Prospective Buyer

Dorothy walked into a narrow patio and rang the door bell. She’s expectant to meet the owner of the house. A Mr. Ducat. She didn’t know much about the buyer at all, only the fact that he wanted to sell the house. Hell, she didn’t even know how he looked.

“Yes?” a guy with tousled hair opened the door. Clearly, he had just woken up. The cup of coffee in his hand pointed to that too.

“I’m Dorothy Jones. Are you Mr. Ducat?”

He grimaced as he studied the woman in front of him. “You’re the buyer?”

“Yeah.” she chirped excitedly.

“Sorry, wrong house.” he slammed the door in front of her.

Dorothy gawked at what had just unfolded. She had to blink a few time to get her head to start working again. And after a short mental work, she was sure she had arrived at the right house. There’s no doubt about it. She had triple check the address, even drove around the neighborhood twice. This house fit both the address and the picture sent to her by her solicitor. Feeling insulted, she thumbed the bell again.

“I’ve told you that you’ve got the wrong house.” he called from inside.

“But you know I’m the buyer. How the hell would you know that if this is the wrong house?” she retorted. There was silence for a moment.

“Fine then. I’m not selling.”

“What? You can’t do that?” she almost squealed in disbelief.

“It’s my house, sweetheart. I can do whatever the fuck I want.” he scoffed.

Dorothy felt a surge of anger rising like an vented steam. Not only had he insulted her by denying her access to his house just by her look, she was also offended by the fact that he didn’t give any reason as to why he rejected her outright. What gave him the right to stop her from going in and have a look? Two can play this game, she figured.

“Fine.” she hissed. “I think I feel oblige to give a really bad review of your house to the solicitor. Bad paint job. Rotten wood. Narrow patio. Two hundred fifty grand for this piece of junk? I’m not even sure if it even worth half of it.”

“What the hell do you want?” he swung the door open and glared at her.

With the door fully opened, Dorothy could finally see the owner of the house in full view. He was wearing only a sweat pants. While he wasn’t particularly muscular, those solid abs told her that she would be in deep trouble to mess with someone like him. He was at least 6’5″ and with her petite stature of 5’7″, she had no doubt he could break her neck if he wanted to. She took a step back.

“Let me have a look and then I’ll leave.” she said coolly.

“I said I’m not selling.” his spat in disgust.

“You’ve said earlier in the morning that I can.” she took out her phone and showed him the online conversation she had with him.

“Yeah. But you didn’t tell me that you’re a woman.”

“What?” she couldn’t have been angrier. Not only this guy was a douche bag, he’s also a misogynistic asshole. “Is that it, a woman can’t buy your house? Hello…we aren’t living in the nineteenth century, you chauvinistic asshole.”

He palmed his hand on his face for a moment and sigh in frustration. “Fine then. Let’s get it over with.” he moved aside.

Dorothy wondered if she should go in to the house with the likes of him. He’s handsome, duh, but Ted Bundy was rather handsome too. But then again, if he was a serial killer, he would have just allowed Dorothy in the beginning. And she didn’t want to back out now knowing that he had offered her entry. She didn’t do hypocrisy well.

“I don’t have all day, miss.” he snapped, pulling her away from her thoughts.

Dorothy cleared her throat and walked in. As soon as she’s in, the man slammed the door shut behind her. She jolted slightly at the loud thud.

“Living room, kitchen, toilet. Upstairs, bedroom. Help yourself.” he hissed angrily as he pointed to the entrances.

Dorothy scowled at the ‘warm’ welcome she’s receiving. The man didn’t wait for her to check each room, but instead went upstairs. Feeling slightly relaxed after his absence, Dorothy walked into the kitchen. She always liked cooking and for every house she surveyed, the kitchen would be the first she’d look at.

The kitchen was pretty neat, considering the fact that a man owned this house. It had all the space, a central counter which would be perfect for baking, and a row of overhead cabinet.

“Bullshit, Peter.” she heard him shouted from upstairs. She remembered that name. It was the name of her solicitor. “There’s a reason why I said only men. Yeah. Right. Fuck you man. You better be fucking sorry. Yeah, she’s here. No. Hell would have to freeze the fuck over before I would let her buy it.”

Dorothy winced at the remark. Was she being obnoxious? She remembered she had only shouted at him twice. Twice and that’s all. And that’s also because he was an asshole to begin with. But to deny her the right to buy the house to such an extent, that would warrant a much more hatred than one could receive in just a few minutes.

She filtered out his voice from her head and inspected the kitchen with more scrutiny. She didn’t have to hear more of what he had to say. As she checked the wallpaper for defect, she found a very narrow gap. She followed the narrow line and quickly realized the gap formed a rectangle, concealed very well by the pattern of the wallpaper. She scowled at the gap. Something must have happened to the old wall and was replaced with a new one. She mentally noted it down and should he be willing to sell his house again, she could use this to leverage a lower price. If the wall was weak, she could leverage even more.

She pounded on the wall, in hope to hear some squeaking sound. To her horror, the rectangular wall segment swung opened, revealing a flight of stairs leading downwards.

“Fuck!” she cursed. Her heart began to race. There’s a secret underground passage in this house. Common sense would have dictated to run out of the house. However, Dorothy was a journalist. An a very curious one too. A secret passage could lead to a once in a life time opportunity. A serial murderer in the middle of a suburban area with an underground basement for his victims could potentially filled the front pages of every news paper in the country. It would be a major scoop of a lifetime.

She went out the kitchen and stopped right at the stairs. She could hear him still talking to someone on the phone and it didn’t seem like it’s Peter he’s talking with. She didn’t know exactly who but judging from the conversation, she was quite positive that it would take longer than a few minutes. And that’s all she needed to get her material.

She ran back to the kitchen and went down the hidden staircase. It was dark so she had to take her cellphone and used the camera’s flash as a light source. She walked down the stairs as fast as she could. Once her feet landed on solid ground, she flashed the light across the room. The room was still quite dark as her cellphone’s light wasn’t as strong as a conventional flashlight. It was, however, enough for her to make out the place.

To her slight disappointment, there was no rotting corpses down here. Instead, there’s a giant wooden cross shaped of an X somewhere at the corner. There was also a big metal box, one that usually used to house large speakers, at the center of the room. Maybe there’s a corpse in the box, she thought. She set her phone on camera mode. And soon as she opened the case, her finger was tapping away on the capture button.

No corpse.

A lot of canes and whips and crops and shackles.

“Is he a circus master?” Dorothy muttered.

All of the sudden, the light flickered on. Dorothy was startled and jumped to her feet. She turned around and saw Mr. Ducat. He was no longer half naked. He was wearing a grey t-shirt and a pair of blue jeans.

“I see you’ve found my little secret room.” he said ominously. His eyes gleamed at her.

“I…I was just checking the place out.” she shrugged and tried to be as nonchalant as possible. The stammering, of course, was a dead giveaway that she was anything but nonchalant.

“I see. Well. Since you are down here, I think I should give you a tour.” he quipped.

“I believe I’ve seen enough.” she retorted. She briefly glanced at the staircase back to the kitchen.

“Nonsense. You haven’t seen it all yet.” he folded his arm. His lips curled up into a sinister smirk.

“I believe I do. Thanks for the offer.” she took the time to look around. With the light turned on, she could see clearer. The walls were painted red. There were several furniture that by no means the kind of furniture one would place in the living room. A small leather couch with cuffs all over it. A bench with cuffs soldered to the metallic frame. She quietly cursed at the sight.

“Aw, don’t be shy, sweetheart.” he cooed as he walked closer.

“Don’t come any closer.” she backed away. “Or I’ll scream.”

“Go ahead.” he shrugged. “I’ve installed soundproof panels all over the place. You can scream as much as you want and no one will hear.” he added sardonically.

“I’ll call the cops.” she threatened, holding the phone up to make a firm point.

“If you can get a signal.” he scoffed.

Dorothy looked at her cell and to her horror, there’s no signal bar. She bit her lower lip, a habit she did when she’s scared. He was standing only a few feet away from her. His massive bulk was between her and the staircase to freedom.

With no option left, she lunged to staircase in desperation. The man stretched out his strong arms and wrapped around her waist. Before she could do anything to escape, he pressed her against the wall and pinned her with his body. Dorothy felt his erection pressing against her stomach.

“Won’t you want to stay?” he hissed into her ear. “We can do so many fun things here.”

Dorothy could think of many things that’s fun, but certainly not being held by a man against her will. And by his suggestive tone, she had no doubt that the fun he’s talking about included the usage of the stuff in the box too.

“Fuck you.” she spat at him.

“Oh, sweetheart. You’ve no idea how much I want that.” he ground his torso against her chest, pressing her further onto the wall. Her body shuddered at the intense contact. It wasn’t pain that caused it. It was something else.

“Get off of me.” she struggled fruitlessly. Her body became hot and she could feel her sex swell.

“No. I want you here. All tied up.” he exhaled.

Dorothy sucked in a sharp breath. Every inch of her skin was crawling. A familiar sensation began to build in her stomach. What the hell was he doing to her?

“No.” she groaned feebly.

“You get to be in all sorts of position for me to play with.” his voice was sultry. ” You can scream my name as I fuck you right in your spread pussy. No one will ever look for you down here. We can go day and night. I can fuck you until you faint, and wake you up only to fuck you all over again. What do you say?”

Yes. A tiny little voice behind her head answered that for her. Her mouth, however, reluctantly said otherwise.

“Good.” he said. “Now you know why I don’t want a woman buying my house?”

Dorothy swallowed and nodded her head.

“Now, get the fuck out of my house.” his tone turned cold again.

 

 

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About robsam1991

Even though my stories depicts rapes and violence on women(mostly), i never once condone the action. Not even the slightest. In fact, i despise men who rape women. I never agreed on that women who wear provocative clothing were to be blame on for the rape; though they should take precautions when necessary to avoid risk. As a man, i think it's our responsibility to control ourselves and never let our urge out on innocent people. If you feel like raping someone, then treat a girl nicely so that she would opt for a role play where you can play out a 'rape' on her satisfyingly. Please use safe word.
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