Out for Revenge Read online

  His prized cars, they had a whole load of sugar in their petrol tanks. I cancelled all his cards and put a stop on his company ones too, fraudulent behaviour, I had noted on the account. The phone call home asking me to wire him funds was a crackly line, and I couldn’t do it for him. No money; my allowance wasn’t up to that much; he would have to ask daddy.

  How had I fallen for such a slimy bastard, I sat in the middle of his shredded suits on my big lonely bed and thought about our past and got all maudlin, three bottles of expensive wine tends to do that? I had a full crate for the busy weekend. I’d met Dylan when I enrolled in the London collage, at the grand age of nearly twenty, and four months after, my disastrous four year teenage love had ended, it ended all right, with me, rushed into hospital beaten black, and blue, found unconscious in the main road, I was in a bad way and had nearly died. I wasn’t sure what had happened to me that day and not for quite a few weeks after, but, I was moved away from my home in Devon, to live with my Grandparents in London, to recover and to get me away from Peter Hutchinson, the boy who made me such a weak and useless person. Peter the boy who I’d spent four years with, boyfriend number two.

  He, Dylan was to become boyfriend number three; he was on my hotel and management course at my new collage in London. Having given it up the first time round some four years before, because Peter thought I was being too friendly with another male student. I wasn’t I was too afraid of that, I hardly spoke to anyone in collage the first time. Forced to leave collage, the first time, after that incident, he beat the lad to a pulp, for speaking to me, and me after him when we got home, the poor lad was gay, and had just been asking me where I had bought my retro clothes?

  Poor Justin, was grabbed from the behind and didn’t see it coming, I watched helpless, from the car as he set on him, I tried to get out of the car but his mother told me it was my fault for having ideas above my station, I rubbed Peter up the wrong way, and I had to learn. I left my dreams behind that day; and began working with his mother Janice, and his brother Paul. Both, as loony tune, as he was, he ran their lives too.

  All my money he took from me; I, at sixteen had moved out of mum and dads, and was living with them, after just under a year of being with him… His mother would tell him how much I earned, and I would have to hand over every penny. My clothes he made me wear, were never new. They were always second hand from jumble sales.

  He and his family controlled me for four years, pitiful and painful years. Which even now, still give me nightmares and cold chills when I hear a piece of music or smell a certain aftershave? The things he did to me were horrendous, horrid, and evil things. I spent hours, upon hours talking through things and still do with my therapist, the things he did to me, in the name of love and learning.

  At the insistence of the grandparents, I started the course again, in a different collage, and at first, I had been as shy here, as I was at my old collage. Then I got in with a good group of college students, and Dylan was one of them, we hit it off immediately, and began dating, slowly at first. I had massive trust issues; and wouldn’t easily let people in. I was very untrusting of everyone, with bloody good reasons too.

  I went out with Dylan for almost six months before we slept together, such were my issues with sex, but he had been patient. He treated me well, like a princess and was really, really sexy looking, handsome, blond and had muscles popping from his chest and arms, he was well spoken, and a catch as grandma said, I fell for him hard and quickly, really easy to love a nice man who treats you kindly, after years of abuse, he was MR PERFECT.

  The talk about the next step came, he said, if I didn’t put out soon, he would dump me he needed the closeness and the commitment from me. Being that I was in love again, this time with him and I really didn’t want to lose him, so I agreed to it just to keep him happy, how I managed it I don’t know, as I was petrified, and I think, had I been sober I wouldn’t have.

  I opened up to Dylan, when he plied me with drink on that fateful night. Thinking he loved me and he would understand my reasons for not wanting sex just yet, not, never just not yet. Once I had explained it all to him, he would give me more time… Oh was I in for a shock, I told him everything, that I had only had bad, rough, and cruel sex with Peter and his brother Paul, and he Peter was very much the teacher in that my first sexual relationship, Peter was a sadistic bastard who was into hitting, punishment, humiliation, and sadism. Sex with him was always horrid, whips, handcuffs, tools and beatings were all part of the course, I was as submissive I could possibly be.

  Big mistake, he was aroused in the same sexual way, he had always felt the need to dominate a woman. He had attended clubs before; however, he wasn’t comfortable there, maybe because of his inexperience. He begged me to teach him all I knew. I was perfect for him, I’d had fallen straight into his lap, the perfect submissive to teach him to be a perfect Dom. I’d fallen for the same type of man, much to my surprise, because unlike Peter, Dylan did not look or come across as evil.

  He didn’t it has to be said, ever actually attack me, hit me or beat me; well not the same way physically as Peter and his brother had done. He, Dylan, wasn’t rough and nasty; in fact, he wasn’t nasty, he was, as stupid as it sounds grateful to me because I taught him all the things I knew. I knew what he wanted to do to me; I knew what he would like, so I agreed, but he had to agree to be my sub first and learn. He agreed I had to teach him his boundaries, what I considered too much pain; there is a fine line between pain and pleasure.

  And that’s what I did, I was his Dominatrix at first, showing him teaching him, and what I taught him, with the things he brought home and what he ordered on line, all that I took from him, gave him and teaching him, in the correct use of the whips the floggers, cane’s, and the toys too many to mention. The sexual knowledge I gave him made him good at what he did, very good too, he learnt the cut of points and he learnt to define the boundaries I set, which Peter never had, he knew no limit to his boundaries.

  In his wildest fantasies he couldn’t begin to appreciate what I could do, what I could take… I taught him all I knew, what did I have to lose? This way I got something out of it too. I made sure this time he didn’t do the things I had allowed Peter to do, Peter had no restraint, no control. I taught Dylan the control Peter never had, I knew, from experience, when lust filled torment, became torture, there were something’s, I wouldn’t teach him, even in his darkest times Dylan wasn’t as bad as Peter.

  He was very good in bed, and did allow me pleasure of expressing my sexual release; something I had never done with Peter, fear stopped me ever enjoying what he classed as making love. I hadn’t actually come once in the whole four years. I didn’t ever; and when he told me to come, I was a master at faking it; I had to fake it, because I had no feelings down there, because in the end my sexual experiences had robbed me of any comfort or joy from sex, it was so worn and badly used, it had no feelings.

  Well, I thought it hadn’t until Dylan made it come alive again. Dylan thrived with my teachings, as did I with how he cared for me during and after sex. He was growing in confidence, so much so he started going to clubs and I was taken along with him, he really enjoyed the scenes now he was better informed and able to perform and very well too, he looked every inch an experienced Dom… now.

  Dylan was so different from Peter, in the fact; he was very loving, and caring, especially after an evening in one of his clubs. I was slim and pretty and knew how to play, really play. I was someone Dylan liked to show off, I made him look good, he in turn made me feel good, and he gave me everything I wanted. He had a room put in his apartment, a room, just for us to play in, fully equipped for erotic and wild nights; our world filled with secrecy and intrigue. It wasn’t as big as it seems to be now, our clubs were classy and discreet and über expensive to join.

  He was very appreciative for the things I had shared and taught him and shared everything he did with just me, I wasn’t for sharing, and as funny as that sounded it I did make me
feel indeed, loved, he said he loved me all the time, and I believe he did in his own way, at first. He asked me to marry him, when his parents pushed him into finding a wife.

  I was swept along in his genuine love for me, he was rich handsome and spoiled me, of course I said yes. His parents weren’t overly fond of me fulfilling the lucrative position of the new, Mrs Dylan Somersby-Smyth, the second, not quite the right person for the son and heir to the family business.

  Dylan though ignored them, then he or rather we forced their hand, I found myself pregnant with Dylan’s children, twenty and pregnant and forced out of collage again, bad sickness with the babies. They insisted we got married, it being the proper thing to do… Me, I just wanted to die. I had been taking the pill for years and suddenly it failed, Dylan was ecstatic about being a father and for a while he was a very good father and husband, for a while.

  The novelty of playing second fiddle, to the babies needing my body was all too much for him to share, he did not like to share me with anyone, including them; our wild days were behind us, but I stupidly thought he was still happy being their father and my husband. We didn’t party anymore the room became a nursery and the toys put in boxes in the loft, well some of them did, the others disappeared?

  We had sex when I wasn’t too tired, but we had gone from bedroom gymnastics to a quickie between feeds and naps for them, and me and yes, my slim body refused to snap back, in fact it never did snap back. Even the quickies though, didn’t last that long after, because the twins would cry or need me, and he would always come second to their needs.

  Sex, forget that, after a day with the twins, the last thing I wanted was kinky sex and my body was still not the trim thing it had once been… Something he often told me, when he had been drinking some of his expensive wine, as his children fed from me, he would look and jealousy would come out of his mouth in the snide comments and nasty things he said.

  He started stopping out at his clubs, or at the hotel. I later found out from a very unhappy drunken Dylan, after I had rowed with him about stopping out, he had changed my pills, for a similar looking painkillers, he said that was his biggest mistake, he wished he hadn’t done it now, and that I had been taking them for months before he had managed to knock-me-up. He’d asked me to get pregnant, constantly and I said no, I didn’t want children at that time; that was his way of getting what he wanted. I was devastated that he could have done that. I went on a different type of birth control, after that piece of information, an implant, something he knew nothing about.

  Why I bothered, I don’t know why, because after we moved to the big hotel, when the twins were a year old, he wasn’t interested in me that way again. I’d be in the hotel house with the children whilst he played the big hotel manager in his father’s hotels. I did as I was told; and raised our children, as a near single parent, whilst he climbed the corporate ladder, bypassing several rungs because daddy owned the company. I did the work, whilst he got the recognition.

  I was wheeled out, occasionally as were our children, for photo opportunities, the children as they grew older, thought this was normal behaviour, they were his father’s pride and joy, not that we saw them much, birthdays, Easter, Christmas all spent in their big house. I towed the line. Bad cop was hated, bad cop made them eat their greens, do their homework, I said no to late parties and stopping out.

  They hated me; and loved their perfect father. I hated me too, I hated the woman I had become, loved the mother in me, but hated the fact that the woman he once saw as, a sex goddess, long gone, and buried under years sixteen years, of being wrapped up in my two perfectly wonderful children. They the children, when I started the divorce proceedings, were by this time were seventeen, and happily ensconced in their new rich life style, in an exclusive private collage, and living in the big house, driving their now flashy sports cars, given as birthday gifts, don’t suppose they liked their books, I had sent? All be it first editions, of their favourite books. They were living with their grandparent’s term time.

  They at first, they would come home to me at the weekends; I missed my beautiful kind caring children, when they left for collage… Hell, the brats who came back weren’t the children, I had sent to live with their grandparents in their big house in London, and power had gone to their heads. Dylan saw to it they wanted for nothing as did Dylan’s parents, I had long since for filled my end of the deal. They had their heirs and they had the lifestyle the grandparents had always wanted for them.

  At last, away from me, they got their wish; the rich young heirs to their hotel empire were ensconced in the castle, my wonderful kind and caring children now a thing of my past, and I did try to keep them grounded. I made them come home for the first six months, but after that they refused and what could I do, go, sit, and wait for them? Yes… I’m ashamed to say I did, I waited outside collage and later inside the hotels, well I did for a while, but even I knew, I had lost the battle.

  They had followed their father into the family hotels and were heading the same way as him. They were now spiteful and mean; and had tempers like his too, much to my horror. So when I left and divorce their father I was alone, they chose their father and the company over me; me who had done as I was supposed to do, as all good mothers should do, I looked after my children, raised two happy and bright children on my own, but to a bitter end.

  Money it seems does talk. I was given a very decent payoff from the divorce, it boiled down to pounds, shillings and pence, each penny I earned, I had lost my wonderful children to him and gained two hundred thousand pounds. I banked it and moved on with my life. I tried every way to get the children to talk, but they cut me from their lives, so I had to get on with mine without them.

  I was more than qualified to do the same job as Dylan. My university grades were far better than his were and I had run all the hotels he was head of, better than he ever did. It was me who did the paperwork the accounts, the ordering the staff rotas, all he did was captain the ship, I was an unpaid deputy manager, unpaid and unrecognised, so, though I had done his job for him, I had never actually held down a job, I was a stay at home mother and had been for years. I needed a job and find one I did. I ran a small hotel in Blackpool; yes the cultural centre of the North West of England.

  I had to use my maiden name, my old married name was instantly recognisable; their hotels all bore their name. The Somersby-Smyth Hotels, which in its self was a joke, Dylan senior was, Sumer, the wife, Edwina was, Smith. Too common to be on the front of a Knightsbridge hotel; Sumer-Smith sounded like a walking frame for the elderly; it didn’t have the classy look they needed. So they had changed their name, when they started the hotel chain, with his mother’s family money, they had, over the years turned it into one of the biggest hotel groups in the country. One I had worked for, for most of my married life.

  CHAPTER 2

  I was starting out again at nearly forty, well thirty-six. I had to start at the bottom and work my way up. This I did too, and was good at turning the profits of the small hotel around; so much so I moved on to the next one. Yet another larger hotel in Blackpool, to see if I could work my magic there, big headed I know, but I did, and as assistant manager, I answered only to him the big boss and owner Gerald Haughton. I had been running his hotels doing well for nearly five years. Finally, rewarded with a chance at managing Gerald’s biggest hotel; The Raven Moor, a large mid terraced one hundred and twenty, bedroomed sea front hotel, asked to find a way of making this hotel turn a profit.

  There I met Glyn Barren, he was the other assistant manager, when I moved over and oh, he was such a charmer, from the get-go, yes I fell for the schmooze, and the charm and I fell in love again. I’d not been intimate with a man since Dylan nearly twenty years ago; Glyn, well he made me feel young, wanted, and attractive, god damn it I was fed up of being on my own all the time, he filled an empty void, my need to look after and care for someone; wish I’d bought a bloody tiny dog now. We married, in a whirlwind wedding in the town, a small affair;
so small, I swear if I hadn’t booked it, I’d swear it was a con, not real? He had set this up as if it wasn’t really a legal wedding; it was as if he was ashamed of his older bride. I’d lost weight lots and was trimmer than I’d been in ages, but hell good clothes and underwear hid the lumps and bumps.

  It just me him and two witnesses, he said it was our day nobody else’s. We were happy for oh, I don’t know about six months. I’m, promoted to manager, and he hates having to answer to me at work. I discovered he too couldn’t keep it in his pants, but worse still, he had emptied my bank account of all my money in six short months. I had nothing left my nest egg was all gone. I found out he was a gambler, too late to do anything about it, my second husband had robbed me blind and shagged half the guests in the hotel, god could I pick them.

  I lost my job, because when I hit him, I did it in full view of the guests too, I dropped him like I was Mike Tyson, he was left battered and blooded, and yes, he reported me for assault. Me, well I was screwed, because I had done it, though it made me feel fantastic; I had however broken the law, even if I did have a bloody good reason, well three hundred and ninety three thousand good little reasons. He would drop the charges, when I agreed to the quick divorce he was seeking because of my violent nature.

  I could do very little about the money. I had given him authority on my account; he had told me he wanted to pool our resources and look at buying the hotel, from Gerald; he was retiring at the end of the season and had offered me the three hotels in his group for a good price, and yes, I believed him. I had no reason to doubt him, as he did put money into the account for me to bank, and I did for the whole six months we were married.