Sylvie hugged the toilet tightly, afraid she’d fall over. It was the only thing in the room that wasn’t spinning. She huddled closer to the cold porcelain commode and laid her head down on the rim. It felt good against her heated skin. She was burning up. Her body dripping sweat. Clothes soaked and clinging to her skin. Rivulets of perspiration trickled from her brow, down her face and neck to her back, breasts, and belly. Her nostrils stung, filled with the stench of her own vomit, causing her nose to drip. She tried to grab a piece of toilet paper to wipe her nose, but she pulled too hard and the roll went flying across the room. She stared at it. She’d have to let go of the bowl to get to it. Nope…couldn’t chance it. The toilet was the only thing standing between her and the floor. She sniffed, then proceeded to wipe her nose on her hand and forearm. She looked at the snot on her arm and shook her head in disgust. Her personal hygiene was deplorable! She reached for the toilet again to steady herself and then recoiled when she touched something wet and slightly sticky. Noxious, brownish-red liquid dripped down the sides of the bowl, puddling on the floor around her. It had splattered all over the perfectly papered walls, spattered the intricately carved woodwork and ornate vanity, and smeared the marble tile. Flecks of barf also dotted the pristine, white towels and bath mats. Sylvie’s knees hurt. It felt as though she was kneeling on peas or pebbles, but it was actually bits of undigested peanuts and pretzels that hadn’t made it into the john when she’d hurled. Another painful contraction gripped her stomach. She could feel the acid surging up her already raw and burning throat, some of it even making its way into her sinuses. Her eyes watered and her nose began to drip anew as the foul-smelling brew shot from her mouth and disgorged into the bowl. Sylvie began to shiver uncontrollably. She suddenly felt clammy and cold. Gooseflesh sprouted beneath her damp clothing. Her cheeks went from scarlet red to a deathly, white pallor. She felt weak as a kitten.
Her stomach contracted so violently she let loose of the toilet to grab her belly. The minute she did she keeled over, falling into a puddle of puke. Yuck! It was in her hair and all over her clothes. She struggled back onto her knees, put her head over the bowl, and began expelling bile. A moment later her body was racked by dry heaves, muscles clenching so severely she peed herself. Sylvie started sobbing. Once the flow started, she was unable to stop it until her bladder had emptied completely. She’d never been so embarrassed or ashamed in her life. What kind of people piss themselves? Derelicts and vagrants, that’s who! Losers…just like her! She pulled her head away from the toilet and looked around. The bathroom was a god-awful mess. And it was all her fault. Sylvie began to sob in earnest now. She’d single-handedly destroyed his beautiful bathroom: his super-expensive, luxuriously appointed, professionally decorated, bigger than her entire first studio apartment bathroom! What the hell was she going to do? The stink was overwhelming. It hung in the air like a noxious, choking cloud. The stench was so strong it made her feel not only nauseous, but dizzy as well. She’d ruined the expensive wallpaper. It was now stained with a mixture of red wine, spittle, stomach acid, and assorted, half-digested snack food. And the woodwork …how would they ever get the bits of vomit out of the carved designs? Pick it out with toothpicks? She didn’t think so. Everything would have to be torn out and replaced. She wondered how much it would cost to fix it all. Connor would be furious with her. She’d behaved like a drunken wrecking ball, damaging and destroying his property. If this didn’t piss him off, she didn’t know what would! Maybe he’d fire her. She couldn’t really blame him…she’d fucked up, big time! And if he didn’t fire her…she’d be working for him for the next year or two for free just to pay off the cost of the repairs. A modern-day indentured servant! You couldn’t get this stuff at Walmart, Lowe’s, or Home Depot! Putting the room to rights would cost her dearly. And she had nobody to blame for this disaster, this shitstorm, except herself.
The dry heaves started again, saliva poured from her mouth. She was shaking. Sylvie felt sure she was going to die. And this was how they’d find her? Hanging onto a toilet for dear life? Reeking with the revolting stench of stale urine and fermenting puke? How humiliating! Sylvie could hear creaking through the spinning fog. Her poor mother must be rolling over in her grave again! She’d be so disappointed with Sylvie. ‘I’m sorry. I’m so very sorry!’ she whispered.
‘Not nearly as sorry as you’re going to be little girl!’ a voice thundered.
Sylvie gulped, then turned her head in the direction of the sound. A tall ominous figure was standing in the doorway. And whoever it was looked angry, very angry. He was scowling at her. She blinked, attempting to bring him into focus. Was she dreaming? Her head lolled from side to side as she squinted, trying to get a better look.
The room began to lurch and spin, whirling around her with dizzying speed. Oh no, not again! She collapsed over the toilet, her head cracking against the tank. ‘Owww!’ she yowled.
She held fast to the porcelain, whimpering and moaning as she gagged and gacked into the waiting bowl.
Sylvie heard water running. A minute later a strong hand pulled her head back and applied a cold washcloth to her face.
‘What the fuck were you thinking?’ Connor demanded, his voice rising sharply. ‘Sneaking out like some scheming…deceitful…rebellious…unruly adolescent!’ His anger seemed to increase with every word. ‘Then you drink yourself silly, getting plastered like a cheap, two-bit floozy. And to make matters worse, you stagger home on dark, deserted city streets in the middle of the fucking night!‘ he shouted at her. ‘You could’ve been mugged, or raped, or worse! Where the hell are your brains?’
Sylvie’s head was spinning, but she forced her eyes to open and look at him. His face was frozen in fury. She had never seen him so angry before. This wasn’t the reunion she’d envisioned. Maybe he was right. Maybe she had been stupid. But he had no right to lecture her like she was an errant child. She didn’t belong to him anymore. He’d made that quite clear. He was just her employer now. Not her boyfriend. Not her father. Not her keeper.
Sylvie’s lip trembled. She could only imagine how terrible she looked all covered in puke, her underpants and the crotch of her jeans soaked with urine. Shame overwhelmed her. Sylvie didn’t want Connor to see her like this. Tears glistened in her eyes. He was probably congratulating himself on his narrow escape, on getting her out of his life before she became an embarrassment and a liability. Connor was a stickler when it came to good manners and proper behavior. He’d insisted that she comport herself like a well-bred lady at all times, not a low-class, low-life guttersnipe. Unfortunately, at the moment, Sylvie was anything but a lady. Ladies didn’t piss themselves!
Connor scrubbed the washcloth over her face, trying to clean away the drool, snot, and vomit, the lingering remnants of her night on the town. But it was hopeless! She was covered in it. Who knew someone so cute could smell so bad? She reeked! He’d been sprayed by a skunk once when he was out on a hike. That was bad. But this was worse! He’d have to fumigate the place! He grabbed for her shirt and tried to pull it off, but she slapped his hands away.
‘Okay, have it your way!’ He grabbed the shirt and forcibly removed it.
‘No!’ she screamed in protest. ‘Go ‘way! Leave me alone you…you…you bastard!’
He ignored her, reaching back to unhook her bra. ‘Watch your language young lady! Or I’ll wash your mouth out with soap,’ he warned. ‘You’re in enough trouble as it is!’
He slid the straps from her shoulders and pulled the undergarment away, revealing her breasts and a couple of half-digested pieces of popcorn. Connor couldn’t get over how pale and thin she was. Her collar bone was sticking out, as were her ribs. She must have dropped 15 pounds in the last three weeks. He fought the urge to stroke her skin, caress the soft flesh of her breasts, and gently roll the rosy nipples between his fingers. Instead he pulled her from the toilet and dragged her to an area of the cold marble floor that wasn’t covered in puke. Connor squatted down beside her, grabbed one foot and started removing her shoe. Sylvie resisted and tried to kick him away.
‘Oh no you don’t, you little harridan. We’ll have none of that!’ he rolled her onto her side and delivered four stinging swats to her wriggling rear end.
‘Stop it!’ she howled. ‘Don’t you dare sp…sp…spank me you son of a…son of a bitch!’ Sylvie tried to scooch away from him, but he grabbed her right foot, prompting her to strike out with the left. Before she knew what was happening, Connor delivered a volley of smacks to her suddenly stinging ass. ‘Ow! Ow!’ she squealed. ‘Stop! Please stop!’ she begged, her stomach roiling again.
‘Are you going to behave yourself?’ he asked, giving her four more hard wallops.
‘Yes,’ she whimpered, willing to agree to anything if only he’d stop.
Connor gave her a stern look of warning, then flipped her over onto her back.
Sylvie lay still as he removed her shoes, but when he reached for the button of her jeans, she began to buck and thrash about. ‘No! No! Don’t!’ She didn’t want him to see the wet spot and know she’d peed herself. She couldn’t bear the humiliation of it.
He didn’t know why she was fighting him so hard, but he’d had enough of it. He was going to put an end to it here and now. Connor undid the belt and button while Sylvie continued to protest and squirm. Grabbing the waistband, Connor dragged the jeans down. Sylvie tried to pull them back up, but he wouldn’t let her. He put his hand between her legs, grabbed the fabric, and snatched them off her. But not before he felt how wet they were. He shook his head, obviously disappointed in her behavior. ‘This is unacceptable Sylvie.’
Sylvie’s lower lip trembled as more tears flooded her eyes. She turned her head away so she wouldn’t see the look of reproach in his eyes. She wished she could crawl into a deep, dark hole and disappear.
But Connor had other ideas. Instead he dragged her, flailing and kicking, into the huge shower.
He plucked the showerhead from its holder on the wall; then holding the wand in his hand, Connor aimed it right at her. He turned on the cold water spigot and twisted the outer ring of the nozzle until the water flowed out in a pulsating needlelike spray. Sylvie yelped as a torrent of freezing cold water pricked and pummeled her skin, sending waves of shivers through her. She tried to escape the icy spray, but Connor wouldn’t allow it. He held fast to her wrist. She turned away from him and he used the opportunity to direct the spray at her back, neck, bottom, and legs. He tightened his grip as he directed the water against her bottom cheeks and inner thighs. When he was satisfied that he’d gotten all the filth off that side of her he tugged at her arm, turned her around, and sent the spray cascading down her breasts, belly, and thighs. After that, he attacked her hair, sending streams of water through the tangled strands. Icy cold rivulets dripped down her face and neck. By then Sylvie was stomping her feet in indignation and screeching at the top of her lungs. She kept trying to pull away from him, but Connor’s strength prevailed.
‘Wash!’ he commanded.
‘Turn it off damn you! I’m freezing!’ Sylvie yelled.
‘Not until you’re clean. Not until we’ve gotten the stink off you. Right now you smell like a sewer. We can’t have that! You’re stinking up the place! Now grab the damn soap and start scrubbing. I’ve seen bums on the Bowery with better personal hygiene then you have at the moment. I like my women to smell like perfume, not barf! Call me an elitist, but I find it hard to find a lady attractive when she’s got chunks of puke stuck in her hair.’
Sylvie glared at him, trying to hold back the tears. She felt bad enough already. Did he really have to demean her like this? She grabbed the soap and began lathering up the loofah and rubbing it all over her body. ‘There! Are you satisfied?’ she hissed.
‘Hardly! I want you to soap and rinse everything, and I do mean everything, at least three times. And don’t forget behind your ears and between your legs. Oh and be sure to check your toes. You’ve got something stuck between them.’
Sylvie cringed when she saw the remnants of an orange cheese curl stuck in the crook of her little toe. Tears flooded her eyes. She was an utter disgrace! She could understand why Connor didn’t love her. Here he was: this gorgeous man, who always looked like he just stepped out of GQ magazine, even when he was hiking or fishing. And here she was: this stinky screw-up, with puke stuck between her toes. How degrading! She wiggled her toes, dislodging it, then scrubbed her skin till it glowed. She’d behaved like white trash. People like her had no business in respectable, polite society. She was ill-mannered, irresponsible, foulmouthed, wholly lacking in self-control and discipline. Was it any wonder Connor didn’t love her?
He released his grip, taking the sponge from her hand. He turned her around again and proceeded to scrub her back and hindquarters. He repeatedly worked the sponge between her bottom cheeks, leaving a trail of lather from her girlie parts to her tailbone.
‘That should do it,’ he said as he commenced rinsing away the soap. He passed her the shampoo. ‘Hair!’ he announced.
He sounded like he was giving commands to an unruly dog. All that was missing was the leash.
She grabbed the bottle and squeezed some into her hand, then began working the lather through her hair. She used her fingers to comb out the worst of the tangles, knots, and snarls. After a minute, she rinsed it out.
‘Repeat!’ he ordered.
She gave him a petulant look, but complied.
Connor fiddled with the controls and the water warmed. It was now tepid instead of freezing. He rinsed every inch of her again. Paying particular attention to the area between her thighs. When he was satisfied that she was as clean as he could get her, Connor turned off the water, opened the door, and reached for a bath sheet to dry her. He briskly rubbed it all over her body, the thirsty towel soaking up every bit of moisture and turning her skin a pretty pink. Then he toweled off her hair. When he was finished, he tossed the towel out the door onto the floor and grabbed a dry one. He wrapped her up in the towel then lifted her into his arms. The legs of his jeans were wet, and so was his tee shirt, but he’d have to wait to change. He needed to get her to bed first.
As they exited the shower Sylvie found herself face-to-face with a bucket-toting Tituba. ‘Have fun last night did we?’ she asked sarcastically.
Sylvie winced in embarrassment. Too ashamed to look at the woman.
Towels had been spread over the marble tile to cover the puddles of vomit. Connor picked his way across the floor then turned to Tituba. ‘Sorry about this TJ. Get building maintenance up here to clean up the mess. I think they’ll probably need to steam the woodwork, walls, and floors from the look of it. Shouldn’t take them that long to put the place right. Meantime, until she sobers up, I’m putting Sylvie to bed in the guest room. Let me know when the workers finish.’
Connor strode from the room, his face fixed in a stern no-nonsense frown. Sylvie couldn’t even bring herself to look at him. She was in so much trouble!
For the past three weeks the only thought in Sylvie’s head was seeing Connor again. She’d longed to be sheltered in his arms, tasting the sweet nectar of his lips, their bodies pressed together, his cock buried deep and throbbing inside her. That’s what she hoped would happen; but instead of being overcome by lust, he’d been repulsed and disgusted. What did she expect? She’d acted like an utter ass. She’d really screwed the pooch this time. He wanted her to behave like a lady and she’d been anything but tonight! But whose fault was that? If he hadn’t cast her aside, thrown her out of the house, none of this would be happening. She wouldn’t have been prowling the streets of Manhattan, getting herself stinko. No, she’d have been curled up in his arms, fast asleep in the big bed in the mountains. The more she thought about it, the more Sylvie believed she was the aggrieved party here…not him! She stiffened and glared at him. Only to find him studying her with an icy gaze, a threatening glint in his eye. He was grim-faced. Like a judge ready to pronounce sentence. That didn’t bode well for her. She’d seen that look before and it meant trouble. Her eyes widened when he stopped in front of the dresser and picked up the heavy, carved hairbrush. Where the hell had that come from? She was sure it wasn’t here when she left.
Connor walked through the doorway, crossed the room, and put her down next to the bed. He held up the dreaded brush so she could see it. She immediately started backing away, but he grabbed her by the wrist and instructed her to turn around. Her first inclination was to run, but she was still dizzy and disoriented from the wine. There was no way she could outrun him. Puke on him? Yes! Outrun him? No! She was doomed! Sylvie gingerly turned around, her bottom cheeks clenching, expecting an explosion of fire to land on her ass. She was shocked when it didn’t! Had he taken pity on her? Had she won a reprieve? Sylvie felt the bristles of the brush working their way through her hair. She wanted to tell Connor how sorry she was. But some things were better left unsaid.
He didn’t say a word to her. Just brushed. There was something so intimate about the act. A man tending his woman. It felt so right. So normal. Like a golden brown curtain, her hair cascaded down her supple back. Unable to stop himself, he reached out and touched her, his fingers gently stroking along the length of her arm. He couldn’t believe how thin she was. Her arms were like scrawny sticks. There was no meat on her at all. Sylvie needed someone to take care of her. Make sure she ate, and exercised, and got enough rest. Connor hated being so far away from her, but he knew this was best. She wasn’t safe around him anymore. He knew in his heart he shouldn’t see her again. It put her life in danger. But he couldn’t do it. There was a need in him. A hunger. A longing. A compulsion really. So dark. So demanding. That only she could fill. He relished her warmth, her softness. Craved them. Sylvie was all he’d thought about these last three weeks.
The penthouse was filled with hidden cameras. The first few days, suffering the unbearable grief of losing her; he’d turn them on just to get a glimpse of her. Like a voyeur, he’d spied on her. Observing her tears and tantrums, her rages, the overwhelming despair she felt at their separation. She’d told him she loved him and this is how he repaid her. She was in a downward spiral because of him. Depressed, despondent, and drinking just about every day. He’d considered sending her to a doctor, but was afraid the medication she’d be given to dull the pain would only make matters worse. She functioned well enough during the day. Her work, as always, was perfect. But at night, alone in the darkness, it was as though her demons were unleashed. Sylvie drank herself into a stupor, then sat at her laptop, staring at the screen and sobbing.
He’d turned off the cameras after a few days. Connor couldn’t stand watching her suffer; especially knowing he was the cause of it. He’d promised to take care of her, protect her from harm, but he’d failed…miserably! Instead of helping her, he’d brought her nothing but grief. He wished he’d never hired her, never fucked her. He’d screwed up her life and she’d screwed up his. If it wasn’t for his work, his writing, he’d go stark raving mad! He couldn’t sleep, couldn’t think. Sylvie preyed on his mind. She was all he thought about. Touching her. Tasting her. Smelling her. He ached to feel her crushed beneath him, submitting to his body and his will. His cock was stiff as steel, just the way it always was when she was near. But there was no time for that now! She could barely stand, in fact she was swaying. To hell with the snarls. She needed sleep.
He pulled back the covers, picked her up, and deposited her in bed. Sylvie didn’t protest. Her eyes were closed. She was already asleep. He stared down at her a moment then gently kissed her forehead. ‘I’ll deal with you later, little girl,’ he said, walking from the room and shutting the door behind him.
