The Red Room 3

1: Pierre's Restaurant And Café

She'd decided: she wanted to fuck him.

Two times a week, over the past two months, Ilana had sat at a table by Leon's in this Toronto Restaurant during lunchtime, and they'd chatted each time.

A well-dressed brunet, Leon was tall and good-looking, but the forty-year-old had the sexiest mind she'd ever encountered. Words flowed off the writer's tongue in gentle, massaging cadences. Most of the men she'd met were louts; Leon was a welcome change.

Yet while his smiles suggested an interest in her, he never asked her out. His lack of lechery was appreciated, but he lacked it too much. He was absorbed in the horror novel he was writing, constantly busy, writing 4,000 words every day without fail. A dedicated artist...he just needed to put some of that passion into her.

Whenever she went to Pierre's, she was dressed blandly—a T- shirt, jeans, no make-up. Twenty-two, she was pretty, had wavy brown hair and blue eyes, but never dressed at this restaurant to inspire lust; she was glad Leon knew her in this non-sexualized way. He appreciated her for her.

But today was different. Now she wanted him to be interested in her body, so instead of the colourless clothes, she wore a tight red dress that, showing off her figure, went half-way down her upper legs, and black stockings and high heels. Her face was brightly made up, with red lipstick, and the top of her dress was generously showing off cleavage. If he was still unresponsive, he had to be gay.

At her table, she waited for him to come at the usual time, trembling and getting impatient. Finally, he arrived.

He wore a grey dress shirt, black dress pants, and leather shoes, his typical look. He sat by her as usual, a newspaper in his hand.

He said, "That's a new look for you. Going anywhere special tonight?"

"Maybe," she said, smirking.

"Delicious from head to toe," he whispered, leering. He unfolded his newspaper. "The Toe Cutter struck again."

"'Toe Cutter'?"

"You know, he cuts off his female victims' toes." The newspaper photo showed the latest victim, a pretty young blonde, about Ilana's age. "His third victim."

Ilana got up to look in his paper.

"Another young beauty. He drugged her drink. His semen was in her body, like the last two cases, so he fucked her before killing her, then cut off her toes. I hope you're not dating him, Ilana."

"Oh, no. Of course not." Bent down beside Leon, she brought her cleavage up close.

He ogled those two beauties, then said, "What does he do with the toes?"

"This story's kinda depressing," she said. "Let's read something else." She turned the page to a photo of a hot model, then sat on his lap. He had a hard-on. Her bum moved in figure eights, feeling his cock's length and thickness. She wasn't disappointed.

"Our waiter's coming," he moaned after smelling her flowery perfume.

Ilana saw the waiter, and got off Leon's lap...pushing her ass back and rubbing it against his belly and chest. She pulled away just before her ass reached his chin. She sat back at her chair, frowning.

They ordered their lunch, then resumed chatting as if she'd never done anything. She tried not to pout.

At the end of their meals, they got up to pay.

"Have fun on your date," he said.

"What will you be doing?" she asked, forcing a smile.

"Working on my novel, as usual," he said as he dug into his wallet. "Gotta write my daily 4,000."

"You can't make an exception?" she asked.

"Nope. Tell me tomorrow about your date. Bye."

"Bye," she sighed.

2: Yonge Street

The next day, Ilana, in a T-shirt and jeans again, was passing by Pierre's. She always got men the traditional way: give signals, wait for them to make the first move. She felt crushed by Leon's lack of interest. Was he gay, or was she ugly?

But he had a boner! Why didn't he ask her out? Men always chased her when she was dressed sexy!

Normally, such a rejection would insult her so much, she'd never even consider the man next time—too late, buddy, should have jumped when you had the chance! Yet Leon wasn't like those pigs she'd known before. She couldn't stop thinking about him.

Suddenly, a hand caressed her ass.

Jolting, she spun around to slap the creep behind her...but it was Leon!

"Hi," he said, grinning, his hand still on her ass. "How was your date?"

"Oh, hi!" she sang. "He stood me up." Her frown said, You disappointed me, buddy.

He patted her behind. "That's too bad. Well, I've written my 4,000 words today. You free tonight?"

"Yes!" she screamed. "By the way, has anyone ever mentioned, you send more mixed messages than a girl?"

"No." Both hands on her buttocks, he gave them gentle squeezes. "Where and when shall I pick you up? I know a wonderful restaurant."

Smirking and licking her lips, she said, "Why not pick me up after I finish work tonight?"

"OK, where's that?"

"In Scarborough: Daly's, on the corner of Smith Street and Knotts Drive."

"OK, my GPS should find it."

"Never been there?" He was still fondling her.

"Nope. Don't really know Scarborough. What's your job there, anyway? You never told me."

"It's a surprise," she said, slyly smiling. "When you get there, you'll know." She winked.

"OK, what time? The restaurant's open late. It's on Yonge Street. Bruno's. Italian."

"6:30?"

"OK, 6:30." Both hands gave her ass a few spanks.

"OK, bye."

She grinned as she saw him leave. What a mystery man, she thought.

3: Daly's

The deafening heavy metal and semi-nude dancers made Leon, wearing a Valentino suit, go back outside and check the bar's sign and the street. Indeed, this was Daly's, the corner of Smith and Knotts. He went back inside.

Ilana's a stripper? he wondered.

He searched for her, using the colourful lights as a guide in the otherwise dark strip joint. The song, 'Walk', by Pantera, ended, and now 'Cry Little Sister,' from The Lost Boys soundtrack, began. He was relieved to have softer music.

Passing the bar, he found Ilana, in a black bra and thong, and matching high heels. She was made up like a prostitute again. She looked to her left and saw him.

"Leon!" she shouted, hugging him. "You got here!"

In her heels, the much shorter woman came up to his neck. His hard-on was poking against her belly, which she moved around to masturbate him.

"Good to see you," he panted.

"You're about to see all of me," she said with a naughty grin. "I'm onstage next. Come to pervert's row and watch up close."

She took him there. They sat together, ignoring the naked woman on the stage.

"So, you're a dancer," he said. "I'd never have guessed."

"Yeah," she said. "It's not something I like to tell people, but after getting to know you at Pierre's, I wanted to surprise you with it."

"Oh?" he said.

"Yes," she said. "I always have to strip for these pigs. I'd rather do it for you."

"Really?"

"Really. You have a brain, Leon. As a stripper, I've had mafia boyfriends, nasty guys who hit me or got me on drugs. But you're different. I'm glad I met you in Pierre's. You don't treat me like a whore."

"Seeing you all sexy has been a titillating experience, though."

"I guess." And now, she thought, my fantasy, stripping for someone I genuinely like, dating him after he's seen me naked. I get hot just thinking about it!

The song ended, and the stripper got off the stage.

"OK," Ilana said, rising. "I have to go on now."

"I can't wait," Leon said.

"OK, everybody," the DJ announced. "Let's all give a hand for this sexy lady...Ilana."

There were few people cheering for her at 6:20 PM, but she only wanted Leon's appreciation, which she could see in his eyes as she walked onstage. Her first song was 'Nasty Girl,' by Vanity 6. As Ilana was dancing to the beat, her eyes were locked on his.

The song ended, and her bra came off with a titty wiggle: big, natural beauties that hung firmly, with sugary areolae. Her next song was 'Sweet Dreams,' by Beyonce. She took off her thong half-way through the song: her pussy was shaved, a most lickable slit. Her buns were round, smooth, and begging for a nibbling.

The song ended, and she removed her shoes. Now she stood completely nude before his agape eyes. She got on the floor on all fours, facing him, as 'Didjital Vibrations,' by Jamiroquai, began.

She crawled to the edge of the stage, close to him. Their noses touched. She got on her back and lifted her spread-out legs so her vulva and anus were a foot from his face.

She looked back at him, her body trembling to see his eyes scrutinizing her secrets. Then she flipped back over on all fours, her ass to his face. Again, her liquorice vulva and puckered anus-lips were proudly displayed. She looked back at him, imagining his lewd thoughts.

The song ended. She left the stage, taking her purse, but leaving her clothes there because she wanted to stay nude for Leon. He went over to her.

"You...were...amazing," he panted.

"Thanks," she said.

"Would it be ungentlemanly of me—so soon before our date—to ask you for a lap dance?"

"No," she said, grinning. "Twenty dollars a song...not that I'll be counting the dances." She winked at him. "Let's go."

They went into one of the VIP rooms and sat together on the couch.

He looked at her delectable body, especially her feet, his leering eyes giving her shivers.

"You are beyond beautiful," he said. "Your toes are like grapes. So sweet for nibbling."

"Thanks," she said, staring at the bulge in his pants. "You're really sweet yourself." A techno song began. "Wanna start?"

"Please."

She got on his lap, facing him. "You can touch."

"Really? How much of you?" He put his hands on her ass.

"All of me." She sighed as his hands squeezed her buns.

"You're a daring one," he said, his fingers crawling inside her butt-crack. "Anything off limits?"

"No," she sighed as his finger massaged her anus. "Oh! Your touch...Oooh!"

Ilana never indulged a customer this much, except to get all his money. But this time, anything went for Leon's fingers; she wanted to know more about his sexual personality. He was learning about her body, and she his mind. Thankfully, those masseur hands of his were rewarding her indulgence.

He put his left hand between her legs. "Is the Red Room allowed?" He slid a finger inside her vagina.

"Yes," she moaned, squinting her eyes. "Oooh!"

Then he coaxed her anus open with his finger, sliding it inside a half-inch. He loved how the ring squeezed his finger.

"The...Brown Room," she sighed, massaging his erection.

"Is only...the Red Room...allowed?" he groaned, his fingers even deeper inside both holes. "Or is this OK, too?"

"Yeah," she moaned, getting up and putting her tit in his mouth. "Both Red...and Brown...are fine. I'm clean. Ah!"

Her pointy nipple was a gum drop in his mouth. He sucked hard on it, his tongue tickling the tip, as was his finger her G-spot. His thumb was feeling her rock-hard clit. His other finger was exploring her rectum.

Good thing I showered just before he arrived, she thought, sighing and reaching orgasm.

"Ah!" she screamed, coming all over his hand. "I'm supposed to get you off," she panted, "not you me."

4: Bruno's

"Did you enjoy ogling my nakedness in the changing room, with the lights on?" Ilana asked Leon after the maître d' left them at their table.

"Yes," he said. "That black dress you're wearing is very elegant...you didn't even bother with underwear."

"Hardly seemed necessary," she said with a smirk.

"So why me? I'm not exactly Leonardo DiCaprio. What's the attraction?"

"You're different," she explained. "Most guys I run into are dumb creeps, like animals. But you're like a poet. You're refined."

"With my finger in your behind?"

She laughed. "I mean, you're a writer, so you know how to speak. Also, you play hard to get, so unlike a guy; it makes me want to pursue you all the more. Yet when you pursue, you know just how to get a woman off."

"But the risk you're taking, being so forward with a man you hardly know."

"I know enough. I find a little fear actually gets me hot...the adrenaline rush. Besides, I know I want to fuck you."

He raised his eyebrows.

"There's something about you," she went on. "Like you're hiding something from me. I want to know what it is. You seem to be...toying with me, messing with my mind."

"Here comes our waiter. Do you know what you want to eat?"

"Yeah, but let's have our dinner first." She winked at him.

5: Leon's Apartment

Ilana's eyes lit up like the room when Leon turned on the light.

"Wow," she said as she stepped into his place. "What a nice apartment. You must be one successful writer."

"I am," he said as he closed the front door. "A self-published writer must know how to market his work. My mailing list is sky-high. I send out newsletters and blog posts, and type 4,000 words every day; that's why I'm so busy."

"And too busy for dates?"

"Usually." He unzipped her dress, which fell to the floor. She removed her heels and walked about fully naked, on the balls of her feet like a ballerina. He stood there and admired her. "You are so lovely."

"Thanks," she said, perusing his living room bookshelf: The Shining, Carrie, Psycho, Rosemary's Baby, and The Exorcist, among other books.

Leon went into his kitchen to fix some drinks. She continued looking around his living room, noting his DVDs and CDs. Mostly slasher films and death metal.

He returned with the drinks, setting them on the coffee table. She sat beside him on the sofa.

"Red rum for you," he said. "Since you had rum in Bruno's, I figured you'd like this."

"Thanks," she said, clinking her glass against his, then drinking some. "You really like horror."

"Yeah," he said. "To write well, I must experience horror up close, almost living it."

"I guess." She drank some more.

"Oh, I need to use the bathroom. I'll be a while, hint, hint. Enjoy your drink; play a CD or look around if you feel bored." She tittered to see him hurrying to the washroom, apparently holding in a fart.

Curious to learn more about him, she got up and looked around, still sipping her rum. She peeked in his bedroom: a nice, soft, king-sized bed, with a TV set across from the foot of it. Green carpet, wood furniture, white walls, and a brown blanket on the bed. She drank the last of her rum and left the bedroom. She put the glass in the kitchen, then resumed looking around.

She noticed another room, and couldn't resist looking inside. She opened the door and turned on the light.

She gasped.

The walls were all crimson, ominous enough to see. But what was hanging on those walls was much more disturbing.

Knives.

Knives of all shapes, lengths, and sizes.

At the right was a desk with a computer, and a stack of paper with handwriting. She approached the writing like Wendy Torrance.

She read the top page. She gulped at the words.

Toes are so tasty. Pretty women's toes, fried into meat balls, Hollandaise sauce poured on top.

"The Toe Cutter?" she whispered.

She went to the door to listen for him. The toilet flushed.

Trembling, she waited for him to come out. Instead, she heard the shower water.

He's taking a shower? She wondered. She closed the door.

She went back to the paper, reluctant but compelled to read more. After 'Hollandaise sauce': Drop an Ambien tablet in her drink. While she's drinking, take a shower—a ritual purification—have her while she's unconscious, then strangle her and cut those ten off.

Ilana remembered her glass in the kitchen.

How long before Ambien kicks in? she wondered.

She twitched spastically. Her heart was pounding. A tear ran down her cheek.

And I'm naked from head to...toe, she thought.

She looked back at those knives.

"No, it can't be," she whispered. He's just a horror writer. This is just his novel. The Toe Cutter is just inspiring his novel, that's all. These knives are also just part of the inspiration. I worry too much. If he's planning to kill me and cut off my toes, why talk about the Toe Cutter with me in Pierre's? Why leave all this stuff out in the open, for me to see? He's too smart for that.

She checked the title page of the papers, which read, I Love You...From Head to Toe, a novel by Leon Mane.

She sighed. "I thought so." She put the papers back, as if she'd never touched them. She went to the door and opened it.

The lights were turned off.

"What the-?" she began, then cupped her mouth.

She left the light of the Red Room on so she could find her way back to her clothes. Still, she could only assume that Leon was out of the bathroom and waiting for her, since the shower water was turned off. Was he toying with her, knowing she'd been snooping around in that room? Was he mad at her for that?

Was her drink drugged?

She didn't feel any drug effects...of course, she'd only drunk the rum ten minutes ago.

She had to find her dress. She tip-toed over.

The Red Room light was turned off.

The naked woman now stood there, covered only in black...and her own sweat.

She gasped.

Another tear ran down her cheek.

Suddenly, two hands were on her hips. Two lips were pressing soft kisses against her neck, making her gasp, then sigh. Those hands moved up to her breasts, squeezing them gently. Fingers pinched her nipples.

Fear melted into desire.

She turned to face her lover. On her tip-toes, she raised her head to meet the lips that were kissing her forehead. The lovers' tongues slithered along each other. Her hands went from her lover's head to the shoulders. She felt cottony material—pyjamas?

Still French-kissing, she felt those hands go from her breasts to her buttocks, opening them, a finger stroking her anus. Her hands went from the collar to the pants, her left hand feeling an erection.

She tried to slip her hand in the hole of the pyjamas to feel that hardness, but his hand stopped hers, so she jacked him off over the pyjamas. His hand slid between her legs and fingered her wet vagina.

This wasn't fair. He could see and feel her nude body, but she couldn't his? She couldn't even see Leon now...if this even was him...another of his mind games? Was scaring her with the Red Room part of the mind game?

He led her to the bedroom. He turned on the light: it was Leon, barefoot and in striped pajamas. He ogled her, his eyes going up and down from her breasts to her crotch, then to her toes.

She wished he wouldn't stare at her feet.

"OK, ," he said , taking a condom from his pajama pocket. "Let's fuck."

"OK," she sighed. Was fear was augmenting her desire, or vice versa? Reassuringly, she still didn't feel any drug effects.

On the bed on all fours, she spread her legs out so her pussy and asshole were showing. He knelt behind her and sucked on a few of her toes. She felt his nibbling teeth and shuddered. Then he went up to her ass.

He slid his tongue from her vagina to her perineum, then to her anus...one long, thorough lick, tasting every delectable millimeter, feeling every fold and wrinkle. She sighed her thanks. He took a few more licks.

About to pull his cock through the button-fly, he stopped when she looked back.

"No," he said. "Look at the headboard. I don't want you to see my...gift." She looked forward, then he rolled on the condom.

She said, "No fair. You get to see me, but I don't get to see you."

"I'm ugly nude," he said. "Besides, this is a surprise."

"Oh," she said, then remembered her drink. At least twenty minutes had gone by, and she still wasn't feeling woozy. Still, she was shaking.

Then she felt his surprise pushing against her pussy.

"Oh," she moaned, smirking, eyes squinted. He pushed in an inch deeper. "Ah!"

Normally, she took much longer to get horny; but Leon's attractiveness, his uncanny ability to touch her in exactly the right places, and her fear of his possible psychopathy were speeding up her ascending desire. She reassured herself that she didn't feel drugged...but fearing that she'd feel lightheaded seconds after got her hornier as that dick slid further in.