Page 69 of Corrupt Game

I wandered about the whole place, looking at different clocks and pictures. Exploring in a way that I hadn’t been able to before. If he came in and caught me, I would just say I was curious.

It should cover up any issues as I hadn’t been trying to escape or speak to anyone that I wasn’t supposed to.

The door to his office was open, and I stuck my head in, unable to resist the temptation. It couldn’t hurt to hope to get a little bit better idea of the man of mystery.

There were several thank you cards attached to a bulletin board. Curious, I opened them. Several were from employees thanking him for taking care of their families during medical emergencies.

There was one from a little boy on the cancer ward who didn’t make a wish because he didn’t want to choose which land to travel to. In reality, Ian had been the one who supplied the wish by giving him a virtual video game so that he could travel to all the lands he’d always wanted to go to without ever leaving his hospital bed.

These things weren’t the signs of a man that would murder someone in cold blood—unless he was able to compartmentalizevery efficiently which could be the case since he kept his assistant locked in the basement at night.

I’d been willing to assume that he was a sexual deviant and had other hidden sex kinks he didn’t want others to know about.

But there was nothing that indicated it might be the case. How did it match up with him speaking to Andy and then being found dead three days later?

I was so uncertain of how to proceed when I heard the front door open.

Carefully putting the card back on the bulletin board. I walked out to greet him.

“Ah, there you are. Are you ready for dinner?” I nodded and went to take my seat on the floor. I’d become trained like one of Pavlov’s dogs to respond to the dinner bell.

Chapter 22: Collette

I needed sex. All of it. Not just the words, or promises, I wanted to feel a warm body on top of me.

Ian could provide all of that. Yet he wasn’t, and it was driving me insane.

Even though he stopped touching me, for all intents and purposes, I was still his professional assistant in the workplace five days a week, and then nights and weekends it was back to the torture chamber. Except that now, it was a more pleasant form of torture. One that I looked forward to instead of hating.

He continued to use his other methods of torture that I’d never experienced before. It was a new way to try and break me. Rather than taking away things, he was giving me things.

Freedom. Well, more of it compared to what I’d had just weeks ago. It was as if he thought that by buying me things and lettingme out of the basement, it was going to make up for the lack of sex.

How sad was it that I now equated sexual fantasies with the real thing? I needed to get a life.

It appeared that he was giving me a moment to adjust to working before regaling me with more stories of sexual pleasure.

I could do both. I wanted to scream at him to pay attention to me again.

All day at the office, I did my best to get his attention, breaking my own rules.

While we had a lot of work to do, I would make sure to bend over farther than needed so that my cleavage was right there in line with his vision.

I found myself dropping things so I could pick them up with my ass in the air.

It seemed like I might have gotten through to him when I stood up and thought he had heat in his eyes. My core heated at the possibility.

Although, I thought I was imagining it until he started to up the ante that evening.

After another touchless dinner, my frustration was growing. Not only did I hate that I craved his touch, but I didn’t want to touch myself and give him the satisfaction of watching me. After two weeks of no caresses or sexual fantasies, I was practically vibrating with sexual frustration and tension.

It didn’t help that he’d chosen that meal to start a new type of fantasy.

“I’ll take your body and use silk cords to tie your hands to the headboard so that you can’t move. Using more of the same silkchords on your ankles, I’ll lightly tie them to the bed using the loops there for that purpose.”

“A match strikes and I can see the fear and worry in your eyes about what I might do with a flame over your body,” he leaned over and whispered, hot breath racing over my skin.

“Instead, I light a candle, waiting for the wick to catch. Then I begin to drip the candle wax, leaving small drops all over your breast.”

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