Fright

June 2024 - Nellskitchen. All rights reserved. This story or any portion thereof may not be reproduced without the writer's express (written) permission. All characters appearing in "FRIGHT" are over eighteen.

FRight

By Nellskitchen

Part 1 - Mid-November

It was a perfect autumn day in New York. November has its share of perfect days, and a feeling of serenity lent itself to a relaxing experience with the African. He was just right, and seizing upon Eileen's offer to take him as a client for the whole day, Bethany Britton found herself drawn to his impeccable manners. She liked having full-day guys instead of the usual 'wham, bam, thank you, ma'am' clients of an hour or two.

"He's an Ambassador at the U.N.," Eileen lightly mentioned. "It's his first time using our service, and he racks up zero negatives. He's 'very black' Bethany. He's tall and a former Olympic soccer star. Can I count on you to take him? He's staying at the Lowell on 63

rd

, Room 423. That seems okay, doesn't it, Hun?"

"Sounds fine, Eileen," Bethany replied. "I'm penciling him into my little black book. Does he come to Manhattan often?"

"Says he's here once a year, so if he likes you, he might want you again next time around. He's very courteous; you'll love his accent. He's Sudanese and speaks textbook English. So you'll take him? He's requested a girl for the whole night. He's seen your picture from the black and white outfit shoot."

"Gee, Eileen," Bethany remarked, "You're permitting a full-nighter?" The madam, breaking her rule against all-night dates, surprised the escort.

"Since he's with the U.N., I'm bending the rule this once," she conceded. "He paid in advance and had cash delivered to me here at the office; it included a five-hundred-dollar tip for you, sight unseen!"

"Five hundred? Really? Yes, I'll do it!" Bethany said excitedly.

"Oh, Bethany," Eileen quickly added, "he's a backdoor guy. You still sore from the other night?"

"For an extra five hundred, I'll be just fine," she answered smartly. "Are you sure about this? My period started and..."

"...I know, Bethany," the madam interjected. "Remember, dear, I keep track of all my girls' cycles. The strange thing is that he explicitly requested an escort on her period. Men! Their fetishes keep us in business! Anyway, Bethany, he was, shall we say, slightly adamant. I guess Sunni women can't have sex during their periods; it's a religious thing; he showed zero interest in straight sex, only back door."

"My boobs are swollen, Eileen," Bethany cautioned. It was a reminder that she tended to bloat around period time. "And I'm up a couple of extra pounds. Do you think he'll care?"

"It's all right, sweetheart," Eileen assured. "Just do like the Sudanese women. No vaginal sex, and be strict about it. We want him to feel at home."

"Are you saying he wants me fat? Seriously?"

"Fat is good," Eileen replied. "But it's anal play only; if he wants more, you know what to do. He goes by Jayjan."

That evening, Bethany met the mystery man at the corner of East 34th and 5th Avenue. He was charming and greeted her warmly. Leaning to view the Empire State Building, he said, "I've always wanted to see your city from there. Can we go up?"

"Of course, Jayjan," she answered. "Anything you like!"

He was handsome and carried a roll of hundreds in the breast pocket of his sleek Dunhill suit. His bearing interested her. From time to time, she had had sex with black guys, most attached to the various diplomatic corps at the international body. Bethany's experiences with Africans had been uniformly good; they were caring, gentle lovers and tipped well. As an added bonus, black men ejaculated less, an incentive for a girl interested in tidy endings.

Later, at dinner and three martinis into the evening, Bethany whispered, "I need to powder my nose." Sliding her bottom from the secluded booth, she stood, and in a moment of anticipation and promise, he unexpectedly reached for her and stroked the back of her knee.

"Wait," he urged, his fingers lightly dancing up her thigh. Bethany had not worn panties, and his skilled fingers found their way to the foxtail dilator she had inserted in anticipation of meeting him. He praised her and, giving it an affectionate tug, said, "This is delectable. It is so kind of you to wear it for me, Bethany. You are a true Vixen lady!"

"It's a little something you won't find back home in Sudan," she explained. Tenderly, she ran her nail across his cheek.

"Yes, but my question is, will you take it out for me a bit later?"

"You're a big boy," she observed. "If you're patient, I'll make things just right for you." He laughed again and winked.

After dinner, they strolled through Central Park, and she asked what he thought of New York. Glancing at her exposed cleavage, he replied, "I was told the Twin Towers no longer exist! Your breasts appear towering to me, Bethany." She playfully batted her eyes, and they continued to walk arm-in-arm.

"Don't be silly," Bethany impishly warned, "I'm referring to the Big Apple! Do you like it here?"

"Though I've had only these few hours looking about, yes," he said. "I'm in love with New York. It is an exciting place, and its women are most beautiful."

They approached a cluster of trees, and Jayjan excitedly said, "Look, look, Bethany!" He pointed his finger at a man and woman. The man was seated on a park bench; the woman, a tiny Asian girl with long, lustrous black hair, knelt and ravenously sucked her partner's erect cock. "How deeply she takes him!" Jayjan suggestively observed.

"Would you like that?" Bethany asked demurely. He grinned. His gaze locked onto the petite oriental girl, who, throating her companion, paid no attention to the small crowd of ogling onlookers.

"Let's watch as he comes!" Brittany naughtily suggested. She tugged Jayjan's arm, and though pretending reluctance, he followed along as she worked her way to the front of the tiny rally. There, they waited for the big moment.

It did not take long. Displaying the skill of a specialist with lips, tongue, teeth, and hands, the woman hungrily worked her partner's sizeable shaft. In moments, the man groaned and ejaculated. Daringly, the girl stayed with him, her mouth tightly encircling his pulsing manhood. When she finally pulled away, she turned to her approving audience, stuck out her whitened tongue, and dribbled his semen onto her red blouse.

Afterward, she resealed her lips around her partner's cock, sucked hard, and then slurped away the sticky outflow from around his testicles. She stretched out her talented tongue a second time and observably swallowed. She grinned to complete the spectacle. To the sound of grateful applause, she lifted herself from her knees and, in a strangely self-conscious gesture, bowed timidly.

"Will you do that for me?" Jayjan asked, beaming.

Smiling her best Vixen smile, Bethany assured him, saying, "Minus the public display? Of course, I will! Remember, Mr. Ambassador, tonight is your night!"

Part 2 - That Evening

Bethany's breathing quickened, and sweat poured from her forehead. It ran down into her matted hair. Bound tightly by the leather strap of the ball gag, its large O-ring forced her to suck air and exhale delirious whimpers.

She could barely move her lips; he had restricted her ability to communicate and breathe. No matter how hard she struggled, she could not fully inhale. She had willingly worn the gag. Gags compel the wearer to drool uncontrollably and prompt the wearer to choke on her own saliva. With his weight on her chest and his knees pinning her shoulders to the floor, she was immobile and powerless to escape.

He rolled her over, forced her to lie face down, and then yanked her skirt above her waist. He seized hold of the soft foxtail he had played with so affectionately back at the restaurant, and she screamed as he jerked it from her rectum. In an instant, he had replaced it with a stainless steel hook, which he clipped to the ball gag strap at the back of her head.

"Be still, bitch!" he ordered. "If you struggle, the hook will dig deeper into your pretty bottom." He was right; with the mechanism joined, Bethany was helpless. He pulled hard at her hair, jerking her face upwards, and then jarred the hook deeper. The complex arrangement of the device forced her spine to curve upward. Once knotted, he controlled her utterly.

Bethany had worn both gadgets before. Unlike then, now, she was forced.

Grasping at hope, she persuaded herself that it was a game, but his ferocity said otherwise. So did the frightening effortlessness with which he manipulated her body. Throughout the evening, he had outwitted and lured her with gentle displays of affection through a pleasant stroll about the city. She permitted his advances and blinked her eyes at his playfulness. Then everything changed.

A whore; for her, sex is a game, one she plays with Olympian skill. Now, it is a nightmare, and her fears feed on her blood. It is a painful reminder of her weakness and, worse, her arrogance.

Bethany, who had never been held against her will, faced strong hands that lifted her from the floor, flipped her onto her back again, and seized her throat. With darting eyes, she frantically searched for a way out. Fit and strong, she had always assumed she could take care of herself, yet she was powerless against his fury.

Upon arriving at his hotel room door, Bethany's attention strayed briefly; she fussed with her phone as he slid the key into the locked door. Turning to her, he coolly said, "Put the phone away."

"Naively, she replied, "I need to check in with the agency so they know I'm safe. I'll just be a minute."

He grabbed hold of her arm and pulled her into the room. In shock, she stumbled, cowered, and glared at him. He grinned, so she steadied herself, half-smiled, and assumed he liked it rough.

Still, the startled woman snapped at him. "Hey! What the fuck are you..." Before she could finish, he slapped her phone away. He followed it with a powerful backhand to her face. She collapsed to the floor; he slammed the door and tore into her, ripping her clothes, his body, a cold, unfeeling machine.

She fought, scratched, and clawed. Her mind raced. What is happening? Why is he doing this?

Drive-by thoughts replaced reason. It made no sense. He had purchased her for the night. Everything was set. He arranged to have her in the way he wanted. She knew in advance and agreed. Why this? Shaken, she thought, 'I am a call girl; I handle men; it is what I do; I can deal with him.'

But when he hit her again, Bethany Britton panicked. She had to get out. Calling upon her remaining strength, she managed to push him away. She stood, and like lightning, a thought struck her. Eileen, her finicky madam, told her, Room 423; Jayjan brought her to Room 567! She did not pay attention. She could not be traced here.

Iciness snaked her spine. Like a menacing prison guard, the powerful man stood between her, and, the door. She backed away; cat-like, he stalked her and forcing her to the wall, he struck again. She fell again. "No, Jayjan," she fumblingly pleaded through the gag, "No, please! I'll do whatever you want, only don't hit me!"

Bethany was finished and knew it. He grabbed and choked her. Like a toy, he lifted her and pushed her against the wall. Pressing himself against her, he tried to kiss her through the gag, but she turned her face away. In response, he released her, and she dropped again.

In one terrifying instant, the veil of reckless abandon and swaggering self-confidence she had displayed to countless men fell to pieces. It was replaced by the same little girl's fear that hides in every vulnerable woman.

She begged God to free her, but remorse overwhelmed her prayer with loathsome self-accusations. She was a whore. She deserved whatever happened to her. God, to whom she arrogantly cried for help, was punishing her.

"Stop it, please, Jayjan!" Foolishly and in desperation, she mouthed the pathetic pleadings, her muffled words obstructed by the dehumanizing gag.

He laughed and tugged the rope running the length of her spine. She slumped over, her head coming to rest near his crotch. She caressed the zippered front of his pants in a show of frantic compliance, but he pushed her away and forced her back onto the mattress.

She remembered how nice he had been. Eileen said he was kind to her when he called to arrange to meet one of her girls. Bethany liked him. They had spent a pleasant hour at dinner, complete with the sultry give-and-take of escort and client, before leisurely returning to his hotel.

As they strolled, Bethany described the sights of New York, pointing out shops where she bought expensive shoes and sexy underwear. He joked with her as so many men had. There was no trace of cruelty.

Now, he ripped away the remnant of her silk blouse, and his strong finger reached into her bra, which initially held firm. Panting more intensely, she beseeched him. "Let me...let me take it off. I'll do it for you."

"NO!" he shouted. Shoving his hand between her breasts, he ripped the bra away. She stumbled and fell to the floor. He seized hold of the rope and lifted her up to him. Bethany covered her bruised and naked breasts in a childish display of modesty, but he swatted her hands aside.

"NO!" He insisted again. "Prostitute! I bought you with American cash money, American dollars! I will have you as I please!" He seized her shoulders, and she lurched toward him. Falling forward onto his chest, he pulled her hair, snapped her head back, and raked her body with his polished nails.

"Stop!" She cried. Her sobbing had turned uncontrollable. "Just tell me what you want," she pleaded, "I'll do it; only please don't hurt me anymore!"

He did not stop. Instead, his pace quickened. He threw her onto the bed, lunged, fell on top of her, and drew from under the pillows white ropes, hangman's nooses, into which he forced her wrists.

After knotting the bindings, she tried to keep him away by kicking her legs, but he slapped her face and breasts. "HARLOT!" He yelled. "I'll punish your breasts if you resist! Is that what you want? I'll cut your tits; I'll cut them! I'll cut them off to end your whoring ways!"

His threat paralyzed her. The very thought of losing her breasts ended her pathetic defense. "No," she whimpered.

"No, what?" he demanded.

"No, please don't cut me. Please, I'll do anything; only don't hurt me anymore, please!"

His words grew soft. "Are you a pig?"

"Yes..."

"...yes, what?"

"Yes, I am a pig."

"You fuck for money. Say it!"

"I am a pig; I fuck for money."

"Listen, pig, you know I am an important man. I have diplomatic immunity. If you squeal, no one will believe you because you are a prostitute, a tramp. My government will protect me; your government will protect me! You are nothing; I AM EVERYTHING!"

"Yes, I am nothing. You are everything. You can do anything. I won't tell, I promise, only please, untie me."

"That's a good girl. Now, be still, shhhhhhhhh..."

With his full weight on her chest, he changed his personality again. "If you stay still, they won't hurt you. Struggle means more suffering. No one will care; no one will miss a common strumpet."

Her attacker was right. Bethany shuddered, her body involuntarily twitching from her chilling fear of his horrific beating. Her breathing grew labored. She could not control her trembling.

"Open your legs," he ordered. "OPEN!" She opened. He smiled, focused on her tampon string, and yanked it from her bleeding body. Grumblingly, he said, "Filthy fucking bitch. You are a bleeding pig; bleeding women are unclean. There is no other way; you must be punished."

"Jayjan, no! Please, no."

"No?" He asked, suddenly disinterested.

Gasping, she repeated, "I meant, yes, yes, I...punished...need to be. I'll do...just...anything, only stop...please." She floundered, struggling through broken words that both made sense and did not.

"I'm letting go of your throat now," Jayjan whispered. "If you so much as whimper, you will disappear; they will never find your body." He spoke with the authority of a college professor turned Boston Strangler, but his face had calmed, and the harshness of moments ago faded. Terrified, she nodded. To buy a moment's peace, Bethany faked relaxation. But he knew fear's grip controlled her, that she had lost the ability to think clearly.

She lay still, and he went to work, stripping away her garter belt and stockings. He seized her feet, reached under the bedspread, and produced two additional knotted ropes into which he efficiently secured the terrified woman's ankles. Reflexively, she pulled her leg away, but he sprang to her pelvis and glared down at her. He attacked her tender breasts with hard slaps, and crying for her father, she called out, "Daddy, save me; please save me."

"You forgot the rules, adulteress," Jayjan hissed. "No talking! Your father cannot save you!" Turning nice, he smiled, adding, "Your poor father has a pathetic whore for a daughter. Look at you; you are not even pretty anymore."

Once secured to the bed and with her legs spread apart, the diplomat stepped back and admired his handiwork. "Yes, that will do nicely," he muttered.

Beyond chronic shivering, Bethany's personhood had vanished. A powerful man dominated her. Through five assaultive minutes, he wiped away a lifetime of feminine defenses.

He took one of her stockings and wrapped the terrified girl's left breast. Lying pitifully, she whimpered, saying, "That's okay, I like it...I...I do it for lots of guys, Jay...jan."

"Yeah, woman, I'll bet you like it; all whores like it," he replied sneeringly. He laughed and continued to wrap, the sharp fabric cut into her skin. Other men had cinched the escort's breasts, but none intentionally hurt her. For a moment, she tried convincing herself that this man's behavior amounted to a common fetish and was okay since others did it, too. Then, he increased her agony by tightening the stocking, and she knew this was not a game; it was a hateful man's perversion.

'They!' Moments before, he had said it. Who are 'they'?

The numbing question could only mean one thing. By the time she remembered it, Bethany was convinced that he intended to strangle her with her stockings. Methodically, he wrapped her other breast, then tied the stockings together, contriving a continuous, knife-like binding, which sharpened her pain. She stared up at him; tears spilled from her eyes, and her bruised mouth dripped saliva and gushed blood. The words 'pig,' 'slut,' and 'they' routed through her brain like a death knell.

In the calmest voice, he cautioned her, saying, "You will stop trembling now." Putting his index finger to his lips, he shushed her. "Stop; do you think me a fool? Your face is a mess, woman! Should I have paid for a fallen woman with runny makeup?"

He smirked, and the violence returned. With clenched fists, he pounded her breasts, repeatedly striking before seizing her throat with strong hands. In his familiar and frightening voice, he said, "Calm now, bitch. Tell me you will obey."

She tried to say the words, but her voice faltered. "Blink twice if you intend to obey." She blinked, and he slapped her face. "I SAID BLINK TWICE!"

Hysterical and shaking, Bethany managed two blinks.

Looking down at her, he laughed, took out his phone, tapped it, and put it to his ear. Businesslike, he spoke three chilling words: "She is ready."

Someone slid a key into the electronic lock outside the door. Bethany's eyes seized Jayjan's as a stranger's voice said, "Ahh, a pretty white girl," Two men had entered the room. Expressionless, they moved towards the bed and took positions on either side. One carried a duffel bag, the other a police officer's nightstick, which he slapped onto the palm of his hand, striking each time with a snap.