Angel

1.

Months and months, she couldn't let it go, she couldn't put it behind her. She kept reliving the whole thing in her head. Every day, practically. Every night when she got into bed. Damn near driving herself out of her mind. It was ridiculous and it was intolerable and it had to stop.

Something had to be goddamn done.

2.

She expected him to look freaked out when he opened the door and saw who it was. Instead the look he gave her was totally blank and unreadable.

She made herself grin at him sweetly. "Howdy," she said. That afternoon she had deliberately dressed up much girlier than she usually did. In this particular case, by girlier what she really meant in her own head was plain trashy. It would help bait the trap. So she'd put on jean shorts that were cut so high the bottoms of the pockets dangled below the straggled edges, and a white blouse with the sleeves torn off and the shirt tails tied high in front to show off her belly and the piercing in her navel. Beneath that she wore a black sports bra that was slightly too small for her tits, and thanks to the dark color anybody and everybody could see it perfectly clearly through the thin cloth of her blouse. She'd pinned her bangs back from her forehead with brightly colorful barrettes, making her look almost a decade younger than she was really was, and finally, for footwear she'd picked shiny purple cowboy boots with exaggerated heels.

He raised his eyebrows at her. That was it.

"I wanted to introduce you to somebody." She stepped aside with a theatrical gesture. "This is my good friend Jarod."

Jarod had been keeping out of sight against the outer wall next to the doorway. Now he swiveled himself into the entrance, leading with his fist—which happened to be a very large fist, and which he plowed with considerable momentum straight into Phil's nose.

Phil toppled backward like a chopped tree, flat on the floor. He didn't make a sound. But he wasn't knocked out. His eyes were still open when she and Jarod went into the apartment and closed the door behind them.

Jarod grabbed the front of Phil's shirt and dragged him further into the room, in order to give himself more space to work. Angel took a seat on the armchair. She was giddy, nearly shivering. Had to hug herself to hold still, clutching her own elbows tight as she could. Phil looked at her and the expression on his face wasn't flat and lifeless anymore; now it was sorrowful. Blood was streaming from both his nostrils.

Then Jarod nudged Phil's ribs with his toes. "Hey, look at me, you piece of shit. I hear you get off on hurting girls. Let's find out how much you like it yourself. How's that sound? I'm gonna kick the living crap out of you, buddy, and I'm gonna take my time doing it. You dig? Get ready now. You ready?"

Phil just blinked at him and sighed. If he'd been upright on his feet, the top of his head would only have come up to Jarod's chin, while Jarod's arms and legs were at least twice as thick as his.

Angel giggled. This felt the same as the first part of a roller coaster, when they're cranking you to the top of the big hill ... when you're almost over the curve ... Except to be honest this was sexier than that. Angel realized she was genuinely turned on, like she was watching a porno. Not that she liked watching pornos—in fact the few little bits she looked at, they only embarrassed and annoyed her. Angel had far too much real life sex to be able to tolerate the silly shortcuts and exaggerations that pornmakers traffic in. Point was, if porno could turn her on like it was meant to, she imagined it would feel like she felt now, watching Jarod loom over Phil. A picture with great promise. She would cherish this memory for the rest of her life.

Only then Phil lashed up with his foot. Jarod tried to dodge, and he wasn't quite quick enough. Phil kicked the side of Jarod's knee, and made it bend in a direction it wasn't supposed to. And it bent that direction a whole lot.

Now it was Jarod who toppled to the floor. He didn't drop silent, like Phil had. He hollered like he was dying.

He didn't stop until Phil had got to his feet and kicked Jarod again, in the face that time, twice.

Now Jarod had blood pouring from his nostrils down his entire chin and neck and the front of his shirt the exact same way Phil did.

He wasn't completely unconscious, but he looked a great deal less conscious than Phil had been after he got clobbered. Jarod was talking to himself, but silently. He appeared to be asking questions. He appeared to be trying to remember or figure out where he was and what the fuck was happening to him. And he was also crying and clinging to his damaged leg with both his hands. Phil had fucked up the poor guy's knee real bad; that was clear.

Now Phil turned to Angel. She stood up from the chair, but that was all she did. She didn't try to rush around him to the door. She thought about it—she wanted to—but she didn't make the attempt.

Phil put his hands on his hips and smiled at her through the blood all over his mouth. "You shouldn't have come back here," he pronounced, "Not like this, anyway."

"I owed you," she answered, trying to sound defiant and unafraid and not managing it very well.

Phil shrugged. "Personally, I thought you and I were square. Nothing more to say on either side. Now that's changed, hasn't it?"

"Fuck you!" she said.

"You know what's gonna happen. Only question left: how much you asking for?"

"I'm not asking you for anything, you twisted bastard."

"There's no escape, Angel. You started this shit, not me. Your buddy Jarod can't get you out of it. He fucked up. Or I just got real lucky—I tell ya, I didn't think that kick would work. The guy's got legs like tree trunks—I thought my foot would bounce right off, and then he'd go ahead and tear me to pieces."

"Well, it didn't."

"Yeah, it didn't. Believe me, I was as shocked as he was. Now, I want you to take your clothes off. Everything. Same as before. Get your hot ass naked. Do it now and do it quick."

"I won't."

"Fair enough. But just so you know, if I gotta do it for you—if I gotta fight you to get you into proper position, you're gonna get twice as much punishment. Only fair, I think. Here are my terms. If you surrender right now and cooperate, you get five minutes."

"Five minutes of what?"

"You know what. Five minutes of spanking. I'm not gonna give you a count, just the time limit. I'm gonna spank the bejesus out of you as many times as I like for five full minutes—or, if you resist, and I gotta wrestle you to get your shorts down—then you're gonna have to take ten."

"Only if you can pin me."

"What's it gonna be, Angel? Your choice. Fucking choose."

She wanted to charge him. She wanted to claw his eyes out, and his balls too, and then stuff them all down his throat until he choked to death underneath her. Except she wasn't sure she could manage it. She doubted she was strong enough. If she fought him, more than likely she would lose. Make things harder and more dreadful for herself than they already were.

There was another consideration, although it was a much more difficult one to admit to herself. She tried to bury the thought, soon as she had it. Tried to pretend it never crossed her mind ... but of course that didn't work.

She knew she wouldn't completely hate what he was about to do to her. Not completely. In fact already part of her deep down inside was almost looking forward to experiencing it again. And maybe what he was saying was right—maybe she had earned it. Maybe what she had tried to do to him, or tried to get Jarod to do to him for her, had been genuinely wrong. And if she went ahead and accepted that, then she should accept the punishment he wanted to subject her to.

But if she gave in, without further struggle, that would be so pathetic and demeaning. Let alone what would follow. She would die from the humiliation. The same humiliation he made her feel previously, which was what brought her back to this place in search of ruthless revenge. Turned out there would be no revenge for her, not today anyhow. Looked like all she was gonna get instead was a second dose of the exact same medicine he made her swallow before—the exact same soul-shriveling disgrace.

Her cheeks had turned scorching hot and sweat dripped off the tip of her nose. Her heart was thundering so hard it made her head quiver and that made the whole room seem to tremble around her, and now her throat had swollen—she could scarcely breathe anymore. Her toes curled inside her boots and her belly clenched inside, and then she felt her vagina clench inside her shorts, and when it did, she felt a trickle of moisture escape the opening and become a chill damp speck on the very top of her thigh ...

She couldn't meet Phil's eyes anymore. She hung her head like a bashful schoolgirl, and whined like a schoolgirl too. This wasn't supposed to happen. This wasn't why she came back to him. Or was it? God Almighty, what had she got herself into?

"What's it gonna be, Angel?" he demanded. "No more stalling. Choose. Choose NOW!"

She sniffled and she sighed, and then she started unbuttoning her blouse. "This isn't fair. This is so unfair."

"I disagree. I think it's perfectly fair."

It was never this hard to undress in front of a guy before. She had tons of practice, after all, and she'd never needed to be shy about her figure. Obviously there's a universe of difference between getting naked to let a guy have sex with you, and doing it to let your worst enemy in the whole world give your bare bottom a vicious spanking across his lap. For the second time. Her reluctance and her embarrassment and her fear, all those things together, they were reasonable and natural reactions, in light of what was in store for her. It still made her mad at herself. Madder, rather.

The uncarpeted floor was very cold and gritty when she was standing on it without her boots and socks on. A harsh sensation. She would be feeling far harsher sensations, in just another few moments, and on a far more sensitive part of her anatomy. She whimpered. Couldn't help it.

"God you're gorgeous," Phil said, soon as she was presenting herself entirely nude. "God, the ass on you."

Leaving aside the question of whether she deserved it or not, she wanted to be able to take her punishment with poise and disdain. Only way left for her win, in this situation, though it would only be a small and partial victory. She would have taken the consolation if she could. But that was going to be denied her with everything else. She just didn't have the strength to hang on to her dignity. Not the slightest scrap.

Not when her pussy was literally dripping wet, in the anticipation of how this was going to feel.

"Next time," she said, as she laid herself over his lap, on his couch—the same place he did this to her before, the same pose, only he didn't clamp his other hand on the back of her neck this time; instead he held her left wrist curled behind her, pinned against the lumbar vertebrae, if she was remembering the proper term ... "Next time I'll bring four guys with me, or half a dozen. All with ballbats. Just you wait."

He chuckled. "Whatever you feel's right, Angel." He didn't start spanking her straight off. For a lengthy period—felt like an hour—all he did was rub her butt, and give it gentle squeezes, alternating cheeks. Massaging it, essentially. And he teased her asshole a little with his fingertip, not poking inside it but making circles around so it tensed and squirmed—she had no control over the reflex, her ass did that all on its own. "Whatever it takes to get you what you want ..." he went on, "Except you should make sure ahead of time you know what that is." His teasing fingertip travelled lower, tracing the seam of her taint to her pussy and its seepage. There was a great deal of it waiting for him to discover. "Ah, yes. Here we go. My oh my. You bad, bad girl. So bad."

All she could do was whimper again and kick her legs and curse. Useless, all of it. "You son of a bitch. You motherfucker. You—AHHUUHHAAUUH! AHHUUAAHH! CHRIST!"

Once he got cooking, he walloped her with no letup, no mercy. He seemed to put all his strength into it. Far as she could tell, he didn't hold back at all ... and neither did she. She didn't waste any effort trying to keep silent and keep still. She knew it wouldn't work. She would break in the end. So instead from the very start she abandoned herself utterly to the sensations. She allowed them to consume her and take total control of her.

It made it easier. It made it surprisingly easy, in fact. Everything ceased to matter—everything turned unreal. The agony almost stopped registering. Not that she wasn't aware of it, but she felt separated from it. Sort of like she was only dreaming about it, or watching it happen to somebody else from a distance, and all the time inside her head going "Gosh how terrible ... how humiliating ..." And yet feeling more amusement than pity for the poor girl she was watching, for some reason. Feeling scornful of her, more than anything else. "Stupid crazy bitch, getting herself into this filthy situation. And the whole time, getting off on it, too!"

She screamed her head off. She screamed and screamed. While her nude body flailed like the proverbial fish out of water, or as if she was being electrocuted. Yet Phil managed to keep her across his lap where he wanted her. No matter how wildly her flaming ass bounced and juked around, it never evaded any of Phil's brutal blows, not a one.

He taunted her. "Is it as good as you hoped, Angel? Or do you need it harder? Harder? I'll give you what you need, yes I will. How's this? How's this?"

"HAAHH! HUUHHNN! HAAHHUUURRHH!"

He loved torturing her. Shaming her. He was having the time of his life, the fucking guy. Last time he'd been crying while he did this. He'd pretty much bawled his eyes out through the entire thing like he was the one getting tortured and disgraced, not her. It hadn't prevented him from coming, of course.

She was surprised he hadn't taken his cock out again. She could still feel it beneath her, hard like the other time. He was bound to get off again soon, from her bouncing up and down on it, and everything else, all her pitiful noises. But when he did he'd go inside his pants. Dumbshit. Was it because of the other guy in the room he didn't want to uncover it? Probably—except Jarod was still too out of it to have noticed, even if Phil waved his thing right in his face.

Why did she care anyway? Well, duh. No use pretending ... Because she wanted to feel it when he came—when she made him. She wanted to know exactly when it happened, and she wanted to feel it spurting on her skin, like the last time. She wouldn't get to feel that because he still had his stupid pants on.

Phil kept taunting her. "Tell me something—this jock douchebag you brought over to fuck me up. You fucked him yet? I assume you did, when you recruited him. Or did you decide to hold off until after he got his job done? Guess he's out of luck, if so. Is he or doesn't it matter 'cause he got to bang you already? Tell me!"

She didn't. The only answer she gave him was more squeals and screaming.

But yeah, matter of fact, she'd fucked Jarod already. Or rather she'd let the guy fuck her. Yesterday.

Originally when she thought up this plan of hers, she had another guy in mind. A guy named Garrick she was involved with briefly last year. Because he was one of the burliest dudes she'd ever hooked up with—maybe the burliest, in fact, up to then. Only Jarod was burlier. He was one of Garrick's frat brothers. She went over to their house to try recruiting Garrick for her scheme, and ended up settling on Jarod instead, pretty much soon as she met the guy. They all hung out together for an hour or so watching a bad movie on Netflix—three or four other dudes in the room, she the only female. Then when the stupid movie was done she asked if she could talk to Jarod alone for a little bit—they hadn't said hardly anything to each other up 'til that moment. But it was another of those situations where nothing had to be said ahead of time. A done deal in practically two seconds just from eye contact. He had led her down to his room in the basement and probably no more than five minutes later she was naked in his bed and so was he, and she was hollering her lungs out underneath him as she took his shaft. Quite a biggie, it had been, to match with the rest of him.

Everybody else in the frat house must have been able to hear her. Not normally her style at all. She didn't enjoy having any kind of audience in those situations, like some other people do ... Much preferred to take hookup's back to her own little place, which was pretty well isolated, where she could cut loose without worrying about any other folks not personally involved knowing or hearing what she was up to in there. But for Jarod she made an exception and made a wanton spectacle of herself—if only of an auditory variety—in order to give the guy bragging rights with his frat brothers.

It had worked like a charm. Almost too much so. Jarod appeared pretty much utterly in love with her by the end of that one sex-session. She'd known that might have disadvantages down the road. At the time she concentrated on the plus side, which was that he'd do whatever she asked, and immediately.

When she had told him she wanted him to beat the hell out of Phil, Jarod never bothered to ask why. All he wanted to know was what time should he pick her up the next day to go get the job done—and how far exactly did she want Jarod to take it? "Does he need a standard weekday asswhuppin', or do you want me to put the fucker in the hospital?"

He had looked and sounded so absolutely competent. A personification of masculine fortitude. Never crossed her mind for half a second that events might turn against them.

Yet as much noise as she made when she let him fuck her, he never got her to come for real. He never got her halfway close, to be perfectly honest. She hadn't blamed him for it—her mind was too concentrated the entire time on her plan. On Phil.

Nobody else had made her come like Phil had. Both in the means to making it happen to her, and, much scarier still, the potency of the explosion when it had ignited. She would never—could never—forgive him for that. It was simply too fucking shameful to bear.

Only now it was going to happen again. Just like before. Just as strong, just as shameful. No, worse—much worse. Because this time she knew it was coming, and still couldn't hold it off. No chance in hell.

"One of these days," Phil declared, "you're gonna learn not to be mean to me. 'Cause this is what happens when you try. I'm gonna be mean right back. I'm gonna be mean as hell. Like this! Mean like this! So remember! Learn your fucking lesson! THIS is what you get! This is what you GET, you selfish bitch! Take it! Take it!"

She took it, all right. Yes sir, she sure did. She took it and took it. He kept dishing it out, and she kept taking it.

"I'm SORRY! I'm so so fucking SORRY! Ahhaahhuuhh I mean it! I promise! I swear! AHHAAHH! AHHUUHNN! Never again! I won't be mean to you ever again! I swear to you! I'm sorry! SORRY! SORRY! SAAAHHHUUUHHHHuuuhhnnn ..."

She nearly passed out, when the orgasm hit ... "God. Oh God. How much more? How much longer?"

"You kidding? Barely been a minute and a half."

"What? No way! Seriously? Oh Christ! Please, Phil! Please! No more! I just came! You made me come for you!"

"I know I did."

"Don't spank me anymore. I can't take anymore. Not now. Not after that."

"You mean you don't want anymore. But your punishment isn't complete yet, Angel."

"Holy crap, how much more do you need? I told you I just came! You sadistic bastard, you forced me to come!"