The Basement Read Online Free PDF

been stripped away. She has to do everything you say, without question. Obedience, that's all you require. She must do as she's told.
    “Who are you?” she screams. “What do you want?”
    You smile at her and press your finger against your lips, telling her to be silent.
    Her tone becomes more strident, more aggressive, as if raising her voice is going to make you bend to her will. She's used to dealing with children, or a husband who can be cowed by a hot temper or the threat of a cold bed. She doesn't understand yet, so you smile. You smile and press the finger to your lips. “Shhhh,” you say. There are beads of sweat on her brow and the front of her blouse is damp. You can see her breasts rise and fall as she pants and the sight makes you ache between your legs. It's a longing, a need that you want to satisfy then and there, but you've learned from experience that it's better to wait. The longer the better.
    You used the first few too quickly, and any fulfillment you felt soon faded. Slow is better.
    “You can't keep me here,” she shouts. “I have to go home.”
    The shouting phase doesn't last too long. Shouting works the lungs too hard, too much oxygen goes into the blood and they start to hyperventilate. That's when they stop shouting and start talking. They usually start off by threatening you, then bribing, then pleading. By the time they get to the third stage, they're ready to listen.
    Sarah doesn't stop screaming for a long time. For a while she goes hysterical, her cries become yells and she begins to thrash about, pulling against the chains so hard that the bed moves. You don't want her to hurt herself so you take the stun gun out of your pocket and hold it in front of her. She doesn't react and so you think that maybe she doesn't know what a stun gun is, the damage it can do. You could explain to her, you could tell what 65,000 volts does to the body's neuromuscular system, but she clearly isn't going to be receptive so you decide to give her a demonstration. You hold it up and wave it from side to side to get her attention. It doesn't look much, that's for sure, matte black and hardly bigger than a pack of cigarettes, with a couple of steel prongs like the antenna of some predatory beetle. You press the trigger and blue sparks crackle and sizzle between the prongs and she starts to scream all the louder. That's happened before, but you know that you have to carry on, you have to show her that you're serious or she won't believe the threats you make in future. She has to know that whenever you say you'll do something, that you mean it and won't be talked out of it. She tries to roll away but the chains hold her fast as you step forward, holding the stun gun like a torch. Part of you wants to really hurt her, to push the crackling prongs against the soft white skin of her breasts and hear her scream. Her breasts are wet with sweat so the conduction would be almost perfect and you know the pain would be exquisite but you don't want to mark her. You go up to her right leg and hold her ankle with your hand. She tries to jerk the leg out of your grasp but the chain is already taught and all she does is grind the metal into her flesh. The shiny metal glistens with blood and there are red drops on the sheet.
    You smile at her, press the contacts against the back of her leg and switch it on. Her whole body goes into spasm, her mouth open like she was in orgasm, her back arched like she was experiencing pleasure beyond anything she'd ever known before. When you take the gun away she slumps onto the bed, breathing heavily and dribbling from the side of her mouth.
    You stand by the side of the bed and run the back of your hand against her cheek. She feels soft. So very soft.
    * * *
    I'm working on a scene in the casino in Checking Out, trying to build the tension between the casino owner and the hero, an LAPD bomb disposal expert turned blackjack dealer, when the doorbell rings. There isn't a doorman downstairs,