by Bryan Smith
His face flushed. “Um…”
That told her all she had to know.
She moved her hand to his knee. “I like married men. I like to feel naughty, like I’m doing something…bad.” She leaned close to him and ran her hand up his thigh. “You know what I mean?”
He gulped. “Yes. Yes, I do.”
“Do you like being bad…I don’t believe I got your name?”
He glanced at her slender hand on his thigh. He had to clear his throat before he could speak again. “My name’s Scott. And I do like being bad. Very much.”
She leaned in even closer and squeezed his thigh. It was the same kind of very forward technique she’d used on Red Nose that ill-fated night at the Villager Tavern. The difference was this man didn’t believe he was out of her league, which effectively blinded him to her predatory intentions. He was clearly already entranced by her. He was on the hook. All she had to do was reel him in.
She slid off her stool and leaned into him, kissing him full on the mouth. His body tensed at first, but he soon relaxed and started kissing her back. He was a good kisser. Gentle in the right moments and rougher in others. She got lost in the moment a little, getting genuinely turned on. But then she broke off the kiss and grinned before dropping her voice to a huskier register. “So. Bad boy. Do you agree with me that bad boys should be spanked?”
He visibly shivered.
It was all she could do not to laugh at him. He was putty in her hands. He already belonged to her. His fate was sealed.
He swallowed with difficulty and cleared his throat again. “That’s…probably…the right thing to do. I think.”
”That’s good to hear, Scott.,” she said, keeping her voice in that low, husky range. “Because I don’t really want to go dancing. I’ve got a better idea.”
“Yeah?”
She nodded. “I’m taking you back to my hotel room so I can give you the punishment you deserve. You’re a bad boy and you need to be put in your place. Isn’t that right?”
She kissed him lightly on the mouth.
His face was still flushed and there was sweat visible at his hairline. He laughed nervously and wiped some of the sweat away with the back of a hand. Then his expression sobered and he said, “I’ll do whatever you want. Anything at all.”
She smiled. “That’s what I like to hear, Scott.”
She took him by a hand and pulled him off his stool.
He looked dazed. “We’re going now?”
She nodded and kept smiling.
Then they threaded their way out of the bar, stepped to the curb outside, and hailed a cab.
35.
They made out in the back of the cab all the way back to the hotel. She was so aroused by the time the cab dropped them off she was thinking she might actually have sex with the man before…well, before killing him. There was no getting around that part of it, of course. It wasn’t a pleasant thing to consider--even in the midst of striving to embrace evil as her new raison d’etre--but his demise was her ticket back to a normal life.
Sucks to be you, Scott. Sorry, dude.
Contemplating sex with a man she meant to kill was morbid and perverse and just plain wrong by any reasonable moral standard. But a small part of her--that inner badness beginning to really assert itself at last, maybe--was not unexcited by the idea. The guy was going to die anyway. Surely he deserved one last night of pleasure. She could make it good for him and really send him out in style.
It was the least she could do.
They clung to each other as they entered the hotel and staggered through the lobby to the elevators. Inside the elevator, Kayla slammed him against the rear wall and hooked a leg around him as she again pushed her lips against his mouth. He squirmed and made grunting noises of protest, presumably out of embarrassment due to the presence of the elevator’s only other passenger, a stooped-over little old lady with thick glasses and a shawl pulled tight over bony shoulders.
Kayla just laughed and dragged him out of the elevator at the fifth floor, pulling him down the hall to her room by his tie. He stumbled after her, trilling embarrassed, almost girlish laughter. Once she had him inside the room, she slapped him and shoved him down onto the nearest twin bed. “Take off your clothes and lie flat on your back, bad boy.”
He gaped up at her as he started untying his shoes. She could see the excitement in his eyes. But there was also fear. He didn’t do this kind of thing often. Either that, or there was something about her he found especially intimidating. She sort of liked the latter possibility, though she suspected it was a combination of both.
After he got his shoes off, he started working on his tie. “I, uh…don’t have any protection. I wasn’t expecting--”
She slapped him again. “Don’t you worry about that. Concentrate on doing what you’ve been told to do.”
He dropped his gaze and nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”
Kayla laughed as she dropped her purse on the table. What a pathetic schmuck this guy was. He was so eager to let this strange chick he’d never met play the role of dominant bitch. It was probably a fantasy he’d harbored his whole life. Poor repressed asshole. She was willing to bet this kind of kinky role-playing never went on with his wife. Which was maybe why he was out catting around while wifey was at home doing the laundry, tending to the kids, or whatever else little Betsy Homemakers did while their men weren’t around.
The poor woman would probably be better off without the cheating son of a bitch.
She smiled at the thought. It was exactly the kind of affirmation that would make going through with this possible.
In a few moments, he was undressed and lying flat on his back on the bed, just as she’d instructed. She moved to the head of the bed and glared down at him. “Close your eyes and don’t open them until I say you can.”
He squeezed his eyes shut. “Yes, ma’am.”
She opened the nightstand’s top drawer and removed the beginner’s bondage kit. She’d already opened the package earlier to inspect the contents, and now she removed them again and set to work attaching one of the ankle restraints.
“Hey, hold on…what are you doing?”
Kayla looked up from where she was kneeling at the side of the bed. “I’m restraining you prior to administering your punishment. Also, I don’t recall saying you could talk yet.”
She hadn’t forbidden it either, but she didn’t bother reminding him of that.
He heaved a big breath. “It’s just…I don’t mean to spoil the fun or anything, but this makes me a little nervous.”
The first restraint was already attached to his ankle and now she stretched it, tugging his leg outward toward the corner as she secured it to the post beneath the bed. She then grabbed the other ankle restraint and moved to the other side of the bed, determined to get this done fast. This was awfully soon in the game for him to start panicking. It indicated he was kind of a pansy, which wasn’t good news.
His nerves needed soothing. Easiest way to do that was to play to his male ego. “How old are you, Scott?”
“I’m forty-one.”
“Whoa. Really?”
“Yeah. You sound surprised.”
It was a few years older than she’d suspected. Not by much, but more than enough to effectively play to his insecurities. She got the second ankle restraint attached and secured to the post under that side of the bed. “Damn right. I thought you were maybe thirty, tops.”
In your dreams, pal, she thought.
A little exaggeration couldn’t hurt.
A goofy grin spread across his face and she knew the potential crisis had been averted. The beginner’s bondage kit also contained nylon wrist restraints, which likely would have kept him in place securely enough, but the bed had a metal headboard with posts that made it perfect for handcuffs. Besides, she didn’t want to see the purchase go to waste. So she removed the handcuffs from the box and crawled up on the bed, straddling the nude man and slapping the first cuff around his left wris
t lightning-fast. His eyes snapped open and he stared up at her in renewed panic. The key to success remained rapid action. So she jerked his wrist backward behind his head and looped the cuffs around one of the metal posts.
He yanked his other hand away when she reached for it. “Stop.”
“No.”
She reached for his hand again.
He jerked it away again.
She sighed. “Now you’re really being bad, Scott. Actually, you’re being kind of a fucking baby.”
He blinked rapidly at her. “What?”
“I’m just a girl. Not a very big girl either. You can’t seriously be afraid of me. I thought we were just having fun here.”
Much of the tension instantly drained from his body. “You’re right. You’re right. I’m sorry. I guess I’m just a little paranoid with all these Ripper stories in the news.”
She giggled. “The Ripper’s a boy. Everybody knows that.”
“Yeah. I know. I’m being dumb.”
Not really.
The paranoia was warranted given the circumstances.
Too bad for him he wasn’t smart enough to trust his instincts.
He smiled and let his right hand go limp. She yanked his arm backward and snapped the other cuff around the wrist quickly before he had a chance to change his mind. She then disengaged herself from him, got off the bed, and stared down at him, appraising her work.
He wasn’t going anywhere.
Not now. And never again. Well, except for when the ambulance came to take him away to the morgue or whatever.
He chuckled. “You should have spanked me before tying me up. You can’t really reach my ass from this position.”
She smiled. “Don’t worry. I have other ways of dealing with bad boys.”
She pulled the black dress off over her head, enjoying the sharp intake of breath this caused. Scott stared at her, his mouth hanging open and the set of his features conveying an almost adolescent awe, as if he’d never seen a nearly naked female body before.
She strutted away from him on her high heels, swaying her hips in a way calculated to render him stupid with desire. After hanging the dress in the closet, she removed the last item from the bondage kit.
“You’re so beautiful.”
The awe in his voice made her feel good, better than she had in a long time. It was nice to be drooled over again. She looked at him and smiled at the physical evidence of his admiration. After making him wait a moment longer, she crawled up on the bed and straddled him again, wiggling around atop him as she stretched the blindfold taut and stared intently into his eyes. “Lift your head up.”
“What? Why?”
She rolled her eyes. “So I can blindfold you. Duh.”
He frowned. “But I like being able to see you. You’re so--”
“Beautiful, right.” Her tone dripped with disdain. “Stop telling me shit I already know and cooperate.”
“But--”
“You’re really beginning to try my patience, Scott. Maybe you need some extra incentive.” She dropped her hands to his hairy chest, relaxed her grip on the blindfold, and dug her manicured nails into his flesh. “I wonder what your wife would think if you came home with a lot of deep, bloody scratches all over your body.”
His expression changed dramatically, his face contorting with actual terror. “Don’t do that. Please.”
She laughed.
And dug her nails in a little deeper.
“Please,” he repeated, whimpering now. “I’m begging you.”
“Of course you are. That’s sort of the whole point here, Scott.”
“You’re being mean. This is a game, right? Aren’t you supposed to stop when the other person gets uncomfortable?”
She smirked. “You know, you’re right. I think that’s how it’s done. We’re supposed to agree to a safe word or some shit like that. I wouldn’t know. I’ve never actually done the bondage thing. And guess what else? This isn’t a game at all.” She dug her nails in harder. “Last chance, Scott. Lift your fucking head, now, or I start marking you up.”
“Fuck.” He spit the word out, self-disgust evident in his tone. His eyes were shiny with tears. “I can’t believe I let this happen. I’m so stupid.”
Kayla let her expression go blank.
She was done talking to him until he cooperated.
He sighed and lifted his head. “You’re gonna rob me or something, aren’t you?”
Kayla smiled. “Or something.”
She stretched the blindfold taut over his eyes, pulling at the ends until they reached at the back of his head, and then tied it off in a tight knot. Then she stared at him for several moments, suddenly struck again by the strangeness of the situation. She’d been so focused on getting this part of it done that there had been no time for introspection.
She had spent the last several minutes intentionally terrorizing another human being. Which was quite a different thing from being a bitch with a tendency to say mean things now and then. There had been a kind of queasy thrill to it. She was alternately repulsed and excited by what she had done.
The way the muscles in his neck shifted every time he swallowed held her attention for a while, as did the way his throat moved with his every intake of breath. These things were evidence of healthy biological function. Of life. Observing this again brought home the fact that her ultimate goal here was causing these functions to cease.
Forever.
Because once this was done, she could never take it back.
She sighed and climbed off the bound man again, crossing the room to the table, where she opened her purse and withdrew the big hunting knife, sliding it out of its sheath and pausing for a moment to admire the way the overhead light glinted on the polished blade.
“What are you doing?”
Kayla smiled. “Setting myself free, Scott. That’s what I’m doing.”
“What?”
Another quick few strides back across the room and then up on the bed again, straddling him at his midsection. This time she didn’t bother writhing against him. His fear of what was happening had wilted his excitement. So the idea of sending him out with a bang looked like it wasn’t happening. Kind of a shame, but it was probably better to just go on and get this done.
She positioned the knife above his throat.
He swallowed hard. “What are you doing? Why aren’t you saying anything?”
She pressed the sharp edge of the blade against his skin.
He flinched, pressing his head backward as hard as he could, gaining a precious inch of separation between his flesh and the cold steel. “Shit! What is that?”
“Now’s probably a good time to go to your happy place, Scott.”
She pressed the knife against his throat again.
This was it.
The moment of truth.
All she had to do was slice down and rip the blade across his throat. The knife was sharp enough and big enough that it would do most of the work for her. One good thrust and yank and Scott would be history.
Shit.
Her hand was starting to shake.
She took a steadying breath and tightened her grip on the handle. Weakness in these final moments was unacceptable. Second thoughts weren’t an option. These things would mean failure. And the longer she hesitated, the easier it would be to let weakness overtake her. She ground her teeth together and worked hard at willing herself to do it.
The edge of the knife nicked Scott’s skin.
Blood welled from the cut as he started blubbering. “Puh-please.” His chest hitched as he sobbed. Tears began to stain the blindfold. “Please don’t hurt me. Please. I’m begging you. Please. I’ve got kids, for Christ’s sake. You can’t take me from them. You can’t. Please.”
Yeah, well, you should’ve thought of that before you went cruising for chicks tonight, douchebag.
She kept the blade pressed against his throat a while longer and felt the hard emotional edge she’d spent the day cult
ivating begin to crumble. Scott’s wrenching descent into desperate insensibility was getting to her. Time kept ticking by and her hand stayed where it was, though her grip had relaxed on the knife’s handle. The moments became minutes. The minutes piled up and a resigned certainty that she truly could never do this began to replace her former determination. She thought of all the things she’d done today. All her preparations. All the rationalizations. All the fucking lies she’d told herself in order to wind up where she was right now.
Her hand and the knife came away from Scott’s throat.
Scott sucked in a reedy breath. “You are the Ripper, aren’t you? There’s been nothing in the news about the killer’s gender.”
She didn’t bother replying as she rolled off him and went to the closet to retrieve her dress, mainly because she had tears in her eyes and didn’t trust herself to respond at all calmly. She couldn’t believe how close she’d come to doing something so fundamentally awful. The final, unavoidable truth was there was no way she could fulfill her end of the bargain she’d made with the devil. She was a lot of things, a lot of them not that great or admirable, but she was not a murderer.
She set the knife on the table and pulled the dress back on. The world disappeared for a moment as the soft fabric slid over her face. Then she could see again and the Ripper was standing at the foot of the bed where Scott lie bound and unaware.
Her face went blank. “You.”
He smiled and tipped his top hat at her. “I knew you didn’t have it in you.”
“Have you been here the entire time?”
Scott’s head jerked side to side. “Who’s that? What the hell’s going on here?”
The Ripper approached Kayla, stopping a few feet shy of where she stood at the table. He never stopped smiling in that smarmy, insidious way of his she so loathed. “Indeed. In addition to my gift for stealth, I have a nearly equal talent for letting myself into places, as well as for blending into the background. You really should have taken a deeper look at the back of that closet when you--”
Kayla’s hand came around in a savage arc as she thrust the blade of the big hunting knife into his belly. “Yeah, you’re very talented for such a murdering fuck. But you do have one big flaw, Alfred. You like to hear yourself talk too much.”