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Best Served Cold

By: steve w



"Why won't you tie me up, dammit?"

Hmm...I know she thinks I can be a bit, well, reserved sometimes. But I think near-shouting that in a restaurant might be a bit much. Especially considering that it took two months to get a reservation in this place. And considering that she always complains I don't want to go anywhere. 

I take another piece of the, frankly, divine fois gras before I answer.

"Do you really want to know?"

She nods, her eyes blazing. Windows to the soul, they say. With her, it's true. All the maelstrom of emotions in her headstrong brain just ooze out of those eyes. Pain, impatience, lust...yes, lust. I've seen it from her a couple of times, but frankly not as often as I should, for a couple who've dated for six months. My friends are all insanely jealous. She's a drop-dead gorgeous brunette, who dresses to entice, and just moves with that ex-professional-dancer feline grace. The vertical motions point to horizontal ecstasy. And they're right. Occasionally.

And yet, for all that, I can't say that I'm that happy being with her. It started out as an ego thing – something I'm not proud to confess, but honest enough to admit. And it squares with her attitude of going with the guy who had the most expensive Porsche. So we're both dammed by our own cynicism, I suppose. She's very demanding, in the look-at-me, be-amazed-by-me, kind of way. And she has low expectations of both me and our relationship. I feel like a rung on a ladder. 

"Because, my dear, that would be too easy. And it wouldn't teach you a lesson."

Boy, that got her attention, in all sorts of ways. She moves back in her chair, wide-eyed. She's so damn – what's the word – impressive to look at, I don't think she's used to anything but fawning. I'm supposed to fall at her feet. An average-looking, albeit rich guy, I'm supposed to be so grateful she's wasting her beauty on me for a while. 

Looking at her half-feigned astonishment that I would dare to suggest she needed to be taught a lesson, I realise something significant. She pisses me off. It's as simple as that. She has no interest in who I am, what I am, what I aspire to be. She's interested in those isolated points where the curve of her life touches the curve of mine. We met by accident, got together by accident. The parting – and I know it's going to come – will be very deliberate. On her side, naturally. Mr Right won't be waiting for her (because he doesn't exist), but Mr Next will have the engine of his more-expensive-than-mine car running on my driveway. That's how I'll know. Before she even invents some spurious reason why it's no longer working.

So...I've decided to try to have some fun. And maybe, just maybe, put a little dent in that supreme arrogance of hers. The indifference to others' feelings that only comes from being told you're beautiful, every day, from your first sentient moment. 

It's showtime. 

"You heard me, baby. Teach you a lesson. Frankly, honey, you're boring me in bed."

She's almost choking now. I can hear her internal voice. Nobody, nobody has ever spoken to me like that. Nobody. Nobody has ever dared. It's disgraceful. Who does he think he is? With that crappy haircut. He didn't know his Armani from his fucking elbow when I met him. Does he even realise how many men want me? How many fucks I turn down each week? Does he have a clue?

"Yeah, bored would be the right word. You see, you don't know how to please a guy. Beauty doesn't do it, you see. Hell, I can go on the 'Net and see a hundred women as good looking as you. You lack a basic technique."

My words are measured. I'd expected to be breathless by now, as her agitation rises and rises. Or just expected that I couldn't carry it off at all. I think the realisation of my indifference has given me an edge. It's all in the balance now. Time to go for the jugular.

"I could show you how to please a man. But I doubt you could actually pay attention long enough to learn. I think you're doomed to fail on that score. Just go through life, being a bit of a disappointment to each successive boyfriend. Of course, when the looks go, and the surgery and botox can't hold your face up, the boyfriends will go too. I hope you bank the money you steal from my account, 'cos you're going to have a long old age to spend it in. That age starts in about ten years."

Her crystal champagne flute hit the floor, and I swear the obsequious little asshole waiter had it swept up and into the oh-so-trendy recycle box before it had time to shatter. Fifty bucks for a starter, but the service was shit hot.

Her mind was ticking over the alternatives. I'd known she was stealing money from a joint account she'd suggested we set up. It was into six figures by now. I didn't mind too much at first. I was smart enough to keep most of my investments well away from it. I was intrigued. She fell into that classic embezzler's trap of starting small, and getting bigger. Either because she got over-confident, or because the amount wasn't looking big enough, early enough. She wasn't especially clever about it. She didn't invent very plausible reasons why the amount ebbed and flowed as it did. What irked me – and still does – is that she thought so little of my intelligence that I wouldn't notice, and so little of my integrity that I wouldn't care. Hence tonight. 

I watched the change sweep across her face like a storm front. She'd taken the bait. She'd worked out that the loathsome pained expression on her face, as if she had any innocence to be injured, wasn't going to hack it. She couldn't deny it. I could go to the cops and sort it out really easily. You don't make a fortune in the security business, especially in Vegas, without knowing a lot of cops. And a lot about some of them. I knew she already had rap sheets. Prostitution, blackmail. All a few years ago, but a leopard...She just got better at it, that's all.

She was going to try the sweet thing instead. The oh, honey, I'll do anything you want honey, anything you wanna do to me, I just hate fighting, honey. It wouldn't work either, but her flimsy opinion of my mind (and whether it was in my head or my dick) meant she'd give it the ol' college try anyway.

It's a strange smile she has, now that I look at it. Too perfect. Not crooked enough. And never moving above the lower half of her face. It's dazzling in the abstract, across a crowded room, on the dance floor. Simply because it's directed at you, and not some other guy. When you're a true recipient, you see how empty it is. My indifference is starting to turn towards contempt.

She takes my hand in hers.

"Let's skip the meal, babe. Take me home and show me how to please a man like you."

I didn't miss the double meaning. She laughed at my dick the first time she saw it. I mean, outright laughed. Collapsed back onto the bed. I mean, there's surprise, and then there's cruelty. At first, I was grateful she'd gone through with fucking me, considering I'm only four inches at best. And even with my limited experience, I knew a badly-faked cum when I heard it. But each time we fucked, I got a little replay tape of that laugh, somewhere in the back of my head.

In the limo she moves to suck me off as we drive, but I push her head away. She does a fake – and annoying - pout. Fuck, how could I ever have found her attractive? I realise what a low ebb I was truly at, when I met her. Six weeks after Ellie left. Cute, smart, funny, wonderful Ellie. Yeah, maybe it was only right that I would fuck up, trying to replace that. And me, with my heart ripped out and beating in an apartment somewhere in Florida. In Ellie's hands, as always.

So beautiful, shallow Roberta was the rebound bimbo par excellence. God, I was such a cliché. Rich, ugly bald guy loses true love, dates a bimbette who rips off his money when she thinks he isn't looking. Christ, I was a caricature of myself. 

The limo glides to a halt, and as Roberta clicks her stilettos towards the house, I tell Danny, the driver, to wait. He will. Even if I don't say anything for a week, he'll sit outside. His brother's into me for ninety thousand and counting. I only loaned him ten as a favour to Danny. The rest is debts to every crappy casino in West Vegas, which I've paid off without telling. Danny thinks his brother is in Reno, but he's actually holed up in New Mexico while I dry him out. Danny is a childhood friend. But hey, don't expect me to be a nice guy tonight, because I'm not. As Roberta is about to find out.

She's kicked off her shoes, shed the dress, and draped herself into what she thinks is the most erotic position I can imagine. It's not. She's sat in a large easy chair, legs spread, licking her lips. Sooooo porn star. I'm not averse to fucking like a porn movie – love it, in fact – but I'm disappointed that she thinks this is the only way to be really sexy. Besides, I know she doesn't mean it. She's not into it, not like Ellie was. She's doing it because it's her idea of what a guy like me will find sexy. It's an obligation, and no thought has gone into it at all.

I smile at her. It's the smile of someone who knows they control the situation. But to her, it's a middle aged man smiling at his oh-so-foxy young girlfriend's pussy. 

I bend towards her and whisper.

"Grab hold of the back of the chair, close your eyes, and listen."

She smiles and does this. She's expecting a little pin-prick from a little pin prick, her going ooh and aah in the right places, and all will be forgiven.

She's a great looking woman, to the uninitiated. A photograph of this would be good fuck fantasy material to most guys. Her body is lean and smooth, tanned to perfection in a golden honey colour. Her tits are still pert, thanks to a slight but well-judged touch of silicone a few years ago. Her stomach is flat, and her legs are well toned. Her pussy is shaved, although I've never insisted or even asked. She has a nice, firm round ass that begs some attention.

"One hundred and twelve thousand, seven hundred and two dollars."

Her eyes snap open.

"I SAID FUCKING CLOSE YOUR EYES"

Her eyes snap shut.

"That's a lot of money. Did you think I wouldn't fucking notice? Don't answer that. Don't answer anything, in fact. I know what you were thinking. That anytime you fucked my pencil-dick you deserved some cash. Hmmmm...what should I do about it? Turn you in and let the cops add to your record? I said...fucking...keep ...your...eyes...shut. Of course I know. Do you think I'm stupid? I had your rap sheet before our first date. And I'm sure as fuck not stupid enough to let you get pregnant. Of course my tubes are fucking tied. I wouldn't run the risk with a blackmailer like you, now would I? So let's get it clear, because it's the opposite of what you thought. I'm smart, you're not. You got played, I didn't."

She's stayed in position, but she looks deflated. Ironically, she looks like a half-deflated blow-up doll. Like the morning after a frat house party, draped over the chair but not doing anything. 

"So here's what we're going to do. As it runs out, I'm a nice guy. I'm going to leave you with the hundred grand. Minus what you're pissing away with that boyfriend, who, incidentally, is nailing your best friend Alison. On the hood of the car you bought him, a seventy one Mustang I think it was."

A small tear fell across her cheek. It wasn't the boyfriend. He was just a fuck on the side. Hung like a stallion according to my male private investigator, who was now fucking the guy as well. It was the humiliation of defeat, the realisation that she was actually less beautiful, and about half as smart, as she thought she was. Good. It was a lesson she needed to learn and, let's face it, this was relatively painless. She was keeping the money, and I'd even kept Danny outside to drive her.

"Don't cry, my little blackmailer. Your tiny cock sugar daddy is going to help you. I'm going to show you what it takes to please a man."

Her body froze, and she tensed herself for what was coming. I could see her muscles reflex, rippling her stomach as she braced herself for some kind of onslaught. Maybe she thought she was about to be thrown back to the bad old days, before she got all upmarket and started fucking easy, badly hung marks like me. Fuck knows what she thought it was. Maybe violence, maybe more humiliation. But it wasn't. I knelt down and slurped on her pussy lips.

She gasped in surprise, and leant forward. I moved away and stood up.

"What did I tell you to do? Grab the fucking chair, close your eyes. So do it, and keep doing it no matter what."

She does it, but more with unknowing compliance than true understanding. I wanted her to understand, to truly comprehend, the importance of thinking about the other person. I wasn't entirely sure why it mattered to me. Maybe some form of vindication for me. I waited, to see if she cheated. She did, of course. When I didn't return to her pussy, she peeked. And then pretended she hadn't. More fucking lies.

"Thank you, dear, for making my point for me. You see, you just fucking cheated again. Even though, when you did what I asked, you got your pussy licked, and when you cheated, you got nothing. You cheated yourself, and you knew that was the outcome, but you still did it. Solely because you felt like looking, so you did. There was no fucking thought going through that head, was there? No fucking thought at all. Not even for your own pleasure, let alone mine. 

"This is what you don't get. You don't get the connection between thought and pleasure. You don't get the link between thinking about what you're doing, what I'm doing, why we're doing it, how it makes us feel, and how good it feels. That whole thing is totally shut off from you and that, I'm afraid, is why you bore me in bed. Why, once they get over fucking someone who looks good, you'll bore every man you screw.

"Now, we'll try one last time, and I mean one last time. You do not, even if the cops burst in here with the fucking President, open your eyes. You do not make a sound, no matter how much you want to, unless I say you can. You do not move. If I want you moved, well shit baby, all that vomiting in the bathroom means I can fucking pick you up in one hand. I'll do it myself. So let's see if you can deny yourself the fucking obvious, the immediate, the readily apparent, and learn something about yourself."

I wait to see if she has absorbed anything I've said. Personally, I doubt it. I think she has the memory of a goldfish. Round and round the bowl, each time she sees the little castle it's a new surprise...I think the only thing she's taken in is the fact that she has to keep her eyes closed, and stay still. Because that was an obvious instruction. I'm sure she'd prefer it if I actually tied and blindfolded her, no matter how roughly I did it. Because that would take away any real involvement from her. How fucking depressing.

A small part of me just wants to give the whole thing up, and kick her sorry ass out of my house. But part of me just likes a bit of a challenge. It's not that she lacks intelligence (it's just fucking aimless), and so I have this nagging feeling that she could actually learn something. 

After a couple of minutes of silently studying her face, I'm satisfied that she might, just might, play ball for a while. I can see the slight sheen of sweat on her skin, and given that the aircon is on full, I take this to be a good sign. I bend down, careful to be silent and not to touch her, so she won't know where I'm going to touch. 

And I slide a finger into her pussy.

Her body tenses slightly, and then I can see her stomach muscles move as she makes herself relax, and stay still. I begin to slide my finger gently in and out of her pussy, and I can feel after a few seconds that she's wet. Her juice begins to slide down my finger, wiping itself onto her pussy lips. Her ass is squirming slightly in the chair, despite her efforts to stay still. She's become more responsive in five minutes of submission, than in the previous six months of laughing to my face.

I reach in with my tongue and lick her. She stiffens and moves. So I stop and withdraw. This time, she keeps her eyes closed and stays still, waiting for my return. Better. I stand there, arms folded, simply looking at her. I think she can sense, even with her eyes closed, whether I'm looking at her. I want her to understand the measure of control I have. I want her to understand why the pleasure goes away. So I wait. Minutes stretch, but this time, she remains quiet and compliant.

After a while, I stroke her pussy lips. The sweat is just a little more pronounced, especially between her tits. I blow on her cunt and she shifts slightly in her chair. A small damp patch has formed on the upholstery. Part sweat, part pussy juice. So she's getting hotter and wetter. But is she getting any smarter? Does she get it yet?

I push one finger gently into her pussy. Every so often, I rub my thumb over her clit as my finger slides back into her glistening cunt. She shakes each time I flick the delicate little bud, which is now red and proud from its sheath. She has to work harder to keep her eyes closed. The temptation to open them is almost too much. She's too visual, too dependent on seeing things happen to believe that they're real. Too literal. She needs to learn the art of just believing. 

Her breath starts to get shorter, more hesitant. That little light squirming has become more pronounced. It's pretty close to bucking against my fingers. Her body is starting to glisten with sweat. She's about to come.

So I stop.

She pouts – a real one, this time, but brattish all the same. Someone took her toy away. She almost speaks, but remembers in time. It means she hasn't learned yet. It means she needs to be taught more.

"Tell me what you're feeling, Roberta."

"I'm feeling hot, and wet. I want to cum. I badly want to cum. But I know you're punishing me for the money. So I'm supposed to wait for you, until you want to cum. But I feel so fucking horny. I didn't realise, being so submissive like this, was so fucking hot. I want more."

Not bad, but she was still missing the point. I wasn't tying her up, or actually stopping her from doing anything. If she wanted to reach down and slap her clit until she howled, I hadn't given any indication that I'd stop her. She was stopping herself, she just didn't realise it, and didn't realise why.

"Turn over and show me your ass. Keep your eyes closed, and don't move once you're in position. But you can speak when you want."

She obediently rolls over and onto her knees. It's pretty reluctant though. I push on her back so that her ass sticks up in the air. It's pretty nice, in fact, I have to say. She obviously did actually go to the gym when she said, albeit that she stopped off to fuck her little bi-boyfriend on the way back to the house. It's a shame such a nice ass is attached to such a selfish little bitch.

"Make me cum, baby, I wanna cum. I've learned my lesson. I really have. I'll be good now, baby. I'll pay back the money. You'll see."

"You haven't learned a fucking thing baby." I keep my voice quiet and purposeful, bending to her ear.

"If you'd learned, you wouldn't have said a thing. If you'd learned, you would have scooted into position and waited. So you haven't learned."

I slide a finger into her asshole. 

She squeals. I'd only ever done that to her once before, and she'd complained like a mutha for about two weeks after. Christ, you'd have thought I'd put a fucking car up there, or something. I knew perfectly well she could take it. Her boyfriend fucked any ass that came within reach, hers being no exception, and the photos from the investigator showed she enjoyed it. Fuck, she even licked her ass juice off his cock while he filmed her, so my finger was no problem at all really, was it? 


Best Served Cold...



Thursday, February 19:

"We need some time," she said sadly. "I need to think about this."

It was the last day of class, and she'd just had the biggest fight ever with Jason, her boyfriend. He was jealous of the amount of time she spent doing sorority duties; he figured she must be fooling around at one of those fraternity mixers, but she hadn't. As a matter of fact, her relationship with a non-frat boy was causing friction in the sorority. Today it had all blown up when Jason had given her an ultimatum: him or the sorority.

Alicia loved Jason, but she couldn't just allow him to direct her life like he owned it. Sure, he was more important to her than the sorority, but she wasn't going to let him get away with making her choose.

"Look," she said, tears streaking down her face, "Let's use the next week apart to clear our heads, make sure of our choices, ok?" She moved further away from him. "Do me a favor though: if you decide to sleep with anyone, -please- don't sleep with Lynette? I don't care about anyone else, just not Lynette, ok?"

Lynette was a girl they had both known for years; Jason had gone to school with her and considered her a close friend. Lyn and Alicia had known one another through 4-H. Their history consisted of a few summer camps. Lyn had always flirted shamelessly with the boys Alicia had considered her summer love, and one year managed to seduce the young man away from her.

Before Alicia started dating Jason, Lyn had never shown any romantic interest in him; now every time he went home Lyn managed to show up everywhere he went, even managing to get invited to a few private parties, where she proceeded to flirt and drape herself over him.

Alicia knew she had reason to be wary of Lyn.

"Ok," Jason said, wrapping his arms around her. "But I don't have any intention of sleeping with anyone." He bent his face down and whispered, just as his lips touched hers, "I don't want anyone but you."

----------------

Sunday, February 21:

Alicia hummed along with the radio, her long fingers tapping the steering wheel in time with the music. It had been a good visit with her sister, but she was really looking forward to getting back to school. Since she had to pass through Jason's hometown, she called and made arrangements to spend some time with him. She'd really missed him, and knew they could work it out.

Jason's face looked slightly drawn when he'd let himself out of the house and loped toward the car. She'd just risen from her seat when he pulled her into a big hug, capturing her lips in a way that made her breathless.

"God, I missed you!" he breathed when they broke apart, then swallowed, not meeting her eyes. "We... we need to talk."

--------------

Friday, March 17:

Looking back, Alicia still couldn't remember how she'd gotten home. The two hour drive from Jason's to her house was a blur. All she could remember were his words, "I slept with Lyn."

Nothing else mattered. The one woman she'd asked him to not sleep with, and he did it anyway. No number of "I didn't mean to" or "It just happened" could make it un-happen. Nothing could erase it from her mind. The betrayal struck deep, especially after all his accusations of cheating.

She'd gone through the next couple of months in a daze. The one bright light had been a guy in her dorm whom she liked. He'd asked her out once and they had a good time but that had been a few weeks ago.

Jason's best friend had come up for a visit and had asked to see her. Against her better judgment she agreed. They'd always gotten along well and she figured he was going to beg her to forgive Jason.

Jason had moved on, as far as she could tell. He was now dating some freshman, a cute little thing who looked enough like Alicia to be her younger sister.

She was surprised when Todd pulled her into his arms for a hug as soon as her dorm room was closed. This sure didn't feel like a guy who was trying to fix his best friend's relationship.

"Alicia," he whispered, "I've wanted you since the first time I saw you. I've been so jealous of Jase." He pulled back to look at her. "You want to get back at Jason?" At her nod he smiled, "Then have sex with me. It'll kill him."

She'd never been interested in Todd, but what an idea! She knew Jason well enough to know that having sex with his best friend would eat him up. She pulled back from Todd slightly and bit her lip. She wasn't the type that had sex with someone she wasn't seriously involved with.

Todd felt her hesitation and lowered his lips to hers, pulling her into a tight embrace. His hands roamed up over her hips, stroking her skin under her shirt.

Alicia suddenly relaxed. She could let this happen. Her lips responded to Todd's, hungry and demanding. They moved together, lips never apart for more than a few seconds as they stripped the clothes off one another, suddenly in a hurry to be naked together.

They broke apart long enough to move to the bed. "Wait," said Alicia, and reached for the phone. She smiled at the look of apprehension on Todd's face and spoke into the phone. "Jean, call me before you come back to the room. I have company." His face broke into a grin as her roommate told her that she wouldn't be back for a couple of hours.

She practically pounced on him, pressing him back on the bed and locking her lips to his; their young bodies tangling together as he pulled her back and rolled on top of her, between her legs.

"Are you sure?" he whispered, pausing with his cock ready to enter her. She bit her lip and nodded, not really sure but determined to go through with it.

He slid his cock along her slit making sure she was really wet before gently sliding into her.

"Oh, God!," he groaned. "I've dreamed of this so long! You feel so good!" He began stroking inside her. He was larger than Jason, and it had been a while since she'd had sex; his cock stretched her as it filled her, going deeper with each stroke until it was buried completely inside her.

She arched against him, mewing softly at the sensations he was causing. He leaned over her and started pumping inside her. This wasn't making love, they were having sex, pure and simple. Their whole intention was to get off, to cum together, just to make Jason jealous.

They froze as a knock came at the door. "Todd, are you in there?" came Jason's voice. Alicia had to clap a hand over her mouth to keep from giggling aloud, her nerves stretched to the limit. The stayed frozen, Todd's cock buried deep inside her cunt as they heard Jason walk away.

Just as they were starting to get into the rhythm, the phone rang. They looked into each other's eyes as the answering machine picked up. It was Jason, cursing because he couldn't find either of them. They knew he was pretty sure they were in the room, but couldn't prove it.

"We need to hurry," whispered Alicia, intent on finishing what she'd started. Todd nodded. He lifted her legs and started pounding into her at a pace he knew would bring him to orgasm quickly.

Alicia lay back and pinched her nipples, watching Todd work on getting them both off. One hand slipped between her legs and started playing with her clit. She was moaning and panting when he groaned, "I'm cumming, Alicia!"

She froze as she felt his huge cock pulsing inside her, the sensation pushing her over the edge. She cried out, her voice mingling with his as she came around his cock.

They lay together for a moment panting and sweating. He kissed her softly. "Incredible," he breathed as he pulled out of her, careful to not spill out of the condom. He pulled it off and tied it, placing it on the floor beside the bed before pulling her into his arms, cuddling her against his chest.

Then voices in the hall, and the sound of the door unlocking.

"Shit!" Alicia exclaimed as the door swung open. Standing in the doorway was her roommate, followed by Jason.

He stood there for a moment, frozen in shock as his eyes took in the sight of her in bed with Todd. She returned his stare defiantly, daring him to say a word.

The color drained from his face, then he turned beet red and spun around. He strode down the hall, his steps loud on the linoleum.

"Oh my God!" said her roommate. "I'm so sorry! Jason called me and said it was an emergency, that he had to get something of his from the room.. I didn't even think... Oh my God!" She was babbling.

Alicia was silent as she slid from the bed and tossed Todd his clothes. She pushed Jean out into the hall and closed the door. Todd tried several times to speak to her as they dressed; she kept her face averted as she pulled on her clothes.

Finally they were both dressed and he pulled her into his arms, catching her face in one hand and making her look at him. "Oh man," he said quietly. "I didn't think he'd catch us. I'm not sorry; you're the most incredible woman I've ever known."

He lowered his lips to hers, not seeing the tear that crept silently down her cheek until he felt it on their lips.

He pulled back and looked at her. "Don't regret it. He needed that slap in the face, 'Licia." He kissed her again lightly. "I'll fix it, ok?"

She didn't look at him again as he walked to the door. "Goodbye," she said softly as the door closed behind him.

------------------------

Sunday, May 30

Alicia smiled tremulously as she looked down the aisle at her groom. After that fateful day a little over a year ago, she was a college graduate and marrying the man of her dreams. Jason had become a loving attentive, forgiving man.

The lesson had been learned - by both of them.

Who'd have thought a little revenge would be so sweet?



Best Served Cold



I have now submitted a few stories but the one that generated the most debate and feedback was the one with the least hardcore action in it. So, here's another -- and this has next to no action in it. I even thought of posting it in the Non-Erotic section -- but the story is very much about sex. So, like I said for "Decisions, Decisions" if it's hardcore action you want, move on to the next offering. But if it's a story about feelings and emotions, then I hope you enjoy this one.

As ever, please give me feedback -- both positive and negative (I hope I never stop learning), and I will reply to any emails. Thanks, BW.

****

"Madam Chairman, ladies and gentlemen, fellow educationalists."

Stephen looked out to his audience. Not a bad turnout for day one of a three day conference. He knew almost two hundred pairs of eyes were looking at him, their owners hanging on his every word -- waiting for him to say something they could praise or something they could jump on, and argue about.

"You don't need me to tell you that bullying takes many forms, and has become part of our everyday lives -- and not only in our schools."

He was off, supremely confident in what he had to say, delivering it with both confidence and style. From the first ten seconds he knew he had them in the palm of his hand.

"I can vividly remember during my second year at secondary school ..."

The fact he spoke from personal experience was one of the things that made Stephen such a compelling speaker. He was so familiar with his topic that he was on autopilot as he spoke. He moved from the rostrum, a caged lion prowling the cage that was the small stage, unable to stop his arms waving, fists clenching and his flashing blue eyes pinning his audience to their seats.

Ah, there's Ted and Freddy from the DfES, and another couple of familiar faces that'll be propping up the bar tonight. Could be quite a good night...

"...but whilst the kind of direct bullying we are all familiar with potentially leads to physical scars, the psychological scars of indirect bullying can be much more damaging in the long term. These scars are typically ...."

Before he moved on to the heart of his talk -- Cyber Bullying, he wanted his audience to examine themselves, to think about the times when they had been involved in indirect, social aggression bullying. At some time almost everyone has been part of a gang or group that had criticised, picked on or gossiped about someone to the point where that individual had become socially isolated. In other words, bullied.

Stephen was speaking more slowly now, a little more than a whisper, forcing his audience to concentrate; to look at him -- to watch his lips. As he spoke his eyes could see the realisation in many of the people watching him. He could see them starting to squirm on their seats, understanding that they had at sometime, in one way or another, been involved in bullying.

As his eyes had roamed the room they had been momentarily dragged back, doing a double take.

Wow, who the hell is she?

Whilst he would never know everyone at these conferences, there is a certain hard core of regulars. She wasn't one of them. As he took a breath between sentences, his mind absorbed and stored the image. Short, blonde, immaculately styled hair. Gold and was that glint diamond? earrings with what looked like a matching necklace. White silk blouse unbuttoned just enough to show she was sexy and confident -- but was definitely not a tart. Peach coloured summer two piece business suit -- expensive, tailored, perfect for her colouring. From his vantage point on the low stage, the skirt showed a hint of thigh. Enough to raise the age old question in any man's thoughts -- stockings?

" ... is really no different to indirect bullying. It just gives bullies an extra, and an all pervasive, set of tools to enhance the misery ...."

Stephen was approaching the climax of his talk. The whole timbre of his voice was evangelical. Exhorting his acolytes to examine themselves, make sure they avoided hurting others, no matter how innocent it may seem. But more, encouraging them to be vigilant and to use the tools and techniques he'd mentioned to help remove bullying from our educational establishments and the workplace.

"... So, there you have it. Thank you for your attention, I hope it was an hour of your time well invested, and that you'll put into practice some of the techniques we've discussed to make our schools happier environments -- for us all. Thank you."

The applause was louder and more enthusiastic than most at such conferences. Stephen acknowledged it with polite nods, but stood that bit taller on the stage, with a little boy grin. The chairman officially thanked him, referred to a couple of key points, asked Stephen a pre agreed question to get things going, and then threw the discussion open.

It was lively and the audience's attention stayed focussed throughout. As did Stephen's attention -- on the woman in the peach suit. He was almost having to force himself not to make eye contact. Whenever he did, her shining eyes and glossy lips (not bright and red, but soft and perfectly matched to her outfit), were smiling back at him.

During the coffee break Stephen found himself surrounded by people who had wanted to ask him a question, or get his advice on a particular situation, but had either been too shy or not had the opportunity to do it in the Q and A session. All the time he was answering questions and listening, he was aware that his eyes had minds of their own, as they scanned the room for a peach coloured business suit. If she was around, she was nowhere near him.

As the second session was about to start, the delegates filed their way back to the main conference room, Stephen hung back a little whilst his eyes darted around the crowd to see where she was. With just a handful of people left he was just about to enter the room when she hurried in through one of the other doors. Stephen held the door open, and she flashed him that smile -- that smile that had almost stopped him in his tracks in his talk. She nodded a "thank you" and went in to take her place. Stephen had tried to look at her name badge, but was so self conscious about not wanting to seem to be staring at her breasts that all he'd managed to do was to get the vague shape of the letters and words - a short first name: Ann or Pam? And the surname looked like Pinch.

Stephen sat himself down in a vacant seat near the back. He was leafing through the Conference pack, half paying attention to the next speaker who was talking about bullying with specific reference to special needs children.

Ah, that's what I was looking for!

He slowly worked his way down the delegate sheet, ignoring the men and discarding the women whose names didn't fit.

Bingo! Ann Finch -- Education Consultant. Finch! Now there's a nasty coincidence.

With an ironic shake of the head, Stephen whipped out his iPhone. Google -- and there she was at the foot of the first page. Stephen hit the link and scanned. Psychology degree, short teaching career, went to do a Masters in Education, stayed on at the University to do a Ph.D.

Bright girl then -- but her eyes had shown that. While he was online Stephen checked his e-mails. Work, work, work -- Christ I need to get a social life. It had been how many months? since he and Laura had parted their ways. Well, it had all just spiralled to nothing really. Both had agreed it had been good, and fun, but just not going anywhere. He had seen her a couple of times since -- they'd even had a very memorable roll in the sack -- but it was over. They both knew it, and had no regrets.

Lunch came and went. Stephen had kept a look out for the peach suit with the flashing smile, but Ann was nowhere to be seen. The afternoon saw several workshop sessions, and she was obviously in different breakout groups to those that Stephen was in. At the end of the day's scheduled events Stephen went to his room, and decided on a session in the gym before dinner.

He completed is usual warm up on the bike and did his ten minutes on the rowing machine before moving on to the treadmill. The hotel's gym wasn't too bad, and as Stephen passed five kilometres of a 10k run, he looked up at the big window overlooking the typically small hotel pool. She looked jaw droppingly stunning, so much so that Stephen stumbled on the treadmill, and very nearly lost it. He heard sniggering from the next treadmill and looked over.

"Yeah, she's bloody gorgeous, isn't she?"

Stephen grunted some vaguely agreeing response. His co-runner continued:

"I thought she looked good in that outfit today, but seeing her in a bikini! Bloody Hell!"

Stephen couldn't help but agree. He decided that he'd give the weights a miss, and after he'd done the next 5k, he would instead go for a swim. As he beat out the kilometres, he watched as Ann ticked off lengths of the pool with a degree of ease that would have impressed Mark Spitz. At last the machine beeped, and he slowed down -- not a bad time, but he wouldn't be troubling any elite athletes. He changed into his swimming gear, showered off the sweat and tried to look casual as he entered the pool area. The surface of the pool was a sheet of smooth glass. There were no swimmers to disturb its surface -- especially no swimmers of the blonde, bikini clad variety. Bugger, why did I bother with that last 5k? Stephen almost reluctantly disturbed the sleeping pool and did a few lethargic lengths before getting out -- still mad at himself for missing an opportunity.

Stephen was late down to dinner. He glanced round the bar -- the DfES crowd were nowhere to be seen, but neither was Ann. He walked into the restaurant and looked round -- a few groups he recognised, but no-one he knew that well. Ah well, looks like you're dining alone. He told waitress there would be just him, and she found him a table by the window.

"I hope you're going to eat properly after all that running today."

Stephen looked up from the menu to see those eyes smiling at him as they seemed to have done all day. Before he could respond, she gestured to the chair opposite:

"May I?"

Stephen stood up and said that of course she could join him. He smiled at her:

"I think I'm not the only one who's worked up an appetite. You pounded out a fair few lengths in the pool."

"Hmm, anyone would think we've been spying on each other."

Her eyes and smile were saying "Yes, I know you've been looking for me all day". God, are women really that good at reading us or are we just crap at hiding it? Or maybe she's saying that because she knows that every man at the conference had noticed her. Whatever, the game's up!

As she sat down, he looked at her. She was obviously one of those people that would look great dressed in a sack tied with string. Her third outfit of the day (if you could call that bikini an outfit) was a plain white shirt and jeans that had been sprayed on. She wore the same gold and diamond earrings and necklace that she'd worn earlier. But Stephen's heart sank when he noticed the other items of jewellery -- a simple solitary diamond engagement ring and equally simple gold band. So, she's married. It wouldn't be the first married woman you've shared a bed with. But Stephen knew that downstream was all complications, guilt and heavy decisions.

They talked fitness, swimming, gym and dancing.

"Though I don't get much opportunity for that these days", she said, with a rather sad, faraway look in her eyes. When Stephen asked why, she just shrugged.

"I bet that's because your husband keeps you tied up at home. I know I would."

She smiled a forced, weak smile:

"Something like that."

Ouch! That's a pretty raw nerve you just hit, dude! Stephen changed the subject.

They ordered their food and ate as they talked about Stephen's presentation that morning. She had clearly thought about it a lot. Her sharp brain posed Stephen some deep questions and challenged some of the things he'd said. Christ! Beauty and brains -- this is one hell of a woman!

"So come on, enough work -- tell me about Mrs Ann Finch."

She giggled:

"God, you're good. A natural at putting people at ease, you know. You're a great listener and so easy to talk to."

Stephen smiled and shrugged like a naughty little boy.

"See what I mean?" Ann shook her head, and started to talk about school, university, teaching, her love of physical sports, her post grad work. She talked about meeting her husband -- he'd come into school to teach the kids rugby. Stephen felt his throat dry, and his stomach tighten. No, it can't be...Finch AND rugby. Oh my God!

Stephen took a deep breath and in as matter-of-fact a manner as he was able to muster through his dry mouth, and with his heart pounding, he asked:

"So, where was the school which you taught at when you met?"

"Oh David was a community coach at the local rugby club -- the school was ..."

Stephen hardly heard the end of the sentence. As soon as she said "David" he knew. He knew where the school would be. The last piece of the jigsaw fell in. David Finch. David Fucking Finch.

He made a rather hurried grab for his wine and took rather too big a swig. He coughed.

"Are you okay?"

"Sorry, just went down the wrong way." It was his turn to raise a weak smile.

She reached across and touched his hand, concern replacing the smile in her eyes. As he reassured her that he was fine, he turned his hand over and held her slender, elegant, immaculately manicured fingers in his. She didn't try to pull her hand away, and her eyes returned to their twinkling, smiling best. It was at that point he knew they would sleep together -- if not tonight, then sometime. He knew it, she knew it.

He looked at her. Bright. Very bright. Beautiful. Stunningly beautiful. How could the bastard that tormented me through my teenage years have persuaded her to marry him?

Stephen wanted to understand the relationship between Ann and "that bastard" for two reasons. He wanted Ann, but he knew that to do that he'd have to get any guilt associated with cheating on David out of her mind. To do that he'd need to understand their relationship. But he also wanted to know how he'd done it. This woman was far from stupid, so how had he conned her? And did he bully her? Once a bully ...

They kept holding each other's hands as they talked. Stephen gently stroking and caressing hers like it was made of some precious, delicate porcelain. They laughed together, they were serious together, they argued and they agreed. And they were growing closer with every sentence they spoke. Then, as Stephen brought her hand to his lips and gently blew on it and kissed it, he heard an "Ahem" from across the room. They both looked round; the restaurant was empty, the tables set for breakfast. They had been so engrossed in each other they hadn't noticed everyone had left ages ago.

They headed out of the restaurant towards the lifts arm in arm; like lovers who'd known each other for months. Stephen asked if she'd like another drink, saying he had a very nice mini bar in his room. She stopped and turned to face him, and took both his hands in hers:

"You've no idea how much I'd like that, but I...I just can't. I'm sorry."

The lift "dinged" and took away whatever Stephen's response was going to be. They got in -- he pressed 10, she pressed 6. The doors closed and he pulled her gently into his arms, brushed his lips against hers and the kiss was everything he knew it would be. As he moved his hand to caress her breast, she let out a small sigh. Then the lift came to a halt and she broke away from, grinning. Stephen stuck his foot in the door to stop it from closing.

"Breakfast at eight?"

She lowered her eyes, then locked her eyes on his and smiled:

"What do you think?" Then she quickly stood on her toes and kissed his cheek.

"That's to say thank you for a wonderful evening," and she turned and left, leaving the lingering smell of her perfume swimming in Stephen's head.

Stephen was down at breakfast at eight on the dot. He spotted her at a small table by the window. As he walked towards her, he decided she was even more gorgeous than he'd thought the previous day. She was wearing a pink blouse and blue trousers -- obviously the bottom half of a business suit. She spotted him a few yards off, flashed her Blackpool illuminations smile, stood up and kissed him on the cheek:

"Good morning, Doctor Barnes!"

Her perfume filled his head as he responded with a "Good morning Doctor Finch."

He sat down, instinctively reaching for her hand across the table:

"Looks like we're continuing where we left off!"

He nodded agreement, and smiled at her. Breakfast flew by in easy conversation and smiles. As they were leaving he casually suggested that instead of eating in the hotel tonight, why didn't they go out.

For a few seconds that slightly haunted, wistful look returned:

"I'd love to, but I'm sorry I can't. I'm leaving at lunchtime today -- I have to get back I'm afraid."

The bottom fell out of Stephen's world.

"B..But you can't go!"

"Sorry, but I really do have to leave."

He grabbed her hand and turned her to face him, but when he saw the look in her eyes what he was going to say went out of his head. He just looked back at her and nodded.

Stephen couldn't concentrate at all in the first session -- he just kept thinking about the previous evening. At the coffee break he was ambushed by a group who wanted to discuss his presentation, and Ann was nowhere to be seen. As with the previous day, she came in as the break ended, putting her mobile phone away as she hurried to take her place.

The final session before the lunch break was a panel discussion. Stephen was up front, on the panel. As the questions were asked, one or other of the panel members would answer. All the time it wasn't him, Stephen's eyes were drawn to Ann, who he invariably found was looking back at him. Those eyes, that smile made his stomach ache.

"... so what do you think about that then Stephen?"

"Oh er, sorry, can you repeat that? I was a little distracted still thinking about the previous question."

He caught Ann giggling out of the corner of his eye and damn near missed the question a second time. In the end he made a spectacular recovery and was back on form.

As the session closed he was again surrounded by people wanting to discuss some of the points with him. What's the bloody matter with these people? There's free food here, why don't they want to eat? In truth, he didn't want to eat. He just wanted to say goodbye to Ann.

After excusing himself, he made his escape. He glanced round the dining room. No, not here! He skipped down the stairs to the lobby, just in time to see the wheels of a small overnight case, being pulled by that blue business suit, disappearing through the front door. He got to her as she was opening the taxi door.

"Not going to say goodbye?"

"You were surrounded, and I have a train that won't wait for me."

"Can I see you again?"

She looked at him, and her head tilted to one side, and the smile was a Spring morning:

"You've no idea how much I'd like to." Then that haunted look came back, and she looked at her shoes, "But I really can't."

Then in an echo of the previous evening, she went up on her toes and kissed him on the cheek and turned to get into the taxi. Stephen never acted on impulse, but there's a first time for everything. He grabbed her arm and pulled her towards him. Their lips met; he felt her body tense, and he thought she was going to pull away from him. A moment later her entire body relaxed into the kiss. After half a lifetime she broke away from him, touched his cheek, and without saying a word, climbed into the cab. Stephen watched it disappear towards Euston. His mouth was dry, and the emptiness inside was a cavern.




Best Served Cold



xxx

Every time Stephen checked his e-mail in the days after the conference, he hoped he would find a note from Ann. Nothing. Of course he could have e-mailed her (he had acquired her e-mail address from the conference organisers), but no, the contact had to come from her. Then, a couple of weeks later, he was putting together a presentation when Outlook pinged, and the box on the bottom left of his screen told him he had an email from "Finch, Ann". Stephen read it three times, each time increasing his confusion.

What the hell is this about? She said how much she'd enjoyed his talk, and meeting him. She asked him about something they'd discussed at length, and they'd agreed on. She said she very much hoped she'd get to hear him speak again soon. The whole thing was odd -- friendly, but formal. She knew he'd remember the conversation, they'd even laughed about it over breakfast. This is a code, she's just saying "Hi, and I haven't forgotten you". It all added fuel to Stephen's suspicions about Ann and David Fucking Finch.

Twenty-four hours later, almost to the minute, another e-mail arrived. Stephen almost ignored it. Almost ignored the mail that would change his life. It wasn't from Ann, but someone whose name he didn't recognise, which was why he'd almost ignored it. But the thing that had reprieved the e-mail from the ignominy of his "Deleted Items" folder was the title: Reminder: Class of '92 Reunion.

He vaguely recalled an e-mail arriving several weeks ago, but at that time he had no desire whatsoever to go back to meet his GCSE classmates. But now... now there was a very good reason to go. Revenge. He was going to go! He was sure David Fucking Finch would be there showing off his gorgeous, long-suffering wife. And he, Stephen, was going to go and take his wife from right under his nose. That kiss had not been faked. He knew she had feelings for him. And the coded e-mail just proved it.

Stephen read the mail, just a few days off. In a few days he would change everything. Revenge. Payback for years of being down-trodden.

xxx

Stephen was deliberately late arriving. He didn't want to be hanging around waiting for Ann (and David Fucking Finch) to arrive. He wanted them to be there. His senses were bombarded with noise from the dancefloor, and smells of perfume and aftershave (some cheap, some very expensive). As for his eyes, well his former classmates had all changed, some recognisable and some definitely not!

Tension grabbed his chest in an ever tightening fist, his mouth was dry. Come on! For the past ten years you've been preaching about standing up to bullies. Now it's your turn it's not so easy is it? Get a bloody grip! He scanned the room for her face -- too many people!

"Hey, Steve isn't it?"

"Hi, yeah. Err ... sorry ..."

"It's Alan, remember? Didn't have a beard when I was sixteen! Great to see you!" And Alan wandered off to surprise someone else.

Stephen looked at the people dancing. No, not there. Then the groups clustered round the bar area. Nope. Not near the food either. He knew it was her although she had her back to him. The group of half a dozen were sitting round a table. Stephen took a deep breath, exhaled, and set off to cover the few metres to meet his nemesis.

David FF was sitting opposite his wife, facing Stephen. He looked up as Stephen approached. A smile, or was it a sneer.

"Hello everyone! Remember me?"

Ann's head jerked round as if someone had yanked a string. Her mouth was an oval. The two other men seated, stood up to shake Stephen's hand. Fucking David Fucking Finch didn't move. Ignorant bastard! Stephen looked into his eyes, and held out his hand.

"Hello David. I ..." and then he saw the wheels, and stopped.

"Hi Steve. I'm really glad you've come. I know you know Ann." He laughed, a genuine laugh of amusement, not a sneer. "Though I can see she had no idea we knew each other."

Stephen knew his face must look a bit like Ann's had a few minutes ago. He was, for the first time in many years, absolutely speechless.

"Come on, Steve, or is it Stephen now? Come on, I'll buy you a drink."

Ann got up, but David shook his head:

"It's okay, Stephen can push me through the crowd. One advantage of being disabled -- people do tend to avoid you."

Stephen didn't need to push, David's upper body was probably a match for anyone else's there that night, and he handled the wheelchair with ease. They got their drinks but instead of going back to the table, David headed outside:

"We need to talk."

The cool air, mixed in with the smell of smoke from the outcast group of smokers, helped Stephen to round up his stampeding thoughts. First things first:

"So, what happened?"

"Rugby scrum collapsed. Everything, and I mean everything, below the waist..." David shook his head. "Gone. Dead. Nothing!"

Stephen shook his head. The number of times he had wished for something like this to happen, and now here it was ...

"Christ, sorry..."

"Don't be. Shit happens. But it's me that should apologise to you. I wish I'd been man enough to do it years ago when I realised what a complete bastard, a real shit, I'd been to you -- and some others, but you were the easiest target. And I am truly sorry. At first I thought this was a judgement on me for not seeking you out to apologise."

"We all do stuff we regret."

"For fuck's sake Steve. I was a complete arsehole. At least give me the satisfaction of hating me a bit!"

Stephen laughed, and nodded:

"Yes. Yes you were. And I hated you more than you can imagine."

"Thanks for that." David held out his hand and Stephen couldn't quite believe the warmth he felt as he took it and shook the hand of his tormentor.

"There's something else though -- Ann"

Stephen sat down on the low wall that surrounded the car park. Their eyes were now level:

"Nothing happened. We met, got on well together." A shrug. "End of."

"She really likes you, you know. She's probably mentioned you a hundred times in the last three weeks. Must admit I was stunned when I realised who the 'Stephen' was."

"David, nothing happened."

"Oh I know that. She is wonderful and I don't deserve her. She'd never, ever do anything to hurt me. But I know her well enough to know that she really likes you and ..."

"Hi. What's going on?"

Both men had been so absorbed by the conversation they hadn't noticed Ann come out. David held out his hand and she took it.

"Good timing, babe. Steve, sorry -- Stephen and I were just talking about you. I was just about to ask him to do me a favour, so to speak. And as it involves you, maybe it's a good thing you're here."

Oh my God! I know what he's going to say! Oh Christ!

David looked into his wife's eyes:

"I know you love me. I know you would never do anything to hurt me. But I know too that you're a young woman. A woman with ... how do you say it politely? A woman with needs that this useless husband can't fulfil."

"David...." Ann cut in, but David held up is hand and kept going.

"I've really been thinking hard about this since you came back from the Conference and mentioned my old schoolmate here. I know you like Stephen and I know that you would never be unfaithful. It's just not in your nature. But you aren't being unfaithful if it's with my permission, and I know about it."

Ann shook her head. Stephen looked at his nemesis. Talk about heaping coals of fire on your enemy's head. Ann and Stephen looked at each other. For the second time in a short space of time, he was speechless.

"Look you two. I'm not assuming you're going to jump into bed tonight. But if you want to, that's cool. Just don't be afraid of seeing each other, and letting whatever happens happen."

Stephen spoke first.

"I, I just don't know what to say."

"I know you like each other. Just get to know each other and you know, if in two years she wants you rather than me, then hey, that's life. Like I said, shit happens. There's more than just MY happiness at stake here. There's Ann's and yours. And I gave you seven years of absolute hell."

David shrugged and smiled:

"Payback time."



Best Served Cold



It was far too hot to be sitting outside to wait. Early August is not the best time of year to be visiting Grand Cayman, but needs must when you're visiting on business rather than pleasure. Actually, that wasn't quite true either... it was going to be a pure pleasure indeed when this long outstanding business matter was completed for good... hopefully soon.

David found himself a table indoors right against the street side window where he could wait, watch what was happening outside, and anticipate. He ordered the café's frozen drink special, some sort of icy fruit punch, to enjoy while he waited. He didn't think he would have to wait much longer in any case. In fact, he had barely finished half of his cold drink when he saw her arrive in a taxi across the street and enter the corner bank building he had been watching. Right about on time, pretty much just as he had predicted.

God, she was still breathtakingly beautiful, he thought! The last six years had been very kind to her indeed. It probably didn't hurt that she could afford to wear the most exclusive fashions and received frequent pampering and maintenance at the most exclusive spas and salons. David had granted these little luxuries freely when she lived with him, and as many other treats as his executive mid six-figured salary would allow, but it was still never quite enough for her. Not by half. He'd destroyed a perfectly good twelve year marriage to be with her, but he never realized that she had been playing him all along as a fool and a sucker.

Leonna barely ever lived in the now; her eyes always on the lookout for a better opportunity tomorrow. Like a butterfly, she flew from flower to flower taking all of the nectar that was available from one before flying on to her next, and more tasty meal. David could have forgiven her for just his own financial ruin -- he had been an utter fool and she had used him completely and without mercy. It was the additional financial ruin of his bank, which he as its senior officer had the obligation to protect, that galled and shamed him the most. 

Somehow, she had gotten his most secure administrative passwords for the financial computer system. Not only had she cleaned him out of every cent he had in his own accounts before she disappeared in the night, but she also somehow arranged the embezzlement of nearly $40 million of the bank's more readily available (and liquid) assets. David had been left holding a very empty bag and the prime suspect of a far too brief investigation and trial. The feds had zero interest in his claims of innocence and probably never even made a cursory search for Leonna or the missing money. He had been the prime and only suspect since day one. Certainly, none of the twelve jurors that sentenced him to federal prison for fraud and embezzlement believed a single word of his statements of innocence. The evidence against him was circumstantial, but comprehensive and utterly damning. 

Leonna had covered her tracks well and if he had been on another jury faced with the same evidence he probably would have voted Guilty as well.

With no money for appeals and having an indifferent, at best, defense attorney, David soon found himself in a medium security federal prison with no friends and no one that would believe a single word of his story. This changed in his fourth year in prison when he befriended a young short and skinny lad named Simon who happened to be a premier computer hacker par excellence. At nearly six feet four, David had been big enough to deter any would-be trouble makers and he let it be known that Simon was also under his protection, in a kindly and fatherly sort of way. 

Simon was just visiting, more or less, as the feds were trying to scare the lad enough to get him to agree to work for them in some government basement somewhere. They were cell mates for only about six months, but Simon proved to be more than grateful and repaid every bit of the kindness David had shown him with interest. Now that Simon had unrestricted access to top notch secret government computers and databases he was able to prove the truth of David's claims and exerted himself considerably on his behalf. Within a year, David was out free on an early parole... albeit one of rather dubious technical legality. 

Since proving Leonna's complicity in the crime David had been convicted for was problematic and unlikely to result in a pardon, it was decided that simple revenge would in fact do just as well instead. Simon arranged a new identity with a passport, and some temporary funds to allow for a more detailed investigation of Leonna.

Tracing Leonna's activities over the last six year proved to be simpler than David and Simon had imagined as a clear pattern emerged. Leonna's picture would start appearing in the society pages under the arm of a series of increasingly rich and power banking magnates. She would gain their trust either as a girlfriend or mistress, until the day she would disappear about six months later, the victim's net worth total cleaned out and impossibly large amounts of company funds also missing, sometimes to the tune of several hundred million dollars. Leonna would then change her identity and start up a new con in another city. Her greed wouldn't let her quit and that led us right to her current whereabouts. A scan of every current newspaper with a powerful government face recognition program turned up her latest identity and the name of her current mark. 

Now, with her every move under direct surveillance by hired PI's and every computer she touched under Simon's direct control, they waited for the best moment to spring their trap.

**********************

The plan began with a purge of her accomplices, of which she had two, Henry who was their computer expert, and another woman, Bess who handled the advance scouting and money transfers. Both were Leonna's regular lovers and each a bit mistrusting of the other. It was child's play to plant some incriminating voice and email messages for Henry to find that strongly suggested that the feds were closing in and that Bess was willing and ready to turn coat and testify against Leonna and Henry. Henry, a rather direct man of considerable temper, took it upon himself to silence Bess for good with the aid of a heavy kitchen knife. Too bad a hidden nanny-cam recording caught the entire event and a well-timed 911 call from a 'concerned neighbor' brought the local police on site in perfect time to catch Henry while dragging Bess's body down to his open car trunk to be driven off for disposal. 

Faced with a slam-dunk case for Murder-One, Henry couldn't wait to strike a deal to rat out Leonna himself now, in return for removing the certain risk of the death penalty. Alone and on her own, Leonna decided it was time to make a run for the stashed off-shore money and fled for Grand Cayman on the first available flight, where David was patiently waiting for her.

Where Leonna had entered the George Town bank a few minutes ago with a smirk on her evil face, she now found herself being firmly escorted out by a large pair of security guards and with numerous outcries of rage and anger. Her fortune, hundreds of millions of stolen loot, was apparently gone! Transferred by David to another account earlier that day, leaving only about $13 dollars and some change left in it to keep the account open. David had prudently warned the bank manager earlier that day that an angry ex-wife was going to try to get access into his account, and security was well prepared in advance for her. Nothing was too good for one of the bank's richest customers!

Leonna was now standing in front of the bank in a daze. Shocked and confused beyond words at the apparent loss of her fortune and offered little resistance with a kindly George Town policeman that helped her into the back of his police car so that she could make a report of the theft... or so she would believe. She'd be still confused and uncertain what to do when this apparently nice police officer would soon deliver her instead to a waiting seaplane, where several strong orderlies would take control of her, drug her, and take her for a short flight to a waiting medical institution on an island near Jamaica. 

With control of Leonna's entire fortune, David had recently been able to make a good many useful acquaintances with certain corrupt police officials and minions of a powerful organized crime syndicate. Via a 'friend-of-a-friend', he had discovered a certain white slavery operation that specialized in the use of certain rare but effective drugs, sexual torture, and extensive other mind control techniques to radically transform female victims into more pleasing personalities for use by the syndicate in prostitution or as gifts for the rich, depraved and powerful. David had signed Leonna up and paid in full for a complete six month comprehensive treatment, after which she would be an unalterable pain slut, forever after to be abjectly groveling under David's whip, willing and even eager to submit to the harshest torment or indignity.

He'd let her panic for a few days in her new captivity before paying a last visit to her. He would crush her meager last hopes for freedom and he'd tell her what fate would soon now be awaiting her. Once her spirit was broken, he would begin to build a whole new life for himself -- and await the delivery of his abject slave.

David ordered another frozen fruit punch, his revenge had made him thirsty. Revenge most certainly was best when savored cold - - especially with a straw and little paper umbrella in the drink! 



Best Served Cold...



It was a write-off, she was sure of it. There was surely no way the car could be driven ever again, the front end had a huge dent in it and engine parts and various dark fluids continued to fall onto the road as the pick-up truck hoisted the mangled wreckage onto it's back.

"Honestly." she asked, turning to the pick-up driver, "How bad does it look?"

He raised an eyebrow at her and removed his baseball cap.

"Little lady, you're lucky you're still breathing."

'Little lady?' She hated that immediately, it was so condescending. Not only was she the same height as the driver, but aside from this incident she was a mature and responsible 22 year-old who had always taken the lead in every situation she had been in, and had never gone off the rails. Sure she had a reputation for being bossy and controlling even among the members of her own family, but as far as Jodie was concerned, if nobody else was willing to take the initiative, she always would.

This explained why, when she had found herself running late for a job interview for a trainee executive administration assistant at a very prestigious local law firm, she had taken the initiative to borrow her Father's car while he was out of town on business to drive into the city, and unfortunately crashed it into a tree while swerving to avoid what she believed to be a cat, and what in fact turned out to be a black bag drifting across the road.

The truck towed the car to a local garage, where the mechanic examined it.

"The good news is that she can be repaired."

Jodie felt like hugging him until she heard the next sentence.

"The bad news? It'll cost you."

The bill had come to over $1000, money she didn't have and looked unlikely to get, having not got to the job interview, so she was left with no option than to borrow the money from her annoying younger brother Ryan, who just so happened to have money to spare after recently selling a car. They agreed that Jodie would pay the money back as soon as she landed a job, but seven months passed and rejection after rejection caused some serious doubt in her mind that she would ever be able to get her brother off her case. She hated that he had power over her because she was the oldest and had ruled his life since childhood with a rod of iron, and to have him telling her what to do was too much for her to take, it really was.

One day Ryan approached her with a proposition.

"You know you're never gonna get the money, it's been seven months and the opportunities are drying up faster than a menopausal swinger's club."

She hated the way he made everything sound dirty, but she let him continue.

"Face it, we have to come up with a compromise."

Jodie thought about it for a while, her blue eyes traced the patterns on the carpet and she twirled her blonde hair between her fingers. Finally she looked at him and made a suggestion.

"Okay, you call it quits on the debt and I promise to cook you meals, do your laundry and clean up after you for a year."

He shook his head. She went back to thinking.

"Well, how about all of the above, plus I write all of your college work for the same period?"

He smiled and shook again. Jodie slumped back in her chair with exasperation and flopped her arms and hand palms-upwards on her knees.

"Well what then? I don't have anything more to give you!"

Ryan continued smiling, then sucked his bottom lip.

"There is one thing you have that I could use."He grinned and Jodie knew exactly what he wanted.

"Ryan, No."She protested with him. "Ryan. I...can't. No!"

Ryan continued smiling but he wasn't going to change his mind.

"It's only going to take an hour at most, I promise. Make sure you shower first, and don't dress in anything too complicated."

[FORMATTING -- CAN I HAVE A CENTERED LINE OF FIVE OR TEN ASTERISKS OR DASHES TO BREAK UP THE PAGE PLEASE, THANK YOU.]

She entered the room dressed only in a white toweled bathrobe which she self-consciously pulled tight around her body. She was already regretting agreeing to this, and even though there was no way she could afford to pay him back the money, Jodie made one final attempt to bargain with Ryan, offering to give him the expensive laptop her Father had got her for her 22nd birthday, which she had brought with her, and that she would do chores for him and write his papers for the rest of the semester. Ryan, sitting on a wheeled office chair in front of an empty table just shook his head.

"One hour Jodie. One hour and it's done, the debt is paid and your time and property still belongs to you."

It was a convincing argument. She loved the laptop and had struggled with the thought of losing it, especially since it was a gift from her very proud Father. 

He beckoned her over to the desk and she walked over to him, still clasping the robe with one arm as she laid the laptop on a bookshelf next to the desk.

"Turn around and take off the robe." he said in an an amiable, gentle voice.

He remained in the chair and she had to almost step over his legs in order to get to the table, then, staring at the blank white wall she opened her robe, just a little, and let the belt hang loosely down by her sides.

"One hour, Jodie." his voice reassured.

Jodie took the robe and slipped it back over her shoulders and her blonde hair fell against her bare shoulder blades. It felt soft and pleasant, but she couldn't enjoy the sensation knowing her brother was watching. She kept her arms in the sleeves and the robe fell limp after exposing her smooth back, then she slowly dropped her arms and the robe slid off and fell to the floor, and despite having her back to Ryan, Jodie had never felt so naked and aware of her body. She closed her eyes as if to escape the situation, but Ryan's voice pulled her back to reality.

"Oh, that's nice." His voice was shaking a little and she realized that he was probably masturbating. "Verrrryyyy ni-ice..." It also sounded like he was shaking, possibly with excitement.

She heard him take two deep breaths as if to steady his nerves, then she felt his hand pushing the small of her back softly. The sensation made her jump a little.

"Just bend over a little please." He instructed, and she did, but kept her legs clamped tightly together, which he didn't seem to mind.

She heard him stand up and she waited for his weight to press down on top of her, but it didn't come. Instead she felt the faint trace of a finger delicately drawing a line down her spine, the sensation made her arch her back slightly, then she heard the chair creak as he sat down again. She was confused.

His hand brushed over her right ass cheek and she immediately tensed her butt.

"Just relax..." he said and she did.

His hand stroked her cheek again, and then she felt his other hand on the left. They worked together, just stroking gently, barely touching at all, and in a way it was kind of pleasant, Jodie thought. Maybe he just wanted to have a good look and a to touch her a little and she would be free to leave. He placed both hands flat onto her butt and gently squeezed briefly, then he pulled them apart and Jodie tried to stand up.

"Ryan, I..."

"No!" He interrupted and pushed her back onto the desk gently but forcefully at the same time. She leaned onto the desk again and Ryan went back to it. He pulled her cheeks apart a little again and she heard the creak of the chair as he leaned forward and placed the firm tip of his tongue onto her ass. His hand slid up onto her back again as if to preempt her standing up, so she just stayed still and stared at the wall with her wide blue eyes.

Ryan's tongue was warm and wet and she felt it probing her ass in tight circles for a few minutes before he started to apply more pressure, and despite her tensing up he managed to push inside about a half inch, making her protest again, which he ignored. He pushed more and slid inside more, alternating between relaxing his tongue and feeling her tight ass squeezing it, and tensing it and forcing his way further inside. Eventually, as his lips surrounded her hole he had his tongue at full extension inside her, and she tasted fantastic.

"Oh Ryan, please." She whimpered, "No more"

He continued, pulling his tongue out and pushing it back in again, her ass getting wetter and more slippery with his saliva with each stroke, and when he was done he pulled it out and slowly licked all the way up her ass crack with a wide, flat tongue.

Jodie released the breath that she imagined she had been holding for several minutes now, and opened her eyes to stare at the wall. She heard the chair creak and a rustling sound coming from underneath the desk. It concerned her.

"Ryan, what are you doing? What do you have?"

He tried to calm her down.

"Don't worry, it's nothing to be scared of."

She heard a rattling sound and turned as he placed a plastic cup onto the desk, then he reached into a bag and pulled out a clear, plastic bag and opened it over the cup, and half-filled it with the crushed ice that was inside.

"Oh Ryan, no..."

He picked up the cup and she couldn't no longer see it, then the empty cup was replaced back on the desk. Jodie wondered what was going to happ-

"OOOOOHHHH NOOOOOOOOO..." she almost screamed as his ice-cold tongue touched her hot ass. She sprang up off the desk but he pushed her back down and reapplied it. She screamed and her breath came in short gasps and she shivered as he slid his freezing cold tongue all over her ass before licking a little inside her. Finally, when the ice had melted and his tongue had warmed she calmed down, but continued to protest.

"Ryan you asshole, don't fucking do that again, you hear? I've had enough now."

With that she stood up again, only to be pushed back down.

"It's only been 15 minutes, you still owe me over $800."

Her front touched the desk again and she went back to staring at the wall.

There was more rustling and she turned her head slightly to see if she could see what was next -- she couldn't, but braced herself. Surprisingly it was just his tongue again, soft and -- thankfully -- warm. It probed her from the folded skin around her pussy all the way onto her ass, and back inside again. He let her cheeks go and they closed around his face as he pushed and pulled his tongue inside her asshole.

In a way, Jodie thought the sensation to be oddly pleasant after a while, and certainly after the ice, it was just unfortunate that it happened to be her brother who was doing it, but if this cleared her debts then she decided that she could probably put up with it for a while longer.

She felt a drip of moisture -- his spit probably -- drop onto her ass and she flinched slightly. She felt his finger stroke small circles around the indented circle of her ass and then more drips. She believed she knew where it was going and she was right.

"Ryan...just GO SLOWLY, okay?"

He went slowly as requested. His finger went in a little way, just up to the first knuckle and he wiggled it very slightly before pulling it out, then he pushed in two fingers to the same point.

"S-L-O-W-L-Y..." She reminded him.

He continued slowly past the first knuckle and up past the second until his hand pressed up against her and he watched his fingers slipping in and out of his sister's ass. He loved it. She tolerated it. He massaged a little more and marveled at how tight her asshole was when it was so soft and pleasant further in, then he pulled them out and watched as she contracted her tight muscles to close the hole up before pushing his tongue back inside as he reached back down into the bag.

Jodie heard more rustling, maybe plastic wrap or something, as long as if wasn't cold again.

It was very cold. Cold and solid. She bucked like a rodeo stallion and he pressed her back down against the table again, she whimpered and gasped for breath as he rubbed along her ass with it, then pressed it against her lips for her to taste. It was a strawberry Finger-Pop popsicle.

"R-Ryannn...you f-fucking..." Her angry stuttering words were muffled by the popsicle.

He pulled it out of her mouth and trailed it down her spine, causing her to arch her back violently and stream a list of swear words out of her mouth at her brother. He smiled to himself as the popsicle moved from her shoulder blades down to the small of her back, then down between her ass cheeks where it rested on her ass hole once again.

She clenched her legs and tightened her ass as much as she could, but he held it there for a long time. She almost began to get used to it when she felt him push firmly and the moist freezing popsicle entered her ass, and her legs gave way underneath her and she collapsed onto the table and whimpered in a high-pitched squeak, because she found that the words no longer came.

The popsicle was colder than anything she had ever felt in her entire life and as it probed her ass, it froze her deep inside, making her shiver and gasp. Ryan watched as the pink and red stripes disappeared into her tight hole, leaving a trail of melted juice dripping down onto her pussy and running down the inside of her leg.

His cock stood on end and he dug it into her her fleshy leg but if she noticed she didn't say anything. He used his free hand to stroke the tip up and down her burning hot pussy, which had flushed red now, he only wished he had thought to bring a second popsicle to cool it down a little.

Finally he pulled out the popsicle, it had melted to less than half of it's original size, and he leaned forward and pushed it between her open lips, letting her taste her own ass mixed with the sweet strawberry flavor. He left the popsicle in her mouth and leaned over to lick the pink juice from her pussy and ass, and he relished the cold skin under his warm tongue as he licked, and after he placed his lips around her asshole and sucked the sweet sticky juice from inside, he spit it back over her ass and watched as it ran down into the folds of her pussy.

Jodie found her voice.

"Ryan, please. Please, that's enough..."

Ryan was enjoying this power he had over his sister. For years she had been in charge, bossing him around and forcing him to do things, run errands and do chores, but now he was in control and he wasn't finished with her yet.

His hard cock twitched and stood firm as he watched the juice drip down onto her pussy. He rubbed his hand over her pussy and ass to take the juice, and he massaged it into his cock as he looked at her pale body bending over the desk. In a way he had always resented her, she was a bitch and had made his life hell, but in a way he had always desired her too. She was just too perfect with her blonde hair and her blue eyes. For years he had watched guys come and go, chase her and fail miserably because she was a bitch and she loved to make people miserable. Now he had her, now he could have her if only for a short time, but he knew that she would always know he had done it, and he loved the thought that whenever she was being intimate with a guy from now on, part of her would remember this day.

He pressed the moist tip of his hard cock against her asshole and she took a deep breath in preparation, but he didn't go in straight away. First he slid up and down, gathering the remaining sticky juice around the head of his cock before painting her soft pussy with it. He traced a line of deep sticky pink along her opening, and smeared it all over her pussy lips and clit. He was an artist and this was his canvass, eventually he would sign it but he still had work to do first. He lifted her right leg onto the desk and opened her pussy with his fingers. It looked pink and soft inside and he could see that she wasn't wet enough, so he stroked his cock a little more until the tip was moist again and used it to lubricate her a little.

It was just enough for him to slowly begin to push his way inside her. He went in about halfway before stopping, he was about to pull back out when he looked up and made eye-contact with her. The despondency on display pleased him immensely and he was able to produce more lubricant and after pulling and pushing a little he managed to get all the way in. He looked at her face again, she was miserable -- not crying -- but he could see that she had shed some tears, possibly when he had inserted the popsicle, but he wasn't sure.

"Why are you doing this, Ryan?" she asked in a hollow toneless voice, and he felt himself make her pussy even more slippery.

He continued to stroke and slid his hands over her ass and up her back. He pushed her down harder onto the desk and got a little harder with his strokes. Jodie closed her eyes. He wanted her to keep them open so he could enjoy her misery, so he spoke to her.

"Don't worry sis, only $400 to go and you're free."

She whimpered and he loved it.

As much as he was loving this, he knew he didn't have much time left. There was plenty on the clock on the wall, but not much left on his personal clock, so he pulled out and placed his cock flat between her ass cheeks and leaned over her body to speak into her ear.

"I'm gonna screw you in the ass..." (Jodie shook her head as he spoke) "...oh yes I am. In the ass. And them I'm gonna cum all over your face. You're going to love it, yes you are. You're going to open up your mouth and you're going to take every last drop of my cum and you're going to swallow it. Yes, you are."

He pushed her ass cheeks together as he spoke and pushed his cock firmly up and down in between them.

He allowed Jodie to lean up on her elbows as he pulled open her ass cheeks once again and looked at her ass hole. He pressed his cock against it and then pulled it away and the spot of cum left by his wet cock didn't look like enough, so he let a long string of spit fall on top of it before he rested the tip of his cock back against her hole.

He pushed slightly and felt Jodie's resistance, so he reminded her of the money and she relaxed a little, allowing him to slide in a tiny amount. She took a sharp breath and let out a high squeak as he slipped the first two or three inches. Her ass was incredibly tight and it was almost painful for his cock to be squeezed like this, but he continued pushing, relishing his sister's discomfort enough to forget his own. After some pushing and a lot of moaning and squeaking on Jodie's part, he found himself pressing his balls against her pussy and it felt good, and as he pumped slowly it started to feel more comfortable, for him at least. For Jodie it was sore and awkward, and she hated it, but she knew that soon it would be over and she would be free again.

Ryan held her hips tightly and pulled her against his hips firmly, then he pulled her backwards and they both fell onto the chair, her body slamming down hard on top of his. She moaned loudly as his cock rammed inside her deeply, but it wasn't enough for Ryan. He lifted her legs onto the desk and pushed her ass upwards until it was nearly off his cock entirely before letting it go and having her full weight fall onto him. He pulled her legs open and used his hands to open her pussy and push his fingers into her, he was not surprised to find that she was not wet of her own accord at all, and it turned him on even more that she was entirely disgusted at him.

He sucked her neck as he pushed his cock into her ass, and he used one hand to tweak her nipples. Jodie registered her disgust using a series of grunts and moans every time he touched her in a different place.

Finally, after almost $900 of action, Ryan was ready to sign his work of art.

"Jodie, this is it. Because I"m so generous I'll let you off the final hundred or so, but you must do as I say."

She nodded, then with a great deal of reluctancy followed his orders exactly. She knelt in front of him and opened her mouth, keeping her eyes open and her gaze fixed on his eyes as he stroked his cock faster and harder, then he shot streaming arcs of hot white cum all over her nose and lips and covered her tongue, finally pushing his rapidly softening cock into her mouth for her to suck the last of it off. He enjoyed the warmth of her mouth and her soft tongue most of all, and when he finished he sat back and watched as she struggled to swallow it all, screwing her face up as she took three or four deep gulps with her eyes screwed shut.




Best Served Cold...



Ryan was so proud of himself as he watched her wrapping her body up in her robe, and he decided that as a memento he wanted to take a picture of her ass and pussy. Jodie protested until he mentioned the final $100, then silently and resentfully dropped the robe again as he stood to get his camera from the shelf.

Unaware of the patch of melted ice on the floor, Ryan slipped a little and as he put his hand out to steady himself, he accidentally knocked Jodie's very expensive laptop onto the floor, smashing the screen and casing, and making several tiny components rattle around inside.

Jodie, who had watched this open-mouthed, drew herself up to her full height and, standing face-to-face with her annoying brother found her courage build inside her.

"Okay you bastard," she snarled at him through gritted teeth as she reached out and grabbed a TV remote control from the shelf, "bend the fuck over the desk. You've got $900 to work off."



Best Served Cold



Beneath the purple and black sky of her home dimension a beautiful white haired maiden stared miserably at an iron face mask. She considered destroying it but she knew that wasn't really what she wanted to do and it wouldn't make her feel any better. The idea of destroying the man it belonged to had a certain thrill to it but that idea fled her mind as quickly as the others. If she'd had any real intention of killing Michael Morningstar she would have done it months ago when she had him at her mercy. A frustrated sigh leaked from between her purpled lips. There had to be something that would make her feel at least a little better.

Something beside her barked then whimpered trying to get its mistress's attention. "Quiet Quartz." She didn't even turn her head towards the source of the noise. It continued barking for a few more seconds and then scampered off to whatever corner of the castle it had been sleeping. 

Charm Caster lazily kicked her bare feet over her head still pondering what to do. She knew why she couldn't just go and kill Michael. If she did that she'd have to admit that she cared enough about him to get up and her massive ego wouldn't allow her to admit that to herself. She certainly wasn't going to do anything that would let the world know that she cared for that smug bastard. Her lavender gaze wandered back to the mask she held in her hand and a plan began to form. 

Michael Morningstar lay on his back staring up at the florescent bulb that lit his five by nine slice of hell. When the Plumbers locked you up and threw away the key they meant that figuratively and not literally. Literally there was no key, there wasn't even a door to the room, only a single six inch high two foot wide slot that they fed him through. The inhabitants of Myk'dl'dy had no need for anything as pedestrian as doors, it was one of the reasons why they operated one of the most secure prison facilities outside the Null Void. They had tried locking Michael in the Null Void once. It hadn't stuck. It turned out that locking an energy vampire in a prison with all the most powerful beings in the universe was just as bad a plan as it sounded.

"Let me out!" He roared. He doubted that anybody could hear him but it helped him preserve his sanity to shout. Or perhaps it was just speeding up the degradation of what was left of his mind. He really couldn't tell any longer. Without doors, windows, clocks or television it was utterly impossible for Michael to even guess how long he'd been locked away. Even the lights didn't give him a clue because they were set absurdly enough to a motion detector. If he tossed and turned too much in his sleep it woke him, if he held still too long reading a book or contemplating his predicament they went off. 

The only things in his room was a wood and cloth rack that was meant to serve as a bed and a dry toilet that simply opened into space. The only blessing he could count in his room was that they had taken the mirror away. He couldn't stand the sight of his face when he was weak like this. His loose gray skin and scraggly white hair was nauseating. His eyes looked like sinking into his skull and his lips pulled away from his teeth like a zombie from a horror flick. 

One day they'd slip. It would only take one of them making a mistake for him to get out of this place and when he did he'd have his vengeance. He'd start by get eliminating Benjamin Tennyson, not because he hated him. He honestly barely noticed Ben most of the time but he had a habit of messing up his plans at the last minute and that was quite simply unacceptable. He'd take his time with Kevin Ethan Levin though. That freak should have more sympathy for someone like him, someone who knew what it was like to feel the insatiable hunger for power gnawing at the corners of your mind at all hours. He'd make sure that the vengeance he visited upon that miscreant became the horror stories told across three, no five galaxies. Finally there was Sweet Gwendolyn. He had something special in mind for her.

Dear Sweet Gwendolyn should have accepted his gracious offer of a life by his side. She was beautiful and her energy was delicious beyond compare. He could clearly remember the first time he'd tasted her power. What an incredible thrill it had been to be with her and if she refused to live by his side as his queen she'd live at his feet as his slave. Either way he would have what was his.

His thoughts turned from those three to the woman most responsible for his current imprisonment. Heather, Haley, Hannah. . .it was something with an 'h' in it not that he'd really cared much about the wench. She was nothing but a poor man's Gwen. Something like Salisbury Steak or hotdogs. The kind of meal you suffered through because not eating can become fatal rather quickly and you can't always afford filet Mignon. She'd been in the middle of helping him take over the Earth, a tiny bauble to a woman like her, ruler of her own dimension, but she'd been willing to take the time to help him get revenge on Kevin and his friends. Then they had somehow got into her head convinced her that it was important that he couldn't remember her name was Harley, Harmony, Harriet. . .something with an 'h' in it. She'd been perfectly happy being called Beautiful until then.

His thoughts were interrupted by a plastic tray sliding in through the door. Michael turned his nose up at the slop that they expected him eat. He had to remind himself that the Necrofriggians were some kind of enormous cockroaches and that was probably a perfectly good explanation for why their cuisine looked like something you'd dig out of a dumpster but he was human. Mostly. Human enough that he had a hard time even looking at that slop and a harder time keeping it down. 

"Hey! Can I get something to drink?" He didn't care much more for whatever liquid they served in bowls, what he was hoping was that the guard would be careless enough to let him get a taste of energy. He was. She was. He hadn't really managed to get a handle on the gender of the ghost roaches yet. They all looked male to him though so he generally referred to them in the masculine. Except in his moments of rage and frustration. When he was frustrated they were worthless bitches, whores, cunts, sluts, harlots and pussies. Right now though he was just delicious.

It might take months or years but time was all it would take. Someday he'd have enough energy gathered from them to break out and when he did the world, no the universe, would experience the full measure of his wrath. When a pinkish portal appeared beside him and a pair of strange but familiar rock monsters emerged Michael rose to his feet and allowed them to escort him back through it. It wasn't confidence or bravery that allowed him to do it, it was a simple calculation on his part. He knew if Helen, Hermione, Hillary, what ever Ms.H's name was if she wanted him dead he'd know by being dead from a instead of being sent for. 

Clearly she'd come to her senses and realized that while he was definitely slumming it to settle for her, he was the best thing that was ever going to happen to her. The thought brought a smile to his face, she might not be filet Mignon but she was quite a bit better than the slop the ghost roaches were feeding him and once he'd gotten his fill of her he could kick her to the curb, safely and on his own terms this time. Women were so predictable, it was a minor wonder his rescue hadn't come much sooner but Michael supposed it might take an ignorant wench some time to sort out her feelings or what not.

Charm Caster was waiting in her throne room when Michael arrived flanked by her rock monsters. She had put on a special outfit for the occasion, one he'd shown particular favor for during their time together. He'd told her that it was because the royal purple silk dress brought out her eyes. She'd hadn't believed that lie even when she was busy swooning over the handsome, smooth talking villain. He liked it for the same reason every man did. It was slit far enough past the hip that she couldn't wear anything beneath it and every step she took made that obvious. She'd chosen a pair of ankle high heeled boots to go with them and pulled out her silver tiara from storage. Charm Caster had little interest in the trappings of power but Michael craved it and as a final touch she pulled her waist length white mane back into a ponytail just like Sweet Gwendolyn. 

His bulging eyes immediately went to her calves and worked their way upward stopping at her breasts. If he'd been another man she would have been disgusted with his behavior but Michael Morningstar's gaze hadn't stopped because he was enthralled with the neckline that plunged nearly to her navel. It left the same amount of mystery as to what undergarments she was wearing as did the slit. Michael had stopped there because he couldn't stand to have anybody see him like this. There was a very good reason why he normally wore that steel mask to conceal his face. She could understand not wanting anybody to see just how pathetic you felt and she could bury hers as deep as she liked, his weakness was actually etched onto his face. 

A pang of pity rang in her heart pushing her up from her throne. Charm Caster descended down the stairs from her throne with his mask in hand and approached him. "Hello Michael, it's good to see you." The words came a little easier and far more genuine than she'd intended.

"Hello Beautiful." Charm Caster couldn't stop her heart from fluttering a bit when he called her beautiful. It only lasted a second before she remembered it wasn't a compliment, it was a substitute for a name that he couldn't be bothered to remember. If he hadn't still been focused several inches south of her face he would have noticed her expression sour but only for a heartbeat. "I see you brought my mask." She couldn't tell if he was thankful she brought it or disappointed that he'd still need it for a while.

Charm Caster didn't ponder it for long though. Instead she dropped the steel mask letting it clang angrily to the floor while she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him. As soon as their lips met she remembered why she'd been so smitten with him. That thing he did where he drained your energy was euphoric. He NEEDED her, as long as she was in his arms she'd remain the absolute center of his world and nothing else would matter. There would be plenty of time for her revenge later. Charm Caster allowed herself to be lost in the moment. She already knew that it would be over far too soon.

When Michael broke the kiss he was a literally changed man. His sick grey flesh had given way to golden tanned flesh. His scraggly white mop of hair was replaced with perfectly coiffure blonde tresses. His arms and chest had filled out from a sickly skeleton into a finely muscled young man. "Thank you Beautiful." He kissed her again lightly on her forehead. 

"I'm sorry about before." Charm Caster's lavender eyes locked on his blue ones. "It was those damn Tennysons. I don't know what it is about them I just get so angry!" That was at least a half truth though she'd made her peace with them since returning home to Ledger Domain. 

"Hush its okay. I know how infuriating they can be. I've got one thing I need to do before we eliminate them once and for all." Michael said with a smile.

Charm Caster tilted her head slightly as she gazed up at her Adonis. He really and truly was spectacular to look at. She loved the way his arms felt wrapped around her flesh holding her tight and the sound of his voice was music to her ears. "Oh what do you need to do first? You already have all the energy you can use."

Michael's hands clamped down on her buttocks and lifted her up off her feet. "You." He kissed her again and started walking towards the throne.

With a delighted squeal Charm Caster decided her revenge could wait a few more minutes. When he hefted her over her shoulder she altered it from minutes to an hour. When his hand started traveling up the slit in her dress and between her thighs she decided to clear the afternoon. 

Vengeance was best served cold and she was feeling anything but while he held her.

Once they reached her chambers Michael gave Charm Caster an entire host of reasons to reconsider intentions. He started by covering her from toe to head with butterfly kisses that made her feel like a goddess. His words were every bit as sweet as his gentle touch and both made her head swim. When he finished worshipping her she was more than happy to return his affections. 

Michael seemed determined not to stop until he'd experienced his magical mate from every angle. She cooed when he nibbled at her shoulders and shuddered as he kissed all along her spine and behind her knees. She'd never had a man take her standing against the wall but she swore to make Michael do it over and over again. Charm Caster, always in control, always the powerful dominant force in her world found herself wrapped around a man like he was the center of the entire Omniverse. While they remained intertwined she wasn't sure that he wasn't. 

Time in Ledger Domain was directly linked to the Alpha Rune and the Alpha Rune was connected to its Mistress, Charm Caster. When she lost herself in the golden god the normally reddish purple sky turned vibrant blue and every citizen of her dimension shared in her bliss. Even after it faded the sky didn't return to its former hellish hue for days. When it was over Charm Caster found her taste for vengeance was gone.

Dark Star's however was not. He woke her with a kiss. A deep, mind numbing, toe curling embrace. By the time Charm Caster realized he wasn't going to stop she was too weak to fight him. When he did stop she was alive, barely, but she was alive.

"Thank you Beautiful. If I need anything I know where to find you. I'll say hi to Ben and Gwen for you." He chuckled before opening a gate to Earth and stepping through.

Charm Caster was too drained to weep. She could barely pull herself upright but she swore the next time she saw him she'd turn him into something unfortunate. Like a key chain.



Best Served Cold? I Think Not.



This is a story for the Completely Unsanctioned Quarterly Writing Contest -- "Crush Your Enemy Like a Grape." Please vote, so that I can crush my "enemies" here at Lit like grapes. Thanks. Anna.

*

For years I have carried around the memories of my junior prom like a pocketful of glass shards. Even the scars are largely invisible to others, but the glass is always there, always available to enhance the petty pains of life's everyday miseries.

To take just one example, a few years back Roger Bedford decided that we needed "more space." I had no problem with that. To be honest, I had more space than Roger was capable of filling anyway, the tiny-dicked little rat bastard. But beyond that, we had been dating for maybe two years, and it wasn't really going anywhere. It was time to move on, for both of us. Breaking up was the right thing to do. But the proper way to tell that to a woman to whom you've been professing your undying love for the past year, a woman who has been sharing her bed with you and cooking you meals, and taking care of your mangy ferret when you suddenly have to go visit your sister, is face-to-face. Take her to a restaurant, and give her the truth.

Don't just leave a message on her answering machine when you know she's at work, you fucking asshole. 

To be fair, there was no way that Roger could have known about Alan, and my memories of the prom. Alan had been a high school senior when I was a sophomore, and had made my year by asking me to the spring dance. I can still remember the look on Andrea Phillips's face when I walked in on his arm. Alan and I dated the next summer, until I came down with mononucleosis. And then he went off to college. I didn't have a car, or even a driver's license, so we only saw each other at Christmas. He was a little distant then, but I chalked it up to the pressures of his first semester. He still seemed eager to take me to the prom in May.

His phone call came three days before the dance. I already had my dress, of course, and my mom was sitting at her sewing machine, doing the final alterations, when I burst in with the news that I wouldn't be going.

"Oh, of course, you have to go, sweetie," Mom said. She blithely continued sewing as if her older daughter weren't standing there behind her in tears. "All your friends will be there."

"Mother," I screamed. "You must be kidding."

She turned around, nonplussed by the anger in my voice. "Did he say why?"

I deflated immediately, and slumped into the chair beside the sewing machine. "Something about it not being possible. I don't know. By then, I was crying too hard."

"Still, dear, I'm sure you can find a friend to go with." Mom returned to the machine. "After all, it's a memory that will stay with you for the rest of your life."

She was certainly right about that. Particularly the memory of Andrea walking into the prom on Alan's arm. And the memory of the look she gave me when she arrived, filled with malicious triumph. 

It is the memory of that moment that floods my mind today, as I scan the morning's mail. There are a few Christmas cards, which I find annoying since it's only the tenth of December and I haven't even bought mine yet. And there, stuck into the LL Bean catalog, is a postcard with a cheery little picture of balloons on the front. I turn it over, and find an invitation to my 25th high school reunion. It's not until May, but the reunion committee gushingly reminds us to keep the date open. Her name is right there among the names on the committee -- it's Andrea Staunton now -- and my invitation is personally inscribed. "Hope you can come, Deb. Andy."

"Bitch."

I toss it aside. The last thing I want is to show up at anything run by Andrea and her crowd. 

Andrea and I were the closest of friends throughout most of middle school. By the beginning of ninth grade, though, she was quite the little hottie. There was one spot open on JV cheerleaders that year; we both tried out and Andy got the nod. It didn't hurt that she had already started to wear bras. It didn't hurt that I was in the midst of the growth spurt that would bring to five-foot-ten. Whatever, the reason, Andy quickly left me behind on a trail of unreturned phone calls and obvious snubs. My only satisfaction was the dance, and walking in with hunky Alan.

It was a short-lived triumph. Andy had a car, and I later learned that by Christmas of that year, she had already visited Alan half a dozen times. By that point, I had apparently become his "safety" date for the prom, and Andy made sure that she didn't give me time to learn that until much too late.

For the next three weeks I occasionally run across the invitation when I'm cleaning up the counter. I can't bring myself to throw it out; as bad as some of the memories are, I had some good friends in high school that I'd really like to catch up with. Daniel, the band geek, turned out to be a very sweet guy. Last I heard, he was running a large software company. This reunion was just the sort of thing that would draw him. And Cheryl Edwards would probably be there, too. Cheryl had been my best friend for the last year, and the fact that we had drifted apart was more my fault than hers.

And then Cheryl called, yesterday afternoon. She had come home to visit her parents for Christmas and saw the sign for my business on East Fourth Street. We spent an hour on the phone, crying and laughing, and by the time the call had ended, she had somehow managed to get me to agree to attend the stupid reunion. 

Today, though, I find myself consumed with the thought that I will have to see Andy again. Like me, she never left good old Hopetown. In my case, it was returning in my late twenties to take care of my dying parents, and then never leaving. In her case, it came from marrying Alan just after her high school graduation, when she was four months pregnant. She had divorced him a few years after that, and then finally realized her dream in life by marrying a richer, much older guy.

Ten years ago, when I had just started my interior design business, I had gotten a call from his secretary, who set up an appointment for me without letting me know that her boss had married my dear "friend." This woman, whom I eventually came to pity, showed me around the house and signed me up without my ever wising up. By the time Andy showed up, that same superior little smirk on her face, it was too late, according to my lawyer, to back out. Besides, I needed the money.

I have since become pretty damn successful, at least in business. My love life is an entirely different matter, a series of relationships that has left me, at the age of forty-two, despairing of ever finding one that would last. Part of it is psychological; the pool of available guys seems to shrink as a woman's business grows. As for the rest, who knows? Maybe my height has something to do with it. Maybe I'm just a bitch.

One thing, however, I can fix. I might be dateless at the reunion, but I am going to shed these twenty or so extra pounds that I have added since high school. Or at least most of them. What my roommates used to enviously refer to as my "college endowment" is probably there to stay. If only I'd had them in high school, I think with a sigh.

I undertake the process of selecting a gym with the same methodical planning with which I run the business side of my company. I diligently search the internet and the phone book for all of the facilities within a 20-mile radius of my house, and visit each one in turn.

Actually selecting the gym is a different story. I pride myself on my ability to walk into a house, spend ten minutes talking to a client, and sense immediately what it needs. By then, I can already see the necessary furniture, the placement of colors and textures, and the completed product. I still go through the motions of conducting a detailed analysis of the space, mostly so that the client believes that they are getting their money's worth, but eight times of out ten, my client ends up buying into the vision that I had that first day. And the other two times, my client is simply wrong.

I have already visited five establishments by the time I walk into the Toned Pony. It is in a seedy-looking strip mall in a part of town not yet visited by the God of Redevelopment. It is nowhere near as luxurious as the other five were; there is no carpeting in the foyer, no perky girl sitting behind a modern steel counter. Instead, there is a guy in his mid-twenties behind a wooden desk, a wet dream of a guy with curly brown hair and exquisitely sculpted arms jutting from his faded T-shirt. He looks up at me as I enter, and his steel blue eyes meet mine. I have found my gym.

"Hi," he says, extending a hand. "I'm Ben Stone."

"I know," I say, giving his hand a firm grip.

He raises an eyebrow and I laugh.

"The certificate on the wall." He follows my finger and returns his gaze with a crooked smile and a shrug.

"Deb Donovan."

"What can I do for you, Ms. Donovan?"

"I'm interested in joining."

"A trial membership?" he asks, pulling a form out of one of the drawers.

"No, no," I assure him. "A full six-month membership."

He frowns, his pen poised over the form.

"Can I ask your reason for joining?"

"Joining a gym?" I ask. "Let's call it a New Year's resolution."

New Year's Day is two days away.

"Then let's call it a trial membership," he says. Now it is my turn to raise an eyebrow.

"This time of year, I get a lot of people in who have very good intentions. But when January's over, or spring comes, they ask for their money back. And if they've only signed a trial membership, it just makes it a lot easier on my accountant."

I laugh. I lean forward and drop my voice to a husky alto.

"All right, Ben Stone. The reason I want to join is that when I go to my high school reunion in May, I want the bitch who stole my prom date to stand there with her jaw hanging down to her doctored boobs."

He burst into laughter of his own, and pulled another application from the desk. As I filled it out, I remembered that that was the only part of my last meeting with Andy that had gone well. Her eyes had lingered on my chest. It was just for a moment, but it was clearly a moment longer than necessary. She wanted me to be the geeky girl from high school again, not the tall, well-proportioned woman standing before her. A month later, I had heard from the grapevine that was still active back then, she'd gotten her new husband to buy her a set of implants.

"So what do I do first?" I ask, pushing the completed application back to Ben.

"Two problems there. Before you do any weight training at all, I'm going to recommend that you do aerobics and maybe a Pilates class, to strengthen your core. And Carrie, who does those classes, is a grad student at the U. So she's off on break 'til the fifth.

"She's very good at it," he hastens to assure me. "She's doing a master's in physio-therapy and coaching the women's gymnastic team. That's why the place is so quiet now. Our lifters generally come early or late."

"And the second problem?"

He blushes, a very becoming scarlet that only adds to his cuteness.

"When we get a new client, we like to take a picture of them and then develop a computer model to help them chart their progress and reach their eventual goal," he murmurs.

"And?"

"We, um, usually ask the clients to strip down to their, uh, underwear," he continues, "so maybe you should wait until, um . . ."

"Wait until next week?" I ask. "Because you don't know how to use the camera, Ben Stone?"

"Of course I know how to use the camera." I have wounded his pride. "It's just that I usually do the guys and Carrie does the, uh, women. And she won't be here until the fifth, for her classes. The Pilates is first, and then cycling. But she can do it when her classes are done."

"Well, you're just going to have to try, Ben. When I come back in here, it's going to be to start aerobics, not wait around for another hour afterward to have my picture taken. I'm sure a handsome guy like you has managed to talk plenty of girls out of their clothes."

He flushes even deeper, but agrees to take my "before" shot, and motions me into a small room off the back of the foyer. After a while there is a soft knock at the door.

"Are you, um, decent, Ms. Donovan?"

"No, I'm not decent, Ben," I say with a giggle. "I'm standing here in my bra and panties. Do you want me decent?"

"Uh, no. I guess not." He slips in the door and has me stand against a blank screen while he trains a fancy computerized camera at me. "There. That's great, Ms. Donovan. When you're dressed, you can come back to the desk and take a look."

"Thanks, Ben. Oh, and Ben?"

"Yes?"

"If after I'm dressed you're still calling me Ms. Donovan and not Deb, there's going to be trouble. Capisce?"

"Yes, ma -- I mean, sure, Deb."

He scurries out of the room as I begin dressing. I find him at the desk, staring into the computer screen with an odd expression on his face.

"Whatcha lookin' at, Benjy?"

My voice snaps him out of his reverie. He jerks his head up to see me and, after quick looks in either direction, turns the monitor around.

It is me, a me I haven't seen since high school. My waist has been magically shrunk, my thighs and arms toned, my abdomen tightened. I look pretty damn good, if I say so myself. But apparently I didn't have to.

"Say, Benjy. Guess this thing lets you play around with my hair style too, huh?"

My sharply cut blonde style has been replaced with a softer look that frames my face perfectly, enhancing my cheekbones and highlighting my own blue eyes. I look up to find Ben blushing yet again.

"Sorry," he whispers.

"Don't be sorry," I whisper back. "What are you, twenty-five?"

"In December," he stammers. 

"Plenty old enough. I'll tell you what. If I really look like that in six months, I'll let you take my picture again. So you'll have a real one. See you on the fifth, Benjy."

I toss my bag across my shoulder and sashay out the door. Sitting in the car outside, I throw my head back and laugh once more. This reunion may not be such a bad thing after all. I haven't flirted like that in twenty years. 

Carrie turns out to be a first class bitch, but she knows her stuff. She puts me on a much better diet, and over the next three months the pounds start melting away. In February, when I needed a haircut anyway, I had Ben print out the picture he'd doctored, and took it to my stylist. She was more than a little surprised, having tried to get me to soften my look for years. It turns out she had been right. I look ten years younger.

I feel ten years younger too. With the better body has come more energy, and by early March I am pressing Ben to start me on a weightlifting program. It turns out that his reluctance stems not from my needs so much as his own. I want to come in the middle of the day, when he is the only guy around available to spot for me. I can tell his needs from the bulge in his pants as he stands above me, looking down at the sports bra and lycra shorts I'm wearing to my workouts now. Not yet, Ben, I think to myself as I replace the bar in its holders. Not quite yet.

The time is right in early April. Carrie is off on spring break, her classes cancelled for the week. I arrive a half hour early on Monday morning. By now I know the routines well enough to know exactly what I'll find. As I enter, I silence the bell that usually would announce the arrival of a visitor. Instead, I turn and lock the door behind me. I bypass the women's changing room. This is strictly a business call, and I am dressed appropriately. I have on a short pinstriped jacket over a scooped black blouse, and a black skirt that's just a little too short for my next call, although the guy is a bit of a horndog. I usually don't wear heels at hall -- most tall women have no interest in looking taller -- but I don't think it will make a difference, at least on this call. I have a pair of flats in the car for the next stop.

Ben has just finished replacing the bar on its holder when I announce my presence.

"Somebody has been a naughty boy, haven't they?"

"Jesus, Deb. You scared the shit out of me."

I saunter up to the bar and put my hands on top of his. Over the last three months, our flirting has become more and more outrageous, but this is the first time that we have touched. It is an electric moment. I rub a thumb across his sweaty fingers, and inhale his fresh, masculine scent. His eyes open a fraction as he watches my gaze travel down his body and then back up, until we are staring at each other, a knowing smile on my lips, a nervous smile on his. He is still lying back on the weight bench, looking up at me.

"Deb?" he asks, his voice full of hesitation.

He moves his hand, to get a grip that will allow him to pull himself up to a sitting position.

"No," I tell him with a shake of my head.

"I'm sorry?" he asks.

"Bad Benjy didn't have a spotter, did he?" I ask.

"It wasn't that much weight," he protests. He remembers, however, his own counsel. It doesn't matter how much weight you have. Be safe.

"Benjy needs to be punished."

His eyes grow wider still.

"How?" he whispers.

I tighten my grip on his hands. He could easily pull them free, but by now he is bewitched.

"You have to promise to keep your hands here at all times," I explain. "Or your punishment will only get worse."

"Okay," he says.

"Good boy."

I move around him slowly, watching his eyes drink me in. I am no doubt a taller glass than he has ever sipped from before. I swing one of my newly toned legs up and over his, seating myself on his thighs. He stares at me, the young fly caught in the web of the older spider. Placing my hands on his thighs, I slide them up slowly toward the loose fitting shorts that he is wearing.

"You want this, don't you, Benjy?" I ask.

His reply is the merest nod of his head.

"You've wanted this ever since I came through your door, haven't you? You like tall girls?"

He nods again.

"Was your mommy tall, Benjy?" I ask. By now my hand is underneath the shorts, sliding up toward the waistband as my thumbs just graze the already erect dick that he has sprouted in his briefs.

"No," he says, his voice a choked gasp.

"But I'll bet your Daddy likes tall girls," I guess with a grin. He nods again. I turn my hands outward and grab the waist of his shorts, slowly pulling them down his thighs.

"Well, then today is your lucky day, isn't it?"

His briefs follow his shorts, and a beautiful cock springs into view before me. My hands leave his clothes and reach for it, the fingers of my left hand curling around it as my thumb slides up the shaft, the fingers of my right hand cupping his hairy balls. As it reaches the crown, my thumb slips from side to side just underneath the glans, teasing the sensitive skin that Ben's erection has tightened like the face of a drum.

He groans. I slide off his legs and down to my knees, keeping his eyes locked onto mine until he feels my breath on his cock. He blinks, and his eyes slide down, watching my full lips part and then seal around the head of his dick like it was a beautiful, ripe, juicy peach. He feels my teeth, ever so lightly scraping along the shaft as my mouth opens to take more and more of him inside. And he groans as I retreat, my tongue flicking here and there before it finally begins circling the tip, laving the spongy flesh in a warm, wet bath. 

I rapidly pick up the pace, swallowing the shaft, sucking the head, and then licking his balls as I slid my hand up and down his spit-slicked cock. A previous boyfriend had taught me the trick of keeping the thumb of my other hand pressed against the spot at the center of the base of the cock, and as I gently put that into practice, I hear Ben groan.




Best Served Cold? I Think Not.



I feel his hands cupping my head, and I immediately pull my mouth off of him.

"Ben," I say harshly. I give his balls a not-so-gentle squeeze with my fingers. "Hands."

His hands fly back to the bar.

"Good boy," I tell him. I take a long, slow lick up his cock as if it were a melting ice cream cone and I am a little girl determined not to let a drop fall to the ground.

With a twinkle in my eye, I recapture his dick with my lips. I circle the head again, a series of quick pulses on and off, and then take the whole thing into my throat, deeper than I've had it so far. It is a gorgeous cock, short but thick, nested in a thatch of thick pubic hair that tickles my chin. I hold it there, lifting my eyes to look at Ben, and then slowly drawing back. I let my lips drag along its length, having taken special care this morning to coat them in a shade I consider "Pornstar Red." I will definitely have to replace before my next appointment, or I'll end up shooting the guy with my pepper spray.

Ben moans again as I begin stroking the base of his cock with my thumb. The skin is taut under my touch, the ridge in the middle beginning to twitch. It is time. I pull off and begin fisting his cock as quickly as I can. His pre-cum is leaking out, coating my hand to make the job that much easier. He holds the bar in an iron grip now; despite the weight on it, I can hear it quivering in its holder as his muscles tighten in anticipation of his coming explosion.

"Oh, fuck!" His grunt accompanies the first spurt, the one that reaches all the way to his chest, with the second right behind it. And then a smooth, viscous flow begins to seep from the tip of his dick, drenching my hand, splashing on his stomach. I milk him dry, his cum finally puddling around his cock, and threatening to drip off the side of his hip onto the floor.

I stand, and finally release my hold on his dick.

"Debbie," he gasps. "That was . . ."

"I know, Benjy," I say, quieting him by placing a cum-covered finger across his lips. "Gotta run. Be back tomorrow."

I grab his towel and wipe my hand off before leaving, letting him wonder whether I have just made him a promise or given him an order. 

It is both, of course. When I return the following morning, the place is once again deserted, except for the sound of Ben in the weight room. With the door once more locked behind me, I stop in at the changing room this time. 

"Hi, baby."

Ben is startled by my purr, as if he had momentarily forgotten. Or perhaps it is the leotard. An orange-red monstrosity from the early 1980s, I discovered only last week that it has apparently followed me from one closet to the next, as I moved from college dorm to city apartment to suburbia. I tried it on immediately, and I was delighted to see how well it still fit. It is a little tight in the bust, perhaps, which delights me as well. Ben's goggle-eyed reaction to it simply adds to my pleasure.

Or perhaps it is the animal desire writ on my face. I walk slowly over toward him, watching his eyes watch me: the sway of my hips, my the swell of my undulant breasts beneath the worn fabric, the muscled tightness of my thighs. He has not moved since he saw me, still lying back on the weight bench where he was working with a pair of dumbbells. 

As I approach, I take a long deep breath, filling my nostrils with the aromas of sweat and male arousal. There is more than a hint of female arousal too. I can smell it, at least. Ben is another matter. My experience is that men have little "nose" for the more delicate aromas that life offers them. They often fail to take notice, in fact, until they have their faces rubbed in them.

That works for me, too. When I tried on the leotard, I realized that its crotch had become dangerously frayed. I had been ready to toss it in the trash. But a smile played across my face as I realized that the leotard was intended, after all these years, for a different fate. With a pair of scissors, I had made the seam even weaker.

Once again, I move to straddle Ben on the weight bench, this time ending atop his chest. He has lowered his arms to the floor, seemingly unwilling to drop the weights until I expressly allow him to do so. I press my fingers against my abdomen, and slowly slide them down my belly as Ben unconsciously parts his lips. They slide down, past my navel and over my pubic mound, each finger appearing to find and stimulate a wholly separate set of nerve endings. Finally, my fingers meet at the juncture of my thighs. Ben's eyes nearly bulge out as he watches my fingers take hold of the fabric, stretch it, and then suddenly tear the seam that ran across it. I hold the front of the crotch in my right hand, the back in my left. My left hand snakes back, across my ass, and grabs the back again. I pull the two ends apart slowly under Ben's rapt gaze, teasing him with glimpses of my sex.

He gasps when I finally lift the two pieces and begin pulling them up. I expose my thick, swollen lips, my trimmed blonde thatch, and my flat, gently rounded stomach. I pull the fabric up beneath my breasts, and then pause. I drink in Ben's disappointment as I tie the ends together on the right hand side of my ribcage, leaving my ersatz bra in place.

I return my hands to my stomach, this time letting them glide over the smooth skin before coming to rest amid the curls of hair. I push my right hand even further, the three middle fingers following my curve as the thumb and little finger splay out to each side. Ben's eyes follow them in, follow my forefinger and ring finger as they gently tugged the lips of my pussy apart, follow my middle finger as it fills the slick furrow between.

I hum in satisfaction, noting through half-closed eye lids that Ben's eyes flick up, to study my face, before returning to my fingers less than a foot in front of his chin. I curlethe middle finger, letting Ben watch it enter me, up to the first knuckle and then to the second. His nostrils flare; he has no trouble scenting his quarry now.

He continues watching as a ripple of the muscles in my abdomen expelled the all-too-welcome invader. He watches me extend the digit, glistening with oil, toward his face, but as it gets too close for him to maintain his focus, he closes his eyes and feels me trace the outline of his lips with my manicured nail. When I return to the center, his lips part, almost involuntarily, and he sucks my finger inside his mouth. In and out, as if I were finger-fucking my eager young friend, I let him clean me before finally pulling free of his suction with an audible smack.

"Ready for the soup course?" I ask, my husky voice deep with desire and anticipation.

Without waiting for his answer, I thrust myself forward. I watchehis chin and then his mouth disappear beneath me. I feel his hot breath on my slit and slowly lower my lips to his.

His talent, I discover, does not lie in cunnilingus. He is eager -- little Benjy is always eager -- but it appears that none of his previous women has taken the time to tell him what they like. We have time to fix that. For now, I content myself with what he has to offer, knowing that what I have to teach him will make him even better.

After several minutes, I pull myself off. I look down at his wet, shining face, his smile covered in my juice.

"And now the main course, darling," I whisper. I move off him and quickly pull his shorts down his leg. Kicking off the cheap sneakers that I've been wearing, I grab the condom that I stashed in one of them. There is a flash of disappointment in his eyes as he watches me tear open the foil wrapper. I raise an eyebrow and he grins in acknowledgement. He knows full well that it is too early in our relationship to take any chances.

I straddle him once again. I watch his eyes light up as I undo the tie holding my tattered leotard in place. With a waggle of my eyebrows and a devilish smile, I pull it up and over my head, tossing it aside and giving him his first full glimpse of me.

"You're gorgeous," he murmurs.

"Thank you, Benjy. You've helped me get there."

"No," he says, "I just --" 

"Hush," I tell him, reaching down between my legs to grab hold of his cock. I lower myself down and rub the head back and forth against my slit. Purring in anticipation, I finally hold it upright and put it into position.

"Oh, fuck," I whisper as I take it inside me. It is not a large cock; God knows I've had bigger. But I have been exercising my internal muscles as well, and the warmth that envelops him holds his dick in a tight clench. I begin to ride the carousel, holding myself in place with my hands on his abs as I suck him in and then pull off. It feels delightful. It has been way too long.

It has been too long for Ben too, apparently. He lasts no more than five minutes, barely long enough for me to claim a climax of my own. I assure him afterward that he was fine. I assure him that we will do it again, and that it will be even better the next time.

Six weeks later, I am asking him to fasten the clasp on the back of the Michael Kors dress that I have decided to wear to the reunion. He looks very suave in his charcoal gray suit with a powder blue shirt and a perfectly dimpled tie. It has been a fair trade, it seems to me. Over the last month and a half, I have made him into a better dresser. I have taught him how to pleasure a woman, with his fingers, with his mouth, and with his cock. I have loaned him money, a trifle really, to expand his business. 

And all I have asked in return is that he accompany me tonight. As he drives my car there, he laughs and tells me that the last time he talked to his mother, she mentioned that she was going to a high school reunion this weekend, too. Isn't that a coincidence, he asks. I smile and pat him on the knee, telling him how much I'm looking forward to this evening.

The dress? $469.95 with tax. The gym membership? $300.00. The look on Andrea's face -- Andrea Phillips Stone Staunton's face -- when I walk into the gym with her son walking a step behind me like the proper little boy toy that I've made him? Absolutely priceless.



Best Served Cold



I screwed my finger around in her ass. After the initial shock, she relaxed and, unknowingly, showed me that this was easy for her. I could see her ass flexing, and gaping slightly, despite herself. I slid a second finger in there as well, and I swear she didn't even notice. I started to fuck her ass with my two fingers.

She was getting off on it, no question about it. She couldn't help rocking back onto my fingers. I was only pushing them in a couple of inches, and she clearly had a deeper yearning than that. Bi-boy was about ten inches, I'd say, and she could take him to the balls, so I was barely flicking at the inside of her ass. Her breathing became more intense and, again, I pulled out when she neared orgasm.

"Please, baby, do it again. Let me cum, pleeeaaasse. I'll be better. You can even fuck my ass if you want. If that's what you want. If that's what gets you off. I'll do that for you, baby. Just please, let me cum."

There was just a hint of impatience, almost desperation in her voice. Which was what I wanted. I walked round to her face. She was breathing hard, and I could tell she was flexing and unflexing her pussy muscles in an attempt to make herself cum. I smiled. If she was that fucking talented, I'd been short-changed in an even bigger way than I thought.

"What do you want?"

"I wanna cum, baby. Make me cum. I'll do anything to cum."

"Say that again."

She opened her eyes, and looked straight at me.

"I'll do anything to cum."

"Anything?"

"Yes."

"Truly anything? It could hurt."

"Anything. I've never been so fucking hot. And...hurting's okay."

I smiled. Here came the moment of truth. I unzipped and pulled out three inches of flaccid cock. She didn't laugh this time. 

"You wanna cum? Crawl around here and get your lips round my cock."

She scuttled off the chair and crawled towards me. She was quicker than I expected, more desperate to cum than I could have hoped. I backed away, dick in hand. Her eyes were locked on my cock. For the first time ever, she wanted my cock. For the only time ever.

She paused when we reached the open door. 

"You said anything, Roberta. I can make you cum until you fucking scream. You know that now. It'll be a thousand times better than you've ever had. You want to be my submissive slut? Show me you can be."

She quickly overcame any reluctance to start crawling down the path towards the electronic gates. The security lights jumped on, but her hypnotic state held.

Then ,without warning, I put my cock away. 

Now she was just a silly little girl, kneeling naked in my front yard, where my neighbours could see, and point from behind their expensive drapery. Now she was just a stupid bitch who got caught stealing money. Now she'd crawled thirty yards, in pursuit of a cock she spent six months laughing at.

"Now, I think you may have learned something. I know I have. Never to waste my time on a selfish little bitch who can't think of anyone but herself. For a smart girl who plays lonely rich guys, you look fucking stupid, babe. You finally learned how to think about what you're doing, and I've just taken it all away, haven't I?

She imploded. Mentally, psychologically, she imploded.

"Danny will drive you to the state line. After that, you're on your own."