Chapter 3: The Eyes of the Beast

After James leaves for work I am alone. I sense the eyes of the beast are somewhere in the condo, watching me. I shake off the crazy paranoid feeling and go on with my day. I take a shower, do my hair and makeup. I swallow a handful of water and take my birth control bills. I go into the kitchen to drink a cup of coffee and eat a piece of toast. After breakfast, I still feel nervous. I walk around the condo and look in every room, every closet. I sigh, feeling extremely foolish and silly. “The devil doesn’t exist,” I say to myself. I sit down, open my laptop and focus on my work. Several hours go by.

Soon it’s time to get ready for my meeting with Mr. Wilkin. I get the address from my email and type it into my I-Phone. I put on a dress and heels. I touch up my makeup and leave.

When I arrive at the location I thought perhaps I typed the address incorrectly into my phone. It was a Marriot Hotel. I park and go into the hotel restaurant to see if Mr. Wilkin was there. The Maitre De approaches me and I ask him if a gentleman by the name of Mr. Wilkin had arrived. He says no one by that name was waiting inside the restaurant. He directs me to the front desk. I mention Mr. Wilkin’s name to the clerk.

“Yes. Mr. Wilkin is waiting for you in Room 666, Ms. Madsen,” the front desk clerk says.

“What room did you say?” I ask.

“Room 666. He’s expecting you. The elevators are right behind you,” the clerk says, handing me the key card.

When I turn the demon is standing directly behind me. I cry out in fright and clutch my breast.

“Hello Ms. Madsen. I’m sorry if I startled you. Is the room number I chose for your dalliance with Mr. Wilkin a bit too much? I thought I might be overdoing it a trifle,” he said. “I normally tend be a trifle less opaque in setting up these scenarios…”

I shut my eyes and open them but he’s still there, towering over me and grinning. I look around the lobby at the other guests. No one else can see him or hear his voice. I put my hand over my eyes and whisper to myself, “He’s not there. He’s not there. He’s not there…”

I feel someone touch my arm. When I remove my hand from my eyes the demon is gone.

“Are you OK Miss? Are you feeling well?” a hotel worker asks.

“I’m fine,” I say.

“Is there anything I can do for you?”

“Please direct me to the Ladies Room.”

“It is around the corridor next to the elevators on your left.”

“Thank you.”

There’s no one in the rest room. I pause at the sink and splash some cold water on my face. I know it’s ridiculous to be afraid. He’s just a figment of my imagination. He’s not real.

“The devil doesn’t exist,” I say to myself.

I look at myself in the mirror. Becoming the submissive of James has transformed my appearance. I feel prettier now and sexually alive. My lips appear fuller, my hair longer and silkier, and my eyes vulnerable and friendly. Without a bra, my body feels free. The round soft contour of my breasts is easily seen through the thin material of my light flirty dress. I like the way I look since I left my old life behind. I’m a different person now.

While touching up my makeup and lipstick I think about Mr. Wilkin. He’s always been a great person to work for and very responsive to my needs. After my husband died he gave me some extra time off, with pay. Mr. Wilkin allowed me to work from home and communicate by email so I only had to go into the office for the Friday staff meeting. I consider us to be friends. I didn’t mind when he started touching my arm or resting his hand on my shoulder when I showed him my designs. The touching never made me uncomfortable but it has increased incrementally over the last few months. Still, it felt inappropriate for him to arrange a meeting in a hotel room. Why would he need to meet with me there, rather than in his office at work?

“You are so naïve,” I hear the demon say.

I look at the reflection and there he is standing near the door, leaning on his fancy cane.

“You like playing the role of the innocent repressed little girl, but you know precisely why your supervisor has arranged this sordid rendezvous. It should be no big surprise to you at this point. Of course he wants to fuck you and make you his mistress, just like every other man who lays eyes upon you. You know precisely what he wants from you and you can leave here at any time. Yet you stay. Why? Why do you think you haven’t you left, Ms. Madsen?”

The demon was right. Why did I take the hotel room key from the front desk clerk? Though discreet, the clerk obviously thought I was a prostitute that Mr. Wilkin had hired for the afternoon. I certainly looked the part in my sexy dress. Why hadn’t I left?

A woman comes into the bathroom. I look down and wash my hands. The woman freshens up next to me at the sink and leaves. When I look up again the image of the demon is no longer in the mirror. I take out my mascara and draw a thin line under each eye and leave the rest room before the demon comes back to haunt me again. On my across the lobby I see him again, waiting for me at the front entrance. He holds out his clawed hand to me.

“Ms. Madsen, have you thought about the proposal I made to you at Obsessions last night? Come. Leave with me now. Join us at Church of the Anti-Christ. Your new life awaits…”

Was I losing my grip on reality? Of course this demon was not talking to me in the lobby of the Marriot Hotel. I take a deep breath, close my eyes, open them and walk over to the elevators. I decide to go up and meet Mr. Wilkin, if for no other reason than to stop the horrible image of Lucius Barrington from haunting me further. I press the button for the 6th floor.

I walk down the corridor to Room 666 and stop in front over it, my heart pounding. Through I’ve denied it for months I know Mr. Wilkin is attracted to me and has wanted to kiss me on several occasions. He’s invited me into his office alone for no particular reason just to chat. What was I doing outside of his hotel room? I take out my compact out of my purse and look in the mirror. The word whore is written in black across the glass. I wipe the word off the mirror with a tissue and put the compact back in my purse. Suddenly the door opens.

“I thought I heard someone out here. Hello Grace,” Mr. Wilkin says nervously.

“Hello Mr. Wilkin,” I say.

“I left you a key card at the front desk. Did you get it?” Mr. Wilkin asks.

“Yes,” I say.

“Good. Well, please, come in.”

I tentatively walk by him and into the room. There is a large king-size bed in the middle of the room and the curtains are drawn over the windows. Mr. Wilkin paces around the hotel room, running his fingers through his receding hairline as he talks.

“Thank you for coming. You’re right on time. I’m glad you could make it. Are you hungry? I’m having room service send up our dinner in a few minutes. I hope you don’t mind meeting in the hotel room. I thought it might be more appropriate to meet here than in the restaurant due to the nature of… what I wish to discuss. Would you like a drink from the minibar? There’s a wide selection of -”

“No thank you Mr. Wilkin. I don’t drink,” I say.

“Please Grace. Have a drink. Let’s not stand on ceremony here. We’re not at work. You can relax around me. I know I’m your supervisor, but…”

“No thank you Mr. Wilkin.”

“Please Grace. Call me Timothy.”

“Mr. Wilkin, due to a previous engagement, I have only a few minutes to talk. Why did you ask me to meet with you in a hotel room?”

“Oh, that. Well, yes. Let me get right to the point. I’m… well…”

Quite unexpectedly Mr. Wilkin lunges forward into my body, knocking me down upon the bed.

“Mr. Wilkin…”

“Grace… Oh God… Grace…” he moans, kissing my neck.

“Mr. Wilkin. Really. This isn’t right. I’m your employee. Please let me up…”

I squirm underneath his body but am unable to move. He covers my face, lips and neck with desperate kisses and manages to unbutton my white silk blouse without tearing it. Since I wasn’t wearing a bra, my breasts are easily accessible and he takes them greedily into his hands. He leans over burying his face in the midst of my cleavage and moaning out my name, fondling and kissing my nipples. Until I was 25, only allowed three men had touched my breasts, my deceased husband, my first Dom Charles Anderson, and James. But over the last year, literally hundreds of men have lost control of their decorum in the club, groping my body and fondling my breasts. Add mild-mannered supervisor Mr. Wilkin to the list. He takes off his glasses and continues to cover me with kisses, breathing and panting heavily.

“Grace… I’ve wanted to do this for so long. I know it’s I inappropriate, but I can’t hold back any longer. I can’t. Not another moment.”

I try to push his chest away but his weight pins me to the mattress.

“Please Mr. Wilkin. Let’s not do anything you’ll regret later. You’re married…”

“I can’t help it. I want to… get inside you… and make love to you. I… I want to… do bad things to you Grace… You bring out the animal in me. I can’t help it Grace. I’m so attracted to you. I’m sorry but… I’ve… fallen in love you with. I can’t help it. I’m in love with you… I’ve loved you from the first moment I saw you…”

Before I met my first Dom, Charles Anderson, and opened up to him about my need to be dominated by a man, my experience in the hotel room with Mr. Wilkin would have upset me terribly. I would’ve screamed out for help, pressed criminal charges and sued him for all he was worth. But after I gave in to my own sexual obsessions, I completely changed. I wasn’t the slightest bit upset that my supervisor was lying on top of me in a hotel room, desperately squeezing my breasts and sucking on my nipples. Actually, I’m more concerned with Mr. Wilkin’s mental state than my own. I feel sorry he had to carry around the weight of this sexual attraction and arrange this sordid liaison with me in order to fulfill his needs. He was sacrificing everything, his marriage, his job, his reputation, for this moment alone with me.

Rubbing his pelvis against my leg over and over while fondling my breasts, I feel Mr. Wilkin’s growing erection press against my thigh. The weight of his body makes it impossible for me to move so I have no choice but to let him do it. As he whispers his words of love into my ear, he keeps grinding his pelvis into my leg and kissing me. I know it will be over quickly if I don’t resist. After another minute of heavy petting the poor man ejaculates inside his trousers. I feel the wetness seep through his clothes and dampen my thigh.

“Mr. Wilkin…”

He releases me from his grasp and sits up on the edge of the bed in a daze, breathing heavily. I see the damp round wet stain on his pants.

“Ms. Madsen… I’m… I’m sorry… I… I didn’t mean to… I… I raped you.”

Mr. Wilkin covers his face in his hands and begins to sob quietly.

“Mr. Wilkin… Please don’t be upset. Please stop crying. You didn’t hurt me. You didn’t really rape me, sir. You could’ve taken off my panties and… entered me… or forced me to… do something to you, but you didn’t. You just kissed me a little, really, and lost control. Don’t take it so seriously, Mr. Wilkin. I’m OK, really I am…”

He responds to me through his tears in a quivering voice.

“You’re so understanding Grace. It makes me love you even more…”

“You’re married Mr. Wilkin. You have a nice pretty wife. You introduced me to her at the Christmas party last year, remember? Carol is her name, right? You have three beautiful children. You’ve shown me their pictures. What are you doing, Mr. Wilkin? Why do you want to throw that all away?”

Mr. Wilkin looks swept away by passion and miserable at the same time.

“I’m in love with you Grace. I’ve been in love with you for over 2 years now. From the first moment I saw you. After your husband died, the tender feelings I had for you have only grown stronger. I think about you every moment of my life now. I just couldn’t control my feelings for you anymore. I had to be alone with you. I want to start a new life with you…”

I sense Mr. Wilkin was about pounce again, so I move away from him on the bed and stand up, buttoning my blouse. I break the news to him.

“I don’t think I told you I have a boyfriend Mr. Wilkin. His name is Jim Jefferson. He’s a very sweet man and we’ve been together for almost a year now. I’m in love with him, Mr. Wilkin. We’re very happy together. So, I’m terribly sorry but…”

Mr. Wilkin stands up, nods his head and walks over to the far corner of the room. He looks out the window. His voice trembles with sadness as he speaks.

“Of course you’re in love with him. Of course. What have I done? My God, what have I done?”

There is a knock at the door. He doesn’t move from the window so I open it. A gentleman from room service comes in to set up the dinner. Mr. Wilkin faces the window so the waiter can’t see the large stain on his pants. It’s all very awkward. As the waiter sets up the table, chairs and white tablecloth Mr. Wilkin continues to stand motionless in the corner. After everything is ready, the gentleman stands by the table, asking if there is anything else we need. I look over to Mr. Wilkin, but he doesn’t respond. I tell the waiter no. Luckily I have some cash to give him a tip before he leaves. Mr. Wilkin looks like something has broken inside of him.

“Mr. Wilkin? The food’s arrived. It looks delicious. Are you hungry?”

He doesn’t respond.

“Shall we eat? It looks delicious. I’m starving. Come sit down with me.”

After a moment, Mr. Wilkin sits down and we pick at our food in silence. After a few minutes, Mr. Wilkin stumbles over to the minibar and opens a few bottles. He turns his back to me and stands at the window, drinking. He drains one of the small bottles and opens another.

“You needn’t stay any longer Ms. Madsen. I apologize for inconveniencing you this evening. My behavior has been beyond contempt.”

“Like I said, don’t worry about it Mr. Wilkin. It’s no big deal, really,” I say.

Mr. Wilkin continues to stand against the window with the round wet spot on his pants. A long awkward silence passes between us. I pick up my purse.

“OK then. Thank you for dinner. Please don’t let any of this trouble you, Mr. Wilkin. You have such a lovely wife. Why don’t you go home and take her out on a date this evening? She’s a very pretty woman and I’m sure she’d like that. Why don’t we just forget about all this, shall we? I’ll see you at the staff tomorrow…”

He nods, staring out of the small opening of the curtain.

“OK then. Bye Mr. Wilkin…”

I go home, throw my clothes in the laundry and shower to get the smell of my supervisor off my body. When James comes home I decide to tell him about Mr. Wilkin’s infatuation with me, but leave out the details about the fondling and groping of my breasts and how my supervisor pinned me to the bed and ejaculated in his trousers. I’m nervous how my Dom might act up and I feared for Mr. Wilkin’s safety. James holds very strong opinions about sexual harassment in the workplace and I didn’t want to make the situation more complicated than it had to be. It’s very late when my Dom returns from the club and I’m already half- asleep in bed. He undresses and cuddles up next to me, his hands over my breasts.

At breakfast the next morning James asks me if I plan on visiting my parents that night. I roll my eyes and James chuckles. My weekly dinners with my parents are a running joke between us. Around six months after the death of my husband, my parents started playing matchmaker, trying to fix me up with one dull single man from church after another. It made the dinners excruciatingly awkward, with each gentleman giving me his number, hoping I would call them which I never did.

“Who are they trying to fix you up with this week?” he asks with a smile.

“No one. I think she told me Pastor Orman is invited to the dinner.”

“Oh no! Not him again!” James says, barely containing his laugh.

“My Mom says Pastor Orman wants to have a heart to heart chat with me about dropping out of church. Everyone’s so worried about the salvation of my soul. I really should talk to them about our relationship. I’m not ashamed of who I am.”

“Do you think they’re ready to hear about that?”

“They’ll never be ready to hear I’m the submissive of a virile man named Jim Jefferson and I’m enjoying it immensely. They’d prefer me on my knees at church rather than on my knees doing something I enjoy much more with you.”

James winces.

“Yeah, something tells me they’re not going to like that.”

I put my arms around James and he fondles my breasts.

“I really want to stop pretending to be someone else with my parents. I think it’s time I introduced them to the first and only man I’ve ever loved.”

He frowns.

“They’re not going to like me Grace. They’ll take one look at my ugly face and -”

“I hate it when you say that! You do not have an ugly face. You’re an exceedingly handsome man James. I think I’ve shown you how attractive I think you are, on a daily and a nightly basis.”

“And I thank Heaven for that, but you’re the only one that sees me that way, I’m afraid. Don’t get me wrong, I really want to meet your parents and have a relationship with them, but I know once they take one look at me …”

“I could care less what they think.”

James finishes his cup of coffee.

“Can we discuss this later Grace? Unfortunately, I’ve got to go.”

“Ok. I’ll call you if I can make it to the club later.”

“OK. Have fun at your parents,” he says, smiling.

“Fun. Right,” I say.

James kisses me goodbye. I dress and leave for the staff meeting, hoping Mr. Wilkin has forgotten all about the whole embarrassing incident last night. I certainly had.

I enter the office building and wait for the elevator to arrive. I notice for the first time a large picture of a bull mounted on the wall across the lobby. It’s strange. I’d been working at this company for over two years now and never noticed this painting before. Everyone coming in and out of the building completely ignores the picture and so did I until today.

As if on their own accord, my eyes drift up to the bull’s head. The beast has the same ugly red and brown horns as my demon. When I look at the eyes in the picture, a shiver shoots up my spine. The painting’s eyes appear to be alive, staring over the crowd in the lobby directly at me. The eyes grow wider and more intense as I stare at it. I back away from the painting in horror.

“It’s only a painting,” I whisper softly to myself.

I hear the ding of the elevator door and quickly get in, my nerves frazzled. As the doors shut I look back at the picture and see the framed painting. Maybe I didn’t get enough sleep and my mind is playing tricks on me, perhaps from lack of sleep.

I sit down at my usual spot in the conference room to wait for the staff meeting to begin. The sales and marketing team, comprised mostly of nebbish-looking men, become quite antsy when they see me, adjusting their glasses to steal quick nervous peeks at me from their cubicles. I take my laptop out and log into my personal account on the company’s website. When I type in my password, it says access denied. I try a second time and the same thing happens. I ask an employee across the table if he had any trouble logging in and he says no.

The secretary for Mr. Wilkin appears and taps my shoulder, telling me Mr. Wilkin wishes to meet with me before the meeting begins. I follow her to Mr. Wilkin’s office. When I enter, I notice the blinds are completely closed. There’s a bald man I don’t recognize sitting on the couch in an expensive business suit. There is some kind of recording device on the table in front of him. When the man stands up to greet me I see the horns jutting out of his forehead. I immediately shut my eyes. When I open them, the horns are still there. It’s true then. I’m losing my mind. It’s all unraveling. I close my eyes again.

“Please make the horns go away,” I say silently to myself.

“Ms. Madsen?” a voice says.

I open my eyes and the horns are gone.

“Ms. Madsen. Good morning. I’m Dwight Matthews, the lawyer on retainer for Advanced Website Solutions of Chicago” the bald man said.

“Good morning,” I say.

The lawyer sits back down.

“Please take a seat,” he says.

I sit down in a chair in front of the table and look over at Mr. Wilkin. He sits shrouded in the shadows at his desk and appears rather peevish and hurt, like a boy who got turned down for a date to the high school prom.

“Excuse me Mr. Wilkin, but I wasn’t able to log into my account today,” I say.

The lawyer answers for him.

“Yes. Your access was denied, Ms. Madsen.”

“Why?”

I look over at Mr. Wilkin again, but he makes no eye contact with me.

“All this will be explained shortly. This should only take a few moments of your time. Let me get right to the point, since I’m told your company has a staff meeting starting in five meetings.”

The lawyer removes some legal papers from his briefcase and places two checks made out in my name for $75,000 each on the table between us.

“What’s this?” I ask.

I look over at Mr. Wilkin and he finally looks at me. He looks exhausted and his eyes are red. He looks back down at his desk, ashamed.

“I’ll explain the payments in a moment. Do you mind if I record our conversation, Ms. Madsen?” the lawyer asks.

“Why would you need to record it?” I ask.

“It’s just for the record,” the lawyer says.

“OK. No,” I say.

“No you don’t mind, or no you don’t wish to have our conversation recorded?” the lawyer asks.

“I don’t mind being recorded,” I say.

“Excellent,” he says.

The lawyer turns on the tape recorder.

“Let the record show that Ms. Grace Madsen has agreed to be taped for her exit interview.”

“Exit interview?” I ask.

“One moment please, Ms. Madsen. They’ll be time where you can have all of your questions answered.”

The lawyer clears his throat.

“Now Ms. Madsen, I’ve set before you a few standard legal forms that American Website Solutions, herein referred to as AWS, is asking you to sign. Do you give us permission to discuss this with you without an attorney present?”

I nod, confused.

“Let the record show Ms. Madsen nodded in the affirmative and has given permission for AWS to conduct this interview without the representation of a lawyer. Now Ms. Madsen, there are two simple forms we would like you to sign. Let’s look at the first one, shall we? It is a confidentiality agreement which basically states that by accepting the payment of $75,000, no further legal actions can be made against AWS or to Mr. Wilkin, due to the misunderstanding which occurred at the Marriot Hotel last night and no mention of this can ever be made again. Please sign at the bottom if you agree to this particular amount. I think it is more than generous.”

I try to make eye contact with Mr. Wilkin.

“Mr. Wilkin, this isn’t necessary. I don’t want your money. You can trust me to keep what happened confidential.” I say.

“If my…” Mr. Wilkin utters.

The lawyer quickly pauses the recording.

“If my wife ever were to find out…” Mr. Wilkin says, his voice low.

“Mr. Wilkin, you’re being recorded,” the attorney says. “Whatever you say on this recording can be used against you in court of law. As your legal counsel I advise you to stay silent during the proceeding.”

“It would ruin me…ruin my family… ruin… the company,” Mr. Wilkin’s mumbles.

“But why would I want to tell your wife or ruin your family, Mr. Wilkin? I don’t want your money. Can’t we just forget about all this and act like it never happened?” I ask.

Mr. Wilkin doesn’t respond. His attorney turns the recorder back on.

“So, as I was saying Ms. Madsen, as part of your exit interview your supervisor Mr. Wilkin would like you to sign these forms and give you your severance pay,” the attorney says.

“I’ll sign whatever you want me to if it’ll make you feel better Mr. Wilkin, but I won’t take the money,” I say.

Mr. Wilkin exchanges a look with his lawyer.

“Do you mean to suggest you are refusing the payments offered to you by AWS?” the lawyer asks.

“Yes,” I say, signing the forms.

“Very good. Let the record show Ms. Madsen has signed the Confidentiality Agreement and has refused her severance pay. I think our work is done here. Included in your severance packet are three very positive job recommendations and information on continuing with your current health insurance coverage. I’m sure with your skills you will have no problem gaining employment. Mr. Wilkin has even offered to make personal phone calls on your behalf to help you get a job, if needed,” the lawyer says, turning the recorder off.

I couldn’t help my feelings being a little hurt.

“Why are you letting me go, Mr. Wilkin? I thought we were friends. I’ve been here over two years. I’ve worked hard for this company. Is it because I didn’t agree to be your -”

“I’m sorry…” Mr. Wilkin utters.

“I’ve got to run to an appointment. A pleasure meeting you, Ms. Madsen. Good luck,” the lawyer says on his way out.

There is an awkward silence.

“Excuse me,” Mr. Wilkin says, walking by me with his eyes on the floor.

My eyes begin to water. I walk out of the office in a daze and get into the empty elevator. It stops one floor down and the doors open, but oddly, no one gets in. The elevator doors shut.

I know in realty the elevator is empty, but I sense the eyes of the beast watching me. I look over my shoulder and the horned creature is standing behind me. He looks very professional dressed in a business suit and holding a briefcase. I turn back around; shut my eyes and whisper, “He isn’t there. He isn’t there.” As the elevator descends, the demon’s voice speaks quietly behind me. The elevator stops at several floors and people get on. No one other than me sees or hears the demon.

“I’m sorry about the loss of your job, Grace, but it was necessary. Now you’ll be able to give me your undivided attention. I want you to know I’ve orchestrated the events so the wife of Mr. Wilkin will never find out about her husband’s dalliance with you. I thought you’d prefer it that way, so their marriage isn’t ruined over this foolishness. I think it was the right thing to do. You see Ms. Madsen? There’s no reason to be so deathly afraid of me. I have goodness inside my heart as well. After all, if God is the Creator of all things, He created evil too, did He not? Therefore, even a demon like me has a little piece of God within him. But I still don’t know why you didn’t take the money, Ms. Madsen. After Wilkin practically raped you, you could’ve negotiated for a considerably higher -”

“Shut up! You talk and talk and talk! Just shut up and leave me alone! Shut up! Shut up! SHUT UP!” I shout.

After my outburst the people in the elevator look at me like I’m crazy and rush out as soon as the doors open on the lobby floor. Thankfully, the demon is gone. As I walk through the building’s lobby I avoid looking into the bull’s eyes. Driving home, my cheeks are wet from tears. I had very little sleep and am upset by the loss of my job, but the real reason I’m crying is I know now I’ve become a mentally unstable person. I must never tell James about the voices in my head. Back at the condo I go directly to bed. I turn off the lights and get under the sheets, hoping the demon wouldn’t haunt me in my dreams.