10

Author's Note:

Welcome back, dear reader! Sorry for the delay! Had some obstacles to overcome to finally get this uploaded. If you're here just for the sexy stuff, chapter 8 is just some story building with the characters getting to know each other, but chapters 9 and 10 are where Scott resumes making use of his free use sex slave!

In other news, I'm almost finished working on a super

taboo

story with Olivia and Faith's dorm neighbor, Monica, so I expect chapters for that to be posted in a few weeks!

With that said, enjoy the read!

Chapter 8

:

Let's Get Acquainted

Olivia 'Liv' Hartman | 18

Saturday, October 1

st

"In 100 feet, your destination is on the right," my phone's feminine-voiced GPS says as I'm rounding the bend of this tree-bordered, residential street that is Ferns Glen Drive.

My foot moves from the gas to the brake and, as the car begins slowing down, I glance at the dashboard clock.

8:20 p.m. Perfect. I got here a whole ten minutes early, which means no punishment for me. Well, no punishment other than being forced to spend the night with Scott so he can use my body however and as many times as he wants...

The thought makes my eyes burn.

A few seconds later, I spot the mailbox marked

3187

. "You have arrived," the GPS announces at the same time.

It's dark out, so the house isn't visible until my headlights illuminate it during my turn onto the driveway.

Business at the Boudoir Plus must be good

, I think, checking out the two-story, brick-walled home and the attached two-car garage on the right side of it. Part of me was expecting him to live in an apartment complex or some tiny ranch-style home in a sketchy part of town, but I guess running a high-end adult store in the rich part of town brings in enough revenue to afford something this big in a nice, upper-middle-class neighborhood.

When my bumper is a few feet from the garage, I stop and shift into park. Taylor Swift's

Mean

is blasting over my speakers now and, since I'd rather not miss a second of this song, I leave the engine running and just grab my phone from the mount. Halfway through my '

I'm here

' text to Scott, the porchlight comes on, prompting me to glance to my left as the front door is opening. It's no surprise to see that he's already smiling when he steps outside.

The fake smile I muster when we make eye contact fades the instant I turn away. "

Ughhhh

," I sigh out while cutting off my engine. After grabbing my purse and backpack from the passenger seat, I do my best to make my expression as neutral as possible before turning back around.

"Hello again, pretty girl," Scott says while opening the driver's side door for me.

"Hiii," I singsong back in hopes it'll mask my annoyance.

"Gosh... Someone looks

excited

to be here," he says sarcastically while taking my backpack from me.

"Sorry, Scott, but feeling like the Door Dash equivalent of an escort for the guy who's blackmailing me into the job makes it

kinda

hard to pretend I'm

enthused

," I sass as I climb out of the car.

Scott laughs, slinging the bookbag over a shoulder as he does. "Well, a few drinks and some good food should put you in a better mood."

"Oh, I'm sure

that'll

do the trick," I say with heavy sarcasm, closing the door behind me.

"It will. And after you get to know me tonight, I guarantee you'll like me enough to not have to pretend to be

enthused

during our time together anymore."

"Doubtful, but bonus points for your optimism."

"Hey, anything's possible with an open mind, Liv." He winks. "Now, do you have anything else to bring in?"

"Yeah. There's just a small duffle bag in the back."

"On it." Scott opens the backdoor, grabs the bag, and then slings it over his other shoulder after pushing the door shut. "So..." He gestures toward his home's entrance. "Where does Taylor think you're going for the night?"

"She

doesn't

know I'm not coming back tonight," I mutter, walking alongside him. "I waited for her to get in the shower before I packed and brought these bags to my car."

"Oh." He opens the screen door and then steps aside, gesturing for me to enter. "But won't she get worried and hit you up later to ask where you are?"

While meandering into the house, my gaze wanders from the foyer's hardwood floors to the table with a spider plant on it to the shoe rack beside it and then to the stairs ahead. Left of the stairs, there's a dark hallway. Further to the left is the living room. "I doubt it. Told her I had a date and that I'd meet her at the party later."

Scott smirks while kicking off his flip-flops by the shoe rack. "Ah... So this

is

a date."

I roll my eyes in the middle of removing my sneakers. "If by

date

you mean it as a synonym for

appointment

and not in the romantic sense, then yes."

"But is it just an

appointment

if our plan for the night is to have an intimate conversation over dinner followed by guaranteed sex that may last hours?" He sets my bags down in front of the closet by the stairs. "Because that sounds more like a date to me than most dates I've ever been on."

"Umm... First of all, that's sad. Second... is it really a date if I'm

contractually

obligated to be here?"

"Yup." A snicker follows as he begins walking to my right, toward the kitchen.

"Whatever..." I mutter, following him. The dark walnut cabinets, the matching dining table, and the light gray marble countertops catch my eye immediately. Given that this room looks

newer

than the rest of the house looks, I'm guessing this was a remodel. If that's the case, this aesthetic seems far too elegant for someone of Scott Bonham's ilk. My gaze then wanders to the island's countertop where there are two restaurant to-go bags with Styrofoam food boxes and a stack of two classy plates. "Ummm... What happened to you cooking dinner?"

"Yeah... About that... I tried closing early but I had a few late walk-ins at the store. But don't worry, sweetheart, Meridian Grille's food is better than anything I could ever make."

"Oh. No need to apologize. It's not like you cooking for me was gonna be the highlight of my day or anything." An involuntary snicker escapes me.

"Alright, Ms. Sassy-Pants... If you don't lose that attitude, I'm gonna have to spank the brattiness out of you before we eat," he threatens sternly.

I raise my hands in surrender. "Alright, alright! I'll be better company," I say with a smile.

"That's a good girl. Now... what would you like to drink." He opens the fridge. "As requested, I got black cherry and blackberry White Claws. I've got sour beers, wheat beers, stouts..." Now he turns and points at the liquor and wine bottles on the countertop. "I also got a sweet red wine, a sweet white, and a Cabernet Sauvignon for ya. You're also welcome to have some scotch if you want."

"You know what? I'll start with the sweet red and switch to White Claws later."

Because I need to get buzzed as quickly as possible to get through this dinner.

"Excellent choice," Scott says, shutting the fridge and walking toward the wine. "Have a seat while I get that and your food for ya."

"Kay," I say, spinning on my heel. There's one chair at each end of the table and, longways, there are two pushed in under the left and right sides. There are already utensils resting atop fancy cloth napkins at the head of the table and in front of the seat to the left of it. The seat meant for me is facing the window instead of the side facing the island, which is a problem since I'd like to make sure Scott's not going to slip anything in my drink. So, I move the utensils to the other side of the table, pull out my phone, and then take a seat. "Soooo... what's for dinner?"

Scott places the electric wine opener over the bottle's corked top and presses the button. "Blackened chicken served with a side of flavorgasm-worthy rosemary-garlic roasted potatoes, some aioli to dip it in, and an assortment of roasted veggies."

My phone buzzes against the table but, since he's about to pop the cork, I ignore it. "Wow. Sounds tasty!" My enthusiasm is genuine.

"You'll love it, I promise. It's from one of the highest-rated, most expensive restaurants in town."

"Oh. Do you order from there often?"

"Rarely," he replies as he begins filling the wine glass with red. "But I wanted to treat you to something delectable since you've spent the last few months living off of crappy dining hall meals and fast food." Scott stops pouring, looks up at me with a warm smile, and then starts walking toward me.

My expression reflexively matches his. Because smiles are contagious even when they're from someone like him. "That's sweet of you, but you don't have to spend a bunch of money on me," I say, taking the nearly overflowing wine glass from him. "Spoiling me won't win me over, if that's what you're hoping." Without delay, I bring the glass to my lips and start gulping down what may be the sweetest, best-tasting vino I've ever had. Not that I've had much wine to compare it to in my eighteen years of life. My parents never let me drink, so the only wine I've had was at the sorority house on Wine Wednesdays.

"I figured. But this isn't me trying to win you over," he replies while walking backward to the island. "I just can't

not

spoil the girl I'm fucking. Especially if she's a gorgeous sweetheart like you who's been perfectly obedient."

I gulp down the mouthful of sweet red. "Ah. Okay then." The moment those words leave my mouth, I bring the glass back to my lips and resume drinking.

In the middle of serving the food onto our plates, Scott looks up at me and cocks a brow, presumably because my glass is almost half empty already. "Uh... Easy there, Liv. You're not allowed to get drunk until

after

we've had our

playtime

. Remember?"

I gulp loudly. "Wait, why's that again?"

"Because I want you of sound mind when you let me take you later. That and I don't want the alcohol dulling the pleasure I'm going to bring you."

Despite being revolted by the idea of intimacy with him, nervous excitement buzzes through me, immediately making both my heart rate and breath quicken. "Oh," I mutter, nodding. "I uh... I appreciate that—I appreciate you wanting me coherent for

later

, that is."

"Mm-hm," he hums with a smirk and a knowing stare.

"But don't worry. I'd like to keep my wits about me too, so I can assure you that I'll slow down before I hit Tipsy-town."

"Good girl." Scott picks up the plates and walks toward the table. "Your dinner is served," he rasps, setting the food down before me. "Enjoy."

"Thanks." I give the gourmet-looking meal a sniff as I pick up my fork. "Damn, this smells good!"

"Right?" he says as he sits down. "This food had me drooling the entire ride home."

The look and smell of this blackened chicken alone has me salivating too much to not try it first, so I cut off a piece and place the juicy white meat into my mouth. "Mmm!" I moan, nodding eagerly. "That's really good." The commentary was forced but true.

"Told ya!" he says, bringing a chunk of chicken to his mouth.

Next, I take a quarter slice of the small red potato, dip it in aioli, and fork it into my mouth. "

Oh

..." I almost moan. "

Wow

. Okay... these might be the best roasted potatoes I've ever had."

Scott smiles. "See? I wasn't exaggerating. I've been trying to recreate these for over a year. Still can't figure out what the secret season is."

"Get a job there and maybe you'll find out," I joke.

He snickers. "I'd be lying if I said I haven't considered that as an option."

I don't know what to respond to that with so I just look down at my plate and eat while I wait for him to continue with the small talk. But the wordless lull filled with the sound of utensils scraping against plates and quiet chewing lingers for just long enough for it to qualify as awkward silence. Maybe a minute into it, I side-eye Scott only to find him staring at me expectantly while shoveling food into his mouth. So, I glance over, and when he doesn't say anything, I look back down and resume eating. In my peripheral, I see he's still staring. Smirking. Even after he finishes chewing, he says nothing. He just takes three loud gulps of his Sour Monkey beer and then sets it down, never once taking his eyes off me.

Eventually, I turn to him. "Umm...

yes

?" I say with raised brows and a wince of a smile.

"Nothing, I'm just really enjoying this

conversation

, Liv."

I shake my head. "Sorry. I was never good at the

getting-to-know-you

phase of socializing with someone new. And with the way you've been watching me, I kinda just assumed you were gonna ask me something."

"Nope. I mean, I'd like to ask you

a lot

of things because I am very eager to get to know you, but my top priority for this evening is to let you drill me with as many questions as you want until you're acquainted enough with me to feel more comfortable. And feel free to ask me anything you want, no matter how personal. You're opening your legs for me whenever I need you to, so I intend to be an open book for you for the duration of our arrangement." He snickers.

I shake my head and roll my eyes. "Good to know..." I gulp down the rest of my wine. "Umm... I dunno... Where are you from?"

"Tallahassee, born and raised."

"Oh... Did you go to college here too?"

Scott shakes his head. "I went to UCF down in Orlando then came back and never left. What about you? You're from Georgia, right?"

"Yup. Did you guess that from my accent or did you know from the research your P.I. did on me?"

"I vaguely recall seeing Georgia on the file, but I probably would've guessed by the accent."

"Hmm... What was in that file, anyway?"

"Not your social security number, if that's what you were worried about." He smirks.

"I actually was worried about that," I say, nervously laughing as I place a potato into my mouth.

"It was your address for both here and where you're from, your phone number and email accounts, your class schedule, a spotless background check, a compilation of info from your social media accounts, a bunch of other stuff I didn't bother looking at. But since I didn't really read your dossier in anticipation of getting to know you in person, which part of Georgia are you from?"

"A small town you probably never heard of called Madison."

"You're right. Never heard of it." He smirks and then stuffs his face with a forkful of veggies.

"Umm... You have any siblings?"

"I have an older brother and a younger half-brother. You?"

"Younger sister..." Since I can't think of anything to ask the man who I don't care to get to know, I just eat in silence.

"So," he says a few moments later, "a small-town girl attends one of the top party schools in a city so well-known for its debauchery that it's called Tallanasty so that she can study what?"

"I'm actually a dual major. Early childhood education and psychology."

He smiles and nods. "Nice, nice. I figured you weren't the type to major in something useless like gender studies or art."

I smirk with a raised brow. "And why's that?"

"You don't have the social justice warrior vibe, and you come off as intelligent."

"Oh. Thanks."

"You're welcome."

"Umm... What about you? What'd you major in? Business?"

He smiles. "Close. Marketing."

"Ah. So how did you end up running an adult toy store?"

He chuckles. "Was wonderin' how long it'd take for you to ask that." He takes a quick sip of beer. "I actually started the business as an online side hustle in college to make some booze money. At first, I started with supplements. It was hard to break out in that industry due to market saturation, so I moved on to private-labeled fitness gear for women. I did okay with that but couldn't scale up. Sometime during my last semester at UCF, all my porn watching inspired me to look into private labeling sex toys."

"Of course porn inspired you," I mutter.

Scott snickers. "

Of course.

I mean, how else would I have known what was in demand?" A laugh follows. "As soon as I saw how cheap it was to source goods from Alibaba and upcharge them to a few dollars less than what the big brands charged for the same product, I bought the domain for BudoirPlus.com, designed a website, and put my marketing knowledge to work. My first few customers were girls and guys from UCF who found my flyers around campus or who saw the ads on Facebook I posted on different group pages. Shortly after graduation, I was making enough to move out of my dad's house and live comfortably. That's when I formed an LLC. Then, a year later, I was making enough to buy expensive brand goods wholesale and sell them on my site. About a year after that, I had enough to lease a brick-and-mortar store. Not the place you robbed though. My first shop was a smaller place downtown. Didn't move to the current location until almost seven years ago."

"Oh wow. That's actually pretty impressive. Inspiring, even."

He partially bows. "Why thank you. Glad you think so."

"So... You mentioned moving out of your dad's house... May I ask what happened to your mom?"

"Oh. The bitch cheated on my dad and then walked out on us when I was, like, seven. Haven't heard from her since."

"Oh... Geez... I'm so sorry."

He waves me off while finishing his beer. "It's whatever. I've had years to get over it. Decades. I can talk about it."

I nod. "The psychology major in me wants to ask you a question, but I don't know if it's appropriate."

"Ask away, love. Nothing is off the table for the girl who's giving herself to me for well over a month."

My head bobbles. "My question is sort of related to our

deal

..."

He swirls his hand. "Don't be shy. Just ask."

"Umm... your mother cheating on your dad and walking out on you... Is that why you hate women?"

Scott brings his chin to his neck, squints as his posture straightens, and then he snorts. "I don't hate women. What makes you think I hate women?"

"

Scott

... you

blackmailed

me—a fresh out of high school,

barely

legal 18-year-old—into being your sex slave. Why would you do that if you

didn't

hate women?"

"Olivia, I don't

hate

women. I don't even hate my mother for what she did to my dad or for walking out on me or for never reaching out to me after she left. I mean, I

did

for a while, but I let that go during college. There's only one woman I hate, and that's my bitch of an ex-wife who I divorced about three years ago. As for the rest of your gender? I've got nothing but love."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa! Hold on,

you

were

married

?"

"Yup... Wait, why's that so surprising? What, you think I'm that hideous or something?"

"No, you're an okay-looking guy or whatever. It's just... I can't help but see you as anything other than the creep who blackmailed me into sexual servitude, so it's hard for me to picture you as someone capable of being a

loving

,

loyal,

family man who'd wanna settle down."

"Understandable. Asking you to choose between jail, three days working a gloryhole booth, or being mine for six weeks is a bit of a

creep

move that a man of better morals would never propose to a young girl such as yourself."

"I'm glad you can admit that."

He nods once. "What can I say? I'm a perv, like most guys. All the other dudes just pretend they don't have all the same fantasies and kinks. That being said, I'm not some heartless monster. I'm not some evil fuck who makes a practice of forcing women into sex slavery. And that's why I didn't

force

you into this arrangement. I gave you three options, and you agreed to this

after

reading the contract detailing everything I wanted from you. I wasn't deceptive or aggressive. You knew what you'd have to do, and

you chose this willingly,

probably for the same reason you worked so hard to get into a sorority that makes their members get tested for STDs in order to participate in hazing events that require sex acts."