Move Closer Ch 01

This is a long love story in two chapters and while there will be sex, it won't happen immediately (in fact, in Chapter One there is only a hint of sex). Both chapters contain some low-key violence. If you're looking for instant thrills with little or no plot, please look elsewhere. While I consider myself a moderately experienced writer, I am new to the world of erotic fiction.

Move Closer

is only my second try at erotica and I would therefore welcome any comments or feedback, positive or otherwise

. Characters in sex scenes are eighteen years old or over.

All characters are imaginary--any resemblance to persons living or dead is coincidental.

Copyright © 2014 to the author

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Lainy

The pounding in Lainy's head signalled what was probably her worst hangover to date. At least her eyes weren't gummed up as they sometimes were and this made it easier for her to open them. Immediately she wished to God that they had been gummed up: she would have been spared the agony of the blinding daylight that lanced deep into her skull.

She was fully dressed of course. Only rarely these days did she manage to undress to get into bed. The sheets under her hand felt damp and she fumbled at her crotch. She'd pissed herself again in the night, maybe more than once. And the fucking pounding was going on and on. Perhaps a drink would sort that out.

Lainy reached down and fumbled under her bed. Good... a bottle of vodka. Bad... it was empty. She fumbled again. There were two or three bottles there but—surprise, surprise—they were empty too. What now? Okay, the trick was to get up and look in the usual hiding places. Didn't everybody keep their booze in offbeat places? Although why she bothered when she lived alone... If she was out of the stuff, then force down a coffee and sit in misery until she felt able to walk to the corner shop for fresh supplies. If only this fucking pounding would stop.

Then it slowly dawned on Lainy that the pounding was not within her but without. Some merciless bastard was hammering on her door. She managed to haul herself off the bed and into the short corridor. She shouted "Fuck off!" but to no effect.

"Come on, Lainy! Open up! I know you're in there. I can keep this up all day if necessary." Jesus, it was Joss. Lainy knew that he was quite capable of carrying out his threat so she lurched down the hall and opened up.

The man called Joss stepped in and looked searchingly at Lainy. In his eyes she could see a mixture of pity and sadness. He said nothing but took Lainy by the arm and half-dragged, half-hustled her into the tiny bathroom. He eased her onto the floor by the lavatory and said: "Don't move. You're going to need that in a moment."

Lainy heard him go into the kitchen and fill a kettle. There were other noises she couldn't quite place. Christ, the way she felt he could have been conducting a brass band and she wouldn't have identified it. A few minutes later Joss returned with a cup of lukewarm water. "Drink this."

Lainy took a sip and gagged. It was salt. Joss took the cup, held it to the woman's lips and tilted it so that a good portion went down her throat. She started to puke almost immediately. When she had done vomiting, Joss lifted her and tenderly wiped her face before helping her into the kitchen where he sat her down at the table and thrust a mug of coffee at her. "Sorry, Lainy—that was a bit rough but it was necessary."

A little more sober, she glared sullenly at the man. "What are you doing here, Joss? Why do you keep bothering with me?"

"Because you're my niece and I love you," he said, "And because I still think you're worth saving." Joss kicked an empty bottle on the floor. "This stuff will kill you in time. Christ, Lainy, it's been more than a year now. I'm not belittling your heartache, but the booze isn't going to make it any better. What do you think she'd say if she walked in right now and saw the state you're in?"

He glanced at his watch. "Here's what I'm going to do, Lainy. It's ten-fifteen now. I'm going to go and sit in my car until eleven. If you come to me in that forty-five minutes, I'll do my damnedest to help you get well. If you don't come, then I'll stay out of your life—what's left of it." His hand as he touched her cheek was gentle. "Go and have a really good look at yourself in a mirror, try and see yourself through the eyes of the old Lainy." Joss kissed her forehead and left.

Lainy sat at the table for a long time, trying to think. She drained the coffee cup and then had to make a fast dive to the bathroom. She only just made it and falling to her knees, brought all the coffee back up into the lavatory bowl. When her stomach was empty, she continued to dry heave for long minutes. Lying on the floor, retching, she realized that she must be touching rock bottom.

She dragged herself up to go to the cheval mirror in her bedroom. She'd do what Joss suggested and take a really good look at herself. The bedroom was a mess—Christ, the whole flat was a mess. How had she ever let it get this way? She used to be so fastidious. And what she saw in the mirror shocked her. The lank, greasy hair, the bloodshot eyes with deep shadows beneath, the filthy t-shirt, the jeans with the huge piss stain on the crotch. She was twenty-six, could have been forty-six. She slumped onto the edge of the rumpled bed and buried her face in her hands.

Forty-five minutes Joss had given her. What was it now? Lainy looked at the bedside clock. God, nearly eleven. She ran, out through the flat's door, stumbling and almost falling down the flight of steps leading to the front door. If she had fallen, her troubles might have been at an end. But somehow she managed to save herself, or did something else save her? What was the old saying? Something about God looking after fools and drunks?

She heard the engine of her uncle's car start. She ran frantically and banged on the car roof. Joss cut the engine and climbed out of the car and Lainy fell into his arms. "Please help me, Joss. I don't want to be like this any more."

Joss spoke soothingly. "It's okay, sweetheart, I'm with you now, I'll help. I wouldn't really have abandoned you—I think you know that. Right, first of all I'm going to phone a nurse I know who'll come over and help you bathe. Your hygiene level's not too good right now. We'll get you into clean clothes and then I'll call a friend who works for Alcohol Concern, she'll be able to help you. Then we can start picking up the pieces."

Caro

Without a doubt, Bruno St Clair was the most charming man that Caro had ever met. They had been introduced at a literary evening and from the word go Bruno had made it clear that he found Caro very attractive.

Caro in her turn was smitten, despite the fact that Bruno was a good fifteen years or more older than her own twenty-seven. He seemed to have old-fashioned standards, both in manners and in dress. He held the door open for women or stood as they entered the room or he ensured that they were seated before he was. His suits were bespoke, his shirts and ties Jermyn Street and his hand-made shoes always highly polished. Bruno was an investment banker and Bruno was wealthy.

Oddly, none of this mattered all that much to Caro, although she did appreciate his good manners. What impressed Caro was the fact that Bruno was well read and cultured and able to discuss novels and art and classical music with her, something that her previous boyfriends, all three of them, had seemed incapable of doing. When she and Bruno had a date, it was the opera or theatre followed by dinner in a good restaurant, not the cinema and a pint in the nearest pub.

And if Bruno took it on himself to choose what she would eat when they were at dinner, well, perhaps this was a little unusual but he did have perfect taste. Head waiters grovelled in Bruno's presence and sommeliers complimented him on his wide knowledge of wines.

At dinner one evening, two months after their first meeting, Bruno suggested that Caro come to Paris with him for a long weekend. He would be there on business but would have plenty of time to show her the sights and the art galleries and the museums. Caro agreed and had a wonderful time. The hotel, naturally, was one of the best and their suite luxurious. It was in Paris that Caro and Bruno shared a bed for the first time.

For Caro, that was the only disappointing aspect of the trip. The sex was nowhere near as good as she had anticipated. But then sex had never been very good for Caro. In all her relationships, short-lived as they had been, she had never felt fully aroused. She guessed that she was just one of these people with a low libido.

Shortly after the trip to Paris, Bruno asked Caro to move in with him. The idea certainly appealed. He had a luxury apartment; she had a flat which she loved but there was no denying that it was dingy. "No hurry," Bruno had told her, "Take as long as you like. I think we'd be good together."

It was while Caro was thinking it over that something odd happened one morning. She was taking her morning break in her favourite small coffee-shop near her workplace when a woman stopped by her table. "Mind if I sit here?"

Caro couldn't see why—there were other tables unoccupied but she didn't want to seem rude so agreed. She gestured to an empty chair. "Please."

She returned to the magazine she was reading but felt that the stranger was staring at her. Puzzled, Caro looked up. The other woman was dark-haired and attractive, probably in her late thirties. Before Caro could say anything, the stranger spoke. Her voice suggested one of the more wealthy and exclusive areas of West London. "You're the girl who's going out with Bruno St Clair, aren't you? Has he asked you to move in with him yet?"

Annoyed, Caro said: "I don't know who you are and I can't see what business it is of yours."

The other shook her head. "I suppose it isn't, but I hope you'll listen to me. Drop him now. Get out before it's too late. I'm trying to do you a favour. It's up to you whether or not you accept it." She stood and gave Caro a little wave as she left.

Caro thought the encounter over and decided that the dark-haired woman was probably an ex-girlfriend of Bruno's, very likely jealous of the fact that he had moved on. She put it out of mind. Two weeks later, she gave up her flat and moved in with Bruno.

The changes were slow and subtle. Her job, which she had loved, was the first thing in her life to go. Bruno explained, very reasonably, that he had so much money there was no need for her to work. And as he pointed out, Caro was such a brilliant cook that she would have plenty of time to prepare excellent meals for them. Then her bank account was closed and her credit cards done away with; a joint account was created in hers and Bruno's names. The only problem was that Bruno was the sole signatory. Next, her friends seemed to disappear from her life. After all, it was pointed out, they weren't really hers and Bruno's kind of people. His friends became hers although mostly they were business acquaintances rather than true friends. She was allowed to retain her mobile phone but Bruno checked it most days to ensure that Caro had not made any unapproved calls. Day and night, she became little more than Bruno's puppet. And the sex remained wholly unsatisfactory.

Caro was learning the hard way. Bruno St Clair was a control freak.

And after several months, the emotional and mental and physical abuse started. It needed very little to trigger one or the other, a scathing remark, an intellectual sneer, an unexpected blow. The emotional and mental abuse left no visible marks. The beatings did, but Bruno was very careful, only ever hitting Caro on her torso where the marks could not be seen.

Caro was learning the very hard way. Bruno St Clair was a sociopath and a sadist.

Lainy and Caro

"I saw you, you little bitch!" Bruno punched Caro in the ribs, extending the knuckle on his second finger to concentrate the pain. "You wanted to fuck him, didn't you?"

"No, Bruno, I didn't!" Caro pleaded.

"Don't lie, you were practically fucking him on the dance floor."

"He was your client, you told me to dance with him. We hardly touched each other."

Another punch, this time to the opposite ribs. "You never learn, do you Caro? Anything in trousers..." A double punch, one on each breast. Caro knew that Bruno had created a situation in his mind as an excuse to beat her. She had noticed the signs earlier, had hoped that he would mellow out. But as soon as they had seen his clients off in their taxi, Bruno had dragged her into this dimly lit alleyway behind the nightclub and set about her. She knew, too, that the best thing to do was not to argue with him. That, at least, would shorten the beating.

Then... "

Hey!

What the hell are you doing? Leave her alone!" A woman's voice, and a figure silhouetted at the alley's mouth.

Bruno glanced up and spoke in a normal voice, as if greeting an old acquaintance. "Why don't you just go away and mind your own business, Miss?"

The woman stepped into the alley. "I said, leave her alone."

Bruno sighed. "I can see I'll have to teach you some manners." Pushing Caro to one side, he advanced on the stranger. A big, heavily-built man, he fully expected her to retreat and run. But instead of doing as he expected, the woman rushed to meet him and slammed the heel of one hand upwards into Bruno's nose. Taken by surprise, Bruno staggered and fell onto his backside. In the poor light shed by the single security lamp, the blood pouring from his nose looked black.

The man pulled himself to his feet. "You've just earned yourself a ride in an ambulance, bitch." Instead of retreating, the woman ran forward again, spun around and rammed an elbow backwards into Bruno's midriff. As he started to fold, she spun back and hit him hard across the throat with the edge of her hand. Bruno staggered back against the wall, gagging painfully, trying to catch his breath. The stranger hooked a foot behind one of the man's knees and yanked hard. Bruno slid to the ground, and stayed there, choking.

Caro felt a warm, dry hand grab hers. "Come on, I don't think you'll want to be around when he gets up." The stranger dragged Caro after her and they ran. They ran for several streets, dodging startled pedestrians and other obstacles until they reached a side road where a number of cars were parked. The woman stopped by a small Nissan, unlocked it and pushed Caro into the passenger seat. When they were on their way to wherever, the stranger spoke.

"You're lucky I was passing by. I don't often come to this part of town. What was he trying to do—mug you or rape you or both?"

"Neither," gasped Caro, still slightly breathless from the chase, "He's my boyfriend."

"Christ, girl, you know how to pick them, don't you? Anyway, you'd better come and stay at my place tonight. You'll be safe there. I'm Lainy Marshall. It's really Lorraine but apparently when I first started talking, Lainy was all I could manage and the name stuck."

"I'm Caro—Carolyn—Renshaw. Thanks for what you did back there." Caro leaned back, closing her eyes and folding her arms across her aching body. She knew that there would be no lasting damage. Bruno was very good at inflicting maximum pain with minimum injury. But what the hell was she going to do next? Bruno St Clair was not a forgiving person and at some point she was really going to suffer for this.

The car went eastwards and very soon was driving through areas that Caro didn't know. After a while, they were passing through streets that were almost deserted. Caro knew that they were somewhere a little north of the Thames but where exactly she wasn't sure. The roads now were more narrow, flanked by darkened three- and four-storey buildings. Street lamps were few and those Caro could see were of a design long obsolete, mostly offering only a very dim light. She guessed that they were probably former gas lamps converted to electricity. Higher up on the buildings, Caro noticed hefty-looking brackets with pulley attachments and what looked like large wooden hatchways. She realized that at one time they must have been warehouses for import and export businesses or perhaps old mills. Now they were largely abandoned although some had been converted into luxury flats.

Lainy pulled the car up in front of one such building. "Home," she announced. Caro got out of the car and looked around. The building immediately in front of her had a huge double door with a sign over saying 'Gymnasium'. A few feet to its side was a smaller, single door which Lainy went to and opened. She flicked on a light and Caro could see a flight of stairs going up to the next floor. Lainy beckoned her to follow.

Lainy's flat was huge and open-plan, with highly-polished floorboards and a number of expensive-looking rugs scattered about. A sitting area had a comfortable-looking three-piece suite and a huge television set, while nearby was a dining area with a small table and a number of chairs. To one side there was a screened-off kitchen, and a number of other rooms had been either converted from offices or built-in to order. Lainy led Caro to the large sofa and sat her down. Saying: "Back in a minute." she went into the kitchen.

She returned with a cup of herbal tea to find Caro shivering. "That's reaction," said Lainy, "Drink the tea while I prepare you a hot bath." Caro sipped at the tea and leaned back in her seat., closing her eyes. She recalled something she had heard or read once, something about the kindness of strangers. Despite what had happened to her—or perhaps because she was used to it—she must have drifted off because it seemed like only seconds before Lainy was taking hold of her hand and leading her through a bedroom to the en-suite bathroom beyond.

For the first time, Caro took a good look at her rescuer. Lainy was about the same height as Caro, five-six, of similar build, with a lovely, high-cheek-boned face and dark hair closely-cropped in a pixie cut. She was wearing a white t-shirt and black jogging trousers. "Right, into the bath," ordered Lainy, "I'll find you some pyjamas—we're about the same size—and make up the spare bed for you."

Caro stripped her cocktail dress and underwear and lowered herself into the hot, scented bath, gradually relaxing. Again, she must have started to doze off, for the next thing she heard was Lainy's voice. "Fucking hell, girl, is that what that bastard's done to you?" Lainy sounded shocked and there was a look of mingled rage and horror in her dark violet eyes.

Caro's torso, front and back, was a mass of bruises, ranging in colour from fresh black-blue to slowly-fading yellow. Lainy rushed from the bathroom and returned with a small camera with which she took several shots from different angles.

"What are you doing?" said Caro.

"Evidence. Now I think we'd better call the police."

"No, no police. I've got an elderly grandmother who lives in the West Country. Bruno said that if I ever told anyone about him, he'd go there and make sure she suffers."

Lainy looked doubtful, pursed her lips. "I think we'd better talk about this in the morning. Here's some clean pyjamas for you. I've laid some clothing on the bed for you for tomorrow. The only thing I can't provide is a bra, your boobs are bigger than mine. Get to bed and rest, we'll try to sort things out tomorrow."

A new life

"As I see it," said Lainy as she poured coffee for Caro and passed it to her with some toast, "You've got a chance now to get away from that arsehole. You'd certainly be a bloody fool to go back to him."

"You're right, of course. The only problem is that I've nowhere to go, no bank account, no friends..." She quickly gave Lainy an account of her life with Bruno, ending: "You probably think that I'm a complete idiot but Bruno can be very charismatic and persuasive when he wants. By the time I fully realised what was going on, it was too late."