“Take a breath…” she whispered to herself, trying to slow her heart rate before she entered the bar.
The lights were low. She struggled to adjust her sight, but after a few minutes she spied him chatting to the bartender, nursing a scotch. She took a stool two spaces down from him and ordered, “I’ll have what he’s having,” nodding towards her prey.
He glanced over at her, “You have good taste. It’s on me,” then to the bar man, “I’ll have another too.”
“Thank you, that’s very generous. I’m Jules,” she extended her hand and smiled at him.
“Mac.” His hand swallowed hers in a tight grip, “Are you waiting on someone?”
“Nope, all on my lonesome tonight I’m afraid.”
“You needn’t be. I’m not going anywhere.”
She felt her heart race as she slid over onto the stool next to him. She was in…
She giggled as she unlocked her front door. They spilled in drunkenly; he stumbled and tripped, landing hard on her tiled hallway.
“Fuck, I must have had more than I realised,” he sighed as she helped him to his feet.
“Come on, you need to lie down,” she pulled him upstairs and into her bedroom.
He leered at her, “You taking me to bed then are you?” and reached for her. She deftly sidestepped him and pushed him down on the bed.
“Come on, you know you want to,” he groaned, hands in the air trying to grab her again.
“I’m not a b…” his world faded to grey.
After undressing him and tightly securing his wrists and ankles to the bed frame with rope, she made coffee as he snored and revised her plan. She had been careful to make him think she was matching him drink for drink, adding an extra shot of scotch from her bag to his glass whenever he went to the gents. Now she was ready for the next stage.
“What the…!” he gasped as the ice cold water hit his face, rudely pulling him back to consciousness.
He tried to sit up.
“What the fuck?” his eyes widened as it dawned on him that he was completely restrained, “What’s happening?”
A slow smile spread across her face, “We are going to play a game… I’m in charge.”
She bent over and picked up the knife from the under the bed, relishing the flash of fear in his eyes.
“Untie me. Now!” he strained against the black rope that bound him.
“Oh I don’t think that’s going to happen, Mac…” she trailed the tip of the blade up along his calf, continuing to his inner thigh and pausing just before it touched his balls, “Just think of all the things I could do to you now,” she whispered, pressing the tip into his skin.
“Jesus! Are you fucking mad?” he gasped, trying but failing to twist his body away.
“Do you think it’s wise to be so rude to me right now?” she swiftly flicked the knife up and pressed it against his throat, “Well?”
She watched his Adam’s apple as he swallowed hard. She saw beads of sweat break out on his forehead and smiled, “You really don’t remember me do you?”
He frowned, a confused expression washed over his face. She felt the rage building inside her.
“Did you honestly think a fit young woman like me would pick up an old man like you in a bar? Really? Can you be that egotistic?” her voice trembled as she struggled to control her anger, “Look at yourself! How old are you now? 60?” She pointed the blade at his crotch, “I see that you dye your hair these days, but not down here… Aw, look at how tiny your pathetic cock is?”
Once again she pressed the knife onto his skin, buried the tip in his grey bush. He whimpered, “Please, I don’t know what you want from me…”
She took a breath, striving to stop herself from piercing his skin with the knife.
“What I want? Ha! What I want is to make you feel as scared and powerless as you made me feel… is anything coming back to you yet… well, Sir, or should I say Mr. MacDonald?”
His face drained completely of blood. She watched the slow dawning of recognition cross his face, followed by sheer panic.
“Jules… Julianne? Is it you?” his voice so low she almost couldn’t hear him.
She closed her eyes.
Nausea swept over her as she was transported her back to the school art room, empty but for the two of them. He had asked her to stay back to help him tidy the supplies away. As she gathered pastels and charcoal she heard the distinct click of the door locking and turned to see him walking towards her.
“We are going to play a game Julianne,” he had said, pushing her down to the floor, his hand around her throat, “Do. Not. Make. A. Sound.”
Opening her eyes she replied to him, her voice ice cold, “You told me to not make a sound but you can scream all you like. My neighbours are out of town and no-one ever comes by this way,” she began to cut into the skin on his chest, drawing thin rivulets of blood, “No-one will hear you.”
He screamed, a high-pitched wail as she cut deeper, dragging the dagger further down his body.
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