#aldishodge fanfic

[tvchi]

The Rhythm of You

Disclaimers: DO NOT COPY OR REPOST MY WORK. DO NOT TRAIN AI WITH MY WORK.

Warnings: Mature Audiences ONLY: Minors DNI- Profanity, Use of the N word. Pairing: black male x black female Words: 5,419k

A/N: Hey yall hey. Happy Holidays and a Very Happy New Year to you all. I've been gone for a minute, and now I'm back with the jump off/goons in the club case--- my fault; let me get serious. During the holiday season, I took some intentional time off to be present with family and get some much needed rest. I've been enjoying so many other fanfics, liking and reblogging them for your viewing pleasure, so please check them out. When I got back, work just steamrolled me, and then I found myself reminiscing about the past with friends and fantasizing about this new fic. It just wouldn't leave me alone and I found myself disengaging from Terry's drama to look into an unexpected chapter in Aldis' life (lol). I will be writing part 4 of Veiled Intentions soon don't worry!

Summary: Aldis has been working really hard and had finally finished Season 1 of Cross. I had been a grueling 10 months filming this role and getting into character. Now, he can finally decompress and return to the one thing that means the world to him, his baby girl. Everything was all figured out until he met someone unexpected, someone alluring, someone who will add a much needed song to the soundtrack of his life.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------- Delicate golden embers arose from the stringed lights hung all over the ceiling. Their glow illuminated the bodies that swayed underneath. The sounds of the speakers blaring the Top 40 hits now transitioned to R&B. The calm electricity throughout the room brought a warm buzz to my chest. It was a sight to behold. Everyone I had grown close to over the past couple of years gathered under this two-story NY loft to celebrate the significant milestone. It made me smile. 

I usually enjoy the wrap of all of my work. It gives me time to pause, decompress, reflect on the journey, make a little time to note what I could have done better, and dig deep inside myself to practice the celebration of all of the things I had done right. Taking on this role was a huge undertaking, but I got it right. Really right. I was already getting calls offering me other roles in other limited series. I even got offered a chance to make my directorial debut on a project that I’ve had my eye on for a while.

Knocking back another swig of my drink. I couldn’t help smiling at the thought of going home and hugging my daughter tight.  It was a wrap ritual for me. Ever since she was born, I’ve been obsessed with the little extension of myself. The way she looked up at me, face pressed tightly against my chest, asking me all kinds of questions and clinging to every answer. I thought I knew love until I held her.  

I downed the last of my drink and started saying my goodbyes. It wasn’t until I had hugged the last person that I heard the commotion coming from the dancefloor. They were playing some song featuring Kehlani, the only voice I recognized at the moment, and it was smooth. Curious, I let my feet guide me to the edge of the formed crowd. I stepped in closer, and that is when I saw …her. 

Her skin was a toffee brown, and under the streams of warm light, she glowed. The second thing I noticed was how she seemed to glide around the enclosed circle she maneuvered around. It was almost as if her feet weren’t even hitting the floor. Where her feet went, her hips trailed behind, snaking around, causing her ass to tick and shake precisely as the percussion dropped. She was in perfect sync with the beat. There came a point where she switched her movements to emulate the rhythm of the words the artists’ crooned. She turned around to where I was standing, body still enthralled by the trance of the song, and started mouthing the words. 

The way she moved her hands to trace the outline of her hills and valleys enticed something in my carnal nature. My eyes wouldn’t move from her. Her eyes fluttered open and closed, influenced by the song's sentiment. If she were the premise of the music video, this song would win so many awards. I continued watching her intently, and then she suddenly peered up at me, still mouthing the words of the song and moving those perfectly sculpted hips and thighs. She snaked to the right and folded over, allowing the right side of the room a full view of a plump, round ass and the rest of us a delectable side view. Her eyes never left me. It was almost like she was daring me to make my way over to her and dance with her. My feet remained planted where they were, and I just stared, wondering how she would look doing this routine in my bedroom— on my dick. 

My thoughts were interrupted by my castmate and newfound brother, Isaiah, coming up to my right. “Incredible,” he said, practically moaning.

“Who is she?”

“I don’t even know. The little intel I was able to pick up from some of the cast mates who were familiar with her was that she’s a choreographer or dancer or something. She came as a plus on.”

The DJ continued to egg her on while transitioning to ‘Can I’ by Kehlani. She started another routine that didn’t seem routine at all. Isaiah and I kept our eyes glued to her every movement. Again, she seemed entranced by the rhythm of the song. She looked like she was… home. 

After the song went off and the DJ transitioned to another song, she straightened up and peered around at the small crowd cheering for her. She blushed, waved a vote of thanks, and whispered something to Golden Madison, another of our castmates. I'm not sure how or why, but my feet started moving toward the pair. I could sense that Isaiah wasn’t far behind. 

“No, girl, you can’t leave now. You are literally the life of the party, and the night is young!” I overheard Golden saying.

“I agreed to be your plus one on one of my sacred days off to congratulate you and love on you. It’s almost 2 am; I think I’ve done my fair share of ‘plus-oneing’. I need to get to my bed,” the mystery girl said playfully.

“Please, we’ll leave in like another hour or so. I promise,” Golden begged.

“Girl! I have errands to run and other things to do tomorrow. I have to go, but I love you deep! I’m so proud of you!” the girl kissed. Golden pouted and noticed Izzy and I standing there. 

“Hey yall,” Golden squeaked. Her friend turned around to see who Golden was speaking to, and our eyes locked for the second time tonight. 

“Hey, Goldie,” I said.

“I thought you left already. I know you don’t stay out late much,” she stated.

“Yea, I was on my way out, and then I heard all the commotion coming from the dancefloor and thought I’d see what was going on,” I replied.

“And there was a lot going on,” Izzy chimed, staring suggestively at the girl we both couldn’t take our eyes off of.

“My girl is and has ALWAYS been the truth!”

“Does your girl have a name?”

“Yea, you not gonna introduce us? Rude!”

“Shut up, Izzy. Aldis, Izzy, this is my best friend Amara. Amara, these clowns are the co-stars of the Alex Cross, Alex and Izzy,”

“It’s nice to meet you both,” she shook our hands. Hers were so soft, and her handshake was firm. I held her hand a little longer than customary before letting her go. The absence of the warmth of her hand when I let go of her instantly felt unnatural. Wrong even. 

“Goldie, I gotta go. Love you,” Amara said, turning toward Goldie

“Ugh, you’re being so lame!” Goldie let out in frustration.

The DJ started playing ‘Hot’ by Efosa. I watched her close her eyes in loathing. She turned to Goldie and said, “This is my damn song, and I feel like you told him to play this!”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Goldie said, feigning innocence. “If you going then, go!”

Amara lets out a long sigh. The next thing I knew, my right hand was in hers, and she was leading me back onto the dancefloor. She laid it on me. Her hips moved left and right. She planted her ass directly where my dick laid dormant until — now. Looking at the view of her sculpted, exposed lower back up close while she practically whined on my member was mesmerizing. Her hips rotated clockwise then, suddenly with the change of the synths, counterclockwise like she pressed rewind on her previous movement. 

She was a force, and I desperately tried to keep up with her while taking her all in. I was pretty sure pre-cum was leaking all in my boxers as I watched her ass ripple up and down as I collided with her. I needed to make her mine, to have the pleasure of being inside her, to learn every twist and turn of that body. By the end of the song, I didn’t care that she was feeling how hard I was at this point. This was all her doing. At the final climax of the song, she threw her head back and tilted to the left to look back at me as she wiggled her ass at warped speed to match the beat. I was gone. 

She owned me, and she knew it. When the DJ transitioned, she gave a final bump to my third leg with her ass and rose to her full height. She walked to Goldie and hugged her, followed by a kiss on her cheek. My feet were still planted where they were, missing her warmth and showcasing a hefty hard-on. While walking towards the exit, she glanced at me and flashed a knowing smile. Then she was gone.

“Daaaaaaaaamn, bruh. She left and put the $200 on the dresser, cuz the way she was handling you back there, you definitely got fuck,” he said laughing. He was right, and there was nothing I could do about it. I should’ve ran after her and asked for her information but I couldn’t move. I couldn’t think. I just felt. 

————————————————————————-

“Hey baby, what you doing?” Looking at my greatest accomplishment with pride and joy. According to her teachers, she’s ahead of the class in all her subjects. They’ve been testing her to see whether she can skip classes. It was fascinating watching her in her element. 

“I’m building a house,” she answered curtly, zipping around to find another piece to glue on. One thing I loved about babygirl was the fact that she did her own thing. It didn’t bother her that the other girls her age were more preoccupied with tea parties and painting their nails. She liked those things, too, but she also loved working with her hands and playing basketball with the other boys in the neighborhood. 

She didn’t let the other kids push her around either. You never knew what you were going to get with her. One day, she demanded to go to school in her “princess gown,” the next day, she would wear a snapback, jeans, and the pair of Jays we got together. Her mom thought she sometimes dressed like me when she missed me the most. That was another subject… her mom. 

“Ok, well, I want my room facing the backyard. I don’t wanna hear all that noise from the street. Oh, and make sure you hook me up, too. I want a big-screen TV in there.”

“Imma do your room last cause you ain't say ‘please’! That's rude, Daddy.”

I chuckled. “That’s fair, babygirl. That’s fair. My bad. Please and thank you.”

“Mhmm. Now that your movie is done, how long you staying this time?”

“I’m going be here until I get another role that I wanna do, then it’s the usual. I take the meetings and talk to some people, and if they like me, they’ll tell me when I start.”

“They always like you, Daddy. You’re the best!”

I beamed. “Thank you, baby girl. That means a lot coming from you. They can give me all the awards they want to, but–”

“But if you don’t get one from me, then nothing matters. I know, Daddy. You say that every time.” She smiled, and half rolled her eyes.

“That’s because I mean it!” I exclaimed, tapping her nose with my index finger.

“I know.”

“So now that you got me all to yourself for a while, what you wanna do?”

“Well, Imma finish the house, then maybe later you can make me a burger cause imma be hungry. After that, we can go to the movies. After that, maybe we can go to a basketball game. Eric said ain't no way I’m going to the Knicks game. I told him that my daddy takes me when he’s home, and he called me a liar. So we gotta go to the Knicks game so I can see Karl-Anthony, then we gotta take pictures so he can shut up. After that, I wanna go to the skating rink because Tina and Tasha said we gotta get good by the summer so we can skate outside. Then after that—”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. I see you got a lot of plans. Tell you what, for today, I’ll leave you to your house and get the burgers ready. We’ll go to the movies later on tonight. Tomorrow, we can go to Home Depot and get some lights and other stuff to hook your house up. How’s that sound?”

“YAAAAAAAY!!! Daddy, how you know I wanted to put some lights in here?!?!”

“Cause you been on the computer watching YouTube videos of mini houses and how to put lights up,” I replied with a smirk.

“You can see that?”

“I can see everything, babygirl. Remember that.” I finished, giving her a peck on the forehead, and headed downstairs to the kitchen.

I worked quickly, seasoning the ground turkey and forming the patties. They were ready in no time. While working on the last batch of seasoned fries, my phone rang.

“Nigga, whatchu doing?” Isaiah blurted.

“Me and babygirl finna eat these burgers. What’s good?” I declared, gazing proudly at the meal I drummed up.

“Oh, so you back? Good,” he asked, referring to my choice to stay another week in LA to decompress before flying back to New York.

“Yea I got back in yesterday.”

“Yea, well, remember lil mama from the wrap party?”

“Who?”

“Nigga, the one you was drooling over. Don’t play like you don’t know who I’m talking about.”

I laughed sheepishly. I couldn’t forget her if I tried. “Whatever. Wussup?”

“Uh huh, anyway, I saw her at one of the studios on Kingston Ave in the Heights.” I marveled at how your friend, who was anxious about riding the subway just last month when he first got here, is rattling off streets in Brooklyn like a pro even though he lives in Harlem. I loved how he was getting comfortable in a place that would always be home.

“And what were you doing in Brooklyn?” I asked curiously.

“Never you mind what I was doing in Brooklyn. Did you hear what I said? Your girl is dancing her fine ass up and down Brooklyn with some brown-skinned Dominican muthafucka! You talmbout ‘what you doing in Brooklyn’? Anyway, I just texted you the address to the dance studio. Make your way over there.”

“Uh huh, leave that Zina girl alone, nigga. You’re married. I ain't gon’ tell you bout that shit no more. Tighten up!” I snapped. 

As much as I loved having Isaiah in my city, bending blocks, booking gigs, and getting closer, he’s been losing his way. I’ve always looked up to him in more ways than one. He held so much knowledge and experience. Lately, I’ve noticed him putting off his responsibilities to his house and home. Especially when it came to Zina, a 39-year-old creative director of Epic Records who worked closely with us on the soundtrack of Cross. 

She lived in Brooklyn and returned home 2 weeks before we wrapped. Isaiah was supposed to go home and spend time with his wife and two kids. Instead, he bought a brownstone in Harlem and moved some of his things out here.  I pressed him about his sudden decision, and he said that he needed some time to think and that Lisa agreed. I knew there was more to the story, but I didn’t press him. 

I introduced him to some of my friends and showed him around so that he would get more acclimated. Sometime later, I heard he was running up to Brooklyn to see some girl. I started putting two and two together. When I finally confronted him, he fell silent and told me to let him straighten his shit out, and he would let me do the same with mine. I left him knowing that I disapproved and that if I was asked, I wouldn’t lie to him. Now, I see none of my words struck a chord with him. 

“Yea whatever, nigga. Get to that studio.” he said and hung up. I pondered what would be the reason for me to barge into a dance studio with my size and build. I did not want to make it obvious that I was there for her but I needed to see her. I wasn’t sure why. 

After getting babygirl fed, we headed to the movies. Wicked was a dope movie. Babygirl and I discussed the different themes and lessons she picked up in the film. This girl was so bright and full of life. I couldn’t believe how perfect she was. Blessed and proud, I couldn’t even begin to cover it. Next morning, we did our morning routine of hygiene, outfit choices, breakfast, and affirmations, and I dropped babygirl off at school. 

“Aye, man, you the guy from Underground, right?” I heard a voice say as I entered one of my favorite coffee shops. I turned around to face him.

“Yea, man. How you doing?”

“Oh man, my girl gon flip. She loves you. You dope or whatever. Can I get a pic witchu?”

“Yea man, C’mon”

We took a couple of pictures, and I dapped him up. I told him about Cross, and he said he would spread the word. I reached the counter to order my favorite drink, and my favorite barista was there.

“Oh, shit, everybody. My favorite actor after Denzel is here!” Assata shouted.

“Here you go! You gotta do that every time I come up here? You know I’m tryna be incognegro” I responded, feigning annoyance.

“Shut up. You love my announcements, and I love doing ‘em”

“Whatever, ya pops and Man man here. I wanted to say wussup to them real quick before I start a little bit of work.”

“Al, you just finished working. When you gonna take a minute to breathe? Enjoy that little girl before you jet off.”

“First of all, you in my business. Second, babygirl says ‘hey’ and that the last time she came in here and got a hot chocolate Man Man made it too hot, and she burned her tongue. So I’m here to beat his ass. Next, I did take time to decompress but I got a baby now and like everybody else, I’m tryna make sure everybody eats. Lastly, go get ya Pops!”

“Mhmm. You ain’t gotta jump down my throat. I’m just saying that you can take more than a week and some change to relax and enjoy your accomplishments,” she said, making her way to the back room. 

A second later, Pops, aka Mr. Johnson, came from behind. As far as I was concerned, he was part of the family. My family had been coming to his coffee shop and bakery since I was a kid. He looked out for me when my own father was busy working three jobs, and when we didn’t have what we needed for school, he looked out in every way possible. Every time I’m home, I make sure I see him and see if he needs anything. He always declines my help, but I always end up getting my way. 

We spoke for a while about what was going on in the neighborhood and how he kept getting incessant calls trying to get him to sell his property. I knew from how he spoke about the neighborhood and this shop that he would never sell. He wasn't going anywhere if I had anything to do with it. He was one of the few black businesses left in the neighborhood and probably the only one that wasn’t drowning in massive debt. I saw to that. 

After an hour or so, I excused myself and headed to one of the tables across from the window to start looking at a list of upcoming films and shows that have been greenlit and looking to cast. Then, I took a couple of meetings and started finishing up some work I had been putting off for my side projects. Everybody knows I keep a job. I was always working. At first, it started out as a way to get out of debt and make sure that I was never homeless or destitute again. Then, I kept going because I feared that everything I had could be taken from me at any moment, and I needed something. Then I started making excuses about why I couldn’t sit still. That reminded me I had to check in with my guy Mark for our therapy session I had to reschedule. 

When that was completed, I googled the address Isaiah sent me. Google maps street view allowed me to see the inside and outside of the building. It was definitely of a modern design. It also looked like it doubled as a community center for the youth. Going down a rabbit hole, I learned about the studio's founder and watched a couple of interviews about the community center and why it was founded. Then she appeared. 

Amara Omena talked about how the center was a refuge for her to explore her talent as a dancer when her parents admonished and banished her from their home when she stood firm in her decision to pursue dancing full-time instead of becoming an engineer. I was transfixed as she spoke and couldn’t peel my eyes from hers. I also wondered what kind of people would force their kids out in the cold because they wanted to go for their dreams. 

I thought to babygirl, and how I would be over the moon if she told me that she wanted to dance or be a plumber… shit, she could tell me that she wanted to sell her collection of rocks, and I would find a way for her to make that happen. My heart felt for Amara in more ways than one. Before I knew what was happening, I was on the phone with the center's founder and told them I would be there on Monday. I discussed a couple of other things with them and hung up. 

The weekend came and went and babygirl and I went everywhere she could possibly think to go. I even went back to the coffee shop and play-fought Man Man for making babygirl’s hot chocolate too hot. I threatened to whoop his ass again if he burned my baby. Babygirl got a kick outta that. I dropped her off at her mom’s house, hopped on the A express, got off at Hoyt-Schermerhorn, then got on the C and rode that down to Crown and Utica station. As I walked to Kingston Ave, I took in the sights. 

There were some new establishments, but I was glad to see that some of the old ones I grew up with were still there. I made a mental note to take babygirl to the Brooklyn Museum. Finally, I arrived at the Kingston Community Center and went inside. I signed in at the front desk and asked the receptionist where I could sit while I waited for Dr. Simmons to meet me.

“I know you, baby. You don’t need to sign in. I already told Dr. Simmons that you were here when I saw you walking up, witcho fine ass. She’s coming down,” the receptionist said, winking at me. I chuckled.

“Thank you ma’am”

“Anything for you, baby. My name is Linda Brentwell, but everybody calls me Ms. Lee. You single?” she asked. I choked, caught off guard. This woman was firmly in her 60s and flirting with me unabashedly. 

“That’s enough, Ms. Lee. Thank you,” a voice said from behind her. “Hell,o Mr. Hodge, I’m Dr. Simmons. We spoke over the phone.”

I shook her hand. “Nice to meet yo,u Dr. Simmons”

“Follow me. The kids are down the hall,” she announced. 

She told me how grateful she was to receive a call from me and how much it would mean to the kids. She gave me a working itinerary of how the day would go. I spoke with the kids first, signing autographs. They’d watch an episode of Underground, and then I would get a tour of the facility. I chopped it up with the kids and had a blast. I knew babygirl was a riot, but these kids were talented and full of life. They came from all kinds of bullshit out there, and despite everything, they found some semblance of hope and peace at the center. 

Its establishments like these mean everything to the community. I made a mental note of everything the kids said about the place and assured them this wouldn’t be the last they saw of me. I took a picture with each of them and then gave them autographs. I’ll tell my assistant to check in with the center and give the kids goodie bags.  

A teen named Keith waited for me by the door to give me a tour of the center. I chopped it up with him as we walked around the building. I asked him to deviate from the routine and to show me the dance studio last. He mentioned how a generous donor, a contact from one of the instructors of the dance studio, helped remodel the building, which gave them a lot of space.  It was about 6:30pm when we finally made it to the dance studio.

It was on the 4th floor and bathed in a soft, amber sunset that filtered through the tall windows, casting elongated shadows on the polished wooden floor. The air was thick with the scent of fresh wood and a hint of sweat, the lingering evidence of hours of movement—the walls lined with floor-to-ceiling mirrors. A single barre ran the length of one side, worn smooth by countless hands. At the far end, a stereo system hummed, its speakers poised like silent sentinels.  

A bin was riddled with worn ballet shoes, jazz heels, and some tap shoes. Gym bags and jacks piled next to the cubbies found next to the door.  The loud thud of landing jumps and shifting feet quickly hit your ears when you opened the door. I looked around until I spotted her. Her hips swayed and shifted to the beat, the familiar sight melting my resolve. The choreographer’s next formation led her to the front, where she twirled, leaped in the air, and landed in a split.

“Damn,” is all that escaped me as I watched her pop her ass in the split and look directly into the mirror. She knew exactly what she was doing, making me wonder what else she knew. “I know. Amara is cold. You see all the dudes we passed getting to the door?” “Yea” “They here to watch her. Every time. They stay on her body,” he said. “Is that right?” “On God.”

That bit of information only strengthened my resolve to make sure that I was the only one “on her body,” as he put it. 

“Class. We have a special guest with us today. Everyone say ‘Hello’ to Mr. Aldis Hodge, actor, philanthropist, artist, and watchmaker,” she finished as everyone clapped. I gestured my vote of thanks for their warm welcome.

“Thank you so much for your warm welcome. Wait, hold up. How did you know I made watches and painted them? Let me find out if you've been stalkin a brother,” I joked. The room erupted in laughter. I looked at her, and a small smile crept onto her face. “I was given a great tour. Keith did an excellent job, and we stopped by the studio last to see if I could get some time to learn a few moves real quick.”

“We’d be honored to have you. Here, you can partner with one of our finest, Amara.” “Only if it isn’t a bother,” I posited, looking at her. “No. Not at all,” she said softly. “Alright, y'all all since Mr. Hodge is joining us, we will take it down and practice or choreo to Toni’s ‘You’re Makin’ Me High,’” the instructor, who answered to the name Jamaica, said. She went over the first part of the choreography step by step. It was simple enough, even though I got a couple of chuckles and redirects from Amara. After a couple of individual practices, we all came together and rehearsed them. For someone who only two steps, ya boi was getting it in. I didn’t look out of place. When I got to pull Amara in and dance with her, I felt the same rush I felt two months ago when she took my breath away with the whining of her waist. 

Can’t get my mind off you/ Think I might be obsessed/ The very thought of you makes me wanna get undressed/ I wanna be with you in spite of what my heart says/ I guess I want you too bad…

Toni was speaking my exact sentiments through the speakers, which must have shown because once we were done with steps, a round of applause erupted. 

“Okay, chemistry!!! Mr. Hodge, how long you gonna be in town because we may need you to perform this with us?” Jamaica asked. Reluctantly I broke eye contact with Amara in order to answer Jamaica. “I can move some things around. Let me know what yall need.” “Oh, don’t tell me that 'cause I’mma hit your line about it too!” “I got you,” I replied, looking back at Amara. 

I learned a couple of other things, and by the time the class was over, I had come out of my quarter zip and drenched my beater. I walked over to get a towel.

“Of all the dance studios in Brooklyn, you walk into this one?” I heard a voice beside me say. I removed the towel from my face to look at her. “Aint that something?” She looked at me intently. “You aren’t following me, are you?” “You cute and all, but I don’t need to stalk women to speak to them,” I replied. I lied. She wasn’t cute, she was gorgeous. The way a single bead of sweat curved around her brown slid down her temple and cheek, and curved down her jaw made me want to lick it. While it was a happy coincidence that Isaiah’s cheating ass happened to run into her going into the studio, the rest was all me. I definitely was looking into her and learning all I could about her. She looked at me momentarily, said, “Ok then,” and turned on her heels. I fucked up. I didn’t want to make it seem as though I wasn’t interested at all, but that was the energy it was giving. I had to save the moment. 

“But since we are both here and it’s late, is there a place you like to go to grab something to eat?” I asked, hoping this would bring the conversation back to a good place. “The bodega around the corner has bomb sandwiches.” “You wanna walk together?” “You cute and all, but I usually don't go with men places unless I know them.” “So you think I’m cute?” “I think you’re capable of finding a bodega and getting a sandwich.” 

I smirked. “You got it. If you change ya mind, that’s where I’ll be headed.” I cleaned myself off, threw on my quarter zip and jacket, and headed down with Keith. After saying goodbye to Keith and the other kids waiting to be picked up, I headed to the bodega she had mentioned. There was a high possibility that I fucked things up back there, but something in me hoped— prayed she would just see it as nerves and come anyway. 

When I got to the bodega, I placed my order and got two more orders. I walked around the store and stopped in the back. I pulled out my phone and checked a couple of texts. I got two drinks out of the fridge and returned to the side of the store where they were making the sandwiches. Like clockwork, the store manager came out to inspect the ground. He was orange with long whiskers and a striped tail. If you’re in NY and you don’t see a bodega cat, be suspicious.  “Papi, ya order is next," said the Bodega owner. “Thank you.” I went back to check my phone to pass the time. I responded to one email about a potential role and thought about some others. “Three orders? You just knew I was coming, huh!”  I heard from behind me. I turned around, and there she stood.

--------------------------------------------------------- Thanks for reading this very elaborate meet-cute and hopefully the start of yet another series that I will finish (lol). I've tagged everyone that I could remember too, but if you're coming across me for the first time and want to be tagged in this fic or any others, please comment and let me know you wanna be tagged!

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[tvchi]

FINALLY

Yall I am all caught up! Finally able to go back to writing and reading fics in real time! Thank Ya, Lord!!!! In case you’ve been looking for Veiled Intentions, the next drop will be in January. However, I am cooking up a new Aldis Hodge/Alex Cross fic that I love and sprinkles a little bit of me in it. I’ve been reading a ton, trying to meet my reading goal for this year (60 books. Shooting for 100 next year!), and working (I’ve been on call this holiday season). There’s been a lot going on but I can’t wait to write!

[tvchi]

Echoes of Intrigue: Prt 2

Villan

Lola

Melpomene mask

Disclaimers: DO NOT COPY OR REPOST MY WORK.

DO NOT TRAIN AI WITH MY WORK.

Warnings: Mature Audiences ONLY: SMUT, 18+, Minors DNI- Kidnapping, Bondage, Sensory deprivation, Fingering (F), Spanking, Gagging, Anal probing, Use of sex toys, Profanity.

Pairing: black male x black female

Word Count: 5706

A/N: So I'm fairly new to writing fan fiction and new to writing short stories. I began writing poetry and spoken word, then tried my hand at prose. I've been reading a lot of @megamindsecretlair 's stories as well as @thecapodomme 's story and I thought I'd try my hand. I have posted another short story that wasn't really fan fiction on my page before called The Challenge. I didnt cast it or anything this elaborate, but yea. I'm trying to get better at writing more stories and prompts really help. Casting my stories after writing them actually helps to keep me motivated so I thought this was a good marriage of the two forms. This story currently consists of two parts, this is the second. If this part gets positive feedback, then I'll force myself to develop the story even further and write the third and fourth part. Your feedback is greatly appreciated because I'm really trying to get better. So Like, Comment, and Reblog if the spirit moves you. ❤️❤️���

Tags: @thecapodomme @writers-of-tmblr @melaninpov @spaceslutsworld @nahimjustfeelingit-writes @mymusicbias @the-black-label @master-builder42 @miraculously-dumb-bitch @megamindsecretlair @hopefulromantic1 @tranquilfandomer @thadelightfulone @vivalaorgasm

PART 2

My body stiffens as I listen to her last words. Then I head back out of the room and into the surveillance office I set up. I peer at her through the computer screen as I sit on the leather swivel chair. I had always thought that this part would be easy. 

Following her after work and memorizing her routine had been tough. She was not the easiest to monitor as she often switched her routine and routes home. Waiting for the perfect time to take her was difficult because she always had people around her. This was not the first time this happened to her. That had been the thrilling part in the beginning. One day, I was tailing her from her favorite hangout spot with her girlfriends on Thursday nights. She looked breathtaking. Her doe eyes had the perfect golden-brown hue with inner corners that tipped downward, starting a trail to her perfect button nose. Her full lips were naturally outlined in a warm brown hue. Her skin was radiant and glowing as the sunset. Her hair was full and bouncy, riding just past her shoulders. Her body. Her body was the thing men go to war or jail over. I’ve seen pictures and video clips of her before. They were always after she was caught and released. She would look disheveled, tired, and angry, then sad. She never looked the way I saw her that day. 

When I originally signed up for this, it was the adrenaline rush of possibly getting caught by the police that got me. They were familiar with her and her case. Who doesn’t love the possibility of real danger? Forbidden fruit? The thrill, the race, the fear in someone’s eyes, hurried breaths, the racing of heartbeats. But the feeling I feel today is entirely different, and I am unsure where to place it. It’s not remorse, it’s not trepidation, no. It was more like… sympathy?  Rage? Disgust? Again, I wasn’t sure. Today, she is deflated. She has given up fighting and as she bleeds out for hours on end every day, getting weaker and weaker, she seems resigned to die. She jokes, but she acts like this may be her last time talking to someone. They assured me that she would be a fighter. But the more and more I discovered about the people who set this all up, the more doubts I had. The more I started delaying the process. The more I found myself feeling something for her.  My thoughts were interrupted by the phone buzzing in my pocket. If I didn’t call my girlfriend’s phone around the usual times, things would look suspicious and the key to this is to maintain routine. I scroll to her number on the screen and tap. It rings five times before going to voicemail. I wait a couple of minutes, then try her again. The same thing, it rings and then goes to voicemail. Just when I am about to try her for a third time, I get another call from a blocked number. I answer on the third ring.

“Hello,” I answer.

“Have you secured the asset yet?” a voice says.

“Yes, but we have a problem. She’s on her menstrual cycle and appears very weak. This isn’t what I paid for,” I reply.

“You paid for an experience. Each man pays for the hunt of an asset, secured lodging, and the option to hold the asset for four weeks barring any injuries or emergencies. As the asset is currently in your possession, our part of the contract has been fulfilled,” the voice retorts. 

“Yes, but I’m stuck taking care of her period instead of all the things that I had planned. That should be an emergency,” I say, trying not to raise my voice.

“If you are unsatisfied with your experience, you could release the asset and leave a complaint for management,” the voice says dryly. 

“Thank you,” I manage as I hang up the phone.

I walk into the back of a soon-to-be corner office of this construction site. I needed to pace and move. Something about this situation does not feel right and I need an exit strategy. They are watching me. That much I knew. I couldn’t help but think about how I wound up in this space. Therapy did not help and it wasn’t for lack of trying. I had bulldozed through thirty-five therapists varying in specialties from addiction to oppositional defiant disorder to all eight of the paraphilic disorders. All the exercises and techniques worked for a while until they stopped working. They finally decided that they had misdiagnosed me and I was addicted to thrill-seeking stemming from childhood trauma blah blah blah. I didn’t fear death but I knew I also didn’t care deeply for living. I was curious to see how others lived. I wanted to behave like other ordinary people navigated the world, but I had this constant itch. An itch to push the boundaries of the civilized societies, the limitations of my body, the expectations of what I think I’m capable of. I wanted to be fully present for all of it, which was the reason I never fully dove into drugs. It just seemed like after a while the drugs fed off of you rather than the other way around. So, I delved into sex, self-harm, weapons, crime, and all the cliche things daredevils try in their 20s and early 30s until they are expected to settle down and have a family. Even when I was in the throes of the women, the guns and knives, or even drag racing and boosting cars, none of that was ever enough. I needed more. I craved more. 

I received a black envelope at the end of last year at work. It was placed on my desk, and my name was typed in white ink on the front. On the back was a crest in white wax. It wasn’t a crest I’d never seen before. I even got one of my tech friends to scour the internet to see what entity the crest belonged to, but their search came up empty. It took me a few days to open the envelope. When I finally did, there was an invitation typed on parchment. I didn’t know that you could type on parchment. The two worlds didn’t belong together yet; they were mashed together to deliver a message I wasn’t sure I wanted to receive. 

“Dear Prospect, we would like to cordially invite you to our black-tie informational session on December 20th at 7:37 pm. We have been watching you and have it on good authority that you would be interested in our services. Given your record, we ensure we can curate the ultimate experience for your thrill-seeking pleasure. The address to the information session is noted down below. We look forward to meeting and partnering with you in this new endeavor. 

                                                Sincerely, TRG.”

I glanced at the address below, about four blocks from my office. I didn’t know who TRG was or were but I was curious. Usually, when people offer a thrilling experience, it is usually something I’ve already done years ago that regular people would usually piss themselves over. It took a lot to move me. Even the sex I was having with my casual friend was getting stale. It was taking me longer and longer to get off in the orgies I attended every other weekend. Lately, I’ve just been making a game out of how quickly I could make someone cum rather than getting pleased. Masochism was cool but I no longer came as hard as I used to. My usual drag spot had been crawling with cops, so I haven’t been in any races for weeks. While my hopes weren’t exceptionally high for this event, I was hoping that it would relieve some of the tension I was feeling before I had to hurt myself again. The words “We’ve been watching you” replayed in my mind on a loop. Why? How? What did they want from me to be watching me? Questions riddled my mind. I guess I’d get those when I went to the party. 

At eight pm a couple of days later, I had been almost entirely dressed in hopes of finding my new outlet. I saw and donned my favorite cufflinks, went to the island inside the walk-in closet where my fragrances were housed, and splashed myself with my signature scent. After one last glance in the mirror, I had to admit, I looked good. I had always known I did pretty well for myself in the looks department but I outdid myself with this custom jacquard suit. I reminded myself to thank my old man for teaching me how to pick and wear the hell out of a suit when I got the chance. I guess all those high society functions paid off every once in a while. I made my way over to the garage of the building and hopped on my motorcycle. Revving the engine to life, I took off and headed to the address I scoped out the day before. 

Once at the destination, I handed my keys to the valet, hoping one of them knew how to ride, they gave me a ticket, and I handed the greeter my invitation. She scanned it and passed me over to the l’ hôtesse who then handed me a mask and escorted me to my table. From what I could tell, there was a mix of men and women at my table. On the place cards were professions instead of names. I guess discretion was highly regarded at this organization. I tried to see if there were recognizable features on anyone I brushed past, but I didn’t think I knew anyone here. Suddenly, the room got dark, and three spotlights illuminated the stage. A man ascended from the stage floor and looked around before approaching the transparent podium. His mask was more elaborate than the rest of ours. It concealed the entire top half of his face and was beaded into an elaborate tribal symbol. He stood silently for a few seconds before he addressed us. 

“Good evening. I am very excited to see all of you tonight. You all look very elegant,'' a scrambled voice said. 

These people did not want to be known. To go as far as to conceal their voice suggested that maybe I was in for a treat after all. Maybe I will finally get the trill I’ve been searching for. 

“You all have long awaited this night and I’m sure you all have many questions. Let me start by saying that I am Grandmaster William St Clair of the Lodge Order of Scotts. In the order, we have a long history dating back to the seventeen hundreds and have been involved in regulating world order. We are a very clandestine organization and usually do not make ourselves known. However, as times change, so do our approaches to the free world and its market. All of you are the first to witness a Grandmaster make a public speech outside of order gatherings. Each of you has a unique piece to play in our newest venture. Before I reveal what you have so many questions about, I need you to turn over your placeholders and follow the simple instructions,” he stated.

I turned my placeholder over and a QR code was stamped just beyond the middle fold. I looked up and saw everyone around the table scanning their codes, so I followed suit. When I scanned my code, a website popped up with my name, age, and home address. They had indeed been watching me. Below my address was a silver ‘Enter’ button that was pulsating. I clicked it. There was a list of six questions. I looked around again and it seemed the entire room was immersed in what they were doing. They are probably trying to figure out what combination of answers would get them to the next step. The Grandmaster had long vacated the stage. Instead, I saw what appeared to be a woman wearing an onyx Melpomene mask, a body-hugging black gown with a long black cape draping her shoulders, and she held a scepter in her left hand.  She scanned the room with scrutinizing eyes. Her gaze finally landed on me. We stared at each other for a moment. I broke my gaze, retreating to my phone, and attempted to answer some questions. 

“Question #1: Do you think that the police force is here to protect and serve, or do you think they are here for another purpose entirely?” I wasn’t sure what to make of this question, so I skipped to the second one.

“Question #2: How would you deal with an intruder? A: Call the police. B: Attempt to subdue them on your own. C: Get to the highest point of your house, watch them take what they want, and leave. D: Escape and get to safety.” This one was a bit easier so I marked my answer. 

“Question #3: If you were caught in an object at sea and you knew you were going to drown, would you die fighting to get free, or would you allow the water to consume you?” I looked around once more. No one had put their phone down yet to ask what was the meaning of all this or if they were planning to kill us. I looked up at the stage and the Melpomene mask was gone.

The fourth question read, “When in bondage, whether it be physical or mental attempts to limit the ability to focus, how do you center your thinking? Only answer using a maximum of seven words.” 

The last two questions were like the abstract reasoning questions you tend to see when people are trying to test your aptitude. I started looking at the first question from the beginning again and scanned the second and third. By the time I got back down to the fourth question, I had decided that I was a grown man who graduated higher education almost five years ago, and if I wanted to be tested, I would rather have a conversation with our elderly receptionist, who is growing more senile by the day. I switched off my phone and headed for the door. I handed my ticket to the valet and tossed my mask. While waiting, I noticed a tall, slender figure appear to my right. She leaned against the outer wall of the building as she lit her cigarette. She took a long draw, inhaled, and a stream of smoke parted the dark air. She flipped her long dark hair to her left side. Hearing an engine pulling up, I broke my gaze and turned to the direction of the sound, hoping it was my bike. 

“Leaving so soon,” I heard. 

“This isn’t my scene, but it was entertaining,” I replied.

“Well, that’s odd. I thought everyone here loved a good thrill,” she said.

“Thrills, yes. Multiple choice tests, however, are not my idea of fun,” I said.

“So…what is your idea of fun,” she said as she approached me. 

The valet handed me my keys and I walked to my bike. 

“Hop on and I'll show you,” I grinned. 

She flashed a mischievous smile and said, “If I wanted a quick fuck, there’s a bathroom ten paces to the left of the entrance. I am more interested in why you left and what it would’ve taken to make you stay.”

Curiosity had my feet trapped in the spot it occupied. Why was she so interested in me staying at this party? What was her angle? Did she work for those weirdos? After a while, I offered my last thoughts before going home. 

“Listen, I’m not sure if you work for them, but offering people an exhilarating experience shouldn’t be so complicated. You either have the goods or you don’t. Eventually, everything you’ve planned there gets stale anyway. I’ve tried everything and I doubt whatever they’re offering warrants me sitting through an aptitude test,” I offered as I stepped one foot over my bike and settled. 

“How about I make you a deal? If I show you what’s under my skirt, you have to promise to take it for a test drive,” she offered. If you want to see, follow me.” She walked around to the driver’s side of the vehicle, which, I only then noticed, was parked directly behind me. She hopped in and drove off. 

“Fuck it,” I thought and I sped off behind her. 

We had been on the roads for a while. We finally arrived at a lofty gate in the middle of the woods. Once inside the gates, we drove to the base of a small summit and began heading up the windy roads. We drove into a hidden garage in the middle of the rock, cut the engines off, walked to a matte black elevator door, and punched in a code. Without saying a word, she stepped into the elevator. I trailed behind her. The grandeur of high ceilings immediately captivated me, enhancing the sense of space and airiness. Every corner whispered understated splendor, with matte black fixtures lending an air of mystery and intrigue. The walls, painted in rich, deep hues, provided a dramatic backdrop for the magical view hidden on the steep mountain's other side. Dark hardwood floors stretch beneath your feet, adding warmth and depth to the space. We walked past the living area, which housed plush velvet sofas in shades of charcoal and midnight black that invited you to sink into them. A sleek, minimalist coffee table rested at the center, its polished surface reflecting the soft glow of flickering candlelight. Against one wall stood a towering bookcase, its shelves lined with leather-bound tomes and antique curiosities. Gothic-inspired sculptures and art pieces commanded attention, their intricate details captivating the eye. A vintage gramophone sat nestled among the display, casting a nostalgic aura over the room. 

We stepped into a long corridor that led to several rooms. We stopped at the fourth room with a large matte black door. It was the only door painted matte black of all the doors along the corridor. She entered a code, the doorknob inverted, and the door shifted upwards, revealing deep crimson curtains hanging from the windows at the other end of the room. Moonlight filtered in,  giving a soft, moody glow. Velvet upholstery in shades of ebony and sapphire draped the furniture. A meticulously crafted desk stood dominating the space in one corner of the room. Its dark wood surface was adorned with antique inkwells and quills, adding a touch of old-world charm. A high-backed leather chair stood behind it and above the desk, an elaborate computer system commanding attention. The sleek monitors were framed by intricately carved Gothic arches, seamlessly blending modern technology with timeless designs. The keyboard and mouse were accented with metallic finishes. A built-in bookcase centered itself on the back wall. Its shelves were filled with leather-bound volumes and antique artifacts. Soft lighting illuminated the collection. She sank into the chair and started clicking away on the keys. I stood around admiring the vastness of the room. 

“Take a look at what’s under my skirt,” she said with a sultry smile.

It was the first time she had spoken since we got here. I walked around the desk and took a look at the screen. At first, I didn’t understand what I was watching. After a few seconds, I saw a man tying a woman up. She seemed to be yelling for help. Pleas that should've been audible to the surrounding neighbors. He threw her over his shoulder and started walking into a warehouse, but not before standing completely within my sight, smiling and winking into the camera. Was this real? Did he know we were watching? 

“What is this a movie or something?” I asked.

“Oh, quite the opposite. This is a live conquest,” she replied.

“Conquest?” I replied, confused.

“If you stuck around a little longer and completed the quiz, you would’ve been brought back to a secluded room in the building,” she said as she started unzipping her gown, “...it would’ve been explained to you that thrill seekers desire two things. Fear and rush. The real fear of getting caught and the rush you get when you get your hands on the forbidden. It is very simple. If you’re in, you get the opportunity to play an adult version of catch and release. You may even taste your catch if he or she agrees,” she finished.

“What? You mean these are real kidnappings orchestrated by you? Bullshit! How do you get past the cops? How do you get the girls to agree?” I questioned in disbelief.

“It’s quite simple. We own and operate many pleasure and tea houses in the district. Everyone gets a survey of the type of play they are into. We pool those results and filter those with the type of fantasy that aligns with yours. Being kidnapped seems to be very popular these days. Then we categorize those who want to hunt and those who want to be hunted. We gather further intel on the people in each group and give each pair a window of time to conduct their play. Everyone takes a course on ropes, zip ties, chains, belts, how to approach and apprehend your prey, what to avoid, etc. We also have an optional course on accessory devices to assist with capture. Once your time window is up, the “hunted” must be released. No names are exchanged and the face of the hunter is not revealed,” she finished, now in a satin dress that stopped in the middle of her sculpted thighs. 

“It can’t be that simple. So, you mean within a certain window of time, someone can be taken like a real kidnapping and then after they’re released, they don’t go to the cops? How would they know the difference between a real threat and this … arrangement?” I asked, my mind flooded with additional questions that my mouth was trying to keep up with.

“Yes,” she laughed, “it sounds like you are interested.”

“If you can assure me that I would walk out of this with a kidnapping charge, then I’ll be down for a good time,” I blurted. 

Should I have demanded that the rest of my questions be answered? Yes. Should I have asked even more questions? Yes. But, was this the most enticing game of manhunt I had ever encountered? Also, yes. 

“I’ll put you on the list then,” she said with a satisfied smug look. “Oh, but first, you must show me how well you can apprehend your target. She walked over and tapped what was a hidden drawer within the wall. I walked over to the drawer and an assortment of ropes, chains, ties, belts, and toys lay inside. 

“You’re serious? Right now?” I asked.

“Well, you missed the chance to perform a demonstration on the dummies we had at the back of the party. So, this will have to do. That is unless…... You don’t have anything to show me,” she said slowly as her eyes pierced into mine daringly. 

“Oh, I have a couple of things I can show you,” I boasted as I chose my materials. 

I took the ball gag out of the drawer. The undertone of doubt was laced in every sentence when she spoke to me. I didn’t like that, so now, she doesn’t get to talk. There were better uses for saliva. Far better uses for her soft lips. With the rest of my tools in one hand, I took her hand and led her back to the desk. I knocked all the desktops, monitors, laptops, and tablets off the table. 

“Lie down,” I commanded. 

She laid down with her back on the table, hands at her side and feet slightly spread. I blindfolded and gagged her. I didn’t mind her eyes, their soft almond shape, and the onyx of her irises. But they held such scrutiny and challenge. Almost like she was daring you to step out of line. I didn’t like too much defiance when I played, so they had to go. I went to the seat where I had dumped the ropes. I grabbed them and tied her hands to each leg of the desk with a figure-eight knot.

“Try to get yourself loose if you think you can. I’m very interested in what you think of my Boy Scout skills,” I teased.

She wiggled and pulled at the ropes on both ends until she was satisfied. She stopped when she discovered she couldn’t be freed until I let her loose. I walked back over to the hidden drawer and tapped it. There were other tools that would aid me in my demonstration, so I chose a couple more. I was going to test her reserve. I approached the table again, lowering myself to her left ear.

  “There are a couple of things that are going to happen here. The first was going to be me relieving you of your panties, but I can tell you are wearing any. I love a woman who’s prepared. Since you handled that, the first will now be the ground rules. You are not allowed to cum until I tell you to. The second is that there are consequences for disobedience. They get more severe the more you fail to follow directions. For your safety, I’ll give you this double-sided magnet. When you are ready to tap out, tap the magnet on the table. I’ll stop. If you understand, nod your head,” I instructed. 

She nodded slowly. 

“Good,” I replied. Third, even though you were meant to test me, this is still your experience, and I have to ask you a couple of questions. Can I touch you?” I started.

She nodded.

“Can I lick you?”

She nodded.

“Can I bite you?”

She nodded. 

“Good,” I whispered. 

I took the Velcro wrap and one of the vibrators I found in the draw and turned it on. I lifted her dress, exposing her mound, which revealed the finest landing strip I’ve seen thus far. I traced it with my free hand and circled her clit with my middle finger. I slid my fingers slowly down her flower and she moaned as her body shuttered. I secured the Velcro strap to her left inner thigh, attaching the vibrator to the strap and placing it right on her center.

“Mmmmm!” she moaned loudly. I guessed she liked that.

“Remember, you’re not allowed to cum until I tell you to, or else,” I reminded her, watching her squirm in place.

“mmMMMM” she moaned as she tossed her head from one side to the next.

I grabbed a pair of headphones and inserted them into my cell phone. I placed them in her ears and began to play “Pro” by Devon Culture. I always started with “Pro” as a source of encouragement. No one wants to play a game they know they can’t win. At least, no one that’s sane. I walked to her right side, bent down, and began to lick and kiss her neck. I retrieved the nipple clamps I placed in my left back pocket after my first trip to the drawer. I moved further south, leaving a trail of kisses from her neck down to her chest. I popped her right breast in my mouth, making sure to apply just enough pressure to her nipple with my teeth then soothing it with soft laps of my tongue. Her loud moans interrupted my focus as I heard the faint sounds of “The Mood” by Arin Ray ft D Smoke. I placed the first nipple clamp on the right breast as I turned my attention to her left side, my strong side. As gave her left breast the attention it needed, I increased the intensity of the vibrator.

“MMmMMMMM!!!” she yelped as she wriggled furiously. 

I looked at her and smirked knowingly. She was coming undone. She disobeyed my orders, and I knew I would enjoy what would happen next. I placed the left nipple clamp on and walked around to the other end of the table. I lifted her leg, bending it at the knees. She had indeed started to cream over the vibrator. I returned to the drawer and grabbed the paddle I had seen earlier. Walking back over to my prey, I removed the right headphone.

“I told you there would be consequences if you disobeyed me, didn’t I? I expected you to hold on a little longer since this was a test you requested. I must say, I’m a tad disappointed,” I started.

“Mmmmmmm,” she moaned in what I assumed was a protest. 

I headed over back to where her legs were wriggling and I lifted them over my right shoulder as I proceeded to spank her with the paddle in my left hand. 

“Five lashes for the first offense,” I said, and then I gave her the remaining three.

 They were slow, swift, yet hard. Her breathing paused, then quickened in anticipation of the next one. When she received her five, I gently placed her legs back on the table. I walked over to the desk chair where I had placed the internal vibrator. 

“OK, we are going to try this again. You can’t cum until I tell you to. Is that understood?” I asked.

She nodded vigorously. 

“I’m glad. Do you remember what to do if you want me to stop?” I asked.

I heard a loud tap of the magnet on the table. 

“Very good,” I said.

I reached over to replace the dislodged headphone in the corresponding ear. Upon hearing “W.E.T.” by Paloma Ford, I decided it was time to up the ante. I repositioned the now-soaked vibrator where it had been before, but only this time, I spread her swollen lips apart with my fingers and massaged her kitten until I felt her dew. I entered her slowly with my fingers one by one until three of them were exploring her depths. I took the internal vibrator with my free hand and inserted it into her. I licked my fingers clean and began to turn vibrator number two to the first setting. She would most certainly let me in after I was done with her. 

After setting number two had been pressed, I watched her squirm. A second ago she was the most confident, intimidating person someone could come across. Now she would probably do anything I say. I couldn’t help but wonder how high I could tell her to jump. I went from setting two to number three. An audible buzz was coming from in between her legs. She started bucking and fighting her restraints.

“MMMMMMMMM,” she shrilled. 

I smirked wider. She’s mine. I walked over to her right ear again. Dislodging the headphone in that ear I said, “Not yet,” as she moaned uncontrollably. I could now hear “Disgusting” by Sy Ari Da Kid playing. I watched as her stomach contracted, and then I whispered, “Now” as I turned vibrator one to the highest setting and vibrator number two to the fourth setting. I lubed up a silicone anal probe in just enough time to catch her orgasm and make her scream.

The sound she made could break all the glasses in the room. She came. Hard. And I had a front-row seat to the most incredible show. I slowly removed the vibrators one by one, her pussy still humming and pulsating. I walked over and removed both headphones, then I untied her hands. I left her blindfold on while I cleaned her up.

“Mmmmmm”, she cried. 

I removed her gag, and, finally, her blindfold. 

“Am I in?” I asked.

“Fuck me!” she said.

“I’ll take that as a ‘Yes’,” I chuckled. 

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

My thoughts are interrupted by the sound of construction boots walking in from the other end of the floor. I scan the monitors and notice that it is now 5:30 am. The next security shift is coming in, and I have lost track of time. I haven’t given her a sedative or gagged her and we need to move. I turned off all of the monitors and changed my shoes. I replaced my face mask with a black surgical one, gathered all the cell phones on the table, and walked swiftly to the other side of the floor and down the stairs. I’m losing my shit over this girl. Weeks of planning could go down the drain instantly, but I would be a liar if I said I didn’t feel alive. The blood pumping and my heart beating through my chest had not been what I used to lose sleep chasing after. That was until I found…I couldn't think about this now. I have to get her out undetected before someone does a perimeter check. I ran to her. I used my box cutter in my pocket to cut the zip ties on her wrists.

“What is happening? Where are you taking me?” she asked frantically.

“Hey, I found something to free your hands with. It’s not the sharpest but it may help,” I heard from behind me.

“Fuck!” I thought.

P/C: If you would like to be tagged in any of my stories, please feel free to let me know in the comments and I'll be happy to add you. I hoped y'all enjoyed this installment. If you haven’t, check out Part 1 below.

Part 1

[tvchi]

Echoes of Intrigue: Prt 1

Villan

Lola

Disclaimers: DO NOT COPY OR REPOST MY WORK.

DO NOT TRAIN AI WITH MY WORK.

Warnings: Mature Audiences ONLY: 18+, Minors DNI- Kidnapping and Bondage.

Pairing: black male x black female

Word Count: 1942

A/N: So I'm fairly new to writing fan fiction and new to writing short stories. I began writing poetry and spoken word, then tried my hand at prose. I've been reading a lot of @megamindsecretlair 's stories as well as @thecapodomme 's story and I thought I'd try my hand. I have posted another short story that wasn't really fan fiction on my page before called The Challenge. I didnt cast it or anything this elaborate, but yea. I'm trying to get better at writing more stories and prompts really help. Casting my stories after writing them actually helps to keep me motivated so I thought this was a good marriage of the two forms. This story currently consists of two parts. I will lay the first part out and then link the second part (when I figure out how to do that lol). If these parts get positive feedback, then I'll force myself to develop the story even further and write the third. Your feedback is greatly appreciated because I'm really trying to get better. So Like, Comment, and Reblog if the spirit moves you. ❤️❤️🥰

Tags: @thecapodomme @writers-of-tmblr @melaninpov @spaceslutsworld @nahimjustfeelingit-writes @mymusicbias @the-black-label @master-builder42 @miraculously-dumb-bitch @megamindsecretlair @hopefulromantic1 @tranquilfandomer @thadelightfulone @vivalaorgasm

PART 1

The sounds of footsteps are heard in the distance. They are all too familiar. The cadence of his strides haunts my dreams. Always four evenly paced steps before a slight halt. It’s almost as if he’s deciding, studying, …. calculating. He absorbs me. Maybe that’s how he can take me time and time again. He knows how I squirm, how I walk, how I do my hair, and the next time I’ll need tampons. At least, that’s what happened this time. I went to Kroger to get tampons, while walking back to my car everything went dark. 

Waking up here would make this the fourth time I have been dragged here in thirteen months. I’m not sure what’s worse, the fact that I keep getting taken or that I haven't made any strides to stop this from happening. The hard, steel chair that I’ve gotten to know these past couple of months comforts me a bit. It’s about the only thing that hasn’t changed. Every time, there's a different warehouse, dungeon, storage site, or wherever this is. The lights are always dimmed but there’s always a change in hue from the little I can see through the blindfold. The smells are different, sometimes reeking of mildew and sweat. Other times, it smelled of must and concrete. This time it smelled of wood and dust. Every time I would wake up to this familiar cold chair, I rubbed the spot where I scratched lines into the legs with my nails, and that’s when I knew I hadn't been making this up. 

He steps closer to me. Barely touching me, he lays something down at my feet.  Maintaining minimal contact is a good way to avoid a scuffle and getting his skin under my nails. It’s also a good way to prevent me from noticing a scent or any identifiable body markings, but I have the smell of a bloodhound. Something is different. Something has changed. He doesn’t smell of the usual skin and sweat but of something recognizable. Something that I’ve smelled many times before but can’t quite place.  

    “Why me? Why are you always doing this to me? Have I done something to you,” I say hoarsely. 

I tried my best to keep my voice even. This was an attempt at a conversation, not a cry for mercy or an admonishment. He said nothing. He never speaks. 

 “I just want to know why you keep taking me and then letting me go. Wouldn’t it be easier just to kill me?” I ask, measuring my breaths in between words. Calm. Even. 

He remains silent. That was irritating to me. The least he could do was reveal a sinister plot or threaten to kill me. He wields his power mercilessly, offering me nothing to hang on to not even the next minutes. There is nothing to look forward to but darkness. I can’t plan my prayers or meals or thoughts. I never know when I’ll go; whether this time will be the last. 

The heavy thud of his footsteps suggests that he wears construction or heavy hiking boots. He walks beyond me, hopefully, to retrieve some water or food now that I’m awake. Our last couple of encounters have convinced me that he can’t cook worth a damn. Each time even worse than the last. I never look forward to his sardine surprises, and sometimes, he mixes them with canned beans or cream corn. I imagine that he’ll stay away from the beans this time, being that he had to empty two buckets worth of shit last time. I didn’t feel bad or embarrassed either. Fuck ‘im. That's what you get for kidnapping a girl with a sensitive stomach. I’d kill for a sardine sandwich right about now, though. 

It fell silent for a while. 

That means this room is large or leads to other rooms. The problem is, I never can find a way out. I’ve only been freed because he had let me go. Once, some homeless men found me in an old sewage system. Another time, I was in a forest preserve forty-two miles from home and I hiker alerted the police. Yet another time, I was found by a janitor in the basement of a city mall that was getting renovated. This last time, I woke up chained to a different chair in the expressway facing oncoming traffic. That made the news. No one knew how I got there. No one saw anything. The street cameras were as useless as the people the police interviewed. Each time he frees me it gets more elaborate. This time, I don’t struggle or exhaust myself trying to imagine an escape. No. This time, I should start looking for patterns and motives. Who would do this to me? Who hates me so much to have me kidnapped once a month? I don’t make many enemies as a data analyst. I’ve worked on some high-profile cases recently, but no one gives credit to the data analyst who tracks the numbers and bank accounts of the bad guys. All the credit goes to the men in black or the blue windbreakers. He never asks for any information from me. This can’t be from work. 

“Not again,” I think as my heart quickens its pace. 

I feel him before I hear him. He walks back towards me. This time another sound accompanies him, a light yet sharp resonance. It is chow time. He sits the food down in front of me and removes the blindfold. It’s dark, with just a stream of light peeking through, reminiscent of those through a pinhole camera, to illuminate the cold plate in front of me. As I glance over my plate, his gaze brooding over me at a distance, I wonder how he could even see in the dark. He could go one living in the shadows, feasting on girls shopping at Kroger, dragging his spoils back to his layer. 

My inner thoughts are running wild at this point.

“Ok, focus on what you know, Lola,” I think. 

I don’t personally know any creeps who would keep doing this to me. I stopped dating entirely after the first time this happened. After the second time, I was scared to leave my house, so I had a therapist and a psychoanalyst come to my house three times a week to walk me through what happened and get me acclimated to going outside again. They claimed I wasn’t a true agoraphobe, I just had severe PTSD. The third time it happened, a bunch of shitty kids heard about my story and decided to go on social media and talk about how I was probably staging my kidnappings. The videos went viral. The police started coming by less and less and brushing off my case. I was no longer a priority but a possible psych case. I started thinking that maybe I was going crazy and perhaps I was staging these kidnappings, blacking out, and forgetting my elaborate plans for attention. I was enrolled in group therapy and started focusing on healing. After that, I started going out with the new friends I met in group therapy. I even managed to bump into the most thoughtful man on earth. 

“Shit, is Max looking for me? Has he called me? Did he go by the house?” my thoughts spiraling. 

“You should know that I’m on my period and I need to change my feminine products. Folks don’t think about that when they are kidnapping women. At least, I don’t think they do. You never really see it in the movies. No action movie that I have ever seen had a girl kidnapped in the thick of her menstrual cycle. You should call Paramount about that and show ‘em how it’s done. Representation and all that. Justice for the vaginas. Hashtag: me too, my period is not taboo!” I rambled. 

I do that when I’m nervous. I do that when there’s nothing else to do. Maybe it’s because I fear silence. I wonder if the last thing I’ll hear is nothing at all. I take another teaspoon of spam and throw it into my mouth, attempting to swallow it instead of chewing. I feel around for the glass of water he always puts beside the beef, being careful not to knock it over. Once I find it, I chug it down. It would be the last bit of water I’ll have until it’s time to eat again. He walks back to me and takes away the tray with the water and the plate of barely-eaten Spam. I try to look around as much as possible before he places the blindfold back over my eyes. I feel around for any loose object on the ground with my feet, hoping to find something that I could use to get me out of the zip ties he will place back around my wrists. I try to wiggle my way out of the ties around my ankles in a last-ditch effort. I give it the good old college try for tradition’s sake and then give up as his footsteps return. I wonder if he just saw all of that. I wonder if he was looking right at me.

He is back right in front of me now, and there is a pause for a moment, almost as if he is deciding on something. A moment later, he places the blindfold back over my eyes and lifts me out of the chair in one swift motion. We are closer now. And there it is again—Musk, sweat, and …sandalwood. I hold onto that as we walk about twenty paces and then turn a corner. Within five more paces, we come to a door. He opens it and sits me on what feels like a toilet. The lights are dimmed and he places a thin, square object in my left hand and a couple of thinner, tubular objects in my right hand. Wait, are these…are these feminine products? Had he granted a request? That was a …first. 

“I’m going to need to see or else there'll be blood everywhere. I would hate for that to happen, especially given what happened last time. We don’t have the greatest track record with bodily fluids,” I jest.  

There was a pause. A hare longer than the one before I was carried over here. He was contemplating again. The door slammed in my face when the blindfold was finally lifted, and the surrounding light dimmed significantly. I could tell that he was directly behind the door. He was probably watching, who knows, but I peed and changed. I feel clean and dry for the first time since waking up to this darkness. I am grateful. I also thought about what I could use to get out of those zip ties he’d place me back in once he noticed I was finished. I’ll shove the other two tampons in my boots for now. I’ll figure out what to do with these later. I knocked on the door to signal that I was done. He opens the door and carries me back to the chair. Once at the chair, he places my hands behind my back and zip-ties them. He ties the blindfold lightly over my eyes and places what appears to be extra water by my side before walking out of the vicinity. 

“Being extra nice to me, Sandalwood,” I taunt. “Must be the period thing.”

PART 2

[tvchi]

I’m sooooo behind on EVERYTHING!!!

But please keep tagging me in y’all’s fics. I’m liking all of them so I can read later and comment/reblog. I have another fic that I’m working on for Alex Cross. Then, I have to get back to Veiled Intentions. I literally don’t know how yall do it all. But ….. IM COMING!!!

I love yall. Bear with me please. It’s a lotta shit goin on!