Cheryl was waiting upstairs in a ninth floor hotel suite completely naked. Turner had managed to talk her into it. Getting her out of her clothes wasn't going to be his crowning achievement, but it was his biggest step yet.
He'd go upstairs slowly. There was no hurry for what was lying ahead. The longer he kept her waiting the better it was for him. This stage of his plan was a simple one. She was naked, and waiting. He was dressed, and moving. The longer he took to reach her the less sure her situation became. Every minute longer it took him the greater the erosion of her poise and confidence. In many ways just knowing some woman's self-esteem was crumbling was a sexual tonic. He didn't have to see her; just thinking about it was aphrodisiac enough.
He loved hurting them, women. This woman was going to be a special delight. He was going to win $2,000.00. He was going to degrade, humiliate, and corrupt a worthless bitch, and he suspected he'd be tormenting his friend Martin who he suspected had special feelings for the bitch meat upstairs.
He'd study her body. He'd stare at her. That always crumpled their confidence. He'd point out how much he loved what she had to offer. Then he'd take her. He'd fuck her in as many ways as he could. She'd be helpless. All her clothes, her personal papers, her cell phone, everything would be unavailable to her. He'd have complete control, total authority. He'd even have the hotel phone turned off. She'd know she was under his complete control, she'd see it, and she'd understand all its implications, but she'd pretend it wasn't true. She'd pretend it was something she wanted as much as he did. He might keep her locked away in the hotel for several days, probably not but it was a thought. For him it would be fun, and for her? Well for her, she'd have her childish fantasies.
Turner stood outside the ninth floor suite where Cheryl was waiting. A housekeeper, a woman, had gone in to obtain her clothes. The housekeeper stepped back in the hall and handed the clothing to Turner. After giving her a parsimonious tip he took the clothing across the hall into the second suite he'd secured. He examined her apparel. He was surprised by the sizes. She was indeed a lot smaller than when they'd first met. He considered; if she'd been taking their relationship seriously enough to lose so much weight she'd be ready for a lot more.
He went through her purse and her wallet. He checked her credit cards, jotted down their numbers, and stashed that information in his own wallet. One never knew.
And in what he considered a last pointless check he opened her cell phone. Out of curiosity he checked her most recent phone calls. It was an interesting observation! Her last outgoing and last incoming messages had been with Martin! He had suspected something between Cheryl and Martin, but knowing Martin's usual reluctance to join him when he was fucking over some girl he'd doubted his, so-called, friend would ever go against the grain. Martin was his gopher, his dog.
What could these messages infer in the twisted prurient mind of a sick sociopathic monster like Turner? Were Martin and Cheryl more than just two people playing out their respective roles in Turner's malignant fantasies, or were they merging into something different, uniquely theirs, an item perhaps? Whether they really were or not it mattered very little. Turner had already come to the only conclusion his warped mind could ever have reached. These two were more than what met the eye. He knew he had Cheryl and now with Martin interested in her he had even more reason to fuck her over. Then there was Martin. Martin, he thought, Martin had to be dealt with too, and he knew how. The instrument of Martin's torture was just across the hall. Turner laughed. His laugh degenerated into a fiendish giggle. Yes! While he tortured and tormented the bitch, he would see that Martin had a front row seat. He'd ruin Cheryl, turn her into a whimpering groveling whore bitch, and he'd see to it his best friend got to watch every single little twist and turn.
Turner had to calm down. He couldn't let his anger get the best of him, not just yet. There was the whore in the other room. He had to lay the groundwork, all the groundwork, and he had to do it well. From now on he had not one, but two shits to fuck.
Turner checked the mirror. He re-combed his hair, adjusted his tie, unbuckled his pants and re-tucked his shirt. He was going in. He wanted to look cool, calm, collected, and most of all in control. Cheryl was naked, totally. He was fully and neatly dressed. She was vulnerable, helpless, weak, and dependent. He was strong, powerful, and dominant.
Cheryl took up position on the sofa facing the door. Turner was on his way. Some maid or housekeeper had already and picked up everything she owned. Oh, she figured she might still be able to run in the bathroom grab a towel and run down the hall, or maybe wrap one of the bed covers around her naked torso and flee to the elevator. She'd seen that sort of thing in old movies. They were all very funny. She didn't feel funny.
Sitting on the sofa she never felt more stupid, more out of sorts, more exposed. Why had she done this? She should have paid closer attention to Martin. Yes, she loved Turner. He was her sun, her moon, her stars, but was this really the kind of thing a man in love would do? Was he the romantic she imagined, or was it something else?
She had to think! No! Turner was real! Martin had been jealous. Turner was the real McCoy! He loved her. This was just his way. He was the true romantic. Martin was the jealous harpy. She'd imagined a man like Turner, the hero, the knight, the rescuer. This night would prove it! Tonight he would prove his love! But why had he insisted on this? Why did she have to sit here, in this strange room, alone, completely naked, and absolutely helpless?
Cheryl was about to bail out. There was still the hotel phone. She reached for the receiver. She'd call downstairs for someone to bring her some clothes. She'd call Martin back! The receiver was dead! Jesus! What should she do next? She looked forward, toward the door. She heard something! Someone! Her stomach was tied in a million knots! The handle of the door began to turn. There it was. It opened. Into the living room of the high rise hotel suite walked Turner, her Turner!
He opened the door to Cheryl's suite. He walked in slowly and casually. There she was, seated on the sofa just like he planned. She had one hand covering her snatch, while the other she had draped over her breasts. He could tell she was hoping to display a pose of calm relaxed indifference, but she was still trying to cover as much as she could. Inwardly he chuckled. They were all always so stupid. She was trying to relax, but that look was one of tension, uncertainty, and maybe a little fear. Good! That was as it should be. His next objectives: undermine the little bit of self-confidence she still had, increase her dependence upon him, and then get all three cherries!
"Cheryl." He said her name softly, lovingly. He walked over to her place on the sofa. For just a second he stood over her, looking down. He smiled. He knelt in front of her. He knelt at chest level just at her knees without touching her. "Cheryl please move your hands away from your body."
She made no move to do anything.
He leaned forward, placing his hands on the sofa, on either side of her hips, still not touching. He leaned forward close enough so their lips were almost touching. He could see the fear, the tension written all over her face. "I see you're scared." He reached forward and gently touched her brow. He very carefully wiped some stray locks of hair away from her face. "Calm down." He pulled his hand back. "There look. You made me touch you, and I promised I wouldn't." He leaned back a little.
Cheryl wanted to get out of the situation. It was a mistake. "Turner I."
He interrupted her. "May I please sit down beside you?"
That took a tiny bit of the edge off, not much, but enough for Cheryl to begin to think. "Yes."
He sat next to her, still not touching. She was facing the front door. "Cheryl look at me."
Cheryl slowly turned her head.
"Cheryl it's only me, Turner. I see you're scared. Don't be. I just want to see you. Look at you." He gave her what he hoped was his most calming reassuring smile. He considered what he had, a real deer, a real rabbit. He tried to take her hand to hold it, but she pulled it away.
"No. Don't." She summoned all her courage. "I want my clothes. I want to leave."
He wasn't surprised. His tone became a little more forceful. "Cheryl look at me."
She turned and looked at him. "I can't stay. I want to go home."
She was right on schedule. He'd heard all this before. "Darling." They always liked that. "No. I can't let you leave, not yet." He started to stand up. He held up his left hand as though he was pointing something out. "I rented the room right across the hall. All your things are just fifteen feet away." He saw he had her full attention. Her eyes were boring right into him, pupils fully dilated, still afraid, still ready to run. "Stay seated right where you are. I'm going to turn this sofa around. I don't know if you noticed there's a television right behind us. I'll turn the sofa around, we'll turn on the television, and we can watch TV and talk. No touching, no advances, and no sex or anything like that. Just two people on the sofa watching TV and having a conversation." He could tell she was listening, but she was still scared for shit. "Hey listen. Once I get the sofa turned around I'll go into the bedroom, and bring out a blanket for you. Would you like that?"
Wide eyed, corneas filling with fluid, Cheryl nodded her head.
Turner got up, lifting one end of the sofa he turned it around to face the television. Without looking at Cheryl, the television, or anything else he went straight to the bedroom, got a blanket, and brought it out. Walking toward Cheryl he opened it and shook it out. "Here you go sweetheart."
She took the blanket and wrapped it around her body. That felt a lot better. He called her sweetheart. That was kind of nice. She breathed a slow, almost inaudible sigh.
Turner heard the soft sigh. Yes! He turned on the television, picked up the menu and remote control, went back, and sat down on the couch beside the girl. He handed her the menu and the remote. "Here. Why don't you pick out something we can watch? I'll be right back."
She looked up at him as he got up.
