Choices

At this hour

Lie at my mercy all mine enemies.

—William Shakespeare

Maggie parked her Ford Maverick under a straggly looking tree that leaned over the parking lot. A lone security light wore a halo of bugs that constantly circled around it. She checked her makeup in the rearview mirror before she opened the door. It was a bit past ten, which was early for the Bachelor Pad on this warm June Friday night. The first serious salvos of drinks have yet to be shot across the bar.

She drew on her cigarette before she flicked the butt to the parking lot, where it lay like a glowing red eye. With the tip of her shoe, she ground it into the asphalt.

Twin doors with long brass handles, polished to a luster by an untold number of hands, stood between her and her destiny. She had planned this night down to the finest detail. The scenario played over and over in her mind on an endless loop of images and events that had yet to happen. But, she knew they would. She knew they must. Maggie pulled the doors open and a rush of air-conditioned chill surrounded her as she walked through. She paused to let her eyes adjust to the dim light. The stale aroma of cigarettes filled her lungs.

There were a few unoccupied stools around the bar, so Maggie sashayed across the room toward them. Every man, and most of the women, took notice of her progress as she moved between the tables, weaving in and out of groups of people toward the bar.

The hem of Maggie's short knit skirt sat six inches above her knees and bounced higher with each step. Her matching knit top hugged every curve of her body, the neckline plunging low enough to almost expose the tiny embroidered red strawberry on the front of her bra. A delicate silver chain hung gracefully between breasts that were the perfect size to hold. The perfect size to kiss. Her brown hair shone in the twilight of the bar. It cascaded down in waves over her shoulders and some of the tendrils curled to rest alluring around her breasts.

Tanned arms extended to manicured fingernails that were painted and polished. Her legs, perfectly proportioned for her five-foot frame, were encased in expensive tan pantyhose. Black heels with a delicate strap across the top of her foot completed the look.

Maggie climbed onto one of the high back stools, while a color television in the corner played to an inattentive crowd. She crossed her legs at the knee.

And she waited.

"What would you like?" The bartender asked as he slipped a cardboard coaster in front of her.

"Vodka martini."

"Right back."

She glanced over her shoulder. She thought she could feel their eyes on her, and wondered if they imagined their fingers ghosting over her body, trying to sneak into the folds and openings of her clothing. Maggie wondered who would be the first... Who'd would be the guy with the balls to approach her?

But she came here with only one agenda.

She would leave with only one man. The man. The man of her nightmares. It would only happen with him.

"Here you go," the bartender broke her reverie as he put her drink down.

When Maggie moved to pay for it, he stopped her hand. "From the gentleman at the table," He gestured toward her benefactor. She tipped the glass his way and offered him a smile. That's all he'd be getting from her tonight.

The minutes ticked slowly by. Maggie subtly checked her watch for the tenth time. It was past eleven, and she had already waved off at least a dozen men who'd tried to hit on her.

Then he walked in.

A neatly trimmed white beard framed his round face. Cobalt blue eyes hid behind silver framed glasses. He had a small plaid hat on his head. A short-sleeved shirt revealed plenty of tanned skin and the thickness of his arms.

Maggie could feel his presence...his body's energy.

He slipped onto the stool beside her as she tapped out a Virginia Slim. She heard his Zippo open and coolly watched as he made the flames touch the end of her cigarette.

"Thanks." She offered him a smile, and blew smoke through her nose.

"I don't recall seeing you in here before. You from around these parts?" the man asked.

"Passing through mostly. Got a boyfriend, but we're having a few issues—"

"So you're going to try and drink 'em way?"

Maggie picked up her glass and finished her martini. "He cheated on me a few months ago with another woman; a tramp. I'm only passing though. I'll be in Cleveland tomorrow.

"Cleveland? Job waiting on you?"

"Naw...money's a bit better up there."

"On the streets?"

"So you think I'm a working girl?"

"I suspect."

She watched as he looked at her from top to bottom. He'd noticed how her knit skirt seemed to inch its way higher upon her thigh, and that she didn't seemed neither to be worried about that, nor the fact that the dark stitching on her pantyhose showed.

"What would you say if I told you I work independently?"

"I'd say good for you. What about your parents? Do they know how you make your living? You want 'nother?"

"Maybe... Don't have any parents. My dad ran off; I don't have clue what happened to Mom. Don't give a shit either. Vodka martini."

"Tell me your name, beautiful?"

Maggie smiled and bit into the olive from her empty glass. "Margret. But my friends call me Maggie."

The bartender came over.

"Give this beautiful lady another one and I'll take the same, but with two olives."

"Two olives?" Maggie asked.

After the drinks had arrived, the man swished the pair of olives around in his glass. "Someone once asked Frank Sinatra how many olives should be in a martini..." He picked up his drink from the bar and took a sip.

"What did he say?" Maggie asked.

"Two. A martini should always have two olives in it. That way you can share one with the next beautiful woman you meet."

He picked up the olives by their toothpick, and offered it to Maggie. Leaning in she slipped the first one off with her lips while giving the man a peek down her top.

"Hummm, that's a nice pair...of olives that is."

"What's your name, cowboy?"

"Henry, and my friends call me Hank.

"Now that the introductions are over," Hank continued, "You, ah, looking for a bit of fun tonight? Or you just trying to piss off your boyfriend?" He moved his stool closer, then reached for his drink. "Maybe you're just playing me?"

He touched her fingers and to his surprise, Maggie didn't pull away.

They became aware of the sounds around them; the Bachelor Pad was busy. People mingled and conversations filled the room. Someone dropped a quarter in the jukebox. Janis Joplin was singing about her and Bobby McGee. Maggie and Hank were indistinguishable from anyone else in the bar. They were invisible.

"What happened between you and your boyfriend?"

"We had a disagreement."

"Over what?"

"Sex."

"When I look at you, I can't see how that would be a problem." His eyes skimmed down to land on her breasts. Maggie could feel them on her. "I can't possibility see that as a problem." He took another sip of his drink

"It's not a problem. It's his problem. You'd think I'd be good enough. He didn't, 'cause he ran out on me."

Hank pressed back into his stool. "Babe, I'm telling 'ya, Christ, look at you? What's that guy's problem?"

"Revenge. Hank, that's what it's all about."

"You mad? If you are, you're pretty when you're mad."

"Listen, if he fucked around on me, then what the hell, I'll fuck around on him."

They sat in silence for what seemed like hours. Then Hank said, "So...you looking tonight?"

"Let's be honest, you want to fuck me don't you?" Maggie asked.

"That was blunt."

"But isn't it the truth?"

"Okay. You're right. Yeah, sure I'd like to fuck you. Right now, though, I'm wondering how much it's going to cost me."

There are two main ways to make a man's cock hard: you can stroke it, or stroke his ego. Maggie knew how to do both. "You're quite the ladies' man. You know that, don't you?" She wet her lips with the tip of her tongue. "I might have to pay

you

to fuck me, if what I see is only gonna get better."

Hank preened, while as stealthily as possible he rearranged the growing hard-on in his jeans.

"Tonight might be your lucky night," she continued, "but I'm not about to drop to my knees and give you a blow job in the parking lot. Nor am I going to let you bend me over the hood of your car and fuck me in the ass. And while you're at it, don't expect it from the back seat of a car, either."

"You're a strange woman, you know that?"

"Perhaps... But if you want to get my skirt off, you'll have to take me to your home. No Hotel. Your house."

Hank wanted in the worst way to get Maggie out of her clothing. He could feel himself grow harder; his mind ran rampant with fantasies. He wondered what kind of airhead she was, how much time until he could get under that green knit outfit that looked so damned hot on her. He wanted to touch her legs, to feel the silky smoothness of her hose as his fingers roamed under her skirt, and to bite on her nipples as she clawed at the bed.

There was evil simmering deep down in his soul. A darkness that simply swallowed light. Dark evil slime flowed in his veins. He tried to keep it under control, but tonight. Tonight would be different. Hank's stomach churned with impatience and anticipation. He felt the raised hairs on the backs of his arms. It'd been almost two years since—.

"Cross your legs at the knee, your right leg over the left," he whispered.

Maggie complied. She had to. Now was not the time to scare him off.

She watched his arm come toward her across the front of the bar, then move lower to where she could no longer see his hand. The tips of his fingers seductively caressed her knee. His eyes and hers were locked. She felt his fingers move down behind her calf and linger there for a second. The fingers then moved to the top of her shoe and wriggled in-between the edge of the leather and the top of her foot. She didn't move as he manipulated the pin and buckle of the delicate leather strap, nor when she felt it suddenly pulled off at the heel, allowing the shoe to dangle on her toes.

She had moved then, reaching down instinctively to catch it, but he had stopped her hand. She felt his fingers under her chin. With the tip of his index finger, he circled her red lips. He slipped it between her lips and said, "You leave it like that until I'm done." His hand moved down her left shoulder and slid the fabric of her top to one side. He nudged the pink bra strap so it slipped off her shoulder. Next he un-looped the hair tucked behind her ears, gently laying it like a curtain across her chest to cover her breasts.

Hank quickly glanced around the bar. Nobody was watching, so he reached behind her head while at the same time his other hand rested upon her thigh. Slowly he worked his fingers under her skirt as Maggie little-by-little yet instinctively opened her legs to him. Their eyes still locked upon each other as Hank's fingers caressed her inner thigh. In the dim twilight of the bar, Maggie's legs moved a bit further apart until Hank's fingers stroked the gusset of her pantyhose.

He leaned in and whispered, "You like that don't you babe?" He placed a kiss on her lips.

"Ah huh. I do. And if you keep doing that to me, I'm going to be a wet mess down there very soon."

Maggie could almost see the gears working in his head. She was going to be the one to break his dry spell. To pull him out from the shadows and into the light. She swallowed, and quelled a frisson of fear mixed with grim determination. Her plan was slowly heading toward the point of no return.

*************Chapter two********

Hank opened the door to his second-floor apartment in an old Victorian house. They were now in the city's historic district. Most of these older homes had been turned into apartments and duplexes decades ago, and time hasn't been their friend as many were in disrepair.

Maggie slipped off her purse and looped the handle over the doorknob. She looked about. "Nice." She lied. The place was as barren as a ghost town.

"You want 'nother drink?"

"Naw... I'm feeling the ones I had back at the bar."

He poured himself three fingers of Wild Rose into a water glass, and walked over to where Maggie stood in the middle of the room. He slipped an arm around her waist.

"God, you look incredible."

She suddenly felt his lips forced hard on hers. He tasted of stale booze and cigarettes.

He released her to finish his drink, and set the glass down on a well-worn coffee table. Maggie didn't say a word. Let him have his way with me was the only thought in her mind, as his hands cupped her breasts. Whatever he wanted, she would comply. For now.

"I've got to see those tits of yours."

Hank began to lift her top and, Maggie's arms rose. In one quick movement he yanked it up and over her head and tossed it to the floor. Before it had time to land his lips were on her neck, kissing and nipping at her soft skin. Maggie moaned when she felt the sudden pressure of his hands moving under her bra. Wordlessly he shucked it off her breasts.

"Dear Jesus, what a beauty you are!"

His lips were on her nipples, sucking and biting them, pulling on them with his teeth as he felt them harden between his lips.

Hank tossed her onto the sofa...and that's when he changed. The Hank he had been up to then, suddenly no longer was in control. A different Hank had surfaced. The one that Maggie had waited for all these years. Out of nowhere his first blow landed across her face. Its force hit her so hard it knocked her glasses off and they flew across the room. Then came the next. It knocked her silly.

He pointed a long nicotine-stained finger in her face. "You do what I say. You understand? You agreed, remember?" He loomed over her as Maggie nodded and touched her cheeks, feeling the heat from his blows.

"Good!"

Her gaze shifted as she sought to focus, her eyesight blurry, to try and take stock of her surroundings. This was happening faster than she had planned. But she was in way too far to get out now. Staying with her plan was her only choice.

"Take everything off. I mean everything. I want your jewelry, your rings from your fingers, that necklace around your neck. Everything comes off! You got it?"

Maggie nodded once more and began to remove her jewelry. When she was done, Hank ticked his head toward her skirt. "Now take off your skirt, hose and panties."

Maggie was obedient and did exactly as she was told. When she was done, Hank tossed her shoes back to her. "I really like your shoes. Put 'em back on."

He watched her, as he worked on his belt buckle. He kicked off his shoes and quickly removed his pants and boxers. He cock surged and bobble when he walked.

No sooner had Maggie had the last strap buckled than she looked up to see him completely naked, staring intently down at her.

"Stand up. I want to see you." He slowly walked around her as she stood, naked except for her shoes. Looking. He played scenarios over and over in his mind's eye of what he was going to do to her. He felt his gut tighten, and for a second had the feeling that his cock had swollen more than he thought possible.

He stopped and when she felt his touch on her spine, Maggie jumped. A cold finger meandered down her back, and then she felt it wiggle between her butt cheeks.

"Nice. Very, very nice." Hank moved back around to face her, and stared, rubbing his chin as he looked at the triangle of thick brown hair between her legs.

"Spread you legs."

Maggie's shoes scuffed along the thin worn out carpet. Her legs were apart, and she noticed how his eyes seemed to have taken on an unnatural, almost crazed glow.

"You want to get fucked don't you?" Hank asked. It wasn't a question.

"Yes! Fuck me. Make me come!"

Hank moved closer. He took her hand and held it tight. "Touch me!" Hank put her hand on his erection. "Do you feel what you have done to me?"

"Yes..."

"Tell me again what you want? Stroke me!"

Her hand moved up and down the length of his dick and then she said, "I want you to fuck me with this cock!"

Suddenly Hank swept her off-balance and dropped her onto the couch. There would be no kissing, no foreplay. Hank wanted to fuck her in the worst way so he crawled on top of her and positioned his cock between her legs.

"You're just like the rest of 'em. You're nothing more than a cheap whore. No one will notice you when you're gone."

She felt him quickly lowered himself over her body, and surge into her. Her hands were held above her head pressed deep into the material of the sofa

"That's right, feel my cock. What gives you the right to tease men?"

With each thrust forced into Maggie, it felt like he was drilling for oil. He came quickly with a shudder and then collapsed onto her chest. When he rolled over and off he left a long wet streak down the inside of her thigh.

He stood, looking down at her naked body, watching the milky stain between her legs trickle and soak the cushion. She watched as a few random drops of cum formed at the tip of his cock, and then dripped onto the floor.

"You're a beauty. But I can't let this continue. It's for your own good."

"What do you mean?" Maggie asked.

Hank cold cocked Maggie and she fell into the darkness.

****Chapter three********

Hank's plan had been carved into stone the second he had seen Maggie seated at the bar. He could already imagine her limp naked body in his arms as he carried her upstairs to his bedroom to put the finishing touches on her

Maggie was a nobody. There wouldn't be anyone looking for her. Her life was insignificant to the world around her. Transparent...as Hank was to his victims. Just as invisible as Hank was to the world...

He dropped her on the bed, and then returned downstairs to retrieve her clothing. With reverence, he hung each piece on coat hangers. He arranged them carefully over the drapery rods against the heavy closed drapes.

He enjoyed looking at her clothing. He'd touch each piece. Hank would bring an article of Maggie's clothing to his face, and take in the aroma of her young body. He licked the still damp cotton gusset of her pantyhose so he could taste her body. He'd wet his lips with every stroke of his fingers along the cups of her bra.

He liked what happened to him when he touched her clothing. He played with her shoes. His fingers moved along her skin where her toes hide beneath a layer of leather. The toyed with the pin and buckle on her right foot as Hank slowly slid his hand along his erection.

So young. So beautiful. So his very own.

When he'd laid out her clothes to his satisfaction, he proceeded to a large walk-in closet. He pried back a wooden threshold between the closet and the bedroom, and then folded a section of carpeting back to reveal a small wooden door in the floor. He pulled it open and the hinges squeaked. Inside lay his treasures. Eleven rickety old cardboard boxes held trophies, souvenirs, and memories of his past. He rooted about. He knew what he wanted.

Maggie slowly opened her left eye. Her head felt like a demolition derby using freight trains was in full swing inside her head. With her one good eye, she looked around. She wasn't in the main room anymore. She had been laid on a bed, in what must be a room upstairs in Hank's apartment. Thick, dirty curtains hung over the two windows in the room. She couldn't miss her clothing where they hung against them—they were the only color in the dingy room. Gingerly, she turned her hard toward the bed stand. She saw he had placed a yellow alarm clock, a pair of scissors, a safety razor with a pack of blades, and a can of shaving cream. She turned to her right. A Polaroid camera with several film packs lay nearby on the bed. Several exposed photographs were neatly stacked.