A Study in Scarlett Ch. 01

"What. The. Fuck. Would you know? You think you have the right to judge me? You're a goddamned stripper! You're one step from being a fucking whore!"

"Not even one step some days." She gave me an evil grin, a cruel and magnificent flash of teeth. "But is it really me you're angry at, William? Are you sure it isn't little Miss Mandy, you're charming little girlfriend? Isn't it her you're mad at? Her you hate?"

"I hate you both!" I shocked myself with the venom in my voice.

"Oh, do you?" she giggled irritatingly. "Do you want to hurt her? Do you want to hurt me?"

"Yes," I growled, fists clenched at my sides.

"Then do it!" She reached behind her and opened the drawer of the desk and retrieved a two-plied, two-toned, leather paddle, a front layer of black cut so that the word "slut" showed through in a back layer of red. She placed it beside her, pulled off her panties, and spun around so that her knees were on the desk and her ass was facing me, a completely shaven pussy peeking out from underneath. "Make me cum all over this bitch's desk. " I didn't move. My voice shook when I spoke.

"I don't know what kind of fucking game you're playing, Scarlett..."

She turned to look at me over the curve of her big, luscious ass, rolling her eyes as she met the intensity of my glare. "For fuck's sake, you are a fucking pussy. Would it help if I spent all your money and never gave it up for you?"

I was beside her in an instant, one hand gripped the paddle as it rested on the desk, the other clenched one of her pigtails. "I swear to fucking God, girl..." My voice was unrecognizable to myself.

"Fuck you."

The paddle carved through the air, making a whistling noise before it landed on her exposed ass with a sharp crack that reverberated through the room. Scarlett cried out. The intention of the design was obvious when the tool was in use. Scarlett's ass was a bright red where I had spanked her, except where the letters had been removed, therefore leaving the cut-out word clearly visible in the pale tone of her skin. I went to put the paddle back on the desk.

"You hit like a girl," she breathed through clenched teeth. "Actually, I've seen a girl swing that paddle harder. You see, Lorraine isn't just a bitch, she's also a dyke. Sometimes, when a girl starts falling behind, Lorraine will fire them. Sometimes, they beg her not to, say they'll do whatever it takes to keep the job. Those she brings in here and spanks with that paddle. I've seen the marks, and you're just not as much of a man as she is."

The paddle connected again.

"Pussy," she shouted.

I hit her again, hard this time, and then again before she could speak, then another, each bounced off the walls of the small room and turned her ass pink, and left a snow-white "slut" stamped on her delicate ass. I was a machine. I hated her for being a bitch, for being like Mandy, but most of all, for being right. I was tired, so fucking tired, of being pushed around by women, and I was going to take it out on this mouthy chick's ass.

Scarlett no longer talked back. Her smart words had abandoned her and she now communicated in sharp breaths and piercing cries, her stiff back the only part of her that remained defiant. I kept spanking, muscles burning from the effort, until that too dissolved. Each blow rippled through her, and with each impact, she became more compliant, more malleable, until my strikes poured through her, washed her away and left her kneeling broken before me. As she bent to me, I noticed with astonishment that her bald pussy was so saturated with excitement that it was dripping onto the desk creating a puddle beneath her. If that surprised me, what she said next almost put me on the floor.

"Can I touch it, Daddy? Can I finger my pussy for you? I know I've been bad, but I need it." She spoke in the little girl voice from the other night.

"Fuck yes," I answered without hesitation. In response, her fingers moved to her wet lips and roughly played with her clit.

"Don't stop spanking me, Daddy. I deserve it. I'm so naughty. I try to be good for you, but I just can't. I'm wicked. Punish me." She sobbed the words between encouraging moans.

"Oh God! Yes!" The sight of her so obviously getting off on her submission sent my cock springing to life and I thought I might cum just from the sight of her. The redness of her ass absorbed me. The sight of her flesh jiggling from my fury sparked a hunger in me. I became something loathsome, driven by a need for violence and pain, the need to mark her body, to wreck it against the current of my anger.

Her fingers blurred on her sex and I could feel her arch as she approached climax. I hastened my swings, putting my full weight behind them. She cried now, tears flowing down her soft cheeks and onto her boss's desk.

"Cry for me, you evil little bitch! Cry for your Daddy! For your master!" She had broken me as well, even as I savaged her body. I had become unhinged, and something terrible, long restrained, used my body like a puppet. "I own you! You're mine, you fucking whore!"

I didn't need to feel her orgasm; I could hear it as it rained down on the table in a series of drips and splashes. She screamed. More of her juices ran down her legs, pooling on the desk and then running over the edge onto the ground. Still her fingers assaulted her cunt, propelling squirt after squirt, until her entire body seemed to cascade down the desk and she sat, disoriented and with unfocused eyes, on the floor.

We were lost in a dream, her unresponsive on the floor, burning ass pressed to the chilly tile, me sweat-drenched above her, panting with exertion and madness.

Minutes passed, the room churning around me as my pulse raced and my chest heaved. I was a beast, forgotten by myself. When I eventually regained my faculties, Scarlett had roused from her stupor and her hand climbed up my leg to grip my steely cock through my pants. Her eyes were still those of a slave voracious to please her master.

"I'm sorry, Daddy. I didn't please you. I'm useless. I don't know how to make you happy. Teach me my purpose. Use me for your needs." She yanked my pants down, freeing my dick from its confines, and kneeled before me licking her lips, a clueless countenance plastered across her face.

The thing I had become accepted her compliance without question, as if utter subordination were her natural state. I stepped out of my pants and grabbed her harshly by both pigtails. I dragged her over to the chair, leaving a path of wetness on the ground behind her, then sat, holding her head like I had earlier held the wheel of my car.

Without tenderness or warning I pulled her down unto my cock with both hands, using her pigtails like handles as I fucked her mouth. She took it commendably, obeying my directions without hesitation. Even so, she choked and sputtered as she engulfed my cock. I watched myself pound her mouth as if watching a stranger. She ceased to be Scarlett, to even be a person, and become an object. Her throat became a lubricated tunnel with which I satisfied my craving, a warm place for me to jerk-off, and I did so with no thought to her needs or desires. Her eyes watered and spit collected at the base of my shaft and still I did not relent. I enjoyed her nothingness, her absence of being. It made me feel, for the first time in a long time, like the one in control. I thought about Mandy as I used the stripper's mouth, and wished I could do the same to her. I wished, for an instant, that I could do the same to all women, that I could line them up in a row, kneeling at my feet, and empty them out as I had Scarlett, drain from them all that was important and meaningful and fill them instead with my thick cock. The monster inside me shivered with excitement at the thought. For now, however, this slut would have to do.

I started to buck my hips, as well, forcing her from both sides. She gagged frequently, and saliva blanketed my dick and poured gooey down her chin. There were several instances where I thought she might vomit, but somehow she held it back. Aggression flooded from me, taking the form of pure vulgarity.

"Take it! Take it, you cunt! Choke on that fat dick!" Then, unable to keep myself from erupting into her mouth. "Taste it! Taste your master! Taste his fucking cum!"

The load I pumped into her was huge, as if it contained all of my irritation, my discontentedness, the parts of me that I had lost to this night, the decent wholesome things. She swallowed greedily, but it was just too much, and it oozed from her stuffed mouth, milky and white, to stream down her throat, chest, and stomach. She drew back from me and rocked on her knees, her mouth wide and proud and ringed with jizz. As for the rest of my seed, her hands clutched at her torso, moving in circles, collecting the cum that had escaped her ravenous appetite then smearing it across her big tits until they glistened like burnished glass. What was left on her hands, she tongued off in long swaths, starting at the wrist and ending at the fingertips. Watching her diligently clean the cum from her hands sent me even deeper into my fervor, and I spurted several more ropes of sticky fluid, which landed in strips on the top of her thighs.

"Oh, thank you, Daddy. Thank you so much. Mmmm," She caught my eye and spoke between licks. "You're so good to me. Thank you for using me."

When she was sure that every drip of semen had been seen to, she laid her head across my lap and kissed lovingly at my softening penis. With the frenzy of my need past, the demon she had summoned in me retreated, and overwhelming feelings of warmth came over me. I stroked her hair tenderly and stared up at the ceiling, softly repeating, "Oh my God...oh my God," more to myself than to her. I wanted never to move.

When she did ultimately break the moment by looking up at me and speaking, it was with a wry smile and a mischievous tone.

"Well, did I?"

"Did you what?" I said, examining her from the corner of my eye. "What didn't you did? Regardless of what you are asking, I'm fairly certain the answer is 'yes', unless the rest of the sentence is, 'disappoint you'."

"No, silly. Did I make you feel better?" Her tone was bouncy and light once more.

"Abso-fucking-lutely," I answered.

"Good. I'm glad." She nodded her head exaggeratedly. "Now, any time Not-Randy-Mandy is mean to you and won't put-out, you can come here after we close, do that, and feel better." She paused for a moment before adding, "For five-hundred dollars."

I looked down at her fully, one eyebrow arched in surprise. All I said, however, was, "OK".

"Great! Since that's settled, help me wipe off this desk and get everything set back up."

"Sure, but Scarlett?"

"Yeah?"

"What about the cameras? Won't your boss watch them and know we were in here?"

"Of course. I want her to watch."

"What!?"

"She knows, William. She's always known." "Then why all the cloak and dagger, breaking-and-entering bullshit?"

"Just because Lorraine is all right with it, doesn't mean it's something the other dancers should know. A girl's got to have secrets!"

"Then why do it if it doesn't make the boss angry?"

"Because that chubby lezzy has had a thing for me ever since I first started here, and knowing that I was naked on her desk just the night before has to drive her fucking crazy. Do you know how long it takes to get the smell of pussy out of wood? And she has to sit her and smell it all morning! She'll be fingering that fat cunt before lunch. Besides, I like to do what I can to increase her infatuation with me. She lets me get away with more that way."

"Hold it. So, you've done this before?"

"Really? Don't be dumb."

"That'll teach me to ask questions."

"You're cute when you're naïve."

"Thanks. Oh, and Scarlett, you should have said it was a thousand. You're worth it."

"I know."

"And so modest! Seriously, though, five-hundred to fuck you would be a bargain."

"I didn't say you'd get to fuck me for five-hundred."

Mandy would not be getting her TV.

***

From that point on, Scarlett became my release, from Mandy, from work, from traffic, anything that bothered me. I would store it up and save it for her, like bottled malevolence, and then uncork it in her presence, brutally, gleefully.

I couldn't afford the five-hundred every time. Still, I tried, working as much overtime as possible and skimping where I could to save. Nonetheless, I could only manage it once a week at best. When I had it, she would let me rape her mouth again. If I was short, I would give her everything I had and settle for spanking her while she touched herself.

Sometimes, in the grips of my madness, I would try to fuck her, to pin her beneath me and force myself on her. True to her word, she never allowed this. It was amazing the way she could escape me when she wanted to. She was flexible from dancing and surprisingly strong. Whenever I would go too far, her supple body would steel and she would fight like a wild thing, animalistic and treacherous, when I then tried to contain her with gusto, really bear down and commit to the assault, she would merely bend away, draining from my grasp like sand through an hourglass, before backing away to wag her finger at me and give me an admonishing look.

Regardless, we put her boss's office to good use, and soon there wasn't an inch of the room that had not felt of Scarlett's body and absorbed her fluid. I whipped her against the monitors, sat her on top of the file cabinets and watched her juices drizzle down them like a waterfall, even forced her to blow me while I sat behind the desk and called Mandy; "Working late again," I told my fiancée with a grunt as I erupted into the redhead's waiting mouth. Once I even pressed her against the door, forcing her to take the door handle into her wet cunt so that she was impaled on both side as I stabbed her throat with my cock.

When we had thoroughly worn out the office, we began to explore the rest of Sparkles, and soon I had punished my naughty girl on the stage, the bar, several of the tables, and both bathrooms, though Scarlett didn't like the last two as much since they robbed her of her audience, the ever-present cameras and the watchful eyes of her boss. I grew to understand that, even more than she had indicated, she liked that our debauchery was being observed and even recorded. I obliged this preoccupation when I could, turning her so that she faced the blinking red lights, directing her like a pornographic actress in front of the dark lenses. "Blow her a kiss," I'd say. "Squeeze your tits together for her, baby." This always made my companion's pussy even wetter.

As for Lorraine, I saw her sometimes after that first night, walking the fringes of the establishment, sizing up the girls as they danced onstage. Scarlett even went so far as to introduce me to her with a wink, though I'm not sure who the wink was supposed to benefit. As the redhead had indicated, her boss was a bit overweight, but I found that she wasn't nearly as repulsive as Scarlett had seemed to imply. To the contrary, she was almost attractive, if one liked buxom, older women.

She was a curly-headed blonde in her late-forties, about my height, who wore too much make-up on her pleasing, if a tad round, face, and favored skin-tight outdated clothing reminiscent of the 1980's, typically stretchy, bright-colored tops and scandalously short skirts. Her belly pooched in the shirts but it was difficult to notice as most of them were all low-cut affairs that strained under the pressure of containing a pair of enormous, DD breasts. They seemed possessed of a locomotion independent from hers, and they jiggled ceaselessly as she moved about the club surveying her domain.

No matter what she was doing, however, she always seemed to have an eye for Scarlett, and, therefore, for me. She stared unapologetically at us as we interacted. When focused on the my lover, her visage would take on an almost frightening intensity; her mouth would move, seemingly without bidding, into small sensual shapes and her hands, tipped with electric pink nails, would inadvertently trace down the jut of her stomach before slipping inside the waistband of her skirt to paw at the top of her vagina. If her gaze intersected mine her expression would change, becoming slack, almost unreadable, but I could see it in her eyes: a tempest of hatred and jealousy. I believe she would have banned me from the club, for having the audacity to touch the object of her desire, if not for fear of upsetting Scarlett and destroying the little closeness--the intimacy of voyeur and exhibitionist--she had achieved. Either way, I would not be scared off. I too needed the fiery stripper.

Even when I couldn't afford the "extras" I would go to the club at least three times a week, to sit at the edge of the stage and feed her dollars, or to hemorrhage twenties in the Couch Room. I would have gone more, but she wouldn't allow it. Her previous assertion that I could see her "anytime" I wanted proved to be something of a misnomer. To the contrary, she was incredibly particular about when I could and couldn't come, and sometimes wouldn't know until the very last moment. Needing a way to relay her decisions to me, we exchanged cell numbers, though she never called and refused to answer when I did. Even her text messages were direct and without superfluity. If I was wanted, she would type only CUM, a small word pun that seemed to tickle her. If not, I got a, NO, and no further explanation. Any attempt to expand on this form of communication--with questions, information, or even dirty pictures--was met with absolute silence. She beckoned and I heeded her call.

I went once on a night when I had received the NO message. I was unsurprised to find her whorishly straddling Russ, the giant whom I had seen her with before. I had expected as much, going so far as to walk up to her and give her my best impression of her trademark finger wag. I was shocked, however, when she gave me only a brief, cold glance before having the greasy-haired bouncer forcibly eject me from the place.

I received a "CUM" the next night and she acted as if nothing had happened when I greeted her by walking up behind her and squeezing her fleshy ass. Nor did she mention it while I bought her drinks and ran my hands over her legs under our table, barely able to control myself until closing time. I had been paid earlier that day so, when the time finally came, I had enough for the works, and it wasn't until after we'd finished--a tit fuck this time while I throttled her, right under one of the surveillance cameras in the Couch Room so Lorraine would have a front-row seat to me spraying a load all over Scarlett's freckled face when she came in to watch the footage the next day--that I finally addressed it.

"So, why can't I come in when he's here?"

She didn't bother to ask whom I meant when I said he. "Because, those are his days." She said it as if it were perfectly obvious and something I already should have known, like I had asked her for the time when I was clearly wearing a watch.

"Why does he get to pick the days?"

"Because he pays more."

"What if I start paying more than he does?"

"You can't"

"Why?"

"I mean, you can't. You can't afford it. He's rich. Rich, rich. As in, millions. Sorry, Daddy, got to know where my bread's buttered. Besides, he's a gentleman...and his cock is huge." She added the last part in a gentle tease.

"Millions!? What does he do? You've seen his cock? What the hell, Scarlett? I thought this was a me and you thing. I didn't think you had this kind of relationship with anyone else."

"I don't mean to sound harsh." Her words had that same little-girl-businessman quality from the first night. "But, we don't have a relationship. We have a deal. You're a job. I sell services; you purchase them. You come when the store is open and leave when it's closed. As to your questions, I don't talk about clients with other clients. Come again on the wrong day and it's over. This is the way it is. If you don't like it, stay home." Seeing my dejection she added, "Look, William, I like you, I really do, but this is my life. You're going to have to accept that if you want to continue."