, just to prove to myself I can. I stand there and breathe deeply for a minute.

I go back in and look for a phone. I find one in a study and call my parents' cell, telling them that I'm alive and coming home. They're not at home. They've taken my daughter to Disney World to try to cheer her up. They're ecstatic. I talk to my daughter, both of us crying. They're going to fly back as soon as they can, probably not until tomorrow evening at the earliest, so I won't be able to see my daughter quite yet. But I know I WILL see her now, so I can wait a little longer.

I hang up and sit, thinking. I have some more questions. I can't stand not knowing things. I'm not afraid of him keeping me here now. I still think he's an asshole, but I can tell he means what he says.

I go back upstairs. He's still there, on the bed, looking like a man who realizes his life is completely over. He's surprised to see me.

I'm mad about something. "What about Grieta, the cleaning lady? She said you would hurt her family if she helped me."