(Author's Note: I know some of my readers have been curious as to when the next Enslaved to the Mob story comes out. I honestly don't know when it's coming. I'm absolutely shot on the story, with no idea what to do, or whether I should keep the story going. My muse and creative flow for it just isn't there. This is a project I'm working on to get me back into the flow of things. Yes, it's light on sex so far, but I'm keeping this labeled as BDSM. As with all of my stories, all characters depicted are eighteen years of age or older, and all intellectual properties are the possession of the writer.)
Zachary stood alone by the opened trunk as he watched the men enter the large chateau. Once again that feeling of uneasiness overtook him, a feeling deep within the pit of his stomach. It couldn't be anything more than some passing sensation that was nothing more than a hungry feeling, he tried to tell himself. Without another word, without waiting for too much longer, he slowly climbed into the cabin of his car and drove off, anxious to begin work upon the new project.
~~~~~
In the nineteen fifties, the neighborhood of Villefort was a picturesque series of streets and houses. Back then, it was an ideal place to race a family, to be around friends, and to enjoy life. There once was a time when the streets were filled with children playing on their bicycles or with an inflated ball in the friendly neighborhood. There wasn't a house that wasn't occupied back then, a time when the neighborhood was filled with life and happiness.
That was then, however.
Over the years, it slowly became a neighborhood that time and people had seemingly forgot. The paved, well kept streets and sidewalks became cracked and rotten with veins and plants growing through them. Lawns once meticulously maintained became overgrown patches and wild jungles that claimed much of the houses and architecture of the neighborhood. Vagrants and the dredges of society claimed some of the houses, living in the rundown buildings that once were places of happiness and love.
There was one house, however, that the junkies and destitute knew not to go to. Unlike the other houses of Villefort, the house at the end of Lookout Street was the only one that was maintained. High, iron fences incased the house, preventing much of the people around the house from getting in, or getting out for that matter. The windows were blocked by thick sheets of iron, preventing anyone from seeing just what takes place behind the reinforced front door of the two story house.
It was that very house that Zachary called home. Villefort Fort was what he had nicknamed it, a fortress to prevent the unwanted from entering or leaving. The sight of it, so intimidating and fearful at the end of the street, made him smile each and every time he turned down Lookout Street.
This time, however, it was the very same time that the noises from the trunk of the car reached his ears. She had finally began to awaken, and from the sounds of the banging and indistinguishable yelling and screaming from the trunk, she truly was going to be a feisty young woman to deal with. That alone made him smile.
After pressing a small, garage opener button upon the driver's side sun visor, the buzzing of the electrified fence ended as the gate to the driveway began to open. Excitement filled him as he reached over for his black ski-mask and placed it upon his face. Better for the time being, he thought, in case any one of the drunken vagrants that populated the neighborhood was feeling up to being a vigilante.
As soon as the car came to a stop within the electrified compound, Zachary sprung from the car. His movements were slow, a joy filling up within him. It was moments like that, moments before the storm and the training began that he basked in. Peacefulness was about to be thrown out the window with the simple opening of his trunk. It truly was the calm before the storm, a rest and peaceful feeling before the training began. Within that trunk, his project was contained, safe and secure where only he could touch her, in a place where she could not bother him. Out of the trunk, she would be Hell personified with feet, a nightmare walking and breathing judging from the sounds of the muffled screams and banging upon the closed trunk of the car.
"Let's get started..." Zachary sighed to himself softly as he turned the key to the trunk and allowed it to slowly open before him.
For a split second, everything seemed to pause and be put upon hold. The two of them stared at each other in silence, Zachary from his comfortable position standing outside of the trunk, and the young bound woman before him within the cozy confines of the vehicle. Her eyes were wide as a doe's caught in the headlights of a fast moving eighteen wheeler: frightened and confused. The deep shade of sapphire in her eyes caught Zachary off guard, pulling in his mind as if he were in a trance. She was beautiful to say the least, even with the layer of dirt, sweat, and cum caked upon her soft flesh. He couldn't stop looking back into her eyes, until she struck.
The feisty young woman within the trunk capitalized on the pause in Zachary's movements. As best as she could in her position within the trunk, the spry and flexible young woman swung her bound legs out in a futile attempt to strike him as her screams echoed throughout the dead and deserted neighborhood.
Zachary only smirked and chuckled at her wasted attempt to alert anyone who might be around to her distress. "You can scream all you want, Cupcake." He mused, grasping her swinging ankles before reaching in and grasping the binds around her wrists. "Those drug addicts and homeless bastards would love a piece of you."
"FUCK YOU!!!" She screamed at the top of her lungs, trying in vain to find some way out of her situation with forceful kicks and wiggling of her arms to attempt to leave his grasp. More screams of help and terror echoed through the neighborhood, falling silent upon the overgrown vegetation and shambled houses.
He paid no heed to her screams or struggles to free herself. Instead, Zachary was entirely focused upon getting her out of the car and inside the Dungeon. Although he felt relatively safe outside even with her screaming (the vagrants and drug addicts knew not to interfere with him; he was sure they got that message after he executed one trying to become too heroic), there was nothing like being inside the confines of the house. There he was in control of more things, where he could control things more easily rather than out in the open where his little project could escape.
His strong hands gripped the bindings around her ankles and wrists, showing no signs of comfort or welcome as he threw her onto his shoulder and slammed the trunk of the car shut. Zachary couldn't help but to smirk softly in the midst of her lively and fierce struggles as she banged her bound wrists and arms against his back. He was finally home, doing the job deep down inside he loved.
Through the front door he carried her inside of the dark, cold house. Zachary said nothing as his young captive continued to endlessly scream and cry for help. There was no one to help her, no one around to save the day and be her savior. She was stuck, locked away with the automatic door closing behind them with the dull, drowned out sound of the electric locks locking in place. He gave no heed to her cries and pleas for help, even as he carried her through another door and down a set of old, creaking stairs that led to 'The Dungeon'.
It was clear that this room was a large, cavernous basement with it's cool, moist air and cement floors. His captive would learn that the hard way when Zachary dropped her onto the cold, smooth concrete floor.
A sharp cry came from the girl as soon as she fell to the hard and cold, unforgiving floor. In the darkness, Zachary could hear her scamper away from him as best as she could with her ankles and wrists bound together. As the darkness veiled his face and features, Zachary could not help but to smirk at the sounds of her fear and panic. The frightened woman had tried her best to escape, trying so desperately to find a way out in the stronghold of a room. That very fear she seemed to radiate, that unpredictable fear that made him feel all the more powerful and in control. She was like clay in his hands, easy to mold and shape, something he was fully intent upon doing.
He flipped a switch upon the wall closest to the stairs. Instantly light flooded in from the various placed lights throughout the basement room, providing each other the chance to see their lone companion in the room. For the first time without the darkness of the outside, nor the dim lighting of her cage and holding room, Zachary had the chance to lay his eyes upon her from behind the black ski mask. Almost instantly he could see why this girl was as valuable and precious as he was led to believe. Even though she was dirty, caked in an assortment of dirt, sweat, blood and cum, the young blond kneeling against the far wall was truly a beauty to behold. In another time, where she wasn't a sex slave with a looming date with death, Zachary thought she would have been a woman chased by all with her blonde hair and wide, doe-like blue eyes. She was beautiful, there was no doubt about that, no younger than twenty from the looks of her.
She would be able to get nothing from him and his appearance. In his all black clothing, with black jeans, steel toed boots, and a black shirt that clung to his muscled and intimidating form, the ski mask he wore to hide his features from any possible lingering vagrants outside his house added a veil of mystery and intimidation to him. It was the way he wanted it. For the first experience with him, he wanted her to be afraid and intimidated.
"WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU?" She screamed out, her little hands balling up into fists as her voice echoed throughout the room. From the sight of her fists alone, Zachary knew her fear was becoming laced with anger, anger directed towards him. "WHERE THE FUCK AM I, YOU SON OF A BITCH?!?!"
He was silent for her loud and emotional reaction to the new surroundings. Quietly he leaned against the wall, his arms folded across his chest as if he was bored and this whole experience mundane. For the time being, he felt as if there wasn't much he had to say. The room, in his mind, said everything that needed to be said. Within the sparse room sat only a few objects: a locked cabinet holding some of his devices and tools, a bucket for a toilet, and a metal frame of an old, rusted bed. There was nothing warm, nothing inviting, nothing soothing. It was all cold, harsh, and frightening to any kidnapped person's mind.
As the deafening silence began to fall between them, Zachary calmly spoke up. "You're here because you've been a rotten little bitch." He said casually, his voice calm and collected. "Your Master has hired me to break and train you, in addition to some other things."
