Hector Road Pt. 01

Part 1 of Pilar's adventures. Thanks for reading. There is a bunch of build up here but I hope the payoff will be worth it.

*

"3782...37. . .82" Pilar mumbled to herself as she drove her Rav4 slowly up Hector Road. Peering at the barely-visible houses through the screen of trees, she finally found a mailbox with the right number. Consulting her mapping app on her phone, she confirmed that the blue dot signifying her car hovered directly over the red dot of her destination.

"Looks like I'm here," she murmured. And then for a wild moment she considered turning around and driving way, imagining the autumn leaves that were blanketing the road flying up in a cloud as she floored it car-commercial-style down the road and back towards home. But instead she pulled into the tree-lined driveway of 3782 Hector Road, which wasn't quite an estate-style private drive, and yet wasn't exactly not that either.

The house came into clearer view as she pulled closer, until she could see the whole thing. Not overlarge, but beautifully maintained and landscaped, it had no porch but did have a wisteria covered entryway, wide rough-hewn natural stone steps, and large double front doors. A very California house, unpretentious and yet clearly the home of someone who had the resources and time - or help - to care for it lovingly.

Pilar pulled to a stop and sat with her hands clenching the wheel as she regarded herself in the rearview mirror. She thought whether staying instead of turning around right the hell now was just another in a series of bad decisions that had led her to this moment.

At this point it felt like all she had going for her was a certain devil-may-care scrappiness and her looks, which were still pretty good even for being 28. Fair-haired with sky-blue eyes, ("Here she comes, Miss Typical-Boring-America") her body - which had been so taut and lithe in her teens - had gotten a little bit softer, but in compensation her breasts had ripened to be lushly beautiful and full and even rounder than when she was young. She'd happily admit it: she loved her boobs. As for the ass. Well. She just wished she had appreciated her ass more when she was 19. Oh well, she'll just have to start running or kickboxing someday.

Sighing, she shifted to thinking for the millionth time about the absurdity of her name - Pilar. Really. Her parents had experienced an "awakening" and "spiritual journey" in Costa Rica when her mom was just barely pregnant with her. The shaman's girlfriend had been named Pilar and it had seemed like the perfect name for their baby.

"Fucking hippies" she thought - mostly fondly but a little bitterly - and not for the first time. Her parents were about as spiritual as Wonder Bread, and growing up in Minneapolis as a blue-eyed blond with an exotic name like Pilar had been her unique cross to bear.

Shaking her head to clear away the thought of her wonderful but definitely wacky parents, Pilar readied herself for what she assumed the next few hours would hold, and mentally reviewed everything that had led her here to this place, and the man who was waiting inside for her.

....

That spring, Pilar had moved to Sonoma County to pick up the pieces of her life. She'd had to leave Connecticut, to get out and never go back, and could only think of Sonoma County, where she had once been young and happy attending Sonoma State University.

18 months ago she had been accused of having an affair with the owner of the company she worked for, and also accused of embezzling about $145,000. In actuality she was guilty of nothing more illegal than being a bit naive and a whole lot gullible, but the truth didn't come out until long after the accusations ruined her life.

Pilar didn't like to about that time in her life, not directly. Only by sliding up next to it and letting her thoughts skip sideways over the oily scrim that her memories hid behind.

What it came to was this: Her husband divorced her and got sole custody of their two young children. She was fired, arrested, ridiculed. She was in the paper, the sad little free local fucking paper, with the caption under her picture of "Local woman arrested in embezzlement scheme." Was she shallow enough to notice it was a pretty good picture of herself? You bet your ass. But that was scant compensation for the humiliation.

The rest was almost too predictable to believe. She was frozen out by everyone in her circle of friends, rejected by everyone who had known her, with the notable exception of her parents and younger sister (who it must be noted, got the very normal name of Kristen. Bitch.) And then to complete her humiliation, her former best friend was now married to her husband. Ex-husband.

Pilar actually had nothing to do with the missing money, and luckily that was cleared up before slipping too far into the Kafkaesque experience that was the justice system. So legally she was in the clear. But everything she'd had once thought of as her stable, orderly and slightly dull but comfortably predictable life? Gone.

As for the ex-boss, he was probably living in a shack somewhere on a Mexican beach, trying to eke out his $145K into paying for a slice of the good life.

Of course, the real secret of it all was that she had actually had fucked the boss the one time, the act which had set off the whole hideous chain of events. And though at the time Pilar thought they were in love - God how that made her sick - she knew now it was just boredom and lust on her part, matched with finding a convenient sucker to cover for his plans on his part. In the end it really didn't matter that he wasn't around anymore and Pilar denied everything. Her husband divorced her. And thanks to a botched suicide attempt, made more to scare the husband than really threaten herself...and in light of the ensuing 72 hour hold .... his creepy lawyer managed to convince the judge that Pilar was "was unsuitable to parent her children" at the moment.

She was a fucking fool, and knew it, and had to live with the shame and regret.

....

Running as far as she could while staying on the same continent she arrived in Petaluma, and set about finding herself the very best cheap-and-crappy apartment she could afford. She bought a used car and then landed a job as a waitress at a local brewpub. Noisy, sticky-floored, and agreeably run-down, it was constantly full of crazy bands-on-the-make and drunken fratboys. She worked until her arms trembled from holding up trays of greasy food and pints of beer, and until her ass was black and blue from the pinches of those fratboys - and from the occasional suburban dad.

It was the perfect place to hide from her former life. She took as many shifts as she could in order to keep busy and to stay out of the crappy apartment. She rejected all come-ons, including the one from her new boss the day after she was hired (oh, the fucking irony) yet somehow managed to keep her job.

It was quite the comedown from someone who had worked as a Senior Media Buyer for a small but growing ad shop, and who had thought being a VP in 5 or 8 years wasn't outside the range of possible. And yet somehow it wasn't that different. The drama and politics were still there, but now it was about who was fucking who, and who wasn't tipping out the busboys fairly instead of buzz-speak jargon-wars and spouting of strategic bullshit. But here at least the drama was about the fundamentals of life - sex and money - instead of corporate dickwaving.

16 months in, Pilar had finally settled into a routine that felt familiar if not comfortable. She got moved to a slightly better shift, she knew where to grocery shop and how to find the best deal on getting her beater Rav4 fixed. She'd even gone exploring a bit - out to the beach once, and wine tasting once. Though wine tasting alone had to be the saddest activity known to man, she had enjoyed the beautiful winery and views. She was existing, but existing was about all that she could ask for. All, if she was to be honest with herself, that she felt she deserved.

And then she noticed Jans.

Of course she didn't know he was Jans at the time. The first few times she spotted him, he was just the hot older guy she saw in the pub once or twice. Fit as hell, the kind of fit older guy that shouldn't exist outside of a magazine. He had this particular spot in the corner of the restaurant he liked best, and after she spotted him the first time, it felt like she started noticing him coming in to the bar more often. At the time she assumed it was confirmation bias speaking.

Finally after a few weeks she had to ask Erin, her favorite bartender, what the old guy's deal was. An older lesbian who had seriously epic gauges in her ears and the kind of tattoos that aren't just ink but were art, Erin had kind of taken Pilar under her wing. Really just "kind of" though - Erin clearly radiated the fact that she seen too many sad stories come and go through the bar over the years to actually give a shit about what happened to someone she'd known just a few months. But she was nicer than most and gave Pilar a few key pointers and warnings that helped make the adjustment to working at the bar tolerable.

Erin said that Old Guy's name was Jans. He'd had just recently started showing up regularly, though he'd been in once or twice over the last few years. He was a good tipper, though not chatty and always came in alone, with a book to read or more often with a notebook he wrote in.

"If you ask me, it seems like he's only in on your shifts. Watch yourself, because I think he's keeping an eye on you." She turned away and started wiping the long wooden bar which was age-worn with the scratches and nicks of a thousand drunken nights. Maybe a million. "If you want one of the guys to walk you to your car at the end of your shift, just let me know."

Pilar paused, then blurted out, "Erin, will you find out more about him for me? And let me know if you think he's harmless or if I really should be worried?" She knew a slight thrill tinged her voice but couldn't help it.

Erin gave her a long look then said "Sure babes, I'll see what I can find out." Somehow Pilar thought Erin was disappointed in her.

Several days had passed before she and Erin were working the same shift again. Pilar had her dignity - she wouldn't ask - but at the first lull, Erin called her over. "Turns out he's a professor of 'comparative literature' over at Sonoma State. Apparently he's some kind of famous-ish writer. He started working there just a few years ago but I didn't catch where he came from before."

"So," Pilar asked, "do you really think he's watching me?"

"You bet your ass he is," said Erin. "Like I said, you be careful. He seems normal, but then again...kind of not."

It would all be fucking creepy, if only he wasn't so hot.

.......

Over the next month or so Pilar felt Jans' eyes on her when he came in every few days, and though they'd never said a word beyond "What can I get you?" and "Pint of LA Guinitas" to each other, when he was there it was starting to feel like they were the only two people in the room. Looking up from his notebook - that notebook he was always, always writing in - his eyes finding her and smiling his crooked smile then looking down again every few minutes, well. It felt like a heavy grip on her shoulders. She also felt his gaze in the tightening of her nipples...and lower down where she felt an almost magnetic pull from her core to wherever he was sitting.

Being honest with herself, Pilar had to admit that having a massive crush on the strange, quiet hot-older-guy in the bar was just the type of dum-dum thing she'd do. But it felt really good to have something to look forward to at work, and something to think about at night alone in the crappy apartment. Because otherwise is was just her, alone with her regrets and the empty place in her heart that no amount of skype with her kids could fill. She had her lawyer back home still working to get her visitation, but at the moment virtual connection was all the court order allowed.

.....

After one seriously shitty shift - more ass-pinching frat boys than usual, and crappy tips to make up for it - Pilar was wiping tables and pausing to stretch and blow her bangs out of her eyes when she spotted something lying under the chair where Jans had been sitting.

His notebook, the little moleskine one (so professorial!) he was constantly writing in.

Now the thing is that Pilar thought of herself as a reasonably moral person. Mostly told the truth, except the occasional little white lie. Paid her taxes, didn't cheat on her timecard, didn't engage too much in the gossip that the pub thrived on. Didn't speed, paid her rent on time, even watched a lady drop a $20 at the store and then ran up to her to hand it back. And that would have been a very useful 20 bucks. OK sure, there was that sleeping-with-the-boss thing, but well...it was just the once, and she paid for that little lapse ten times over, so she figured it was a wash.

And yet, here was the notebook. This notebook that Jans - and she did think of him as Jans now, though she'd never even said his name out loud to him - always had with him.

How exactly was she supposed to not look in it?

Tucking it into her apron pocket next to her tips, spare napkins, and some straws, she finished up with her shift. She'd decided she wouldn't take off with the notebook, but instead just have a little look-see and then leave it in the lost and found in the upstairs office. Besides wasn't this about her safety and security? DIdn't she have a right to know what this guy - who followed her with his eyes, who was practically stalking her - what he was thinking about as he sat there?

Yep, she figured, she damn well did have a right to look. Sheer nosiness wasn't any part of the calculation.

Later, walking down the back hallway and to the stairs that led up to the offices and staff washroom, she pulled off her apron and ran a hand through her hair. She figured she could grab 5 or 10 minutes in the lumpy green pleather chair that the owner had in his office - he'd gone home for the day and usually no one else was in there. She'd already sat there a couple of times; during her so-called interview, again the next day when he hit on her, and once in a while over the following months when she asked for a better shift.

Easing herself into the office, she sat down - goddamn that was the best moment of every day, sitting down after a long shift - and looked at the notebook in her hand.

Was she really going to open the notebook and read whatever she found there? Yes, It looked like she was.

.......

And, now looking back, if she really had to pick a moment, that was when her life changed. Not later when she finally said Jans name out loud for the first time, or even later than that when they'd talked about what would come next. Or even right now, sitting in his driveway, preparing herself to go inside and find out everything she'd come to learn. No, the moment everything really started was there in that dingy office when she opened the notebook.

.......

She read.

....and grabbed her left wrist. He hefted the rope in his hand and held her wrist clamped down to the bed, considering. After a moment, Pieter tied her left wrist, then her right. He moved to the head of the bed and secured the ropes to the rings anchored in the headboard, cinching her arms tight against the mattress, fully extended above her head. He then moved to the foot of the bed and spread her legs wide, pushing her knees out and up towards her shoulders.

He wrapped a fresh length of rope around each leg, binding each leg to itself so she couldn't straighten it, with each ankle resting against the back of her upper thigh.

Then he woke her.

She came to herself gradually, unsure what was happening, only understanding the sensation of exposure, vulnerability. She moaned and tossed her head as he trailed the flogger rhythmically over her breasts and belly and exposed cunt, up and down, raising the gooseflesh on her skin.

He watched her face as her eyes fluttered open, making sure that the first thing she saw were his own eyes boring into hers.

"I came back," he said to her, and watched her eyes widen in in surprise, uncertainty...and something else. She squirmed, pulling on her arms and trying to move her legs, and then she subsided into a watchful stillness as she realized that she was entirely helpless, and at his mercy.

He laid the flogger aside - for now - and trailed one finger, just one finger, from her bottom lip, down her chin, to the hollow of her neck, then across the smooth mound of her left breast and around her nipple, not quite touching the pink smoothness that tightened and stood erect at his touch. Across her breastbone and then around the other nipple, which also stood to attention, matching its twin. So tempting to take those nubs in his mouth to suck and bite until they stood like shining peaks...but not yet. That would be later. First he had other work to do.

Her breath came faster and she held her bottom lip between her teeth, watching him silently as his finger trailed down her belly, gently across her navel and then continued downward, skimming lightly down and across her clit, until it finally dipped into the slick wetness of her core.

Moving to kneel between her bound legs Pieter used his thumbs and fingers to pinch and spread her outer lips and exposed her slick inner pinkness more fully to his gaze. His fingers tightened hard on her petals until she groaned as he spread her even wider, looking as deep into her core as was possible without finding his other tools.

Exposing the damp pink flesh to the air, he watched her clit rise engorged, and saw beads of her fluid forming on the walls of her sex. Pieter moved nearer and breathed on her, filling his face with her heat and the scent of her arousal. Releasing her folds he plunged his finger into her moistness and brought his thumb down hard on her clit, forcing a moan from her, circling his thumb around her nub over and over.

"You are so wet for me" he said softly, "so slick and smooth." He roughly drew his single finger out and slammed two back in as deep as he could reach. "This is mine," he then growled, deep in his throat. "Mine to use and suck, lick and taste, hurt and worship." With each word he drove his fingers in hard, trying to reach as far inside as he could. Curving his fingers upwards he roughly drew his fingers against her front walls, and his thumb flew across her hard nub until her hips began to rise in matching rhythm.

His voice dropped lower. "That's right . . . you belong to me, not yourself, no one else. To no one but me." He watched her face as it flushed with her arousal, knowing her so well, judging the moment just before she reached her peak. Her back arched and hips bucked as she rose closer and closer. Breasts heaving, nipples hard as pink diamonds, wordless cries torn from her lush mouth, until he found the hair's-breadth moment just before she fell. Then he abruptly withdrew his hand as she cried out in frustration and disappointment. Tears formed in the corners of her eyes as she whimpered mindlessly and whispered "Pieter, please. Please."

"Mine," he repeated in an insistent growl, as he walked to the door, and left his Pilar there alone, trussed and helpless, victim to her own arousal.

.......

She didn't exactly remember how she ended up back in her car. Surely she'd walked back down the stairs, clocked out, and walked into the parking lot. Probably said some kind of good night to the busboys and Erin. She must have found her keys and started her car, because here she was driving, and even in the right direction.

But she had been in a daze. As she looked down, she noticed her apron was crumpled in her lap. And in the pocket, tucked safely again next to the straws and napkins was Jans' notebook.