by Bob'n Around
Invisible matters of the mind turned real into the written word.
|“You laugh.” Henry Cutter had heard it before. The jeers, fake tears, the yawns. His offer of free drinks distracted only a few from the lazy gyrating pole dancer spot lighted center stage. The pained expression on her face was masked, dulled into anonymity by the blast of music she moved in robotic sensuality with.
The “poor Henry’s”, looks of envy, side glances of gauging wonder piled up on each other. Henry Cutter saluted them all with his raised beer. “She’ll be coming through the wolf whistles and shrugging off your sexual innuendos, outright advances, soon now. I feel her siren's call.”
"Looks like a dream come alive. Maybe, she'll choose one of you.” Henry Cutter’s hand shook as he sipped from his brew.
As if on cue, the beer hall old fashioned western double doors swung open, back and forth, creaking and whining at the appearance of the newest guest. “What she is, is sleepless nights.”
A biker bruiser beer belly on his left grunted in appreciation. “She a looker. Like to show her my secret tattoo, show her how hell conquered heaven.”
There was movement. Men gave way as she approached, drawing her into a huddle of a groping, closing circle, fueled by the story I’d told. Date rape doesn’t happen just to innocent girls. It had occurred to me, a six and a half foot tall college middle linebacker weighing in at two-twenty.
“I own you,” she said, making a kissy kiss with her lips, ignoring the reaching hands sliding off her.
Fingers bent and cracked. Her smile widened at the sound. Maddy Pane moved like a dancer, her own hands playing around her, creating more popping sounds at every touch. ”Coming?”
She stepped on and over the biker, grinding a sharp tipped heel in his gut. “If not, you will be, just for me.”
My last hope of refuge shrank before Maddy Pane, some groveling, cuddling the pain of their own twisted, bent out of shape hands. Others became shadows backing up towards walls. “I’d be a fool not too.” I followed her. Maddy Pane’s personal slave.
She reeled me in and out of her bored, depraved life depending on what current fantasy she wanted fulfilled. The ankle bracelet I wore made me prisoner to her will. GPS revealed where I was at any given moment. The built in shock could be a stunning way of my being recalled. Tonight, she’d been curious about my whereabouts.
Maddy Pane led me back to her strip joint that had first lured me in. Her connections with the police made going to the authority a sum zero possibility. I’d drunk willingly the free drink offered. Woken up drug enhanced to meet her desire in a padded cell backroom she kept me in. Time revolved around whether she or one of her girls pole danced me next.
There is no pain to compare it with, rubbed raw, spasming until ejaculating blood. Sleepless nights? Forced to drink another one of Maddy Pane’s concoctions, all I knew was a humming sort of vibration in my bones forcing me to respond in a twilight sort of existence.
With time, Maddy Pane groomed and taught me not only every possible way to please a female orgasm on my own, but to hunt down other one night stand victims never seen again. They had to be single, alone, not working, no family, with a history of womanizing before they became prey.
“You didn’t find one for me,” Maddy Pane whispered, those terrible hands of hers caressing my cheek. “You’ll have to do.” There would be no sleep tonight.
I took the glittering champagne glass she offered, toasted her and swallowed the male enhancing power of the clear liquid. I could almost feel the blood flow from my brain, enriching and making me rise to the occasion in spite of myself. It always started out the same.
Pole dancing. Pleasure turned to pain.
Maddy Pane speculates aloud, "How many agonizing sleepless nights can a sick sex addict like you stand? We are about to find out."