Christ how he wanted that woman behind the bar!
Behind the bar, on the floor … anywhere!
When he came out of the toilet he saw immediately that the bar was darker than before, that the curtains had been pulled across the windows and the door shut.
In the gloom her pale flesh was more radiant than ever as she stood beside the door, a bunch of keys dangling from the index finger of her left hand.
“I’m about to lock up for the night,” she told him.
“And me?” Brian wondered, less quietly than he had intended.
“Yes, and lock up you too,” she said.
“Pardon?” He smiled.
“I saw you looking at my mottoes before,” she said, her eyes glancing up to the brass plaques above his head. “The ‘cruel heartless bitch’ … that’s me. So now it’s up to you, you have thirty seconds to decide.”
Her hand lifted slowly, raising the keys to the door and, as Brian smiled and leisurely drank down the last of his beer, she shot across one bolt, a second, a third, then turned key after key in a succession of locks.
As she turned and came back towards him her hips swaying delightfully, he saw the first trace of a smile on her colourless lips and reached out a hand to her.
“It’s decided, then,” she said, at the same time that she rapped him hard across the knuckles with the heavy bunch of keys.
“Shit!” he swore, clutching one hand in the other as she moved past him, behind the bar and towards a door.
“A cruel heartless bitch,” she reminded him, “but at least I’m good at it.” And as she disappeared through the door she said, “This way, if you have the courage.”
When Brian had soothed the stinging in his knuckles, shaken his hand to chase away the pain, he clenched that hand into a fist and followed. Beyond the door she had passed through was a staircase, dark, and from the bowels of the building there came a strong smell of beer. As he descended the stairs he felt the walls rough on either side, the floor bare stone beneath his feet as he reached the bottom.
A basement flat, was it? Or a cellar?
Sure enough, to one side, in a darkened room, he could make out kegs and barrels of beer, bottles of gas and crates of empties. To the other side a door was slightly ajar, a crack of light escaping to point the way.
Cautiously he pushed this open, stepped through.
She was standing in the centre of the room, her legs spread wide, the bunch of keys she held resting lightly against her thigh, shining like a weapon against the dark material of her trousers. She had removed her jacket and the polo neck she wore was sleeveless, cut high at the shoulders to leave bare arms which he could see were firm and muscled.
“So many keys, for just the one door? Didn’t you wonder?” she asked, a gentle twist of the wrist making the keys chime against each other, and her head turned slowly to the left, to the right, inviting Brian to take in his surroundings.
This room at least had some rugs to make its bare stone floor more comfortable, hangings hid the naked brick of the walls, and in one corner was a large bed which seemed inviting enough.
But such other more disturbing “furnishings” there were that he was momentarily lost for words!
What he first took to be a child’s cot beside the bed he saw to be more like a cage, enclosed not just on its four sides but also on top, and apparently constructed of cold steel rather than polished wood; a large upholstered stool might have been unremarkable if it had not been for the shackles fixed to each of its four legs; a large wooden chair as grand as a throne was so intricately carved that it could surely not afford a comfortable seat, and hung with all manner of straps and chains and restraints.
These were everywhere, in fact, fastened not just to each item of furniture but also hanging from the walls, the low ceiling, even curled up on the floor, fixed there by stout bolts driven through the rugs, into the stone.
And everywhere, too, the padlocks of assorted sizes, as many and as varied as the keys she held in her hand.
“So, where shall I have you first?” she wondered, coming slowly towards him, and when he took a step back she grinned humourlessly. “Oh come on, don’t be shy,” she coaxed. “I told you, I may be a cruel heartless bitch, but at least I’m good at it.”
“Look, this really wasn’t what I had in mind,” Brian said, still backing away from her.
“No, I can guess just what you had in mind,” she said, and there was something mesmerizing about her voice, her cold gaze, that as he thought he was backing towards the door he found himself moving instead in a lazy arc, as if they were two wrestlers circling each other in the ring.
Then his retreat was blocked as wood dug into his calves, her face came within inches of his and she grinned.
“Ah! So it’s to the heartless bitch’s throne?” she said, her body bumping into his, knocking him off balance and toppling him arse first into the large chair.
Though the seat was smooth, and contoured to fit his buttocks, the back was uncomfortable, its intricate carvings making it feel as though there were sculpted polished breasts digging into his shoulder blades, male genitals pressing against the base of his spine, stubby cocks and polished balls coming at him from every side.
Before he could even shift his body, though, let alone try to rise, she had moved closer again, raised one knee and brought it forward on to the seat, pressing it painfully into his groin.
“Be still, trust me, don’t resist, because if you do I will crush your balls as easily as if they were ripe plums,” she threatened, her breath fragrant in his face, her body rising on that one knee which drove between his thighs.
Her hands came up, moved out, one still holding that bunch of keys with which she had rapped his knuckles, and her bare biceps flexed as she took his wrists and lifted his arms above his head.
The key barely made a sound in the oiled locks as his hands were fixed there.
The strap around his chest she fastened with a buckle, as she did the one about his belly and those which held his thighs in place.
The restraints which kept his ankles fixed to the feet of the chair, were secured by more locks and keys and now she seemed satisfied, tossing the bunch of keys on the bed behind her as she stepped back to consider her handiwork.
“Delightful! Just perfect!” she decided, her gaze travelling the length of Brian’s body, from the hands which were tied above and behind him to the ankles which were fixed below. “But a little too overdressed for what I have in mind.”
She turned, crossed the room, her step first silent across the rugs, then ringing out on the bare stone floor between them, and though he tried to turn his head to follow her movement he found himself unable to. His hands fastened behind his head made things difficult enough, but then the slightest movement to left or right brought his face to the wings of the chair where further carvings kept him pinned … more polished unyielding breasts, cocks large and small like wooden dildoes which might puncture his cheeks, representations of testicles as hard as lacquered walnuts.
Brian could only wait, then, try to follow the sound of her movement across the room, his eyes flicking anxiously from side to side.
When she finally came back into his field of vision he was startled to see the knife in her hand, a glistening kitchen knife with a wickedly broad blade.
“Don’t look so worried! I’m not about to chop your balls off!” she laughed, now with genuine humour as she noted his alarm, and as she squatted down before him she proceeded to run the sharp blade through his shirt, his trousers, reducing his clothes to shreds. “And please don’t look so violated,” she added, as he felt the blunt edge of the steel cold against his skin. “They’re only clothes, trappings, a disguise to hide behind. I’m sure you can afford to replace them, should you feel the need of new, should you feel the need to leave.”
Feel the need to leave? Was there any possibility he might not want to? It seemed a ludicrous notion, that he might not be away at the first opportu
nity after the way this heartless bitch had treated him, but as she peeled away the ribbons she had made of his clothes he looked down with shame to see that his cock was erect.
Erect, protruding, weeping from the tip.
“See?” she said, standing. “I told you that this cruel heartless bitch was good at what she did. And if you think that is hard,” she added, with a dismissive nod at his cock, “then you ain’t seen nothing yet!”
In the brief seconds it took for him to blink, she was gone, he heard her step first soft and then sharp again, as she moved across the room from rug to stone to rug again, bruised his face against the sculpted wings of her “throne” and chafed his arms against the bonds which held him as he tried to follow her, searching for her perfume, straining for her warmth.
Her body seemed cold when she came back before him, naked but for the dark silk stockings which gripped her thighs, pinching the pale flesh, the slender heels which had rung against the stone floor, the skimpy black bra and the silky knickers which covered her genitals.
“So, now that we’re both comfortable, how do you think a cruel heartless bitch would treat a man in your position?” she wondered, swaying a little on her heels, hugging herself like a younger girl surrendering to a teenage fantasy. “What would the bitch do with the man?” she asked, and when Brian was slow to reply she snapped, “Answer me!”
Despite his reaction he pretended to be cool, shrugged as best his bonds would permit and said, “Since she has him tied, she would probably beat him, but I told you—”
“You’re not into that.” She nodded, stepping forward so that she stood between his thighs. “But no, the bitch is cruel and heartless because she gives the man what he doesn’t want, what he doesn’t expect,” she said, leaning forward, resting her hands on the chair to either side, so that her breasts were just tantalizing inches above his face, her bare midriff just inches away from his mouth.
Her perfume was sweet enough to mask the beery smell of the cellar, the warmth of her naked flesh made it seem thick and cloying, and, as Brian’s eyes closed and his body involuntarily strained to savour it better, so her back arched and she moved just out of his reach.
She chuckled, a low rasp in the back of the throat like a man enjoying a dirty joke, said, “See? That is cruel and heartless. That is the bitch.”
He permitted himself seconds more of picturing, behind closed eyes, what it was that he wanted, what it was that he hoped for, then opened them to see her grinning down at him.
One hand trailed down his cheek and across his chest, the sharp colourless nails scratching lightly over his belly.
“Now expecting… what?” she asked, feeling his body tense, and brought her hand quickly away, knowing that it had been his cock expecting the sensation of her fingers around it. “Oh no, not that, not yet,” she told him, with a sorry shake of the head, though in her choice of words – not yet – he sensed some promise.•
For the moment, though, it seemed that his predicament was amusement enough for her, her own body entertainment enough, for as her eyes drank him in, relishing the way his arms strained, the way the straps bit into his flesh, so she ran her hands across her body, caressing every inch of it, cupping her breasts and squeezing them, pinching the nipples through the thin fabric of her bra, slipping down across her flat belly to her groin.
When she made a claw of her fingers and dug them between her thighs, as if there was an itch there which needed to be eased, Brian saw the silk of her knickers moulded against her genitals, could make out the swollen labia almost pouting beneath. With her index finger she forced the material inside, ran that finger up and down so that he could almost believe he heard the rasp of silk against skin.
“I am wet, they are wet,” she told him, one hand tugging the knickers down over her thighs while she covered herself with the other, for a moment discordantly demure, like some figure in a painting by Botticelli.
Then, with a graceful dip at the knees, she stepped out of them, scooped them up and came back towards him.
“Smell, taste how wet they are,” she invited, offering them to him, and his head came forward to meet them, caught their pungent perfume as they were wiped across his face.
Then they were dropped into his lap, where they fell on his aching cock, and for all that the material was light and sheer they seemed like an agonizing weight bearing down on his erection.
If her hand, if any hand, were to close on his cock now he would come in an instant. Of this much he was sure. But he was just as sure that this was not a thing the heartless bitch would permit.
Not yet.
As she made a slow pirouette before him, turning her back to him, he just caught sight of a bared breast in profile as she removed her bra, was denied a full view of it as plump pale buttocks filled his field of vision, her slender waist and the soft indentation of her spine, the firm thighs pinched by the black silk stockings.
“Kiss,” she ordered, her hands on the arms of the chair to support herself as she moved between his spread legs, lowering herself so that she was so close he couldn’t possibly refuse.
Brian touched his lips almost reverently against one buttock, then the other, felt her press harder against him so that his lips parted and his tongue licked against her warm salty flesh.
“With more intimacy,” she insisted, her hips swaying and lazily rotating so that his face was sucked into the crack between her buttocks, his nose pressed against her arse, his tongue lapping beneath it.
“Ah! Oh yes! That’s nice!” she sighed, her body churning against him, and slowly, as if her arms could no longer bear her weight, she lowered herself into his lap so that his tongue ran from her buttocks and along her spine.
When she was finally settled Brian’s face was crushed against her back, his mouth mashed between her shoulder blades and his cock caught between her thighs, her weight bearing down on it as it fought to spring up free and erect.
“What would you do for an orgasm?” she asked, resting so heavily on him that he might have replaced the chair which supported them both, actually become that chair, become nothing more than a fixture, a furnishing, something to be used by her.
He gasped as he felt her buttocks against his belly, the silk of her thighs closing on his cock, the discarded knickers still draped over it causing him such exquisite agony.
His incoherent reply gave her the opportunity to rephrase her question, there was an added pressure to his cock, her fingers compressing it through the silk which swathed it as she said, “No, scratch that, rather let me ask—”
“Anything!” he gasped again.
“– rather let me ask what must you do for an orgasm?”
Her body writhed against him, not fiercely enough to make him come yet, just enticingly enough to draw an inspired answer from him.
“Make you have an orgasm first?” he guessed.
“Close,” she said, her body stiffening a little, “but no one makes this cruel bitch do anything.”
“Encourage you to have an orgasm then?” he said.
“Good boy! You’re learning!” she congratulated him, her body relaxing again, and while one hand rested lightly against his cock, sustaining his erection, the other one crept away, her sighs giving him a clue as to where.
It was Brian she was using – as a toy, a tool, a support or whatever – but it was herself that she was pleasuring. That free hand was between her thighs, he knew, strumming her clitoris, parting the lips of her sopping cunt where he longed to bury his aching cock, dipping finger after finger inside until her whole fist was dripping.
Perhaps her wrist was aching, perhaps she wanted to tantalize him further … whatever the reason, she switched hands, the teasing one leaving his cock to delve between her thighs and the other lifting, pulling her hair aside so his lips could kiss her slender neck, then working their way behind her head and between their bodies so he could taste her excitement.
Her wet fingers forced themselves between his lips and
he sucked on them, knowing that this was what she wanted of him, that this was the only way he could give her the orgasm she demanded. His mouth fastened on them, his tongue lapped at them, she writhed so much that his body was bruised by hers, squashed between her firm flesh and the sculpted hardness of the wooden seat.
Then, with a sigh which was like the last gasp of a dying person, her head fell forward.
“Oh fuck!” she sobbed, her back bowed before him to finally allow him some air, rocking in his lap and nodding her head, saying, “Yes! Yes! Oh fuck!”
The shudders which shook her body slowly subsided, her breathing became slow and deep and Brian found his matching it, as if he shared her satisfaction.
But of course he didn’t, his cock was rock hard and as red as a piece of rare meat, burning beneath the knickers which were still draped over it.
She could guess at his discomfort, could not help but be aware of the effect she had on him, and with a tantalizing slowness she uncovered him, drew the soft silk along the length of his erection before letting the knickers fall to the floor.
His cock sprang upright as she lifted from his lap, jutting out in something like a salute as she turned to face him.
“He wants to come?” she supposed, an unnecessary remark in the circumstances, addressing Brian’s cock rather than him as she nudged it with her knee, bringing a gasp of delight from him. “Yes? He does?”
“If my hands were free—” he said hoarsely, offering a threat, a promise.
“Yes? If your hands were free… what?” she asked, but he had no need to answer, she knew what he had in mind.
She was the cruel heartless bitch, though, as she had boasted.
“I will free every other part of you, but not your hands,” she told him, walking around him, behind him, running her fingers across his face and through his hair.
He felt her hands on his, unlocking the shackles which had them fastened behind his head, but his freedom was short-lived, for immediately cuffs snapped on his wrists had them bound together before him.
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