Sin Town Shake Down (closed thread)

[dr_mabeuse]

The street outside the motel was as dark as the river Styx and just as wet, with a confused little mist that couldn’t make up its mind if it wanted to be rain or not. But from where I was standing at the window of this particular No-Tell Motel, looking at the mean streets below through the venetian blinds, it made the neon signs of the strip look all foggy and pretty, just like Fairyland.

Some Fairyland.

I checked the door to make sure it was locked, then hung my coat on one of the theft-proof hangers and opened the bottle of Irish. The plastic of the bags over the motel glasses was somewhat more substantial than the glasses themselves (“sealed for your protection”) but I tore one open and poured myself a few fingers of Jamesson neat. It was five minutes to ten. She should be here any minute.

I wondered what to do with my gun. Women don’t like guns and I didn’t want to spook her. Scare her, yes, but not give her the screaming willies, so I slipped it into my pants pocket. It ruined the careful drape on my Dockers but it was there if I needed it, and as long as I stayed sitting she wouldn’t notice it. The empty shoulder holster should be all the intimidation I needed with a girl like her. She wasn't used to dealing with guns.

I wasn’t nervous. Shaking down a lady business executive was not what I considered high-risk work, and knowing who she was and how her old man had made his wad, I figured that this was going to be downright enjoyable, kind of like class-action revenge. Talk about a bitch who had it coming.

I loosened my tie and lit a Camel. I opened the envelope of 8X10 glossies and spread them out on the bed. My film man Bugs had done a nice job. There was Ms Moneybags sucking up a line of coke at some watering hole. There she was higher than hell with her tits falling out of her blouse, flashing her pussy at someone at some high rent party. But my favorites were of her with boyfriend number 8 or 9--couldn;t quite be sure--in some motel. Her going down on him, her on her hands and knees as she took it from behind, and here she was just as he blew his wad all over that gorgeous face. She certainly seemed to be enjoying herself.

How much were they worth to her? How much was her daddy’s peace of mine worth to her? How much were no headlines worth to her?

I crushed out the butt and sat down. It was just ten o'clock.

We’d see. We’d just see.

 

[shereads]

Beverly Bodoni

"Matt Danger. Private Investigator."

Beverly memorized the pencilled address on the back of the card, then watched it curl and blacken in the ashtray.

"Dead man walking," she murmurred, in the husky whisper that had brought strong men to their knees. Beverly was said to have a "smoker's voice," although she'd never developed a serious habit.

Not a cigarette habit, anyway.

She frowned for a moment, reminded of her secret. ("Don't frown, Baby Girl," Daddy would say, "It gives too much away.") Coke was the only secret Beverly had ever kept from Daddy. He had sworn if she ever touched the stuff, she'd be out of his life and out of his will.

But she had been careful. Hadn't she?

She tapped on the glass to get the driver's attention. "Carlito, let me out here. I'll walk the rest of the way."

"Your pop wouldn't like this one bit, Miss B."

"That's why you're going to be such a quiet boy for me. Aren't you, Carlito."

He turned onto Hazard to avoid blocking the traffic on Taft, and began to pull over as ordered. But the old man still wasn't convinced. "Ugly neighborhood like this..."

"Daddy owns most of this neighborhood, sweetheart. Without gutters, where would bums sleep?"

She checked her makeup in the sterling silver compact Daddy had bought her on his last trip to Mexico. She looked good, and knew it. Sea-green eyes. A fringe of lashes so thick, mascara was redundant. Without lipstick, her full lips were pouty-pink. But Beverly was a whore for expensive lipstick. Dior. Today's color was a deep red, the color of blood.

Matt Danger's blood, she thought. If what he had on her was no worse than the usual, she'd pay him off as planned, and then she'd have to let Daddy take care of him. Beverly had never been comfortable with that solution, but her father believed there was no such thing as a petty blackmailer. And Daddy tended to know best about such things.

He wouldn't be happy about the men. Whatever else he might be, he was a father, after all, and nobody wants his only daughter to behave like a slut. But Daddy was a man with intense sexual needs of his own, and he wouldn't be entirely shocked.

What if the P.I. knew about the coke?

No. There was simply no way. She had partied with only a few close friends, and just once she had done it when closing a business deal at a restaurant in Miami.

Danger couldn't know. He was probably a part-time security guard who'd finally figured out he was never going to be Dick Tracy or dick anything else. A few dirty pictures of Blake Bodini's baby girl looked like retirement in the Bahamas to a guy like that. Stupid bastard.

Carlo helped her out of the car, and handed her the briefcase so casually that you'd swear he didn't know it contained $10,000 in small bills. Beverly knew better.

She licked her sexy, red-lacquered lips, and tossed her honey-gold hair over her shoulder. Then she lifted one delicate, stiletto-clad foot onto the running board of the vintage Bentley, while she pretended to adjust her garter.

She had guessed right. Carlo was a garter man.

He was old, but not dead, and Beverly just might need his cooperation if she chose to keep Danger a secret. So she bent over for a nice, long time, while Carlo enjoyed the view. The creamy rounds of her ass were just visible between the hem of her short, black skirt and the lacy tops of her black seamed stockings.

Carlo's suddenly audible breathing told Beverly he liked what he saw, ass-and-legs-wise. Neither did her father's trusted retainer appear offended by the obscene amount of cleaveage revealed beneath the fitted suit jacket. Beverly had worn nothing beneath it except for the black merrywidow that nipped her waist to nearly nothing, and lifted the satiny globes of her breasts.

He licked his lips, and Beverly imagined herself as the old man saw her: at 25, she was only a third his age. Sleek and golden, pampered as a pet panther. Clothed like an expensive whore, whether she was dressing for business or pleasure. Often they were the same thing to Beverly.

It might pay to let her father think she'd inherited his appetite, but sex was business with Beverly. It had never been anything else. Business was about control, and men had this handy control stick between their legs.

She leaned close and let him smell her perfume for a moment. Then she kissed the old man on the mouth, and hid her distaste when his garlic-scented tongue emerged to lick her blood-red lower lip.

He jerked back as if burned, hyper-aware of the public street, the passing headlights, the flashy, too-identifiable Bentley - another foolish indulgence of his employer's only heir - and aware of the deadly risk of being seen sucking tongues with Blake Bodoni's precious Beverly.

"When do you want me to come for you?" the driver panted, shifting uncomfortably in his uniform pants.

"I'll call you when it's time. But if you follow me, you'll be sorry..." Beverly stealthily reached for his crotch, and gently cupped the surprising bulge she found there. "Please don't disappoint me, Carlito."

She waited beneath the awning of an adult bookstore until the Bentley was out of sight, before walking the block and a half to the dive where Matt Danger was waiting to do business with the Executive Vice President of Bodoni Import/Export.

 

[dr_mabeuse]

The knock on the door sounded like someone who was used to having doors opened for them and pronto, so I let her wait. I tossed off the last of my Jamey and ankled over to the window to have a look outside. All the cars were dark and empty, so it seemed okay to me.

I walked over to the TV and checked the hidden video recorder: my insurance in this little transaction. It was primed and ready to go, so I switched it on and lowered the cover. It looked just like a cable box. I just hoped she didn’t have her heart set on watching any TV. It would pick up most of what went on in the room, but it was aimed at the bed.

I picked up the pictures and put them back in the envelope. No use having them lying around until I knew for sure who was at the door. I put the envelope in the nightstand and opened the door.

Her pictures didn’t do her justice. They didn’t capture that sexy insolence, they didn’t capture her swagger, and of course they said nothing about her three-dimensional geometry. She was all legs and tits and lips and as she walked in I saw a significant part of her was devoted to ass too. The presentation was right in your face too: short skirt over long, long legs, tight jacket struggling to hold her in on top. It said “eat your fucking heart out, Jack. You won’t be getting any of this even if my ass was on fire and you were a bucket of water.”

“Beverly Bodini?” I asked, as if there was any doubt.

She just walked into the room and looked around as if something didn’t smell very good. With an ass that tight it was amazing she needed that much room to swing it in, but there was no doubt that she was giving me a good look at what I was dealing with..

“Well?” she asked.

I closed the door and locked it.

I don’t believe in mixing business with pleasure, not normally, and while I didn’t particularly mind who I was shaking down, I’m not wild about blackmail. Some people get sensitive about it.

“So?” she asked. “Where are they?”

I got the envelope of pictures and handed it to her, and she slid them out and started leafing through them like she’d done this before. It was like she was looking at someone’s wedding snaps, sneering a little at the way she looked in some, recognizing her bedmate in another. I watched her eyes: her pupils. She got to the coke picture—Study of a Spoiled Bitch Doing Blow #1—when I saw them dilate. She kept a poker face, but I saw it in her eyes.

“So what?” she asked, throwing them on the bed. “So I fuck and I do a line or two. You think that’s going to surprise anyone?”

I sat down in the cheap armchair.

“Actually, yeah, I do. I think it’s going to surprise your old man. I think it’s going to surprise the hell out of him, just like when he found out your brother was doing coke. Let’s see…disowned him, didn’t he?

She sneered. “Sorry asshole, it’s not like that between Daddy and me. He won’t give a damn about these.”

I shrugged. “Whatever.” I said.

I gathered the pictures up and put them in the envelope then unlocked the door. I didn’t feel like fucking around. I opened it and stood there. “We’ll find out when he gets his copies. Good evening, Ms. Bodini.”

She started to walk out, then stopped and stood there for a moment. I couldn’t see what she was thinking but I could picture it.

“Okay, wait.” she said. “Shut the door.”

I did as she said and locked it again. She looked at me, her eyes smoldering with hate.

“How much?”

“What’s in the briefcase?” I asked her. “About ten, I’d guess.”

“Ten’s too much. That’s way out of line.” She said. She stuck her chin in the air.

I sat down and poured myself some more Jamesson. I offered the bottle to her but she didn’t move, just glared at me. I guess hating took up all her energy.

Personally, I was getting a kick out of it. I didn’t mind seeing her squirm. In fact I didn’t think she was squirming enough. I knew damned well that she would be willing to give a lot more than ten grand to keep Daddy from knowing about her nose candy habit. She was in some deep shit with the goods I had on her.

“Put the briefcase on the bed,” I said. I got up and went over to her. She backed away, and there was something I didn’t like about the way she was holding her bag. I reached out and grabbed her arm and pulled her over.

You always expect a good looking woman like her to weigh more, as if beauty had mass, Truth was I could have dusted the walls with her without breaking a sweat. I got her purse away from her and pushed her away.

“You son of a bitch!” she snarled, fighting to keep her balance, “who the fuck do you think you’re dealing with?”

There was nothing in the bag but a wallet, some change, and cosmetics. The girl didn’t even carry cash. Just a lot of plastic.

I sat back down in my chair and tossed her bag to her. It fell at her feet.

“The briefcase is a start.” I said. “But it’s not enough. Now what else you got?”

 

[shereads]

Beverly Bodoni

Until he touched her, she had thought she might bargain in the usual way. But his hands on her felt too...something. Hot. Hard. Posessive for a fraction of a second, and then maddeningly dismissive. This guy wouldn't settle for her usual.

He scared her.

Beverly wasn't sure she could remember being scared. And she had been around people who could scare up a pulse in a dead man. Daddy's friends. People who sold shipments of coke as casually as they bought seedy city blocks like this one. When they owned a place, they owned the people in it, too.

But not this one. She had the feeling nobody owned the P.I. with the mean hands.

She sneered at him when the Hermes bag fell to the floor. "People like you don't know quality when they see it."

Danger laughed. He had a sexy laugh, but this one was at Beverly's expense and she despised him for it.

"Do you have any idea how many small-time private dicks my Dad has...disappeared?" He didn't so much as blink. Beverly began to pace, betraying her nervousness - and becoming angrier because she was allowing an all-but-dead detective to make her nervous. Her. The Bodoni heir.

"I have no idea how Daddy makes them go away. All these people like you, with their small-time schemes. Making people go away is Daddy's particular business talent; I'm more of a deal-maker."

"So make me a deal, Ms. Bodoni. What's behind Door Number Two?"

She stopped in her tracks. Something in his manner toward her, his confidence, infuriated her. She felt her cheeks flush with heat, and finally bent to pick up the expensive bag she hadn't deigned to reach for when he'd tossed it to the floor.

"Nothing. Not one fucking cent." Beverly faced him, her chest heaving beneath the shapely but restrictive black crepe jacket. She was trying hard to calm herself, but couldn't help clutching the oversize Hermes bag to her body like a life jacket.

With Matt Danger's eyes grazing her from legs to lips to flashing eyes, she felt naked. Uncomfortably naked; chalk up another first.

"People like you deal in cash," she accused, her husky voice sounding provocative in a way she didn't exactly intend. "Crumpled fives and singles that spent the night before in some stripper's g-string."

"Only the best earn a five just for stripping," the P.I. shot back.

"Don't you dare interrupt me," she spat. She really, really hated this man. He just sat there, looking so cool and calm and mocking, when he had to know her father could have his skin removed with a potato peeler for less than the price of this room.

She began pacing again. Anything to avoid Matt Danger's amused stare. "People like you who deal in cash, think that people like me can put our hands on some anytime we want."

"Is that what I think?"

"Am I giving you too much credit? I can't just walk up to the ATM and take out ten grand every time some dick is hard-up and can't pay the late fees on his porn rentals."

She stopped pacing and glared at him, at this low-life with the wicked smirk. He had no idea how important she was to her Daddy...Of course, her brother had been important too, until he had broken the rules.

Beverly walked to the bed and fingered the handle of the briefcase, feeling Danger's eyes on her like fingers beneath her clothing, on her skin.

She needed to get out of here. Licking her lips nervously, and working hard to meet his gaze without giving too much away, she plunged into desperate-plea mode. "Look at this, mister hard-boiled dick. Ten thousand dollars, small bills, in a briefcase that's worth more than your life is worth when Daddy gets wind of this.

"Think how many five-dollar strippers you could have begging for favors, Mr. Danger. Think how many seedy hotel rooms you could rent by the hour."

Was he even midly curious about how little she was wearing under this suit? Miserable son of a bitch.

 

[dr_mabeuse]

"Think how many five-dollar strippers you could have begging for favors, Mr. Danger. Think how many seedy hotel rooms you could rent by the hour."

I was enjoying this: the threats, the promise of calling in the Old Man. It was all so perfect, even down the old cliché: she really did look beautiful when she was angry. There was color in her cheeks now and spreading down her chest to her very visible cleavage. It looked good on her. Like a sexual flush.

It also felt good to feel her scared. Because she was scared.

I lit another Camel.

"Oh, sorry,” I said. “Do you mind if I smoke?”

She glared at me. “I mind if you goddamn breathe!”

I had to smile.

“It’s this way, Ms Bodini,” I said, getting up from my chair and going over to the bed where she’d thrown the pictures. “Beverly. I have a friend works at the National Enquirer. They’ve already offered me ten grand for any...er...candid pictures I might have of you. I told them I might have something. You know, they’re really terrible over there. No ethics whatsoever.”

I picked up the sheaf of photos and leafed through them, throwing them down one at a time on the bed, as if I were showing her my poker hand.

“It seems they want something for the cover of their paper. Some nice bit of muck-raking, reputation-ruining fun. I told them to wait while I thought it over.” I said. “I told them they’d have an answer by midnight. And just in case something untoward should happen to me, my partner’s going to run some copies over there if he doesn’t hear from me by twelve. That's just in case. I’m sure you understand, hmm? So you see, you’re going to have to sweeten your offer.”

“I already told you,” she said, “I can’t just go out to an ATM and get another couple thousand dollars, so I don’t know what you expect …”

Maybe she saw it in my eyes. Or maybe it was the way I loosened my tie. But suddenly she knew. Suddenly she understood. She seemed to shrink back a little, though her feet didn’t move. They seemed rooted to the floor.

“There are more things in life than money, Beverly. Aren’t there?” I asked sweetly.

There was a long moment when she said nothing, and I could almost hear her thoughts caroming back and forth inside her skull like a rat in a box, looking for a way out. But unless I had miscalculated, all the exits were blocked.

“You son-of-a-bitch.” she whispered.

I picked up one of the photos and turned it so she could see. It showed her sucking boyfriend number 8’s cock. Her blond hair obscured part of her face but there was no mistaking her, or the big piece of meat in her mouth.

“Why don’t we start with this one?” I asked. “I like this pose.”

She came at me all at once, all nails and teeth, but she was no fighter. I grabbed her wrists and spun her around and shoved her up against the wall so hard the pictures rattled, scaring the hell out of her, then I pushed her wrists against the plaster and pressed my body against hers so she couldn't get a knee into my balls.

“Now let’s stop fucking around, Beverly, and be reasonable about this. You’re fucked, baby. One way or the other you’re already fucked. You were fucked as soon as you drew that line of coke, so be a big girl and take your medicine and we can all leave here happy with no one the worse for wear. I’d hate to think what a mess it would be if the cops had to come down here and found Beverly Bodini all beat up in some sleaze-bag motel. Not a pretty picture, baby. Not pretty at all.”

She was fiery hot against me, and those big tits were just bursting with anger. I could see the pulse in her throat going a mile a minute and her lips were close enough to mine that I was tasting the vitriol on her breath, but inside all that rage I felt a woman.

I held her till all that information seeped in and her pressure dropped below the red zone.

“What do you want me to do?” she asked quietly.

I backed away, keeping an eye on her, but she didn’t move, just stood against the wall like a trapped animal. I went back to my chair and sat down, reached over and poured myself a drink. This time when I offered her the bottle she took a nervous step away from the wall. She nodded.

I tore the plastic off the other glass and poured her a good one.

“There’s no ice.” I said.

She took the glass from me, wiped a loose strand of hair out of her face and took the plastic tumbler. She was still shaking from my little show of force. As she raised it to drink I saw her hands were shaking.

She was a good girl, a businesswoman. I’d been counting on that, counting on her knowing that this was nothing personal, just business; that sometimes you won and sometimes you lost. She’d lost. It was time to pay up.

I took a pull of my drink and let it spread inside me, chasing the adrenaline away, and I watched while she sipped hers. She was not a girl who gulped. It took a while for her to get it down, but I waited.

When she finished I took the plastic glass from her hand.

“Stand over there.” I said, gesturing to the middle of the floor, right where the camera could see her and I could too, about one good lunge from where I was sitting. “Right there.”

She took a step and stood waiting while I looked her up and down. It was a moment to be savored, that body, that face, the fear and hatred in her eyes.

“I want you to take off your clothes for me, Beverly," I said, stubbing out my smoke. "And I want you to do it slow. Do it slow and nice, so you get me hard. I’ll tell you when to stop.”

 

[shereads]

Beverly Bodoni

“You’re fucked, baby...

She had never felt rage before.

Was this what had fueled her father's rise to power? Was this what he felt when he gave the order to get rid of an enemy - or a son ?

Later she would remember the heat of the moment - her red-hot rage and the heat of Matt Danger's big body - and none of the details of their brief struggle.

Hell. Her struggle. Her futile, humiliating, strangely stimulating struggle. Danger hadn't broken a sweat, while Beverly had ended up pressed to the wall, panting, getting a good close look at the peeling paint of this no-tell motel while her breasts were nearly crushed against Danger's chest.

It was the sudden, unfamiliar rush of sexual stimulation - no fucking way! - that snapped her out of her rage. How dare this two-bit private dick make her feel things she was immune to in the hands of better men? Men with real power had worshipped her lush body and even learned to respect her wily brain, and had left her feeling cold.

Matt Danger made her hot. It was simply not to be borne.

So she dismissed her inconvenient - and insulting - sexual response to the P.I., as she dismissed her out-of-control anger, shoving it to a back burner where it could simmer. Meanwhile, she had to get out of this mess.

She couldn't harm this bastard one-on-one, and he had called her bluff. What was left? His body sent signals that said he was seriously threatening her, with more than blackmail. Maybe he wasn't serious about beating her - he didn't seem stupid or suicidal - but there was definitely a threat. Her instinct for self-preservation kicked in, and ice filled her veins where heat had been.

“What do you want me to do?” she asked quietly.

He backed off, as she had known he would when she gave in. Good. She wasn't entirely without power here. She just had to...had to do what she had done dozens of times: exchange what he wanted for what she needed.

She accepted a couple of fingers of whiskey in a frigging plastic cup - when in Rome, etcetera - and sipped it slowly so she could think. He wanted to fuck. Okay, they'd fuck. Big damn deal. He might even be good at it, and Beverly Bodoni had been fucked often enough to know the routine.

He sat and watched her inner debate, studying her like a lab specimen, in a way that made her want to slap his arrogant face. But this time, she took care not to show what she felt. She couldn't calm her trembling hands, but he didn't need to know why they trembled. Fear, anger, adrenalin? Something more dangerous? Beverly wasn't entirely sure herself.

“Stand over there.”

What the hell?

He pointed to the middle of the room. Like a goddam director staging a play. She moved to the precise spot, an obedient girl, and waited for Danger to order something that made sense. For an interminable moment he just stared. Evaluated her as if debating whether she was worth fucking. The longer he stared, the more vehemently she hated him. And he was loving it.

“I want you to take off your clothes for me, Beverly," he said, exhaling a cloud of cheap cigarette smoke that smelled and looked like contempt. "And I want you to do it slow." He was digging his grave.

"Do it nice and slow, so you get me hard. I’ll tell you when to stop.”

Dig it deep, bastard. I won't bury you with a shovel; I'll do it with a spoon. Nice and slow.

She had stripped once at a party when she was fifteen. Daddy had not been pleased, but neither had he intervened. Important men had been there, men more powerful than Daddy. One of them had fed Beverly sips of his drink all evening, copping an occasional feel. By the time the party was in full swing, and the guests were heavily sauced, nobody but Beverly had sensed Daddy's ice-cold awareness as his shapely, blonde daughter was teased and flattered, encouraged to dance - and had begun to strip, to cat-calls and whistles and applause, and soon to a gratifying silence. It had felt strange, but not difficult. She had loved the power she'd felt over men who had power over Daddy.

She had known, instinctively, that Daddy would make them pay. And he had. One by one, in the years after Beverly stripped to her panties in front of Daddy's drunken business associates, he had quietly destroyed them. Daddy and his Baby Girl had never discussed it, but she had known.

It had been easy stripping to music. Dancing, kicking her shoes off, unbuttoning her blouse as a roomful of powerful men grew silent. This was harder. But the end result would be the same.

"Okay," she breathed at last. "I'll get naked for you." He stepped forward to take the empty cup, then sat back down in the room's only chair.

She tossed her hair in defiance, and took a half step closer to hide her fear. Her green eyes trapped his dark ones in a battle of wills, and for just a moment Beverly saw a glint of what might have been respect - or just an unguarded moment of animal need - and the brief taste of power was all she needed to steady her hands.

Her expensively manicured fingers - the oval nails done in a more subtle shade of red than Beverly's vividly painted lips - parted the first of three buttons that fastened the snug-fitting jacket. She watched his eyes with an unflinching gaze that matched his own, and hoped he didn't sense the sensual thrill that now spurred her on.

She was almost eager to show him what she had and hadn't worn underneath the intimidating black suit. She wanted this arrogant prick to want her - want the hell out of her - and she knew that even a eunuch would ache for her when he saw the strapless merrywidow with its attached ribbon garters, like something from a vintage men's magazine. The kind Matt Danger's father might have hidden from his little boy. It was an undergarment designed to shape imperfect bodies; on a body like Beverly's it was the cherry on an ice cream sundae. Its nipped waist and punishing wire boning pushed up her bountiful white breasts, presenting them like a gift of ripe fruit in a black lace basket...

The second button opened.

Her husky voice touched him like hot flesh. "I'll be naked for a little while, hotshot." The third and last button fell open, and the painted fingernails teased apart the fabric of her jacket. "But you'll be dead pretty much full-time."

 

[dr_mabeuse]

"I'll be naked for a little while, hotshot.” she said, ”But you'll be dead pretty much full-time.”

I’d had about enough of this hard-ass routine. She was getting off on this, whether she knew it or not, and I was ready to bet that she’d been waiting for something like this for a long time, to run up against someone who wouldn’t take her shit, who wasn’t scared of her Daddy’s muscle.

I’d like to tell you that I had this all doped out as I watched those long elegant fingers working at the buttons of her expensive jacket, but the truth was I wasn’t thinking like that at all. I’d just had enough.

I lunged out of the chair and grabbed her by the shoulders. I’m a big guy but I move fast, and it scared the shit out of her to see me come barreling out of the chair like that; I could see her eyes go wide. I grabbed the lapels of her jacket and pulled them down, trapping her arms in the sleeves, then spun her around and shoved her against the wall so that I was behind her, leaning my weight against her, holding her jacket balled up with my fist in the center of her back.

I know, I know, there’s no place in this business for a guy with a temper, and usually I keep it controlled, but this time I just let it out. She was such a dumb cunt she didn’t even know what her body was for. To her it was a commodity, a weapon, and she used it like a fist full of coins to buy people off and make them do what she wanted. But she wasn’t buying me off. She wasn’t going to stay there safe inside while I fucked around with an empty shell. I wanted her to be here now; all of her, and if I had to scare the hell out of her to do it, then I would. But she was going to want it before I was done. I wasn’t going to rape her. She was going to have to want it.

“Bitch!” I snarled at her. I kept her face pressed against the wall, my hard cock pressing into her ass, and I was plenty hard by now. I lifted up on her jacket, pulling her arms up and back and heard her whimper with fear.

“You just don’t know, do you?” I said. “You just have no fucking idea, do you?”

I knew she didn’t know what I was talking about, but that was okay. Let her think I’m nuts. I’d crack the ice off her one way or the other.

I reached around her and got one hand on her breast, big, meaty; it filled my hand. I found her nipple, already semi-erect and rubbery, and I squeezed until she flinched and cried out in pain. She raised her foot, trying to kick at me, but I was too close to her. I spun her back around to face me, pulled her jacket a little farther down her arms so there was enough slack for me to ball it up in my fist, holding her arms tight, then I leaned against her, held her face in my free hand and kissed her.

Whores don’t kiss. Beverly didn’t kiss either. She tried to get away, and when that didn’t work she tried to bite me. She tried to move her head to the side but I held her there. I held her jaw in my hand and I kissed that fresh hot mouth, tasting her expensive lipstick, feeling the ehat rising off her body. In the movies that’s all it takes is a kiss, but this wasn’t the movies, and when I released her she turned her face to the side, still trying to escape. Or maybe she was trying to hide from me.

Her jacket was off her shoulders and was pulling her arms together behind her like a tourniquet, which made her shove her big tits out at me. They were still in her merry widow but jjst barely. One nipple exposed, the other making a sunrise over the sheer lacey demi-cup. I nuzzled the cup away with my nose, getting a good whiff os some very expensive perfume, and sucked her nipple into my mouth.

Naughty little nipple it was too, and depsite what she might feel it seemed to push itself into my mouth all friendly and eager to meet me. It told me things that Beverly never would.

She gasped and started struggling again. She raised a foot and tried to spear me with those stiletto heels but I kept my legs against hers so she had no room. I let her feel my strength as she struggled, let her know what she was dealing with, showing her what I had to use against her if she insisted on playing rough. She was built just like a rich girl: firm and toned but with no real strength where it mattered; no strength for a fight.

I don’t know how long I held her against the wall while she flopped around like a fish on a hook, snarling and whimpering, but finally she stopped struggling, worn out. By then I had both of her tits out and they were covered with my saliva. Her nipples were hard and eager, and I slid my hand down her body to the hem of her skirt.

The skirt was short, mid thigh, and her stockings ended just a few inches above the hem. From then on she was just soft, warm skin. She knew what I was doing and used the last on her strength to try and throw me off.

She hadn’t given up the fight up on top though. She let me kiss her now, and then when she thought my guard was down she tried onve more to bite me again, but I was expecting it, and when I pulled back I stopped and looked at her.

Her eyes were flashing fire, but she was scared too, and I don’t think she was as scared of me as she was of what her body was telling her. It wasn't just her feminine charms she was hiding from me. I slid my finger up between her legs and pressed it against her panties.

She growled one last time and then went still. She was wet. Very wet That's what she didn;t want me to know.

She wasn’t so fucking tough after all.

 

[shereads]

Beverly Bodoni

Her bravado hadn’t been entirely a fraud, but it shattered in an instant when the big man shot out of his chair, the action happening a fraction of a second after his eyes and the set of his mouth told Beverly she’d pushed the wrong button.

Jesus. He’s going to hurt me. He’s really going to hurt me.

She had miscalculated. Badly.

And she knew she was going to pay. The only question was whether Matt Danger would rape her or administer the beating he’d hinted at before.

The next couple of minutes were a blur. Like a car accident that you don’t truly experience until there’s time to relive it in memory, without the chill of panic.

His hands tore at her jacket.

Her hands were trapped in the sleeves.

Pinching fingers hurt her nipple.

And his mouth – sweet jesus, his hot wet mouth! – was in her and on her. Like a lover’s mouth, but like no lover she had ever known.

His hands hurt her enough to still her struggles, and added a little extra hurt to prove that he could and would. Nobody had ever hurt her, outside the boundaries that Beverly herself had set when she played sex games. Nobody had ever laid a hand on her without her implicit permission.

But his roughness didn’t account for Beverly’s blind, animal panic. It was her body’s response to him that really scared her. The nipple he had twisted welcomed his mouth, hardening to a sexual ache that hurt more than its abuse at his hands. His sucking mouth was torture because her body wanted it, welcomed it. In contrast to the rape of her mouth, his tongue on her nipple pleasured her with swirling, sweeping circles – like a nipple massage with a sponge dipped in heated oil.

Then his free hand – the one that wasn’t keeping the fabric of her jacket tightly bound around her wrists – was beneath the hem of her skirt, exploring the exposed flesh between the top of her stockings and the sheer silken barrier that covered her pussy.

Her wet pussy. Her drenched pussy, shamefully aroused and producing a rivulet of fresh evidence with every panicked pulsebeat.

His mouth ate hers. He drank her shame. His big hot hand actually slowed its upward movement as it drew closer to the tell-tale moisture at the crotch of her flimsy silk panties. The insolence of this fucking bastard! He knew she dreaded this, knew that she’d have chosen a beating over giving her tormenter this triumph.

He stopped kissing her mouth then, and just watched her face as his fingers moved almost imperceptibly closer to the proof of Beverly's weakness. When he touched her, pressing a single accusing finger to the wet fabric and pushing it oh-so-gently up between the lips of her vulva, he leaned down, his forehead touching the top of hers, and whispered a sound so soft she felt it, more than heard it, shivering as the merest breath of a sound touched the sensitive skin of her earlobe.

It was neither a groan of sensual pleasure nor a low, mocking laugh, but some of each. With the threat of a long, violent fucking thrown in for good measure.

“Don’t,” she pleaded, and was filled with shame at the sound of her voice. Humbled. Frightened. Aroused.

“Don’t hurt me. Don’t touch me there.”

She had never begged for anything in her life. Right now she’d give Matt Danger everything she owned, if only he would let her pretend she didn't crave this punishment.

 

[dr_mabeuse]

She was as wet as I’ve ever seen a woman get, and so far I’d hardly touched her, just given her the rough treatment, and that was enough. So I’d been right about her: she was as tough as you’d let her be, and then when you stood up to her she just kind of dissolved.

I just stood there, leaning against her, looking into her eyes as my finger tip traced that wet furrow between her legs. She gave me that “please-don’t-tell” kind of look, which was silly, since who was I going to tell. We both knew what was what. Some part of her was digging this, some part of her she didn’t want anyone to know about. But I knew about it now, didn’t I?

“Don’t hurt me. Don’t touch me there.”

I let go of her jacket and took hold of her other arm so that I held her arms behind her. My finger’s been tracing up and down the damp crotch of her panties, so sheer I could feel her lips through the fabric. Now I worked my way beneath her panties so I was touching bare flesh. She gasped sharply and closed her eyes.

“Why not, baby?” I asked, teasing her, “Why don’t you want me to touch you there? Because it feels too good? Because I can tell how much you like it? What a hot little slut you are?”

She clenched her teeth together and moaned in denial, but she’d given up all pretense of fighting me. She turned her face away from me in shame but I could tell just by how fast she was breathing that she was rapidly losing control. Her big tits were going up and down on her chest as she breathed. Her nipples were like hard like little jewels.

I bent my head down and found one nipple with my mouth. At the same time I pushed the crotch of her panties to the side and slid just the tip of my finger into her. Her hips jerked out to meet me and she sobbed. I had the tip of my middle finger inside her, and with my thumb I found about where her clit should be and I pressed, running my thumb in light little circles.

Her head snapped up so fast it banged against the wall. “You bastard!” she spat.

It wasn’t going to do her any good, calling me names. I began to fuck her with my fingers while I ran my tongue in soft circles around her nipple, and I felt her melt against me. She must have been pretty high-strung because every so often her body would twitch against me when I hit an especially sensitive spot and her nerves overloaded. She was putting out so much juice that pretty soon you could hear my fingers squelching in the wet pit of her cunt.

“You hear that, baby?” I whispered in her ear, “That’s the sound of a bitch who wants to get fucked. Who wants it bad. That’s you, Beverly, isn’t it? You want to get fucked, don’t you?”

She didn’t say anything this time, just moaned.

I’m no shrink and I don’t pretend to be, but I thought I had Beverly Bodini figured out. This was a girl who’d been under her Daddy’s thumb all her life. Sure she disobeyed him, but she still feared him and did everything she could to keep her own life a secret. Even the men she’d slept with had been afraid of him, and she knew that, and she treated them with contempt because of it. Now comes a guy who’s either too horny or just too fucking dumb to be afraid and she sees her out. She probably didn’t dope it out like that, she just knew how it felt to be touched by someone who wasn’t afraid of her or her old man, and it excited the hell out of her.

She was hot now. She was so hot she was fucking my finger like she hadn’t been touched in months. I let go of her arms and she just left them there, all her attention on what I was doing to her pussy and her tits, standing there with those long legs apart, humping against my hand like a cheap hooker, trying to get my finger deeper inside her.

I pulled away from her and she looked at me in shock and disappointment. She looked wild now: her hair hung in her face and her clothes were all disheveled, her skirt up around her waist, her jacket still tangled around her arms.

I kicked my shoes off and opened my pants, let them fall and stepped out of them, taking my socks off at the same time. She stood there like a trapped animal, breathing hard, watching me undress. When I pulled my shorts down and stepped out of them she looked at my raging hard on and then she looked right into my eyes as if to see if I was serious.

Hell, I’m no Johnny Wad, but it wasn’t the size of my unit that impressed her. It was the fact that she knew I was going to use it..

“Take it off,” I said to her. “The skirt too.”

This time there was no hesitation. She peeled the crumples jacket down her arms and let it fall, then reached to her side for the zipper on her skirt and let that fall too.

I went to her and backed her up against the wall again, took her wrists and held them over her head and ground my hard prick into her belly so she could feel it. She loved it. She loved seeing how far I’d go, how rough I was willing to get for her, and this time when I kissed her she opened her mouth and sucked my tongue into it with desperate hunger. I let go of one of her hands and grabbed her ass; grabbed it hard so that she squealed and shoved her pussy against me, asking for more.

I pulled her from the wall and slapped her ass once, hard. Then slapped it again and she jumped and whined in pain. I’d bet anything that no one had ever laid a hand on her like that, and I’d bet just as much that there’s nothing she wanted more.

I took her by the wrist and led her over to the chair. I sat down and made her kneel at my feet, then I took my cock in one hand and a handful of blond hair in the other.

“Suck it,” I said to her, looking right into her eyes.

 

[shereads]

Beverly Bodoni

“You hear that, baby?” he whispered in her ear,

Oh yes, she fucking heard it. Her pussy was not only dripping wet but practically suctioning his fingers, so desperately was her body contriving to get more of his inside.

“That’s the sound of a bitch who wants to get fucked. Who wants it bad. That’s you, Beverly, isn’t it? You want to get fucked, don’t you?”

"No," she tried to say. And the sound that emerged was little more than a choked sob.

No, she didn't want. She needed, but she didn't want. How had this spun so far out of control?

It wasn't as if Beverly had never been sexually aroused; but it had never been like this. It had been nice. It had been hers. She had controlled it, and easily too. She would never have allowed it come to this - her cunt dripping so obscenely that the sound of her pussy sucking on his finger could be used to condemn and shame her.

Her body's responses to Matt Danger were way out of line, and from the moment his invading fingertip had trespassed beneath the filmy barrier of her panties - gentle, tender, mocking - the ache between her legs had been replaced with a nerve-rending need so sharp, it was painful.

"Nngh!' She gritted her teeth and tried not to cry out. Then his finger was halfway inside and her needy pussy welcomed it with a stream of hot, thick syrup.

Sweet jesus, it was good. So good.

He pushed all the way in, slowly but steadily, and gave a low chuckle of satisfaction when Beverly's hips thrust forward spasmodically, begging for a faster harder finger-rape. She thrust and thrust again, biting her lower lip with unwanted pleasure - and in response, he withdrew the delicious fleshy object. Her whimpered complaint elicited a hiss of triumph, and he savored her response for a second before rewarding it with a thicker intrusion: two fingers. Two thick, slowly pumping fingers.

If he had raped her in fact, if he had forced this on an unresponsive body, she would have felt less violated.

"Bastard," she said again, but in a whisper so faint it was lost beneath the sound of her wetly sucking pussy and Danger's own aroused breathing.

"You hear that?" Yes, she heard it. Felt it. Hated it. Craved it.

She couldn't help but fuck back. And it wasn't goddam enough! It was never going to be enough...

She closed her eyes and slowly shook her head from side to side in time with their mutual movement, which was as close as she could come to screaming: No no no no, I don't want it! I don't want it. I fucking demand it.

Faster and harder, faster, harder, Beverly's hips thrust forward and pulled back, as much as they could with her buttocks pressed to the wall, feeling the cool plaster against her fevered skin, pulling back in an attempt to make the next thrust fill her more.

"Mm..mm.." She almost said it: More. Somehow, Beverly bit back the word.

Her skirt was wadded up at her waist now, and the black silk panties, little more than a g-string, left her ass mostly naked anyway; they were a joke of a barrier, and the satin-and-lace merrywidow was no longer a cock-teasing device but an instrument of self-torture. The boning that constricted her waist now constricted her breath, so that she breathed in choking little sobs. The lace that had covered her nipples had been peeled back and folded down, leaving Beverly's nipples not just exposed, but lifted up like an offering to Matt Danger's sucking mouth.

Moments before, he had ordered her to strip and she had looked forward to tormenting him with this outfit. The son of a bitch must love the fact that he didn't need her naked, after all. She had come pre-packaged for this ...this humiliation. This giving up of her power...This incredible, delicious fucking

If his fingers feel this good, what will it be like when his cock is inside me?

"Ahh...ahh...ahh...!" she heard a girl whimpering with delight, a girl from somewhere deep inside her.

You're turning me inside-out and it hurts. It hurts so good, please finish it please fuck me harder.

Tremors shook her, from the soft skin of her lower belly just inches above Danger's too-soft teasing of her clit, to the depths of her cervix. A pleasure/pain, razor-sharp, like a honed blade strapped to his fingers, began to accompany each upward thrust of the P.I.'s calloused hand.

-- it hurts, it's good, please do it to me --

And then he withdrew. If she had said the words, if she had begged him...But it was too late for that. He kissed her again, and Beverly kissed him back. Having sealed his victory, Danger took his mouth away from her and jerked her away from the wall.

His hand slapped and stung her ass, and now the sting of unshed tears added one more torture to the twisted skein of sensations he had aroused.

She wouldn't cry. She wouldn't beg this man to make her come. Not if it killed her; and for the first time since the confusing, sexual stirrings of adolesence, Beverly believed it might be possible to die from the need to be fucked and filled and brought to climax by the right man.

He ordered her to strip off the skirt and jacket. Beverly's trembling fingers fumbled with the zipper of the tight little mess he had made of her skirt. This, she imagined, was the stripping scene he'd had in mind the first time.

When the expensive suit was on the floor at her feet, she stood before him in the disarrayed merrywidow, ruined silk panties, black seamed stockings, and the stiletto-heeled shoes that she had laughingly referred to as "fuck-me shoes." Had she really worn this outfit to seduce poor Carlo?

Would Matt Danger fuck her now?

He showed her his cock. His proud, purple-headed cock. The single object on earth that Beverly Bodoni needed to possess and couldn't take or buy.

She licked her lips anxiously and awaited his command, afraid to hope that Danger would give her what she needed without making her beg.

He led her, stumbling, the couple of steps to the ugly chair. We'll do it on the chair, she thought, her cunt quivering with delight as she pictured the big man bending her over the chair, filling her hard and deep from behind.

Instead, he pushed her shoulders to indicate she should kneel, which she did with numb obedience. She looked up and sought her tormenter's eyes at long last, wanting to beg him but not able to form the words. The detective's hard face was backlit by slashes of red neon that sliced between the slits of cheap vinyl blinds. His eyes told her she was cheap, too, and she knew it to be so. The rough carpet beneath her knees suddenly felt as right as her need for this man's punishing cock.

He twisted a fistful of her hair in one big hand, in case she had any remaining doubt about who was in charge. With the other hand, he held his erection inches from her face.

"Suck it," he commanded. Beverly felt a moment of inward rebellion, cold as ice, but the fight had gone out of her.

"Okay," she whispered, and closed her wet sea-green eyes. Not to hide from him this time, but to savor the relief of submission. It felt good, felt like it was meant to be, when she stretched open for him and sucked the tip of his angry cock inside, soothing it with soft tongue-swirls.

 

[dr_mabeuse]

I held my cock in one hand, her hair in the other as she bent her head down and sucked the head on my cock into her soft, sweet mouth. She left it there for a moment, then raised up on her knees and put her hands on my thighs for balance and dipped her head lower, taking me deep. It brought a groan from my throat as she covered my shaft with the soft wetness of her mouth, and I heard her make a soft sound in response, a little moan of impatience and relief.

Sure, a little head always feels good, but what really made me hard was knowing that I’d been right about her. Beverly Bodini was one high-priced piece of ass and not above using her looks to bully people around, but underneath there was a hot little bitch just waiting for a guy who she couldn’t threaten or intimidate, someone who wanted her enough to take her. We both knew what could happen to me for what I was doing to her, but I was betting that she’d come to like it enough not to follow through on her own threats. In any case, I was just too hot for her to care.

“Yeah, baby,” I breathed as she sucked me deep into her mouth, “Just like that, Beverly. Show me how much you want it.”

She was getting off on her own helplessness and she sucked me with a will. I’d stripped her outside tough girl persona from her but she still had her pride, and now she was going to show me what she could do as a woman. She lowered her head so far her lips mashed into my pubic hair and I felt the head of my cock rub against the back of her throat. Then she pulled up with hard suction, really trying to draw the cream out of my balls, and all the while she was moaning and whimpering, slathering her tongue around the head of my prick on the outstroke.

“That’s enough, that’s enough.” I said, pulling her mouth off me with a loud sucking sound.

When she looked at me now, her eyes were glazed with lust. I got out of the chair, grabbed her arms and pulled her roughly to her feet, turned her around, and then pushed her down into the chair.

I grabbed her thong and pulled it off.

“Put your legs over the arms of the chair,” I said as I stripped off my tie and unbuttoned my shirt.

She looked at me with heat in her eyes. She still wasn’t used to following orders, so I reached down and grabbed her ankles and opened her legs, making her squeal with alarm. She had to learn to do as I said or have it done for her.

Her pussy was shaved as naked as a baby’s, and when I spread her legs like that she reddened, either with rage or shame, or maybe both. Her whole pussy was exposed to me, swollen and glistening with her excitement, good enough to eat.

I stood up over her and took my cock in my hand. “Play with yourself, bitch. Let me see you play with your cunt.”

She was hot now and having a hard time keeping her hips from grinding against the chair. She looked up into my eyes and saw that I was serious, so she lowered one hand to her wet cunt and started stroking herself. All the while her eyes were on my prick as I slowly beat off over her. I could just about see her mouth watering as she watched my prick.

“You’re going to pay for this,” she said, but it was hollow talk now. She wanted it and she wanted it bad.

“Yeah, right.” I answered. Her big fat tits looked like two scoops of vanilla ice cream with cherries on top and when she put both hands down to her cunt she pressed them together like she was offering them to me, and she was.

I reached down and took one nipple between my fingers and rolled it back and forth, and just then I felt a big drop of precum ooze from the top of my prick and dribble down in a long viscous strand.

“Oh fuck!” she breathed. Part of it was a reaction to the pain of having her nipple squeezed like that, have was salacious overload as the strand of precum broke and fell on the back of her hand. She looked up at me and her eyes were pleading now. “Don’t do this to me baby.” she said. “Fuck me. Put it in my mouth. Something.

I put my knee on the edge of the chair and shoved her thighs up higher. Automatically she scootched her ass down so that her pussy was right beneath me. I could feel the heat from her cunt on my prick just as I could smell her perfume coming off her hot body. She reached up and put her hands behind my neck and then looked down where my big hard cock was hovering a couple inches from her slit and she wiggled her ass in excitement.

I just shoved forward and sunk into her.

 

[shereads]

Beverly Bodoni

“Don’t do this to me baby.” she said. “Fuck me. Put it in my mouth. Something."

He was something, all right. Something else. Beverly steadied herself for what was coming, twining her pussy-dampened fingers at the back of Matt Danger's muscle-bound neck. Christ, everything about him was hard. His face loomed above hers, close enough that she could feel his warm breath, but Beverly kept her eyes on the action below. To look at him - to really see him and be seen by him - was more than she could risk.

He had made her beg for it after all.

And it was going to be worth it.

Her anticipation had built to an agonizing peak, sharp and tender, and the seconds before Danger fucked her seemed to last and last. She had time to wonder what he was seeing, as he looked down from the place of power.

Beverly saw a porn movie in slow motion: his massive chest angled above her delicate, feminine body - what the hell had possessed her to fight this man? - her breasts spilling from the top of the cruelly constricting merrywidow; her thighs splayed impossibly wide apart, a whore's thighs. Their rounded whiteness was striped with black ribbon garters, each with a tiny satin bow. To Beverly, her flirty underthings suddenly looked like an absurd vanity, displayed against the chair's worn upholstery.

Her stockinged legs were bent over the arms of the chair, holding her open below. If she had wanted to, Beverly couldn't have closed her legs. The vulnerability was so unfamiliar that her shaved pussy looked alien to her now: a mound of pink nakedness wounded at the center with a wet, raw slash of coral-red, the color of a fresh bruise. She saw her hips straining upward, closing the inches between her open labia and the thick dome of Danger's cock.

Almost.

Almost.

Now!

"Jesusgod!" She cried out as he thrust, rending her slim little tunnel. The moment that had seemed frozen in time melted away, hot and sudden and final. Her blackmailer was fucking her. Beverly's entire lower body spasmed upward, and without conscious thought she pushed herself even furthur up his uncompromising stalk. The red-hot sting of parted flesh filled her awareness. Her head was thrown back, her throat a strained arch of white, her full lower lip showing a dark bead of blood where she had bitten it.

Matt Danger paused, his shaft half-imbedded in Beverly's pussy, letting her feel those first inches fully. He fit her so tightly that Beverly felt each twitch of his cock, every pulsing vein, against the senstive inner walls near the entrance of her vagina.

Whether it was intended to help her or torment her, Beverly welcomed the moment he allowed for her body to accommodate the intrusion. Panting, her eyes closed against the intrusion of too much reality, she was hardly aware that her hands had relaxed their grip on the back of his neck, and had begun to tease and caress.

"Open your eyes, damn it," he snapped. "You're going to watch this." His voice was as hard and uncompromising as his flesh, and Beverly obeyed with a whimper of resentment.

He waited a heartbeat for her black lashes to reveal a glimmer of green, and before Beverly could even look down to where their bodies met, Danger rocked his hips back, withdrawing a fraction of an inch for momentum - then plunged in to the hilt.

"Ah God," she moaned, "Sweet god!"

"How do you like your cock, Beverly? Hard?" He pulled almost all the way out this time, and paused again, his big body shaking with the strain of holding himself still, the broad ridge poised precisely where she felt it the most, at her tightly muscled entrance.

"Answer me. Do you like hard cocks?"

"Yes," she cried.

"Do you like thick cocks?"

"Fuck yes," she sobbed. Her hips were wriggling and jerking upward in a vain effort to get some of him back inside. Her hands were fisted in his hair.

"Ask for it."

"Don't make me..." She was frantic now, squirming beneath him.

"Ask nice," he panted, torturing himself as he triumphed over her.

Green eyes shot upward, dark and turbulent now, meeting his eyes with one last challenge. Neither of them moved. Both of them were breathing like prizefighters struggling to stay off the ropes. A siren passed in the distance.

Her pussy quivered and wept, held open by his ridged head but aching deep inside for the missing inches of his stalk.

Damn the spoiled bitch. Danger thought his balls would implode if he didn't fuck her; to hell with it, he was going to fuck her -- Then, incredibly, he felt her melt. Simply melt. Beverly closed her eyes and sighed, and her hands relinquished their scalp-stinging grip on his hair. He saw her face transformed, softened by surrender.

"I'll be nice, Matt," she whispered, looking up at him with softer, purely feminine eyes the color of pale jade. She licked her bitten, bee-stung lower lip, and lifted her hips to him not insistently, but seductively.

"Ride me, fuck me. I'll be nice."

 

[dr_mabeuse]

The head of my cock was splitting those coral lips apart showing just how wet and glistening she was inside, waiting for it. She was hotter than hell too and her pussy kept of spasming around me in little poochy kisses like it didn’t give a damn about what she wanted; it wanted to get fucked, and the sight of her there with her long legs in her black stockings hanging spread wide over the arms of that cheap chair just made me want to ram it to her hard.

But first I wanted her to tell me she wanted it.

"Ride me, fuck me. I'll be nice." she said, looking up at me with those green eyes, like she was already drowning in a sea of lust.

“Kiss me, bitch!” I said to her, and as she reached up for me with her open mouth, I finally gave in and sank my cock into her sucking cunt, filling that rich pussy with my hard meat.

“Unhh!” she surged upwards and pressed her mouth to mine. Her lips were soft and warm, almost as good as her cunt; better even, because I knew Beverly had been fucked enough, but I don’t think she’d ever been kissed, not like I kissed her. I kissed her so she knew what I wanted from her. I kissed her like I was gong to fuck her, and I felt her hands get all nervous and fluttery.

I grabbed her wrists and held them against the back of the chair above her head and then I began to fuck her, hard, punishing her with my cock.

“Look at it, Beverly,” I said to her as I broke the kiss, “Look down and watch my big prick moving into your pussy. Tell me how it looks when you get fucked.”

I was watching too. The sight of my big, wide stalk sliding in and out of her was something to see. She was shaved as bare as a baby’s bottom, and I could just see the tops of labia peeking up at me, see how they moved in and out with each stroke of my cock.

“Oh yes!” she hissed, “Do it hard! Fuck me hard!”

I did. I had my knees on the edge of the chair so I could swing from the hips, burying my prick in her with each stroke. She started wiggling in the chair, pulling her knees up to her chest, giving it to me, letting me have all of that sweet cunt. She might have had bigger cock than mine in her day, but I don’t think she ever had one that wanted her so much, one that was so intent on owning her, taking her over.

I couldn’t get deep enough on the chair. It was awkward. I fucked her as deep as I could, then filled my hands with her ass and lifted her out of the chair. She didn’t weight anything. I picked her up with my cock still in her and she squealed with alarm and wrapped her legs around me. I just took a couple of steps and dropped her on the bed, falling on top of her and sending all of it into her.

I was fucking her hard now, my ass rising and falling as I plowed into her, and she had her legs spread wide, her feet jangling in the air every time I bottomed out. She was hot and tight and I knew I’d have to come soon. She was too good.

I pulled out of her and staggered back. “On your knees,” I said.

She looked confused but got up on her hands and knees without a word. I went to the bed and got up behind her on my knees, but instead of sticking my prick back into her I gave her ass a good swat.

“Ohhh!” she squealed, “What are you…”

I slapped her again and she squealed again, not knowing what I was doing. I liked the way her ass felt when I slapped it though, and I liked the way she squealed. I pushed her down on the bed and sat on her legs and began to spank her.

“Oww! Stop! You crazy fucking bastard! Stop it!”

But I didn’t. Her ass was tight and meaty and I slapped it until it got nice and red, and by that time she wasn’t squealing anymore. She was gasping and moaning and grinding her pussy into the bed. She had one finger in her mouth and was sucking it like a little cock, and her other hand was beneath her, playing with her pussy.

“On your knees,” I said to her, and she lifted her ass in the air where I could spank it better. By the time I was done she was wiggling her ass in the air and finally, finally she was begging me for it.

“Yes, please! Fuck me! Do it to me! Fuck me!”

My cock was throbbing, hot and red, and I took it in my hand and fed it into her burning pussy. Her eyes went wide and she started shoving her red ass at me. I grabbed two handfuls of her hot buttocks and squeezed hard, using them for handles as I pounded into her, and Beverly froze.

She made a strangled sound in her throat and her nails dug into the cheap blanket beneath her. I saw her face get as red as her ass, her eyes wide, her mouth open but no sound coming out, and then she screamed.

She was coming now, coming hard on my cock.

I let go. I threw my head back and felt that sweet pussy squeezing me and I growled myself as the come came boiling up and shot down my cock and splattered into her as she howled in her orgasm.

 

[shereads]

Beverly Bodoni

Deleted double post

 

[shereads]

Beverly Bodoni

“On your hands and knees.”

An hour ago, if anybody had told Beverly she’d obey an order like that without a fight, she’d have thought they were crazy.

Things had changed. She had changed.

Daddy’s ice princess had melted like butter in a microwave, if butter could pant and whimper and tilt its ass upward to accept Matt Danger’s cock.

>> SMACK!<<

“What are you - ” He was hitting her!

>> SMACK!!<<

Worse. He was spanking her.

“Stop it, you crazy fucking bastard!”

Hitting, she would have understood. She’d seen women hit. But this!

>>SMACK-SMACK-SMACK<<

Beverly sobbed and bucked, until he pressed her flat on the bed and held her down with the weight of his body across her legs. Then he began to spank her in earnest, the SMACKS! coming one after another, landing on one shocked little ass cheek -

No please

and then giving its twin a matching SMACK! and when it seemed he’d never stop

No please no please I’m sorry

when she was certain he’d never stop spanking her, the pain began to feel like something else...

His hand on her was beating a staccato rhythm that reminded her of a good, hard, steady fuck. He had fucked her. He had stopped fucking her. But now he was fucking her skin, instead, with the palm of his big hard calloused hand.

>>SMACKSMACK<<

His swinging arm was a pistoning dick. His big, hot hand was its punishing cock-head, the meaty payload that her body so craved.

The entire man was one hard dick.

“Oh your knees.”

Yes, baby, yes! Let me bring my ass up where you can reach it better. Hurt it just a little bit harder and hotter.

On her knees, she could “fuck” back against the spanking. She could rock up and back, she could buck and writhe, not to get away – He’d never let her get away, or get away with anything – but to lift her ass up to meet him. Just as she had lifted her hips to draw his prick deeper inside.

His prick. His prick was entering her again.

"Fuck me, do it to me!

How easily it tunneled into her this time. What a slut she was!

Ooooh Ooooh Ooooh how she wanted to scream her lust and rage and desire. On some level she didn’t want to come for him, because she knew it was for him. Even her orgasm wouldn’t be her own. He was taking it from her.

Ooooh fuck, she needed to hold the hot hard thing inside – needed to grasp it with her pussy. But the muscles of her vagina were no longer hers to command; the inner walls that had been taut flesh, were now as sensitive as an unset souffle, the batter rising and thickening, jiggling in the pan, collapsing onto itself –

No, please!

and onto itself –

I’ll be nice, I’ll be good!

each time his hips slammed the oven door.

Don’t make me, don’t take me –

She was coming! Waves of it took her, so powerful and unfamiliar that it hurt it hurt it HURT to come for this man!

She was coming. He was coming.

"Ugnh!" He grunted as he pounded into her, "Ugnh!!" exploded into her.

She was coming, she was screaming.

"UNNNGHHH!! AAHHHHHH!!"

Later, seconds or maybe minutes later, she was crying. Hot tears, more tears than she had known she had inside. Tears that felt like soul-cleansing relief, though they should have been tears of anger and shame.

She was, after all, on her knees with her ass in the air, and Matt Danger was resting his face on one of her sore ass cheeks, his day's growth of beard scratching the soft flesh he had punished with his hand. She was Beverly Bodoni, heiress, with her face buried in a blanket that smelled of stale cigarettes and yesterday's whore. Scattered about her on the bed were the blackmail photos, and somewhere around here was the ten grand she had brought to buy off him off. She ought to feel shame. But she felt relief.

Beverly hadn’t cried in front of another human being since she’d been a kid. And she sure as hell had never climaxed that hard. Why the hell did both things have to happen now, in the presence of this bullying, blackmailing private dick!

It was pretty damn humiliating, when you thought about it. But it felt good, too. The tears flowed like pussy juice; an orgasm of the soul.

 

[dr_mabeuse]

Eight o’clock and I was closed for the day. A lot of my business is done after normal hours. The women come to me during the day: the rich bitches who think hubby’s running around on them or are trying to find a skipped lover, but the men come after the office closes, looking for the woman who dumped them, or wanting to find out who’s parking in their spot while they’re out tooling around themselves.

In any case, it’s all over by eight. If they ain’t coming by then, they just ain’t coming. Besides, it isn’t exactly like I’ve got to install a take-a-number machine in my waiting room. Normally it’s about as lively as the Valley of the Kings.

But tonight was something special, because Beverly was coming. I mean, she was coming if she didn’t want her daddy to see those tapes I’d made of her during our little cock-fest at the No-Tell motel. I wasn’t done with that bitch by a long shot. No, the fun was just really getting started.

I’d given her instructions. On the outside she was to dress nice. Sexy enough, but nice, in case I wanted to take her out to eat between rounds. Underneath, she was supposed to dress like a whore. I didn’t give her specifics. I wanted her to surprise me. I like telling a woman to dress hot and then see what she comes up with. Some dress all classy, and then some get really kinky: latex and leather, tight panties that make them hot when they walk, bras that make their tits stick out where you can suck and pinch them. Beverly had the money to dress however she wanted. I knew she wouldn’t disappoint me.

I like peeling their clothes off, unwrapping them and seeing the slut they carry around inside, and Beverly was all slut, I knew that much. She’d had her first taste of BDSM at my hand, and she’d come like a five dollar whore. That’s why I knew she’d be back. Sure, she was afraid of her Daddy. But more than that, she wanted what I had to give her. She’d be back.

My instructions had said 8:30 PM. I opened my lower right hand drawer and got out some rope, a few whips, a gag and a blindfold. I switched off the office lights so the place was illuminated by the big red neon sign from Wong’s Oriental Garden downstairs and I waited.

I knew she wouldn’t let me down….

 

[shereads]

Beverly Bodoni

"What are you dressed up for, Baby Girl? You teaching Sunday School?"

Daddy laughed but his eyes sparked and Beverly knew she looked good. She had never dressed like this before. Like a lady, one without an agenda.

As if.

"You know me, Daddy. Keep them guessing." She gave him a peck on the cheek, picked up the dainty purse by its delicate chain, and almost made it out the door without more questions.

"What did you do to poor Carlo? He spends a few days driving my daughter, suddenly he's complaining of chest pains."

Beverly winced inwardly. It wasn't a pleasant topic, but she had made certain promises to her dad's most trusted retainer, to buy the old man's silence about her appointment on Hazard Street last week. And she had almost had to deliver.

It hadn't been pretty. Poor old Carlito's chest pains had come in the nick of time.

"Must have been letting his imagination roam where it's got no business, Daddy." She opened the door and threw over her shoulder, "Tell him I asked about him, okay?"

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

In the aftermath of the most incredible sex of her life, there had been one of those good news/bad news moments. The good news: true to his word, Matt Danger had made his phone call before midnight, and had kept the incriminating pictures out of the hands of the Enquirer.

The bad news: he had insisted she stick around to watch TV. Specifically, a videotape of her humilation at his hands - her shameful begging, her submission, her screaming orgasm. If she'd been thinking with her brain and not her abused pussy, Beverly would have made a phone call from the motel parking lot and had the P.I. beaten senseless and the tape confiscated. Not to mention the ten grand.

Instead, she had conceded defeat, grudgingly agreeing to Danger's demand that she show up at his office tonight. She'd been specifically instructed to dress like a lady - on the surface. "Underneath," he had added, "you can dress like Beverly."

Asshole.

Damn, she hated that man. What he'd done to her, what he had made her do. Most of all, she hated him because she'd spent days trying to select just the right outfit for this occasion, and she couldn't bear to examine her motives. Why did she want so badly to please him, to surprise him?

There would be time enough for introspection later. After.

Right now, she concentrated on nagivating the mean street's of Matt Danger's neighborhood. She relished the freedom of driving herself, and despite her misgivings - the vintage Thunderbird was too recognizable by far, and Beverly was alone and unarmed in the inner city - she felt a strange sense of elation.

She'd bought a Chanel suit that would have looked just right on a Sunday School teacher, as Daddy had implied. Provided the Sunday School teacher could afford a $4,000 suit, and had a killer body to bring the suit's subtly tailored lines to life, dancing and swaying with the merest movement of her hips. This wasn't a power suit by any stretch of the imagination, but a feminine confection of wool boucle in a soft peach shade that brightened Beverly's honey-blonde hair and accentuated the excited flush of her skin.

Beverly had worn minimal makeup this evening, settling for a bit of golden-peach blush and a sweep of Dior lip gloss in a warm, not-quite-innocent nude.

She looked like a young Grace Kelly in this outfit, rather than the tough-as-nails daughter of the most powerful druglord in three states. Oddly, she was feeling as transformed by her clothing as she hoped Matt Danger would be. Beverly had never felt more out of place than she did now, in the seedy, smoke-scented elevator lobby of the building that housed Matt Danger's alleged office. She'd been in worse places, but she had never been better dressed.

She comforted herself with the knowledge the underneath the sweetly feminine exterior, she was still 100% Beverly. Aside from her stay-up stockings in a perfectly ladylike sheer nude, Beverly wore a push-up bra of creamy see-through lace. The matching panties consisted of a band of lace that rode her hips, dipped low beneath her belly-button - and had a string of pearls where the crotch should be. Not the best grade of pearls, but not fake ones either. Eat your heart out, Sunday School teachers.

At the end of an underlit hallway, she found the door labeled, "M. Danger, Private Investigator." Her pussy contracted at the sight of his name. The string of pearls parted her labia, and received a generous spill of fresh cream.

 

[shereads]

>>bumped<<

so the Private Investigator can find it.

 

[dr_mabeuse]

I could hear the sharp rap of her heels in the marble hallway long before I saw her. She was walking slowly, not reluctantly, not dragging her feet, but slow and deliberate, as if her mind was already thinking about what was going to happen to her. All the lights in my office were off except for the desk lamp, so when she opened the door I got a shot of her standing there framed by the light from the hallway, her hips cocked, one long leg extended. She threw a long shadow across the floor.

“Come on in, baby,” I said, “And close the door behind you.”

She didn’t say a word. She closed the door and it clicked shut, then stood regarding me in the darkness for a moment. She crossed the empty reception room and entered my office walking slower now, letting me get a good look at the sway and roll of her hips as she put one long leg down in front of the other. She stopped right in the center of the room and gave me that proud and cocky look. She’d brought the goods, now she wanted to see what I was going to do with them.

She looked good: clean and sexy and rich, but that look of superiority sat a little uneasy on her face, on those cock-sucker’s lips. It was all bluff.

I took my feet down off my desk and got up, walked over to her and had a good look, walking around her, checking out the entire package as she stood there not moving. She didn’t like being looked at like a piece of meat, but I just let her twist in the wind as I had my fill. She wasn’t making with the wise cracks now. She was just standing there very still, her big tits going up and down as she breathed, waiting.

“Nice,” I said. “You clean up real nice, Beverly. You almost look respectable.”

I was close enough to her that I could smell her perfume, could almost feel the heat of her body. I got behind her and stepped up close, closer, then I put my hands on her arms and squeezed, pulled her back against me and touched my lips to the back of her neck. I inhaled her scent, pressing my hard cock against her ass so she could feel it. I opened my mouth and tasted her and I felt her shudder in my hands as I gave her a nice little possessive bite right on the back on her elegant neck, just like a tomcat bites his bitch.

“But you’re not respectable, are you, baby?” I asked her. “You’re a cock-hungry little whore here to get your rocks off. You want to see just how bad you can be, how bad I can make you, don’t you, baby?”

I held her as I rubbed my big cock against her ass, letting her feel it, feel it through her expensive clothes.. She stiffened as my words sunk in but she kept her mouth shut.

“I don’t want you to move,” I said against he skin. “You understand? I don’t want you to move a fucking muscle.”

I kissed the back of her neck as my hands moved around and surrounded her tits, closed on those big mounds of flesh and squeezed lightly, feeling their weight and resilience. Her dress was made out of some thick, terry-cloth like fabric, but I could still feel the stiff peaks of her nipples beneath all that material. I could feel her tits move up and down as her breathing increased,

“Yeah,” I whispered to her. “Nice stuff. Nice fuckable stuff.”

I slid my hands down her body, nice and slow, feeling her beneath her dress. Down over her tits, her ribs, down her flat belly and over her hips, down her thighs as far as I could reach standing behind her, just feeling that expensive, pampered flesh, so well toned from all those hours in the gym with her own personal trainer. I made my hands into claws and drew them up her thighs, pulling her skirt with them, raising the hem higher and higher, gathering it all up till I could reach down and feel the bare, stocking-covered flesh of her legs under my fingertips. Then I drew my hands higher, up to where her stockings ended and I could feel the soft naked skin of her upper thighs.

I rubbed her here for a while, all the time kissing and biting the back of her neck, licking the edges of her perfect ears. The smell of her and her warmth and her taste made me wild with desire.

“Yeah baby, that’s so nice,” I whispered into her ear. “You’re going to feel soooo nice when I get my prick into you, when I start fucking the hell out of you…”

My hands worked their way between her legs, working on her thighs just on either side of her sex where the skin is real soft. I could feel the heat and humidity of her cunt already, but I just kept rubbing and pressing, ticking and caressing, just filling my senses with her while she stood there trying not to move.

Finally I worked my finger up so they were pressing against the very point where her legs joined her body. I should have been feeling panties there, but I wasn’t. I wasn’t feeling anything but bare naked woman flesh, shaved and powdered yet already oozing. I smiled.

“Nasty little slut, aren’t you?” I teased, stroking along the sides of her slit. “No panties at all?” My fingers brushed over the top of her sex and I felt a string of beads or pearls there, a string of pearls that served as a crotch band, placed where they’d rub against her with every step she made. No wonder the little slut was wet.

“My, my. What a naughty pussy you have, baby. I know you don’t like this, Beverly, but your naughty little pussy does, doesn’t she? She loves it. And she just makes you so bad, makes you such a whore. I think we’re going to have to spank that naughty pussy. I think we might just have to use a whip on her to teach her who’s boss…”

I grabbed the strong of pearls and pulled them up, forcing the pearls against her slit. Beverly groaned and her hips jerked up convulsively. She reached back now and I felt her nails dig into my thighs. She was all ready to go.

“Unh-uh!” I said, “Mustn’t touch.”

I backed away from her and took her hand, led her over to a wooden chair that stands by the side of my desk. Just an old office chair, with no arms. I sat down on it and pulled her over to me. She didn’t resist.

I looked up at her, looked into her eyes as I raised her skirt.

“Sit on my lap, Beverly,” I said. “Sit down straddling me while I take your top off…”

 

[shereads]

Beverly Bodoni

It was right on the tip of her tongue.

The scathing remark that would put this two-bit private dick in his place. It had come to Beverly in a flash of brilliance while Matt Danger stalked her, circled her, making her stand there like a servant on the auction block while he evaluated her…Never at a loss for words, Beverly was relieved as hell to know that her wits hadn’t been entirely dulled by her body’s insane response to this man.

She savored the delicately dry insult like a fine wine, and saved it for just the right moment –

“You clean up real nice, Beverly. You look almost respectable.”

Now. She would devastate him with her sharp tongue before she enslaved him with her body. She would –

But then he bit her.

Stood behind her, pressed his penis to her Chanel-encased bottom so that she felt his heat and power through $2000 worth of fine wool; nuzzled the sensitive skin at the back of her neck and bit her.

Holy god. Like a stallion covering a mare. Bit her, claimed her. Owned her.

She was his. Again.

It came back to her now. The need that made her quiver and quake, that drowned her pride in a flood of her own juices. The hot liquid stung her pussy as it seeped from between swollen tissues, and Beverly felt the pearl thong pressed almost painfully now against the open wound of her slit.

Oh fuck. Please fuck. I need you to fuck me, to want me.

He would torment her now, she knew that much. He would make her wait.

“You want to see just how bad you can be, how bad I can make you, don’t you baby?”

I’m bad, it’s true. Make your bad girl pay.

She closed her eyes and gave her body over to his mercy, and it was better than her most erotic dreams. How much time had she wasted in that motel room, fighting Matt’s inevitable mastery of her? Minutes that might have been spent like this, with his whispered insinuations and wicked promises tickling the tiny hairs behind her ear, stripping her pride, exposing her need…Moments of pure sensation, with the weight of her breasts resting in his hands, her nipples so sharp they hurt –

oh it hurts -

How much longer would he make her wait?

His hands released her breasts and she felt them bounce in their cradle of lace, newly heavy and full as if she’d grown more aware of them through his exploration.

He worked her below the waist with agonizing slowness, lifting the skirt inches at a time. His calloused fingers traced the length of her thighs, pressing the feathery texture of her sheer stockings into the satin-soft flesh. When he finally touched bare skin, and a finger drifted closer to where her panties ought to be, Beverly realized she was holding her breath and – damn it! – blushing! She was blushing.

He rubbed the softness, teasingly close to her pussy but not quite near enough to know what she hadn’t worn – and what she had.

“You’re going to feel sooo nice when I get my prick into you," he growled, "when I start fucking the hell out of you…”

She whimpered, a helpless, kittenish sound that stirred her shame even more than the fact of the soon-to-be-discovered pearl thong.

Like a school girl who’s done something unspeakably sinful and is about to be found out, tough-as-nails Beverly Bodoni, drug lord’s daughter, executive, queen bitch at 23, all but lost the strength to stand upright as she waited…waited for him to find the evidence of what she was willing to do for him, to be for him.

“Mmm...” She released a barely audible moan as Matt Danger teased closer to her labia with a single thick finger.

“Nasty little slut, aren’t you?”

Yes. Yes.

“No panties at all?”

There's more.

He touched the pearls…

“My, my. What a naughty pussy you have, baby.”

He gave the pearls a mean little jerk, delivering a trickle of wetness as efficiently as if he had yanked the handle of a pump.

“I know you don’t like this, Beverly, but your naughty little pussy does, doesn’t she?”

She did, yes she did, and Beverly’s entire body suddenly felt as if it were made of creamy pussy-flesh, pink and raw and fevered. She could not have supported her weight without Matt’s hard body to lean against, without Matt’s probing finger to make her behave.

When he said he might have to spank her, she gasped and closed her eyes, leaning her head back onto his hard shoulder. He had spanked her last week; she had hissed and fought like a cat, then she had craved it, then she had cum for him, a hard exhausting cum. Yes, he would spank her again and this time they'd –

“I think we just might have to use a whip…”

Beverly swayed for a moment, her knees nearly giving way, and she reached back and grabbed for Matt’s body.

“Uh-uh. Mustn’t touch.” He backed away from her. The momentary absence of his touch stung like a slap.

Nothing had ever felt more welcome than when he reached for her trembling hand and held it in his strong one. He could have led her into hell and for the promise of being filled with him, she’d have followed. Instead he led her to a plain wooden chair, sat down and stood her in front of him.

He had been joking about the whip. Of course he had.

Beverly licked her pouty, Dior-glazed lips and looked down, fascinated by the sight of her blackmailer’s hands lifting the hem of her peach-colored skirt to reveal the peaches-and-cream of her thighs. Her skin felt hot where he touched it. The cream-coated pearls tortured her sex with hints of what was to come.

Then she looked at his face and found it unreadable except for the obvious: his need of her body. Good, at least he wasn't immune. She almost smiled with relief when he commanded her to sit on his lap, to straddle him.

“You want me on top, baby?” Despite the depth of her arousal and her obvious willingness to please him, Beverly’s husky purr held a hint of teasing challenge. “Are you sure about that?”

Danger said nothing, but his eyes gleamed wickedly and she knew they shared the same thought: Beverly would never be on top, no matter how they entwined their bodies.

She nibbled the tip of her little finger, a nervous habit she’d developed just this week, and then placed her elegant, perfectly manicured hands on his broad, muscle-bound shoulders for balance. His hands had her skirt up to her waist now, and his eyes were on the baby-powdered smoothness of her pink, hairless mons.

She followed his gaze and saw the opalescent purity of white pearls suspended from the cream-colored lace hip band that dipped below her navel. The pearls disappeared between her labia, and she felt them parting her buttocks, shifting against her secret places with every movement, every shiver. The garment was obscene but beautiful. Elegant. Whorish. And with Danger’s attention focused upon it, to Beverly it was the most erotic thing she had ever seen.

“Grandmama used to say that a lady is never fully dressed without her pearls,” Beverly whispered. Then she climbed onto him, her shapely legs in their silken, nearly-nude stockings straddling Danger’s heavily muscled thighs.

Sinuously, slowly, she lowered her naked and bejeweled pussy onto his lap, as his fingers went to work on the first button of the fitted boucle jacket. Beneath it, he would find her naked except for a lovely but perfectly proper cream-lace bra filled with creamier globes of flesh.

She wriggled a little as she settled the weight of her very-wet self onto the very-evident bulge in Danger’s pants; when it jerked upward in response she bit her lip, not quite stifling a girlish squeal.

His hands went still for a moment, the work of unbuttoning her jacket momentarily unimportant in the greater scheme of things.

Beverly leaned forward and pressed a kiss to his neck, then brushed his earlobe with her lips. “You were right about my pussy and me, Mister Danger.” Her voice was part whispered plea, part moan, all feminine arousal. “She’s a naughty pussy, a wicked pussy. She needs a strong man to make her be good.”

She traced baby-kisses across his cheek, leaned up and kissed his forehead, her hands kneading his tense shoulders and her cunt depositing a widening swirl of wetness on the fabric of his pants. She could feel him throbbing against her softness, and her heart sped in response.

“You won’t really whip me, though. Nobody's pussy is that naughty."

Then she pressed her sex to his and began to masturbate him with it, not quite grinding her hips against him but pressing and circling, pumping up and down a little, her movements signaling the promise of a slow, sweet fuck.

She brushed his lips with a softer kiss than she could remember having bestowed on a man, ever. It was a girl’s kiss, seeking a powerful man’s approval, and even Beverly recognized that the tender kiss didn’t quite match what was happening between her legs, where the string of pearls now rode this man’s fabric-encased cock.

Later - days later - Beverly might remember the scathing comment, marvelously clever and apt, that had popped into her head shortly after she'd arrived here tonight. It had been just the thing to put the P.I. in his place. And it had been right on the tip of her tongue.

But for now, as Danger reached for his zipper and began to release the angry, punishing cock that she ached to have inside her, the best she could manage was a whispered question:

“You going to let me touch it? Make me fuck it?” She nipped his lower lip, a delicate bite, teasing but enough to sting. “Are you going to teach my naughty pussy how to be good?”

 

[dr_mabeuse]

Her legs seemed to go on forever, from her wickedly high heels planted firmly on either side of the wooden chair, all the way up to the split pearl-bedecked gash of her pussy, which was pressing an rolling insistently against the cloth-covered bulge of my hard cock, wetting my trousers with her own shameless secretions. They were a rich girl’s legs, long and elegantly muscled, made for chasing tennis balls on clay courts or for gripping a thoroughbred as she took the jumps in her equestrian class, but now they were doing a whore’s work, grinding her pleading pussy against my cock, promising me things, showing me what she could do for me if I’d only give her the chance.

She had her hands on my shoulders, her face bent down, her soft lips kissing me and beseeching me like a child’s while below her hips ground against me with all the lewd urgency of a slut trying to get her rocks off in her own, selfish way. Her expensive jacket hung open, her breasts lay heavily in her flimsy bra where I could run my thumbs over her hard nipples and suck them into my mouth just to hear her gasps of desire.

She was right where I wanted her. She needed me, and she hated me for her need. She fought to maintain her dignity, at the same she wanted me to take it from her, to rip away her self-respect and all that stood between her and the woman she was inside.

Her hips started to roll harder as her hunger grew. I put my hands on her stocking-clad thighs and felt the long muscles in her legs flexing as she worked her pussy around in tight little circles, masturbating against my confined cock. Her head fell back and she arched her back, thrusting her tits out at me as a sudden pre-orgasmic thrill spasmed through her body, and I took advantage to take both nipples between my thumb and forefinger and give them a little roll this way and that. She lost her composure and cried out in shock and alarm, then started slamming her hips at me, making the chair squeak on the floor. The bitch was getting close. The pain was what did it.

I pushed her back so that she sat on my thighs, then I opened my zipper and exytracted my cock, hard, seeping, and angry red. He stood straight up in my lap.

Beverly’s eyes never left mine as I pulled him out, but she knew excactly what I was doing without looking down. She put her hands behind my neck and brushed her lips against mine, begging me to be gentle yet at the same time teasing me into being rough with her.

“You going to let me touch it? Make me fuck it?” She asked in a whisper, her breath in my mouth. “Are you going to teach my naughty pussy how to be good?”

She slid her hips forward and I felt the electric contact of her soft cunt against the head of my cock. All she had to do was starigten her legs and raise herself over it…

“Oh no,” I said, pushing her off me and standing up. “You don’t get off that easy!”

I spun her around and stripped off her jacket, unhooked her bra and threw it on the sofa. “Take off your skirt,” I said as I went to my desk and opened the lower left-hand drawer. That’s where I kept my whiskey, my gun, my rope and my toys.

She stood in the middle of the floor dressed only in her heels and stockings, and those naughty panties with the string of pearls disappearing between her legs. She had her hands raised defensively over her breasts, and instinctive and utterly feminine gesture, and from where I stood she was all legs and ass, waiting for me.

“Sit down.” I said, indicating the chair.

I tied her wrists together, arms over the back of the chair so that her tits stuck out, her nipples standing up like little hitchhikers. Once her arms were tied, I bound each ankle to the legs of the chair, leaving her thighs apart slightly. She tried to bring her knees together, but I knew she wouldn’t be able to stay like that for long. Mother nature in her infinite wisdom had made those muscles relatively weak.

She didn’t make a sound as I tied her into the chair, didn’t lift a finger to fight me. Though she would never in a million years come out and admit it, she knew what she needed, and what she needed to was to have me go crazy on her, have me work myself up to such a state of need and lust for her that I’d force her to do all the nasty things she’d ever dreamed about. For a few minutes she wanted to stop being Beverly Bodoni, rich, dissatisfied, smart-mouthed bitch, cut through all that crap and get down to that hard final bedrock of primal sexuality where we were both nothing but male and female.

The sight of her tied helples in the chair inflamed me. The room was already red and blue with the light from Wing Yee’s neon sign outside, and now it felt like I was walking onto center stage of Hell’s own Orpheum theater as I approached her. I saw just a flicker of excited fear in her eyes, then I grabbed her hair and pulled her head back. I crushed her lips to mine and raped her mouth with my tongue as she gurgled in protest. She tasted sweet and womanly and she fought me at first, but as I took her breast in my hand and squeezed I felt her surrender to my kiss, and her tongue licked cloyingly at mine, telling me she wanted this too, all the savagery and nakled desire, all my rage at her beauty and my need to possess her.

When I lifted my mouth from hers, there were no more secrets between us. We both knew what we were there for.

 

[shereads]

Beverly Bodoni

His mouth, his taste, the rough-soft textures of his skin and hair and muscle; even the scent of cheap after-shave had become a turn-on.

Tonight, in his lap and feeling fully in his power, Beverly couldn’t get enough of Matt Danger. She wanted to devour him one naughty nibble at a time. She wanted to drink him dry. Above all, she wanted him to need her like she needed him.

So it was maddening that when he had her right where he ought to want her – straddling his lap, her slender legs splayed in an almost painful “v” and her feet barely reaching the floor even in 4-inch heels - her bejeweled pussy so close she could feel the heat of his sex on hers – he didn’t want her enough.

From the moment he had released the thick purple organ from its straining fabric cage, Beverly had felt a primal, thoughtless craving to be filled. It was a need so acute that her pussy contracted at the sight of him; a sharp, twisting contraction that made her feel shocked and puckered inside, like a mouth reacting to a bite of lemon.

Emptiness was an acidic sting, and Matt Danger's pulsing cock was the honeyed balm that would make it all better. Beverly nuzzled and kissed and pleaded with her pretty mouth, teased and purred and played like a kitten...

And she almost almost had her throbbing pussy positioned to ease him inside...

"Oh no, you don't," he growled. Bastard! "You don't get off that easily."

From the look of him – the broad, ridged glans was now a mottled purplish-red – Danger’s outraged cock was in full agreement with Beverly’s weeping pussy. Yet he all but threw her off of his lap. She stood weak-kneed and bewildered in the lurid dull-red light, as Danger yanked away her beautiful jacket; stripped off her lacy bra; then ordered her to take off the Chanel skirt, with no evident appreciation of the care she’d taken in selecting her outfit for tonight. Grace Kelly, my ass. So much for the theory that clothes make the woman.

She was naked now from the hips up, except for a pair of pearl earrings and the smudge of gloss that remained on her lips. Her long legs were clad in stockings of a demure shade of nude, little more than a subtle gleam that enhanced her nakedness; her pearl-beige pumps were perfectly proper, too, if not for the fuck-me message signaled by 4-inch heels.

But there was nothing ladylike about the remainder of Beverly’s clothing: Her hips still wore the froth of lace that held the strand of pearls suspended between her legs. Increasingly taut against the swollen pinkness of her sex, the smooth cool pearls alternately caressed and pinched when she moved. Their presence made her hyper-aware of her shameful wetness.

The scent of her arousal mingled with the essences of jasmine and bergamot and Oriental musk as Beverly’s body heat transformed the subtle perfume she wore at her pulse-points into a steam-room fog of fragrance. The air was rich with the promise of sex. If only Danger would stop promising and deliver.

The big man’s hands and mouth and his unnerving insolence hinted at all sorts of nasty acts, a number of which paraded through Beverly’s imagination, wringing the juice from her neglected pussy and leaving her angry, bewildered, and far too needy to object to anything Danger might ask of her now.

This infuriating man's hard penis was the one possession that had ever been denied her. Having had it once, Beverly hoped – almost prayed – that if she could have that hot hard dick deep inside her one more time – if she could milk it, earn it, have it just once more – she’d get Matt Danger out of her system.

There were dozens of ways to silence a blackmailer. There must be someway to get him to fuck her, dammit, fuck her right now!

So what the hell was he doing? He ordered her to sit down, and Beverly quickly obeyed, in the belief that he had to fuck her soon. Had to, or she couldn’t stand this anymore. Her pussy seemed to have an endless supply of juice, but a girl could suffer from dehydration at this rate.

Looking up at him from where she sat, Beverly's face flushed with the memory of the P.I.’s first possession of her body – in another chair, at the motel less than a week ago. Poised at her hungry slit for what seemed like forever, he had made her beg. Then he had made her watch as he sunk his prick into her, sunk in to the hilt in one hard masterful thrust. And god, it had been good.

Yes, baby, oh yes please. Fuck me in the chair just like you did that first, shattering time, I can’t wait I can’t WAIT –

What the hell?

The crazy bastard had a rope. He actually thought he was going to tie her up. There was no way she would let him -

But he was – He is!

Beverly sat still and speechless, anxious, maybe even a little scared. Hell, of course she was scared. He had spanked her ass last week, true enough, but this was insane. With the efficiency of someone who did this often enough to justify keeping ropes in a drawer meant for paper clips and postage stamps, he had tied her wrists behind the chair almost before she understood the implications of the act. He had made her helpless. And she had let him.

If she screamed, was there anybody left in the building to hear? Did she want there to be?

Now her legs; he was positioning her legs, and damn him if he wasn’t roping her ankles to the legs of the goddam chair.

“No," she whimpered, the sound barely a breath.

Danger finished immobilizing her and gave Beverly a long, insulting look. She felt the pearls splitting her labia, felt a rivulet of hot liquid pooling on the chair, seeping back to dampen the skin of her ass cheeks. She reddened, her skin fever-hot. She was almost dizzy with fear and humiliation and lust. Lust. What was wrong with her?

He fisted a hand in her hair; he squeezed her breast. He hurt her. He drank her whimpers of protest with a hard, punishing kiss.

Fear sounded like a dull roar in her ears, blocking thought for a moment. How had she allowed this to happen? She didn't even know this man. He was raping her mouth with his tongue. She was tied to a goddam chair. Nobody even knew where she was...

He tasted so good. The ache in her hard nipples and soft pussy felt incredible.

Don't fight him, no use fighting him. Kiss him back.

Instinct took over now; the familiar one of survival, and something else. Something new, disturbing, delicious.

Submit to him, give to him. It's what you need. It's the only way.

She kissed him back, her tongue dancing for him, licking him deep. When he broke the kiss, she was panting, her chest heaving.

“Matt, please,” she whispered, her eyes lowered submissively as she stole a long look at her tormenter’s penis. He knew where she was looking, and she saw his hand go there, beginning a slow masturbation that made her mouth water and made her cunt wet the chair. “Please.”

“So polite,” he said, his low, rasping voice betraying his own arousal. With one hand he jerked his penis, and with the other he lightly slapped Beverly's plump, pale breast, an upward slap with the flat of his palm -

“Such nice manners,” he added, his eyes narrowing as he watched the jiggling bounce of the spanked flesh.

- then the other breast received a slap. These were not stinging slaps, not like the ones he had delivered to her ass last week – slaps and spanks that had made her think of skin fucking skin. These breast-slaps were just enough to make her flesh dance for him, and to test for one last gleam of rebellion in Beverly’s sea-green eyes.

He moved closer to her, and now his big hand gripped the cock-meat just inches from Beverly’s face. She parted her lips obediently – god yes, I’m so hungry for you – and then he stepped away. Stepped away and slapped her breast again, this time a little harder.

“Stop it,” she said softly. It was meant as a command, but sounded like a plea even to Beverly’s ears. A plea to be nice. A plea to be mean. A plea to do anything but stop...

 

[dr_mabeuse]

She was tied in the chair, naked for all intents and purposes. All she wore was her shoes, her stockings, and that obscene little string of pearls in her pussy. I had her hands tied behind her, her ankles tied to the front legs of the chair, and now I picked up two more pieces of rope.

She watched me nervously as I approached her, the ropes dangling from my hand. I took a moment to sweep them over her body, tickling her nipples with the frayed ends, then running them down over her breasts, and letting them rest against her wet pussy. She jumped when they touched her clit; the bitch was on fire, and so was I.

But this is where the self-control comes in. She still had too much pride for my liking. I wanted her a little hotter. I wanted her hurting for it.

I tied the rope around her knee, then tied her knee to the arm of the chair. The same with the other leg, so she was spread open, defenseless.

“Why don’t you take a picture?” she asked me. “It’ll last longer.”

I smiled. “What makes you think I’m not?”

I reached out and ran a finger down her wet slit. Soaking wet. I took the strand of pearls in my hand and pulled them up, pulling the little white gems into her soft, heated flesh. That got a rise out of her, and she arched her back, pressing her big tits out at me.

“You like that, Beverly, huh?” I asked her. “That little pussy is just dying for it, isn’t she? But her mistress is a little too proud to say what she wants. You’re just too proud to beg, aren’t you Beverly? Beverly Bodini is no man’s slut, right? But she likes this rough stuff. You’re dripping like Pavlov’s dog when the dinner bell sounds. Yeah, just like Pavlov’s bitch.”

I left her sitting there, biting her lip and panting, her long legs spread and tied to the chair, that expensive pussy just sucking air. I went to the old lower left hand drawer of my desk and got out a few implements, a few adult novelties: nipple clamps and a little flogger with suede thongs.

I came over to her and I laid the flogger over her shoulder so that the strands hung down over her tit. I stood behind her and ran my hands down her naked body, over her breasts, over her belly, down between her legs where I put my hands on either side of her pussy, feeling her softness and heat. Slowly I brought my hands together, catching her labia between them, and I pressed my hands together, squeezing the juice from her like you squeeze a grapefruit. I could feel it running over my fingers.

I brought my hands back up, took a hold of her hair and pulled her head back, then ran my finger ovber her lips so the bitch could taste her own arousal, taste the cream of her excited pussy. I pushed my finger against her perfect teeth and she opened her mouth and sucked it inside.

I let her suck on my finger for a while, moving it in and out of her mouth like a cock. I felt her wet heat, felt her swirling her tongue around it. She couldn’t help herself. Put something in her mouth and she was going to suck on it. She was that hot.

I took the nipple clamps and opened them up, then bent my head and sucked one of her tits into my mouth. I sucked it to make the nipple stand up, then I lashed it with my tongue. She liked that. I could feel her goose bumps under my lips, and she tired to pull her chest away from me, but I hung with her. I rolled the tip of my tongue around her nipple, then around the areola until I felt that little nub standing up high and proud like a little erection.

I slid the arms of the tweezer clamp around that hard bud, and pushed up the ring that brought the legs together. Beverly watched in horrified fascination as the clamp tightened on her nipple, her chest going like a bellows. At a certain point she suddenly gasped and looked away, as if overcome by the lewdness of the sight.

I guess that was far enough, but I made it just a little tighter before going on to the other tit.

I had to move the thongs from the flogger to get to it, but after I snugged it in place she looked great. There’s nothing like chained nipple clamps to make a girl look like a slave. The chain swung slowly as she breathed and her breath was coming hotter and faster now from the sweet ache of the nipple clamps. I took the flogger off her and laid the thongs against her pussy, then drew them slowly up. She shuddered.

“You gonna ask me, baby?” I asked her. “You gonna tell me what you want? Or do you want to play a little first? Does that naughty pussy need to be convinced what a slut she is? You want to see what kind of trouble she gets you into?”

I lifted the flogger and let the lashes fall in the joint between her thigh and her body, just missing her wet gash.

I did it again and Beverly moaned, but didn't say anything I could hear. Looked like she wanted the rough treatment.

Okay. I can do that.

I raised my arm…

 

[shereads]

Beverly Bodoni

I came over to her and I laid the flogger over her shoulder so that the strands hung down over her tit. I stood behind her and ran my hands down her naked body, over her breasts, over her belly, down between her legs where I put my hands on either side of her pussy, feeling her softness and heat. Slowly I brought my hands together, catching her labia between them, and I pressed my hands together, squeezing the juice from her like you squeeze a grapefruit. I could feel it running over my fingers.

She's his now. They both know it, even before he draws back the multi-stranded leather whip and dares her to beg - or not to.

What does he want? How can she have him?

"Don't make me - "

A soft hiss of air and THWACK

"Oh Christ." The hoarse little cry is the truest semblance of a prayer to have come from Beverly Bodoni's lips since childhood.

THWACK -

"Jesus, you crazy bas - "

THWACK ! THWACK !

Her body flinches, her mind recoils at the obscenity of the act. The thin chain between her breasts sways wildly; a clamp pulls loose. Her naked belly and thighs are pink-hot, striped with Matt Danger's mark. The pain isn't more than a stinging warmth at first, but it builds and builds and -

THWACK !!

He applies sensation in layers; places arousal on her, strand by stinging strand. Her hips are circling, bucking, seeking. Her eyes meet his; they're insane now, his eyes and her own, insane with lust. It's the first time she's seen a need to match hers. Has she known this about him from the first moment? That he's the mate, the master, the match for her unspoken need? The man she didn't believe existed?

"Say it," he spits the words, his face glistening with sweat. His eyes alight with something he is barely controlling. "Beg for it!"

"Fuck me please," Beverly sobs, arching her back and lifting her hips - angling them just-so to meet the hardest blow, the one directed there!

- the hiss of air, the long slow-motion arc, the THWACK! of leather on outraged flesh -

"AhGOD! Matt, oh my god. Oh my god FUCK."

Tears are pouring down Beverly's face, her carefully applied mascara forming rivulets of shame to match the flow of juice from her shocked cunt, unprotected by even a fuzz of pubic hair, the absurd string of pearls disappearing between swollen labia.

"Please make me cum," she begs him now, in broken sobs.

"Please fuck me, honey. I need you so much."

It's such a relief to beg him. She's his; she's free.

 

[dr_mabeuse]

This is how she wants it: hot pussy, tied in the chair with her legs spread; her nipples, hard, distended, one still gripped in the silver clamp, pinching her, sending a lewd spear of pleasure pain into the pit of her honey-pot; her hands tied behind her, leaving her exposed, vulnerable in a way she’s never been her entire life.

Thwackkk!! The lashes from the flogger fall in a stinging cascade along the inside of her tender thigh, strands lashing into her exposed cleft, splashing in the juice of her naked cunt, whipping against her hard little clit that knows no better than to stick her head out seeking more of this delicious punishment..

Beverly hips jerk forward in the chair, whwther trying to protect herself or eager to meet the whip on the way down I can’t tell. But what can she do? Her knees are tied to the arms of the chair and the tendons on the insides of her thighs stand out as she tries instinctively to close her thighs. Her hands are tied behind her, pulling her shoulders back so that her tits stand out. her nipples pointing like little fingers to the corners of the ceiling. Her pussy and the insides of her thighs are wet with her own arousal, and the thongs of the flogger are soaked with her juice.

Spoiled little bitch has never had anything like this: never had anyone who wanted her so bad he was willing to hurt her, willing to whip her into complying, whip her until the slut she was inside came out, begging and pleading to be used and fucked, to take a cock inside her to the balls, all the way up. Not Beverly. Her Daddy’s boys might beat people up, might use violence without compunction, but no one ever laid a hand on her. No one ever cared enough or wanted her enough. Not until now.

She’s shaking; her whole body is trembling. The bitch is close to coming: the ultimate indignity, to lose her last shreds of dignity and self-control to the bastard with the whip. She’s about to have her first deep, masochistic come, and I’d love to see her lose it: love to see her scream out as her body convulses in searing pleasure from being whipped by a man she hates but there’ll be time for that later. Right now I want to feel the whore come on my prick.

I untie her knees, untie her hands from the back of the chair, though I keep them tied together. I pick her up by the arm and pull her out of the chair. I don’t even put her on the bed. The floor’s good enough for her now. And that way I can fuck her harder, with the hard, unyielding floor beneath her ass.

She lies down and spreads her legs, waiting, begging. I take the handle of the flogger and run it up her soaked pussy, spreading her lips. I get it nice and wet, and then I slide it into here, just an inch or two, so that it sticks out of her, the end of it vibrating with every ragged breath she takes. I strip off my clothes—my shirt, my pants and shoes and socks—get totally naked, then I stand over her, her face below the head of my prick. I stand there and I start to masturbate, letting the long string of precum gather and ooze over my knuckles, till it’s dripping towards her face.

She reaches for it with her tongue, her hips grinding on the floor, trying to get herself off on the whip stuck in her pussy.

“Remember this,” I say. “Remember how you rolled around on the floor begging me for my cock, Beverly. Because you never had it so good.”

I get down on my knees and pull the whip from her. I push her thighs apart, take my prick in my hand, sim it at her and sink into that hot, wet pussy.