Blindfolded [Complete]

Obsessed

The first time I figured out what blackmail meant was when I was 8. Having just discovered the annoying world of crushes, I had all but thrown up my confession to the cute quiet guy who sat by the window in my class. What followed was a look of pure disgust which quickly morphed into him demanding I hand over my brand new action figures if I didn't want him to tell the whole school that I like boys.

Experience number two followed only a couple years later when my own cousin discovered my sordid little secret and made me cough up all my birthday presents to him for the next five years.

I was sixteen when my very first boyfriend took some secret pictures of us making out, extracting most of my pocket money in exchange for not telling my parents. And by the time I was 22 I was already big enough in the world of business that threats of extortion had graduated to scandalous stories being published into sleazy tabloids. Over the years, the same situation has arisen in front of me over and over again. I always had something someone else wanted, and they found a way to use my weakness against me to get it.

Having nothing more than sexual encounters with blindfolded prostitutes in the seclusion of four walls wasn't exactly my idea of a romantic ever after I had while I was growing up, but having gone through a never-ending array of cheaters, liars, deceivers, and blackmailers, I had pretty much resigned to my fate of an emotionless not so love story. And for the longest time, I was even Ok with that. Afterall I was rich, famous, rather decent looking if I might say so myself, and I could pretty much buy someone to sleep with me anytime I craved. I guess, in the end, my life really wasn't anything to shed tears about. And yet with all this wealth and privilege came the intense sense of wariness and distrust. Restricting every partner to my supposed sex mansion. Content at never repeating any of them ever again. Too careful at not allowing these random associations to get close enough to ever actually affect my reality anymore.

That was until I got my first taste of Arthit.

A tingling sensation imprinting on my lips as if permanently as I was desperate to taste him the second time. And then the third. And fourth, fifth, sixth, and now after so many months, I can officially accept that I am obsessed with the man.

And what better proof of my ridiculous obsession could there be than the folder sitting in front of me, staring at me accusingly as I sighed like an overdramatic soap opera character while looking pensively out the window of my private jet on my way back home. Fingers flirting with the spine of the file I know would hold secrets within it I wasn't ready to discover just yet.

I had ordered my investigator to dig up every sordid detail about his life the moment I had first suspected Arthit was not with the escort company. Terry slipping the file on my desk a couple of weeks later confirming my worst suspicion. And yet after months I had still not found the courage to actually flip the damn thing open and actually read the contents of the documents.

Why, you may ask?

Cause I simply didn't want to. I really, really didn't want to read the details of yet another betrayal.

Even knowing full well that Arthit and Kite had been lying to me repeatedly, the night I had ripped off the blindfold from his eyes I still had some lingering hope that he will come clean himself. But to my disappointment, he hadn't. Infact he had even attempted his horrid acting while pretending to be shocked at seeing my face in bed under him. Even when I explicitly gave him the chance he had chosen to continue lying to me.

And that was it. That was the end. Shoving his folder deep into the bottom of the drawer, not having the capacity to ever had flipped more than one page through the folder, wallowing in the intense sense of betrayal I tried to desperately shut him out of my consciousness. Deciding to not even think about him until I absolutely needed to. Maybe if someday he attempted to do something malicious I would bother to dig up his file once more to actually finally read it. Ignore him under all conditions was exactly what I intended to do. It was a full proof, no holes plan. Until ofcourse the very first time I ran into him and physically felt all my defenses instantly crumble.

How the hell did that little nobody of a boy cause such an intense reaction in me. My frustrations reigning supreme ever single time I found myself beating off my own dick to images of him night after night.

And then came that fateful day where I saw that strange tattooed guy hanging around Arthit once more that I automatically found myself following his footsteps, grabbing his arm the very first chance I got, sucking on his mouth without even giving it a conscious thought. Silently begging him to return back to me.

I let out one more extremely frustrated sigh. Looking down at the folder in front of me like it was the dreaded Math homework I had failed one too many times in high school. Loathe to even touch it for I surely didn't want to reveal any of the mysteries that lay within I once again slipped it back in my bag.

As if I was competing for peak levels of stupidity I have decided to convince myself that Arthit is nothing more than a simple college student who decided to make a few extra bucks on the side. And perhaps if he ever has anything he needs to confess he would someday come tell me himself.

Stuffing my dilemma deep into the back of my mind I anxiously fiddled with my phone while I felt my fight land at its destination. Twiddling my fingers over the flat screen as I waited for a reasonable time to call Arthit. Glaring at the phone every five minutes until the clock finally struck 8 am, deciding it was all the sleep I was going to allow him to have that day before launching the barrage of phone calls.

Can anyone else smell the desperation laced in the air? Cause I sure can. And yet I found myself thoroughly incapable of stopping  from trying to get in touch with him relentlessly when after a good three hours he had yet to answer a single one of my calls or even read any of the messages.

After hour five of absolute no word from him, my restlessness was morphing into actual worry. What made me so sure that Arthit would actually let me know even if he was about to cancel our appointment, I have no idea but with every last bone in my body I believed that he wouldn't ditch our planned day without atleast a simple call.

Hence, after almost an entire day simply trying to get in touch with him instead of spending our Saturday in contorted positions my horny brained has imagined us into over the past week, I inexplicably found myself standing in front of his door. Taking in one deep, long breath. Mustering every last ounce of courage, delving deep into my own psyche to pep talk myself into doing something I had never ever thought I would be doing.

And after a good ten minutes of staring at the shut door, I straightened my shoulders, hardened my resolve and raised a hand to knock on the wood when suddenly it was flung open.

My eyes automatically widening in surprise when instead of the pleasant smile on Arthit's face I was staring straight into the glaring eyes of the same tattooed man from before.

.