Deviant: Calla & Jason (The Billionaire Voyeur)

CHAPTER 1 - Jason

When I see the look on Calla's face, I realize we are in this together.

I don't know what hit me—all I know is that everything went black, and after slowly awakening to the sight of darkness in what felt like a moving vehicle, I struggled against my confines for a while before blacking out again.

The next time I woke up, my hands were free from their bonds, and I was able to see again instead of having constant blackness in front of my eyes like when I tried to before.

The odd voice that suddenly comes into the small, unfamiliar and dimly lit room with the weirdly smooth gray walls makes both Calla and me jump. It sounds distorted and sends a chill up my spine.

"Hello, Jason and Calla," it says. "You don't know me, but I know you two rather well. The long and short of the matter is this: the sooner you make love to each other, the sooner you'll be released. You may think you can possibly escape this space without doing so, but you will discover quickly how mistaken you are. There is only one way out of this chamber, and I have already given you the key."

Calla looks so worried that I try to think of something comforting to say to her, but I come up blank.

"Is this some kind of joke?" she says, looking at me as if I could possibly have the answer.

"I hope so," I say. "Can't imagine who'd play it though."

"I assure you that this is no joke," the voice says. "And I am well aware of the...complications of the matter. You, Calla—such a sweet girl, with your pious background and sense of devotion, can't possibly imagine giving in to my terms just yet, I'm sure. Sleeping with your boyfriend's best friend! Oh, the impropriety." Calla's mouth falls open while the speaker chuckles. "But you, Jason—I know you have what it takes to get you two out of here."

"I would rather starve to death than sleep with you—no offense," Calla says to me, her eyes narrowing, and then looking away.

Offense taken. But I can't say that, of course.

Still, who wouldn't be offended? I'm not a bad-looking dude—certainly not so unattractive that someone would rather literally die if saving their life means us ending up in the horizontal tango. I mean, jeez—what's that about, Calla?

She jumps when the voice comes again.

"You won't starve—we'll make sure of that. But make no mistake, you will stay here until my terms of release are fulfilled."

I had already done so, but I look around the room again with new eyes.

It's about a thousand square feet and has a shower in one corner—no shower curtains, no door, no way of hiding. Just a drain, and some soap on the embedded soap dish.

A well-made up bed is in the opposite corner.

I walk over to what looks like a closed-off area near the shower and discover a toilet. Opposite that is a basin with unopened toothbrush packages and toothpaste.

Near the bed is a pile of soft material, and when I examine it, I discover underwear—bathrobes, lingerie.

Next, I check out the bed. It looks so inviting—the bedspread and decorative pillows almost glisten from what is clearly more expensive linen than my own budget no-name brand. Plus, I'm kind of tired. I guess being kidnapped and knocked out with who-knows-what and driving for who-knows-how-long will do that to you.

"It's just not happening," Calla says, snapping me out of my thoughts.

When I look at her, I see that she is standing with her arms folded, shaking her head. "We'll just have to wait this out. This can't be real."

"Oh, but it is, my dear Calla, you shall see," the voice intrudes again.

"Let us out of here, you sick fuck!" she screams at the voice.

Haha! I have to stop myself from laughing out loud. There went this guy's whole proper church girl theory. Proper church girls don't curse like that, do they? I know Calla, though—she's a modest gal, but what a fiery streak she has. She doesn't talk much, but piss her off and watch out.

The man behind the voice cackles at Calla's outburst, and what can I say—goosebumps rise on my skin. Maybe the guy's laugh was creepy anyway, but that distorted sound—whatever is being done to mask his real voice, I assume—made the laugh straight out of a nightmare.

Who knew what we were dealing with here?

Personally, I figure shouting and screaming at him won't do much good, but whatever makes Calla feel better, I guess.

In the meantime, I'll just have to think and figure out an alternate way to get us out of this; there has to be some way outside of this weirdo's terms.

"Oh, Calla," the voice begins again, "I cannot wait to see the soft pink lips of your pussy open up to him."

I can tell Calla is struck dumb by his words, as am I.

And I have to admit—what he said turned me on. The idea of the soft, pink anything on Calla...

I make sure not to look at her after that. Or the bed.