It was a beautiful and quiet morning in the gated, private street of Northbrook. A mild fall morning was blossoming, the sun was shining, the fallen leaves chased each other in the streets as the warm and cool of autumn mingled together.
John was laying in his bed, only half awake. He was on his back, his eyes closed. His hands gripped the sheets as he felt himself orgasm into a warm and soft mouth. He felt that mouth suck from him, drink from him, pulling every drop from his rigid cock. He felt his bed shake as she quivered with orgasm herself each time his warm cum rolled over her tongue and into her belly. After a minute or so of that, she shopped cumming, and kissed his softening cock as she pulled her lips away.
Opening his eyes, he looked up and smiled at the blonde beauty, she smiled back, radiant in the soft morning glow.
"Good morning, Amanda," he said. "Good of you to wake me up the way I like."
Amanda smiled down at John, happy and refreshed. She stretched out her long, lithe body, her breasts pulling taut against her rib cage as she reached for the ceiling.
"Every morning, John, just the way you showed me."
She let out a little yawn, and got out of bed. She stopped and looked in the mirror, fixed her hair slightly, wiped her mouth, and looked back at John. She smiled at him, feeling a little silly at being so vain in front of the man who owned her.
John smiled back. There's something very special about this person, he thought. I don't know what it is. More than morning blowjobs. I could get used to this.
"I'll get us our coffee, John," she said. She walked over to the tempered glass door that led to the rest of the house, and she put her hands up to the control panel, stopped, and looked back at him.
"What's the security code again?" she asked him.
"You don't need it, darling," he told her, still half asleep in his bed. "Remember, you are entered in the system now, all you need to do is put your fingerprint on the sensor, and the door will open."
"Oh, right," she said. She blushed. John thought it was cute the way that she still felt privileged to know his security information and how to open the eight-inch-thick reinforced security door that protected him while he slept.
Amanda didn't know that there was no way she could ever betray him, even under the most extreme torture leading to her own death, there was no way she would ever reveal anything that could lead to her Master being in danger. John had seen to that when he enslaved her, he had bent her will to the point where she would sacrifice anything to protect him if needed.
She put her finger to the sensor pad, and as he had said, the door slid open immediately. The door slid into the rest of the security cage that had been built into the framework of his bedroom and study. The cage ran through the walls, under the floors, and over the ceiling of his bedroom and study.
It was designed to keep him safe to the point of a small missile hitting it, he had his computers, fresh water, and an electrical generator in there as well. Some food. It had cost him a fortune. But he would be able to hole up in there for a couple of weeks if he needed to, and virtually nothing could get to him.
Amanda stepped through the door and into the hallway. John watched her tight little ass in her little panties as she padded down the hallway and to the kitchen to get them both some coffee. He thought about fucking her there when he got home later that night, if he had the energy after what was going to be a long day. She loved that now, begged him to take her there in the dark, soft bed. He thought that if she begged tonight, like she often did, curled up his arms, there would be no way to resist her. No matter how tired he was.
The door whisked back shut behind her.
Still half awake, needing coffee, he reached over to his nightstand and looked at his phone. 9:23, his clock told him as he lit the screen up. He sat there for a second, blinking at it.
Why is it so late, he was thinking groggily? Why am I still in bed? What happened to my wakeup call?
Amanda's scream reverberated off the walls and the security glass. John leapt out of bed, and ran to the control panel. He jabbed at the numbers on the panel in a panic, entering the wrong information a couple of times, before he remembered to use his own fingerprint.
The door whisked open, and John ran to find Amanda.
He burst through the hallway and into his living room, sunken beneath the rest of the floors. He went down the three stairs and ran across the carpet. Amanda was standing in the center of the room, her hand on her mouth, crying. She saw John, and turned to him, and pointed up at the ceiling.
The three men hanging up there were struggling against the black filament that they were suspended from the ceiling by, kicking their restrained legs futilely, their hands secured behind their backs. They had the same black filament wrapped around their eyes and mouths, and they were dangling helplessly up there, blind and unable to make a sound, struggling pointlessly.
The smell of urine filled the air. They had been up there for some hours.
John pulled Amanda into his arms, she sobbed onto his chest.
These three men were John's security detail that he kept in his house overnight. Someone had broken in, gotten past all his security and alarms, and gotten the drop on three armed professionals and disarmed them completely, hanging them from the ceiling of John's living room like so much slaughtered meat.
Well, not
someone.
John knew exactly who.
John's phone rang. He looked at it. It was his personal assistant, Lynda.
"John?" she said. "You had better get to the office."
******************************
Lynda had an espresso ready for John when he arrived at the office. He threw it back with one gulp, bitter and hot in his mouth. He didn't taste any of it.
Lynda looked nervous as she let John in, she had been in his employ for some time, but had never seen John so distraught. And she worried how he would handle seeing his office.
Everything had been thrown around. Every drawer in his desk had been pulled out and emptied. His closet had been ransacked, his spare suits tossed about wildly, some of them torn apart by what could have been claws. His computer had been smashed open, the hard drive had been pulled out of it and taken.
John looked over at his wall safe, which was sitting open somehow, although he never failed to close it. He rushed past Lynda to it. Inside were the stacks of money that he kept there, shoved aside, but it didn't look like any of it was taken. He wasn't surprised by that... she wasn't here for money.
There had been a manila folder in there, though. There wasn't one now.
"Fuck," he said, looking around at the destruction.
Lynda didn't bother to ask if he wanted her to call the police. She knew he didn't.
"I guess I could use another espresso," he told her, and she nodded, but paused for a second in concern before she went to get it. She walked over, and put her hand on his shoulder, and drew him in. She pressed herself against him, holding him, letting her closeness comfort him, flow into him.
Finally, she stepped back, holding his hand, and looked him in the eyes.
We're in this together
, her eyes told him.
Lynda went to get the espresso.
John went and sat down at his desk, for lack of any other idea. He clicked on his keyboard out of habit, but of course his computer was destroyed. His monitor remained black.
Then he saw the note, folded and laying unobtrusively on his desktop.
I gave you a warning,
the note said.
