Author's Note - This is a short story featuring Scarlett, my Gio-stocking loving heroine.
If you want to read more of Scarlett's adventures, see "The Art of Seduction" and "Nylon Conquest, Ch. 02".
***
Him
What the fuck? Where am I? What the hell is going on?
Remember your training. Stick to the script. You learned from the best.
First: take inventory.
Heavy black hood over my head. Gagged. Sitting upright in a hard, armless chair. Tied to the bottom of the chair legs, at the ankles. Hands tied down at the top of the chair legs, at the wrists. Strap around my chest around the chair back. I test my bonds. No movement. Nada. I test the chair. Strong. Bolted to the floor. So I'm completely immobile. Professional job.
In other words Frank, you're fucked.
What's the last thing I remember? OK, I was in my hotel room, in Paris. Right. I'd just come back from a late dinner. Went to bed around 11:00. Alone.
How did they get me here without waking me up? What do they want?
I can guess.
A lot goes through your mind when you're helpless and at the mercy of someone who wants something from you.
How far will they take it to get what they want?
How much pain are they willing to inflict?
How long can I hold out?
The last question is the toughest. You weigh the price of not telling vs. the consequence of telling. Is my secret worth my life? How much pain is my secret worth?
They say torture is unreliable. They say a prisoner will say anything to make the pain stop. The trouble with that is, when they check your story, when they find out you've lied, well. That's when they really come at you.
The only thing lying does is buy you time. But the price of that time is...pain. Retribution.
I swallowed. It didn't help. My mouth is dry, dry, dry.
Calm down, Frank. Work the problem. You're smart. You can outwit them. Keep them guessing until the guys find me. The longer you hold out, the better chance you've got.
~~
Four Hours Later
~~
When are they going to make their first move? It's been what? Eight, ten hours? Fuck I'm sore.
What was that? A swishy sound. Like material sliding over material. Someone's in here with me. It almost sounds like...
...couldn't be.
The person steps towards me. I can't see a fucking thing through this hood.
Clack, swish. Clack, swish. Clack, swish. Clack, swish.
I can feel a presence next to me. I brace for the blow that's sure to come. I screw my eyes tight.
No fist to the side of the head. Not yet.
The presence stops right in front of me. Their breaths come slow, deep.
Then I get something. A smell. No. A
scent.
Not cologne. Sweet, not musky.
Perfume.
They say women are the worst. They say women take out all their frustrations on male captives. They say the women love to hurt you where it counts. That the women have no mercy.
They say in some countries they used to strip rapists naked and give him to the village women. They say the women revel in his screams.
My balls recede into my body.
Something touches the hood near my left cheek. Four sharp fingernails dance lightly on the material.
Tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, tap.
The tapping stops. She draws her sharp claws along the hood, from my ear to my mouth.
Not painful. More, more, more...
...sensual.
Her scent grows more intense. It overwhelms my senses.
She's close.
Then, a whisper. Her lips are so close I can feel the material of my hood flutter around my ear as she speaks.
"Well, well, well," she says. "What have we here?"
Her voice is honeyed, rich, deep. Confident. She presses the flat of her hand to the side of my face.
"I'm going to tell you a little secret. Frank."
She knows my name. That tells me something. How can I use that?
"Franky, baby. Here's the thing. I don't care if you talk or not. It doesn't really matter to me. See Frank, I get paid whether you talk or not. Get how this works? It's the only type of job I ever take.
"Do you know why they hire me, Frank, even when I don't promise results? Do you, baby?"
That was a new one. I tried to think about that. It didn't make sense. No sense at all. Unless...
The fingers on my face begin to curl. Whatever she's planning for me, she's going to do it now.
The hood is ripped off my head. The light in the room is dim, so the adjustment isn't too bad. I blink rapidly to get my vision working again.
My vision.
It's filled with her. I can't see her face. Just her breasts. She's leaning in close. She's wearing a low-cut silk dress. Her breasts are right in my face.
Not just any breasts.
The most beautiful, firm, glorious pair of tits I've ever seen in my life. Two handfuls each.
Every time she takes in a breath, they come closer. Closer to my nose, my mouth.
The words
heaving, lusty, luxurious
, float over my brain.
Mmmmmm, nice.
Get it together Frank. She's still talking.
"Because baby, I always get results. My employers are always satisfied with my performance. Because I never, ever stop until my men are satisfied."
Those glorious breasts float away as she straightens up. She puts her foot on the chair between my legs. The pointed toe of her black mirror-finish high heels rests on my manhood. The heel hangs over the chair seat and points at the floor. I turn my head slightly to see. The stiletto comes to a point the size of an eraser head. Gotta be five inches long.
Even more interesting is her leg. Long, lean, sculpted. Her knee is even with my face. She's wearing fine, glossy stockings. I can just barely see the seam running up the back of her thigh, parallel to the floor. Her dress is cut high, really high so I can see the tops of her stockings. A garter peeks out above the silk slit of her dress.
Mmmmmmmmmmmm.
Careful Frank.
She clasps her hands together, interlacing her fingers around her knee. Her nails are long, ruby red, and glossy. She leans down so her face comes into my vision.
Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god, oh my fucking god.
Her
That was encouraging. I think he likes what he sees.
I look down at his crotch. I'm reminded of that old Mae West line.
Is that a pistol in your pocket or are you just glad to see me?
Not hard enough. Not yet. I shift my gaze back to his face. He's breathing hard, but he's still defiant. I can see it in his eyes. He thinks he's going to win.
OK Scarlett. Time to see what he's made of.
That goes both ways.
I remember my Sun Tzu:
The whole secret lies in confusing the enemy, so that he cannot fathom our real intent.
I straighten up and walk around behind him. I raise my leg and drape my thigh over his shoulder. My stiletto heel rests on his manhood. My fully-fashioned stocking rubs against his face. I love the way the garters pull on my Gio nylons. Gives me goose bumps.
He likes it too.
