Twisted Truths

Chapter 1. The Rendezvous.

"Tonight's the big night. How are you feeling?" Christine's question cuts through my thoughts, and I look up from my desk. Christine, my supposedly best friend from high school, is now my employee at Anderson Advertisements.

"Keep your voice down, Chrissy," I snap, my tone as cold as the glint in my eye. "I don't need everyone knowing about my personal life." Her curiosity is evident, but I relent slightly. "If you must know—yes. James thinks it'll add some spark back to our relationship, spice things up. I'm no prude, but you know how James is—always pushing things to the limit. He wants me to meet him at the new place right after work for, well... how would you just say a bit of 'rough and tumble.'"

"I don't think I'd ever put it quite like that," Christine replies, taken aback. "But why Slater Street? The building's derelict, and the refit doesn't even start until next week."

I glance around the office with an air of triumph. Fourteen years of hard work, a few compromises along the way, but worth every second. CEO of Anderson Advertisements, over £4 million in revenue last year, 24 employees, and we're expanding. A self-satisfied smirk creeps across my face.

"Chrissy, I don't have time for this," I say dismissively. "When you manage to find a man as great as James and hold on to him, I add. You might start to understand. I'm heading out now." I give her a pointed look. "Can you check the slides for the Barrymore account before you leave? And restock the ladies' room. That's a darling."

Barking orders at Chrissy was becoming more fun each day. But I want to get there first—make sure I'm in control of this rendezvous.

"Kelly, it's nearly six. Checking those slides will take at least a couple of hours. I was hoping—"

"Chrissy, it's Mrs. Anderson at work," I interrupt, my voice sharper. "You need to be a team player. If I weren't so generous to my old school friends, who knows where you'd be? Probably in some low-end brothel." I chirp the last words playfully as I grab my bag and head for the door, leaving Christine feeling dismissed and small.

The building on Slater Street looms before me. A large steel-corrugated factory unit that might once have been bustling. Now, it's an empty shell—a "blank canvas," as I'd optimistically called it. But tonight, it feels more like a decaying relic, forgotten and neglected.

"James? Are you here?" My voice echoes through the cold, rust-streaked interior as I slip in through the creaky side door.

Inside, the place feels even more dismal. The air is thick with dust, and the faint flicker of fluorescent lights casts a sickly yellow glow over everything. No welcoming table set with flowers, no soft music, no James. Just three stained, sagging mattresses piled in a far corner of the cavernous room, remnants of God-knows-what.

"You've got to be kidding me," I mutter, my voice bouncing back to me. "Wait until he gets here. What the hell does he think he's playing at?"

I storm over to the mattresses, the sound of my heels echoing against the concrete floor. Perching on the edge of one, I pull out my phone, fingers trembling with irritation. If he thinks he can treat me like this, he's in for a surprise.

"Great, no reception. Perfect," I mutter through clenched teeth, glaring at my phone as though I could summon a signal by sheer will.

The silence presses in, making the factory feel even more desolate. The peeling paint and broken windows seem to mock me—a far cry from the pristine control I exert at the office. My frustration builds, the icy facade slipping as the desolation of the place gets to me.

Suddenly, the side door swings open with a loud creak, slamming into the wall. I jump, dropping my phone as I spin around. Standing in the doorway is James, dressed all in black, wearing a ski mask detailed with an orange smiley face and two crossed-out eyes.

"You idiot!" I snap, my voice trembling with a mix of fear and anger. "You scared me half to death. What are you playing at? This isn't what I had in mind."

James says nothing, just stares at me through the mask. I scoff, my irritation boiling over as I walk toward my phone, which has skidded across the floor.

"If you've broken my phone, you'll be replacing it with the latest model," I grumble, grabbing it and trying to power it on.

As the familiar logo lights up the screen, I feel a sudden pressure behind me. James is there, gripping my arms tightly, pressing himself against my back. The weight of his presence is suffocating.

"What are you doing?" I ask, my voice quivering with unease. I try to twist out of his grip, but he holds firm, the strength in his hands almost painful.

"Relax, Kelly," he whispers in my ear, his voice a low, menacing growl. "I thought you liked surprises."

A chill runs down my spine. This wasn't the kind of surprise I had in mind. I feel trapped, vulnerable in this vast, decaying space. The shadows seem to close in, and the air grows colder, thicker with each passing second.

"You're crossing a line," I manage to say, struggling to keep my voice steady. "Let go. Now."

The silence of the factory makes every breath, every heartbeat louder. My pulse races as I wait for his next move.

"James, not now. I'm trying to get my phone working." I jostle my shoulders, but he tightens his grip, pulling me closer. I feel his arousal pressing against me, and a strange thrill runs through me.

My resistance falters at the sensation of being wanted. I stop struggling, pushing back into him. His right arm snakes around my waist, pulling me deeper into his embrace.

"Not so hard," I whisper, my voice softening. "You don't want to hurt the merchandise, do you?"

In one swift motion, James spins me around, bending me over the mattress. He nudges my feet apart, spreading my legs.

My heart races, but the thrill of his touch overwhelms me, banishing any remaining doubt. His hand trails up my leg, under my skirt, hooking into my lace underwear. With a single yank, he tears them off; the fabric falling to the floor.

I open my mouth to protest, but he pushes me firmly down. I hear the rustle of his clothes as he frees himself, and then I feel him press against me.

This isn't what I expected — but it feels so good.

James fills me with a powerful thrust, more forceful than he's been in years. It feels different, better, as though this fantasy has aroused him beyond anything we've shared before. I push back, wanting to feel all of him.

Each thrust is deeper, harder, and I can't help but give in to the moment, letting the sensations take over. The pleasure builds rapidly, bubbling up from deep inside. I yelp with a mixture of pleasure and pain.

James grabs my hair, pulling me back onto him as his rhythm intensifies. My body responds, waves of pleasure building, crashing over me as I lose myself in the moment.

It's overwhelming. The intensity takes me by surprise, each wave of pleasure stronger than the last. I don't know how long it lasts—seconds? Minutes? Hours? Time slips away as I feel him release inside me, and my own pleasure peaks, leaving me trembling in the aftermath.

I lie there, catching my breath, a smile playing on my lips. Maybe we'll do this again, I think, as long as he replaces the panties he ruined. They weren't cheap. I blink, seeing James lift off me, his arm retracts - is that a tattoo?

I start to sit up, glancing toward James, but he's already walking out of the building.

"What the hell?" I shout after him, wobbling slightly as I stand. My legs feel weak, my body still buzzing with the lingering thrill.

What is he playing at?

I fish my phone from my bag, unlocking it as I mutter curses under my breath. Four missed calls. All from James. And a text.

I opened it: "Sorry, hun, stuck at work. I know this was my idea. I'll make it up to you. Should be home by 7:30. Love you xxxx."

My heart stops. My hands tremble as I re-read the message. If James was stuck at work...

Then who the hell was just with me?