the puppet

“Tell me if you’re game,” he whispered in her ear from behind, slowly tugging at her hair.

“Yes,” she cooed from beneath him.

With her head pulled back by her hair as far as it could go, he reached for the red bandanna with his free hand.

“I’m gonna put this in your mouth. Just bite down on it ‘n’ breathe through your nose.”

He rested her head back down onto the bed and placed the red cloth in her mouth, tying it behind her head along with most of her hair. Her hands and fingers, already secured behind her back with her own leggings, looked like a nest full of freshly hatched baby birds reaching with their beaks for food.

“Just breathe through your nose,” he said again, slowly reaching his foot to the floor to steady himself and stand up.

Once off of her and the bed, he studied the curves of her naked body as it wiggle on the gray sheets. He was reminded of worms that emerged after it had stopped raining.

She closed her eyes and tried remaining still, but she couldn’t; the gag was just too much for her. She lost any control she had left. She became his puppet and that realization soon brought the taste of salt from her tears that the bandanna absorbed.

When she managed to open her eyes, she saw his hairy legs, then his cellphone. He was recording her or taking her picture. She tried telling him to stop, but the gag prevented her from saying anything coherent and forced her to concentrate on breathing through her nose.

What the fuck was she doing? How could she allow someone to tie her up? The drugs were good. The sex was good. Why was she allowing this though?

She was his puppet. She would do whatever he wanted because he was wanting her company. This is what you do when someone wants to be with you.

He placed the phone onto the nightstand and rolled her over so she now lay on her back.

“You’re doing great,” he whispered. “And you look fuckin’ a-maze-ing.”

He smiled as he climbed back on top of the bed and loosened the gag. Then he kissed and teased each nipple while she moaned.

This is why she let him do this to her.




Sadly this piece is “inspired” by the missing persons case of Kelly Dwyer, particularly this news story here. She’s been missing since October 11, 2013!!

why not?

“No one could ever know what happened here,” I told her as she grabbed her clothes from the floor and put them on. She didn’t say anything, just grabbed all her stuff and walked out the door. Just the way I like it.

A week later, I saw her again. Same bar, same bar stool. Drinking another dirty martini, she started groping at me, asking me to take her back to my place again. I knew I could get what I wanted from her so I was game. Why not? This time, I entered from behind, pushing her against the couch, shoving her face into the couch pillows to smother the screams. Stupid little whore wants to play with me, she can take it in the ass.

After, I told her I was going to bed and she could show herself out. She did.

I really thought that would be the end of seeing her; clearly she wouldn’t go back to O’Reilly’s Pub on South Street the following week.

I was wrong.

Barely in from off the street, I immediately noticed the back of her curly hair. Quickly, I snuck into a booth and watched her a bit. I wanted to see if she’d let someone else pick her up. A couple different guys approached, but left almost immediately. I was going to just leave, not wanting her to get the wrong idea if she saw me, but meh, why not?

“Back for more?” I said, while looking at the bartender to order a drink of my own.

She didn’t say anything but I was pretty sure she was smiling. With a drink in my hand, I started to leave and she grabbed my arm. “Wait,” she said.

“This is what you want?” I asked her.

This time I saw the smile to know for sure. She looked so young in that moment. Too young. And I immediately got hard.

“Fine,” I said, tossing back the Johnny Walker. Oh the warmth.

I slipped the glass onto the bar and grabbed her hand. When we got outside I pushed her against the door of the next building  and kissed her hard.

“You gotta do something for me though.”


“I’m gonna give you some money,” I told her, finding the big bills in my wallet. “A-lotta money. And you’re gonna go where I tell you to and tell them I sent you. They’re gonna give you a paper bag, like a lunch bag, and you’re gonna give them the money an’ come back out here to me.”


“Don’t look in the fucking bag alright? An’ don’t look around much when you get in there. Just go in, find the guy behind the counter, tell him my name and leave with the bag.”

I looked at her and she looked different. Even younger than before.

“How old are you again?”

“Twenty eight, why?”

“You gonna be able to do this or what?”

“Um, yeah. I guess. Sure.”

We walked around the corner to the Chinese take-out joint and I sent her in and waited and not more than a minute or two later, she came out holding the bag.

“Is there at least some food in here?” she asked.

I couldn’t help but laugh. I took her back to my place and fucked her before I showed her what was in the bag—an eight ball of coke. We snorted a couple of lines and fucked again and I realized I was in a fucking relationship with someone I didn’t really care about who I couldn’t shake. And she was okay with me doing whatever the fuck I wanted to do to her. The kinkier the better it seemed. So why not?

Had I known I’d be trying to hide her fucking body a couple months later, I would’ve known why not.


This piece of FICTION is inspired from this week’s speakeasy prompt as well as the unbelievably true and disturbing story of the missing woman from Milwaukee, Kelly Dwyer.