Degradation(58)

I want Ang. Where's Ang?

"So just how rough do you like it, baby?" the guy growled at her,  working his pants down his hips. Tate laughed again. It was hollow  sounding. Alien. She glanced around. Who was laughing?

"Hit me with your best shot," she chuckled.

He backhanded her so hard that she spun around and her head crashed in to the mirror, breaking it.

That's definitely gonna leave a mark.

She groaned, not even sure what the fuck was going on, when he grabbed  the back of her dress and slammed her flat against the granite sink top.  She let out a cry as her jaw smacked down hard.

Okay, there's rough, and then there's rough. I may not be boss-bitch enough for this.

"You're so fucking hot. I knew the first time I saw you, I had to fuck  you. So fucking hot," Dunn groaned, clawing at her underwear and  dragging it down her legs.

Maybe this isn't a really super good idea.

"Wait, wait," she mumbled. Her tongue felt heavy and thick.

"You're gonna love this, I promise," he grunted, pushing her dress out  of the way. She tried to push away from the counter, but her movements  were slow and clumsy.

"Wait, I don't want -,"

Tate cried out as he pushed inside of her. She wasn't exactly prepared  for sex, and Mr. Dunn apparently wasn't interested in foreplay. It was  rough, and it hurt. She gripped onto the edge of the sink and bit down  on her tongue so hard, she tasted blood. She wanted to say stop, but  every time she opened her mouth, only a sob came out. A piece of mirror  was biting in to her cheek and she ground her face down harder,  welcoming the pain. But then, suddenly, she was being pulled backwards.

"No no no no no no," she chanted, trying to grip onto the sink so she  could break away. But she couldn't really flex her fingers and she slid  backwards, falling to the floor and landing on her butt. She fell back  against the door and then forward, winding up in a heap halfway in the  bedroom and halfway in the bathroom. She tried to focus, but the room  was so dark and she was so drunk, she couldn't figure out what going on  at first.

Wrestling. Two people were wrestling. She started to laugh. Jameson was  wrestling with Mr. Dunn. They were shouting, but she couldn't tell what  they were saying. Jameson sounded very angry. She glanced down at  herself, realized what a fright she must look. Managed to wiggle her  underwear back on, push her dress back down, all while still folded up  on the floor.

When she looked back up, the wrestling was over. Mr. Dunn had  disappeared. Jameson was slowly walking towards her. She could only see  his legs from her position, so she tilted her head back. Back. Waaaay  back, taking him all in. He was such an imposing man, a person needed  outstanding vision to see him. She blinked up at him.         

     



 

"I fell down," Tate whispered.

"Yes. Yes you did, baby girl," Jameson whispered back. She hiccuped.

"Did you win?" she asked. He sighed and squatted down in front of her.

"For once, I did not. You dealt the last hand. Had all the chips. Did  you invite him in here?" Jameson asked in a gentle voice. Tate shook her  head and nearly threw up.

"No. He came after," she replied.

"After what?"

"Afterrrrr ...,"

"Did you want him to do that?"

"I thought I did."

"You asked him to have sex with you?" Jameson questioned her. Questions. So many questions. Q. What a strange letter.

"No. He asked me. I can't feel my lips," she told him.

"And you said yes," Jameson whispered. She nodded.

"Yes. You have a Danish beauty. I'd like a financier of my own," she laughed. Jameson smiled down at her.

"Wait right here, please," he requested, and then he left the room.

She laid back down on the floor. Curled up in to the fetal position. She  was pretty sure she was crying. What had she done? What had she done!?  Something horrible, terrible. Jameson was Satan, but she was worse. He  hurt other people, which was bad. She hurt herself, which was so much  worse.

All I have is me.

Jameson came back in to the room. Tate managed to push herself upright  again, but had to keep her hands planted on the floor to keep from  swaying. He squatted down again, and she looked up at him. Narrowed her  eyes. He had something in his arms, bundles of something. He began  dropping them on the ground, all in front of her. She looked down, tried  to focus.

Oh my, that is a lot of money.

When there were no more bundles, she looked back up at him. He had his hands clasped together.

"Eight weeks. $4,000 a week. Your services are no longer required, Ms.  O'Shea. Please get the fuck out of my house," he said, oh-so-politely.

Tate held her tears in check until he left the room. Then she sobbed.  Climbed to her feet. Stared at the money. She stumbled back in to the  bathroom. Tried not to look at the broken mirror or the blood on the  counter. She grabbed the bottle of Jack from off the floor, and then  swiped the bottle of pills as well. Then, on her way out of the  bathroom, she grabbed a set of keys off a hook by the door. When she  left the room, she kicked the piles of money out of the way.

Tate didn't want to see anybody, didn't want anyone to see her. She took  a set of back stairs, previously service stairs. Had to go out a back  door and cut around the side of the house to get to the driveway. No  small feat, while wearing five inch heels and borderline black out  drunk. When she got to the line of cars, she pushed the car lock button  till she saw the Bentley's lights blink.

"Thank God," she groaned, shambling towards it. She had her hand on the door handle when there was a crunching sound.

"What are you doing!?" a voice yelled from behind her, and then she was being yanked in a circle. Sanders was holding her arms.

"Sandy!" she cried out, falling to the side. He wrapped an arm around  her waist, pulled her upright and then leaned her against the car.

"Oh my god, what happened?" he asked, holding her face towards the light. She pulled away.

"Oh Sandy, didn't he tell you? I won! I finally, finally won. Chalk one  up to the little guy. I'm going home now, I don't know if I'll ever see  you again," Tate told him, moving and yanking open the car door.

"I don't think that's such a good idea," Sanders said quickly, grabbing her arm again.

"Oh, I really do. Mr. Kane personally asked me to leave. He's a very  sore loser. Please keep in touch," she asked, trying to drop in to the  seat. Sanders pulled her up again.

"Please. I'm begging you. Just stay here," he asked. She pushed him away.

"I wouldn't stay here another minute, not even if you paid me," she informed him. He gripped her arms hard.

"Tatum," he said her name sharply. That got her attention. Sanders had  never, ever said her first name before; she wanted to cry again. "Don't  do this."

"I have to do this," she replied, and then shoved him as hard as she  could. He stumbled over the loose pebbles and she slipped in to the car,  locking the doors. Sanders pounded on the roof but she ignored him and  started up the car. Wiggled her fingers at him as she drove off.

See. This isn't hard. Way easier than playing with Jameson Kane.





~16~


"You have to stop her."

Jameson looked up. Sanders had just burst in to the library. He looked like a ghost.

"Excuse me?" Jameson asked, leaning back in his office chair.

"Tatum. She just left," Sanders explained. Jameson chuckled.         

     



 

"I think that's probably for the best," he replied. Sanders shook his head.

"No. She's drunk, Jameson," he stressed. Jameson frowned.

"She'll be fine."

"She's not fine! She just to-,"

Jameson slammed his hand down on the top of his desk.

"Don't fucking talk about her again! I don't want to hear her name,  anything. Don't even reference her!" he yelled. Sanders stared at him  for a minute.

"You don't mean any of this. You need her. What you did was wrong. Go  find her, and apologize," he said in an even voice. Jameson was shocked.

"I'm not apologizing for shit. Yeah, I did a shitty thing. She fucked my  friend, Sanders. My business partner, in my own home. In your bathroom!  I gave her money, she's gone. It's done, it's over. Drop it," he  snapped. Sanders took a deep breath.

"Are you saying you will not go after her? Not even, at the very least, to ensure her safety?" he asked. Jameson glared at him.

"Your are skating perilously close to the edge," he hissed. Sanders stood up straighter.

"Then consider this my notice, sir," he stated.

The shocking just did not stop.

"You can't mean that," Jameson actually laughed. Sanders refused to look at him.

"Effective immediately. I will clean out my stuff and be gone within the hour," he said. Jameson jumped up.

"I am practically family! You barely know her! You've known me for ..., for forever!" he shouted.

"I do not wish to be employed by a man of your caliber, sir. I find it beneath me," Sanders replied.