Free Puppet On A String by Lizbeth Dusseau Page B

inside the strange looking space.
           At first, she thought she might be staring into a painting, or had walked onto a movie set, or flipped back to a past she was far too young to have lived. The scene felt too contrived to be real. But then there was Jessup in an easy chair by one of the glowing lamps, smoking a cigar and chewing on the end.
           “Why did you bring me here?” she asked suspiciously, almost an accusation. She felt curiously annoyed, though she couldn’t understand why.
           “Is that any way to greet me? Here I thought you might enjoy a little civility. I give you a shower, clothes. I thought a drink, a cigarette, maybe a decent meal and a place to sit would please you.”
           The food on the coffee table was real, so was the smell of liquor. Both were very welcome. But what she said in response to these alluring stimulations was, “I don’t smoke.” Her voice was terse and meant to hurt.
           Jessup shrugged. “No matter to me, sit down, Shelby Ryan.”
           She tried sitting in the chair farthest from Jessup but he objected and motioned her to the couch next to him.
           “I won’t hurt you,” he said. “Not now, anyway.”
           He poured her a beer. Suspicion made her reluctant to take the glass and reluctant to drink. But the liquid went down fast as soon as she tasted that first sip; it tasted like freedom on her parched tongue.
           “Eat what you want. This is here for you.”
           She stared at the plate filled with olives and cheese and slabs of beef and succulent grapes. There were even chocolates on the side. The smells were rich and fragrant, rushing into her nostrils. But too much all at once and her senses were quickly overloaded.
           She wanted it all and her famished belly was growling like a hungry bear.
           Though she was ravenous for the beer and she’d made that clear, she was more careful eating the food. An olive at first, then a slice of smoked
Gouda
, then a small cluster of plump red grapes. Her stomach craved more, but she managed to keep her distance from the food, wary of what it might contain. More drugs, no doubt, and she didn’t want to be drugged.
           Her mind shuffled through a dozen questions that naturally popped up in her brain…most of them centered on ‘why?’ Why this? Why now? What are you going to want next?
           Maybe the food was drugged, or maybe it was just its natural essence that turned her ravenous hunger into ravenous desire. But the throbbing for cock was nearly as painful as her hunger; and suddenly the fear of losing a precious moment of physical intimacy made her more careful of how she spoke to her host. She could not afford to offend the man who’d given her beer and food, a clean dress and a clean body. A man who routinely promised her body the sexual release it craved was not one to piss off if the alternative awaiting her was a cold damp cell.
           While
Shelby
ate, Jessup viewed her with the same cruel stare as when he tortured her. But this time was different. This time he wouldn’t dare demand she suffer another session of pain. Or was he just playing her for a fool?
           When it appeared that she was finished eating, he spoke again. “Come sit on my lap.”
           Her eyes got big with question marks, but her body was unable to budge from the sofa and he spoke again, “Come here, I’m not going to hurt you.”
           Would it have mattered if that was his plan? Would it have made any difference as to whether she obeyed or disobeyed? He held her life in his hands. She was his to control, what good would hesitating do her?
           While moving from the sofa to Jessup’s lap, she found the tall heels awkward, almost tripping her up again. She was unused to them; and frankly unused to walking after so many hours on her knees.
           What Jessup wanted was