Page 15 of Driving My Obsession

The woman on my arm guides me to the first booth, but I keep walking toward the one on the end. Too drunk to argue, she follows. We reach the third sex stall and step inside, and she nearly rips the curtain down as she stumbles while closing it. The blonde zombie rights herself, regaining what little composure she has, then stumbles toward me. I have absolutely no interest in a dance. I just needed to get back here. In the same room asher.

Because I’m not done hurting her yet.

I want to break Oaklyn’s soul before I break her body. It will make my revenge that much sweeter when I finally end her.

The blonde turns around and puts her ass on my lap, doing her best to grind against me in the least graceful fashion I’ve ever seen. She spins around and her arms flop over my shoulders like two dead fish. When her sour breath infiltrates my nose, I’ve had enough. I grip her chin between my fingers and squeeze to keep her head from wobbling. She whimpers, taken off guard by my rough touch.

“Get out,” I tell her through gritted teeth.

She stops her pathetic grinding and blinks a few times as her eyebrows pull together. “You can’t be back here without me.” The words come out slurred together, and it takes me a moment to work through the mushy syllables.

“Make up an excuse. Go get me a drink or something.”

“But...but you told me you’d buy a dance.”

I pull out a stack of bills and hand them to her. “You’re paid. Now get the fuck out.”

That seems to satisfy her need to follow the rules, and she finally climbs off my lap. “What do you want to drink?” She’s not the brightest in the bunch, and I don’t think she can pin that on the alcohol.

“I don’t actually want a drink. I want you to get your drunk ass out of this booth, and I’ll be gone before you get to the bar.”

“Okay,” she whispers, walking out on wobbly legs with the wad of money clutched in her dirty fist.

The moment she closes the curtain behind her, I exit my booth and hover outside of Oaklyn’s. Soft moans filter through the purple fabric hanging inches from my face. She’s clearly faking her arousal, but the dude beneath her probably believes every fabricated sound that leaves her perfect lips. I need to know what she’s doing. I need to see it for myself so I can throw more meat to the angry beast snarling in my gut. Feeding my anger will strengthen my resolve. Seeing her for what she is, what shetrulyis, will banish any doubt from my mind.

I turn on my phone’s camera and aim the lens through the crack between the curtain and the doorframe. When I see her pale skin captured within the frame, I look away. I can’t watch what she’s doing to him. Not right now. If I look at that screen, I won’t be able to stop myself from rushing in there and beating them beyond recognition, and that isn’t part of the plan. I record for as long as I can before I get the fleeting feeling that I need to get the fuck out of here. I tuck my phone into my leather jacket and rush out of the club.

The moment I slide into the safety of my Jeep, the phone and its secret video begin burning a hole in my pocket. I pull out the device and stare at the dark screen. Unable to wait until I get home, I push play and hope I captured what I need.

Black panties flash before my eyes, the thin material hardly covering her pussy. I must have bent my wrist a bit while recording because the camera angles away from her lower half and focuses on her tits in some dude’s face. She swings her deep red hair off her shoulder, giving the camera a glimpse of her face. I pause the video and stare at her. My gaze moves from her half-closed eyes to the seductive way she’s biting her lower lip. She almost looks like she’s enjoying it. It’s seductive and slutty. It’s vile.

And it’s making me hard.

I’m not aroused by what I see before me, though it’s arguably one of the sexiest things I’ve ever seen. I’m aroused by the idea my mind has conjured while watching Oaklyn whore herself out—a new step in the plan to bring about her demise.

Lost inside a mental maze of nervous energy, I drive home. It’s similar to what I feel before a big fight, when all the tension grows inside me and seeks an exit. A release. I’ve come up with an outlet for this feeling, and the explosion will be euphoric. The destruction will rival goddamn Hiroshima. The drive home is a blur, and I don’t even care about the glares and sideways glances as I jog through the parking lot and head for my front door. Let them get a good look tonight. I’m too excited about what I plan to do to give a single fuck about their judgment. Once I’m inside, I connect my phone to the computer and begin porting the video over to my hard drive.

I dabbled in a bit of video editing not long ago when Darby wanted me to cobble together a few promos to draw interest online. Putting my recently acquired skills to work, I craft a clip that shows Oaklyn in all her dirty glory, complete with slowed shots and closeups of her face so there is no denying the veracity of what this video contains. I consider throwing some cliche porno music over the top to really sell it, but I want the recipient of this video to take it seriously. I want them to hear each moan and sigh that comes from Oaklyn’s filthy mouth. As a final touch, I throw a clip art acorn into the corner. Like a serial killer, I’ve developed a signature, and I want my name on my work.

I craft a burner email account, find the recipient’s email address, and send the video on its merry way. Energy and anticipation brew and bubble inside me, coming to a rolling boil as I envision the ripple of repercussions this will cause my little tragedy. I rip my pants open, not able to wait a second longer to spill my load to her impending misery and unequivocal embarrassment.

I click on the attachment after I send it, filling my screen with Oaklyn’s body. Fantasies of her devastation fuel each stroke. I only wish I could be there to see her face when she gets the call or the text or the email once her dirty little secret has been pushed into the light of day. Disappointment is too weak for what they’ll feel when they see it.

I stroke myself faster.

And I come to her misery.

When I finally reach hell one day, what I have done will have me sitting on Satan’s lap like he’s Santa. But this is just the beginning. I have so much planned, and it’s only going to get better from here. Well, better for me. For Oaklyn, it will be much, much worse.

ChapterTen

Oaklyn

The worst part about being assaulted at work by your own boss? Facing him every day afterward. At least he hasn’t tried to proposition me again, which I’m glad about, even if I don’t understand what changed. Maybe he’s moved on to one of the fresh-faced eighteen-year-olds who doesn’t have a care in the world. Those impressionable young girls probably enjoy his attention. Puke.

Speak of the devil, Jake slinks into the dressing room as I’m sliding my arms into my jacket so I can get the fuck out of here. “You had a good night tonight,” he says, as if congratulating me on a winning game.

I have nothing to say to him. I don’t even want to look in his direction and give him the satisfaction of my undivided attention. He doesn’t deserve to breathe the same air, so I grip the door handle.

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