"Oh my god; you look amazing!"
I took off the overcoat, his eyes widened and locked onto me, and his chest heaved as he panted. I turned on my stilettos so he could see the seam of my sheer stockings, and my long, blond wig. I finished my slow pirouette, and faced him with my red-painted smile.
"Do you like it? I bought it just for you." I ran my hands over my tight, knit blouse. I delicately opened two more buttons, with fake, red, nails. I could see his eyes fastened to my cleavage, which was overflowing to the point of indecency. I caressed my hands lower, over the black leather of my miniskirt. I had the total package—one wet dream fantasy for his eyes only.
He struggled in the chair. His fists clenched and fingers flexed as he tested the zip ties at his wrists and elbows. His bare feet poked out of the silver duct tape leggings holding him to the chair. He obviously hadn't thought ahead to how much that was going to hurt when it was stripped off those hairy calves.
His own belt held his torso to the chair. He'd laughed when I put it around him, buckling it behind him. All it had taken was a cheesy, bestselling book of erotica, to make him want to play my little game. It was on the bed, and I smirked at the grey tie on the cover. He'd actually read the book. It was the reason he'd eagerly stripped out of his clothes, before kneeling submissively on the carpet.
He'd followed my rules. He'd taken his seat, agreeing not to touch me, and I'd taken great delight in trussing him up like a Thanksgiving turkey—all on the promise that I'd reward his patience with something he'd never forget.
"Come on Jade, at least let me have a hand free so I can touch you." He struggled again, but the heavy wooden chair didn't even rock. I put my foot up on the chair, between his knees; making a show of adjusting my stocking. The real show was that I wasn't wearing anything under my skirt. He noticed, and I easily coaxed the typical male response, then patted his cheek with a smile.
I hated his fucking guts.
"Now we're going to have some fun, Kevin." I turned and stepped to my overnight bag. When I faced him, I held a thin rod. In the book he'd read, the characters used a riding crop, but I wasn't playing.
"Uh... Jade... is that gonna break the skin?"
"I don't know Kevin, let's find out." I hit him, hard and fast across his upper arm. The rod whistled briefly before it drew a red weal on his bicep.
"Fuck! Jezus H christ, what the hell are you doing? Have you lost your frickin mind?"
I laughed. Before he could regroup, the rod whistled again, and he had a matching stripe on the other arm. "Jade! Cut me loose you fucking bitch!"
More whistles, and his thighs sported welts. The zip ties held, the duct tape held, and I sashayed around behind him and tightened the belt a notch. He swore and called me names. I put my lips against his ear, and traced it with my tongue.
"Isn't this fun? Aren't you glad you pressured me to come here with you? Doesn't it make you feel good? After all those times I told you no, you finally get your way. I mean it was a brilliant plan: Take credit for my work, give me crappy performance reviews, make me look incompetent, spread rumors about me sleeping around, and threaten to fire me. How could I not give in to such a romantic courtship?"
"Cut me loose, and I'll forget all about this. You can transfer to another job... I'll give you a good reference."
I knew him better than that. I'd been the one who put together the reviews on my coworkers. He thought it was funny, that since I was the only female researcher on his team, I should have to do the typing and filing. I knew he would smile to my face and cut my throat. He was a lying sack of shit, with fish-belly white skin and an expensive haircut.
"I've got a better idea. You'll be the one moving on, but I'm not sure what kind of references you're going to need where you're going."
"What the hell are you talking about, Jade? You're not going to get away with this. You can't make me quit my job; I don't care if you beat me with that stick. I'll go to the police, and you'll face assault charges." He snarled and struggled to get free. "You're such a stupid cunt! You should have just spread your legs like a good girl. You're finished!" He laughed, cruel and ugly.
"I'll tell you what... you can blow me now, and maybe next weekend I'll let you make it up to me. We'll see how you like being tied up and whipped."
He should have kept his mouth shut. I would have been happy, leaving him in his humiliating state. His clothes were on the floor, and I picked up his underwear—cotton boxer briefs. He struggled, and I had to hold his nose to get him to open his mouth. I stuffed them in as far as I could get them, then added a strip of tape.
"You are a miserable excuse for a man." I didn't raise my voice, as I brought the rod down hard on his leg, and he screamed into his underwear. "You've made my last two years miserable. I used to enjoy my work." Again I hit him. I could feel my reservations fading fast, and the marks were getting serious.
"Every day I go to work, wondering what it's going to be—what new torture have you devised for me? Is it going to be as mild as a filthy joke at my expense?" I hit him. "Is it going to be a grope in the break room?" I hit him hard enough to draw blood on his arm. "Is it going to be one more stack of papers to proof read, type, and copy, while you laugh and call me Suzie Secretary?" I hit his knee hard enough it brought tears to his eyes. "Is it going to be a salary cut or demotion?" I hit him across the chest, and watched the blood trickle down over his paunch.
"Or would you finally come up with an offer I can't refuse? A little trip out of town for 'business,' and an ultimatum to fuck you or find a new job. You've screwed my reputation so bad, I can't even leave. I mean what kind of boss plants a dildo in his employee's desk drawer, and then sends another co-worker looking there for a stapler?" I hit him again, and felt the numbing jolt in my hand. "Did you seriously think that was funny?" Again I heard the whistle, as I made him pay for his torment.
Red ribbons painted his skin, and I tossed the rod aside. "You came here to get a piece of me; that's just what you'll get." I peeled out of the blouse, exposing myself to his wide-eyed stare. I straddled his lap, facing him in a way that was so intimate, I could feel him respond. We were close enough we could have had sex.
"I lost track of how many times you said I got my job because of my tits. I guess the degree from M.I.T. couldn't possibly have had anything to do with it." I pulled his head down and pillowed it on my chest.
He got hard.
I remembered: His every grope and pinch, his rude names, his jokes, his cut-downs, and his belittling my work. Over and over he'd crossed the line, until my only recourse was to quit or submit. He'd made it clear that on this trip I was expected to put out. He'd only arranged for one room, and one bed—arrogant bastard.
I turned his head, putting his face in the vee of my cleavage. He was excited, likely thinking I was working out some kind of dominatrix fantasy. Then, wrapping my arms around his head, I clutched it tight. He tried to free himself. I stood, feet planted on either side of him, holding his face buried between my breasts. It was good to know the double D's were finally useful.
I held on with all my strength, and unlike my boss, I worked out regularly. He couldn't get free, and he obviously couldn't breathe. A muffled moaning noise accompanied his frantic struggles.
I didn't relent.
"Hush now sweetheart, it's going to be all right. Just close your eyes and dream." I was patting his head, and sifting my fingers through his hair—the only attractive part of him. His death throes caught me off guard; shuddering convulsions next to my heart, reminded me of holding a frightened bunny, kicking and twisting to be put down. Even after he stopped moving, I held him there.
Fifteen minutes later, my cramped arms relaxed, and his staring face fell away from me. His mouth twisted and hung open when I took off the tape and removed the briefs. I wiped his snot off my skin with his underwear, and dressed.
I expected some sense of remorse or shame that didn't come, as I sanitized the room, packing everything in the overnight bag. I had to cut the tape from his legs; I knew how fibers and fingerprints could give me away.
Do Not Disturb hid the scene, and the desk clerk would later say he saw a blonde hooker leave around midnight. My ex-boss was lying naked in bed, watching porno movies from his seat in Hell. He got what he'd asked for; I'd fucked him good.
A/N: This was written for the Writing Challenge Contest on The Review Game Forum. The prompt for August is; "When you have to kill a man, it costs nothing to be polite." -Winston Churchill You can vote for me there, if you like.