He gave a fractional nod of his head.
“Well, can I just get a bit more comfortable? I promise not to make this difficult for you. I can see you’ve been asked to do a job that isn’t really your scene. Am I right?”
“Yes.” He nodded. “What do you want?” He moved as if to pass her the lunch tray. She shook her head and began wriggling in the bed.
“I need to sit up. Can you help me?” She gestured with her bound hands under the sheet, nodding back at the headboard. If he sat her up, he could ogle all he wanted while she made her next move. She resisted the urge to chuckle -- the expression on his face was priceless. It had obviously dawned on him that he’d get a good look if he did as she asked.
He gulped, stood up, and reached for the sheet. He paused, and then slowly drew it down over her chest, gingerly.
“Mmm, that tickled.”
She thrust her breasts out as he uncovered them, and he stood hunched over her, staring. She lifted her wrists up, gesturing, and he slipped his massive hands under her arms and easily lifted her up against the headboard, as if she were just a small cushion he was rearranging.
“Could you untie my hands so I can eat my lunch?” She nodded over at the tray of food.
“Please don’t try to escape.” He seemed unsure of his ability to stop her breaking down the door, despite their relative statures. He was very strong, but utterly submissive -- would she be able to control him with words alone? He was quite pathetic, she realized, and he seemed totally unable to deny her requests.
Somewhere deep inside Georgie, something dormant fluttered and began to rise up. “I asked you to untie my hands.”
“I’m sorry.” He knelt down beside the bed.
She rested her bound wrists in his hands. He looked like a great warrior who had been turned into a slave, bent over her wrists like that.
He carefully untied her, taking great pains over the job, as if trying to please her with his work. He was a peeping Tom, and he was a submissive. It was so ironic. Moreover, he was vulnerable because he was aroused -- she was convinced of it. Perhaps she could gain the upper hand in the situation and make a break for it. The sense of power was beginning to grow and swell inside her, speeding through her veins like a heady narcotic.
“Thank you.” She stood up and walked over to the tray to pour a cup of coffee from the silver pot that sat there. Her legs felt wobbly, but she managed, reassuring herself she could cope with this situation. It was worth a shot, at any rate. She threw in some sugar and quickly knocked it back. As she put the cup down, she looked at the phone on the table.
“How much trouble would you be in if I used that, if I called the police and informed them about Gregory and the lot of you?” She pointed at the phone.
Foster quickly rose and shuffled his feet. “A lot. I’d be in a lot of trouble.” His voice was very quiet, and he looked at her as if trying to gauge her intentions.
She stalked over to him until she was right up against him, her face close to his. “You are in a whole lot more trouble with me than you ever will be with them, believe me.”
“You’re angry.” His eyes were wide and staring, his mouth open, as if in awe.
“Of course I’m bloody angry,” she shouted. “You’re holding me prisoner, you idiot.” She glared at him. As she did so, she noticed that he swallowed slowly and seemed to be having some difficulty breathing normally. Her glance fell to his crotch.
He had a raging hard-on. The bulge in his jeans was threatening to burst the zipper. She could see where the stitches were pulling the seam wide.
Her pulse beat out a wild rhythm, invoked by power. “You disgusting beast,” she muttered, pursing her lips.
He closed his eyes and let his head roll from side to side, his feet shuffling.
She shook her head with incredulity. “What is the matter with you?”
He squirmed on his feet, like a dirty little boy caught stealing. “My knob, I need to ... I want to rub it,” he whined.
She snorted, disgusted. “Rub it, if you must!”
He stood with his head hung in shame, the ball of his hand rubbing quickly up and down against the fly of his jeans, his breath panting.
Georgie was frozen to the spot in amazement. He had more or less asked her for permission to wank, and had responded when she had given it.
“Stop it now,” she ordered, curious to see if he would, or even could. To her amazement, he did stop, his heavy arms hanging by his sides once again, the lump at his groin poking out impudently against the fabric of his jeans, restless and angry at the interruption.
“You’ll have to be punished for your part in this, and for your disgusting behavior.” She gestured at his groin. “You do know that?”
He nodded his head.