(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.
