A Study in Scarlett Ch. 01

I didn't say anything for a while, then quietly, "OK."

"You're sure?" She cupped my face in one hand, made me look at her, all seriousness.

"OK," I said, louder this time.

She kept her stern disposition for a moment longer then lowered it with a grin. "Good. I don't know how much longer I could've kept the tough girl act up; you're so fucking irresistible when you pout."

"Hey, I might not have millions, but at least I've got a good pout." I managed a chuckle.

She laughed as well. "Listen, I'm sorry. I didn't mean what I said. You're not just a job. You're...special. Russ and I could never have something like this."

"Yeah, yeah," I teased, pulling out my wallet to check its content before pulling out a wad of cash. "Will two-hundred get me a round two?"

"Tonight," she said, taking the money with a flourish. "It'll get you anything you want." "Anything?" I moved my hand to her pussy.

"Well," she said, blocking me by crossing her legs. "Almost anything."

"Fine," I replied with mock exasperation, sliding my hand around to spank her ass while I delivered the next line. "Then come get your bread buttered."

***

It remained like this for the better part of two months, me spending every instant I could with her, and working the rest of the time to pay for it. I barely saw Mandy and our sex life slowed from a crawl to a stop, not that I cared any longer. My passion was directed solely at Scarlett. On the rare occasion my fiancée did want to do it, I was the efficient one, eyes on the clock, pounding furiously to the finish. Her bitching increased, naturally. She didn't like the late nights, me disappearing all the time to go see a myriad of different long-lost friends (You remember Jake! He used to come to poker nights when we first started dating, before you told me to stop doing that. Well, his mom died.), and she said with more and more frequency that I loved my job more than I did her.

What really got to her, though, was the money. With all the green I was funneling into Sparkles, we didn't have much left for anything else, and Mandy hadn't been all that pleased with our level of luxury before my new habit. Also, she questioned how I could work so much overtime and have so little to show for it. And yet, I found myself unconcerned. It seemed that her words rolled off me now, and on the rare instances when her nagging did manage to penetrate, I took my frustrations out on my big-breasted diversion and was quickly mollified.

All in all, I was happier than I had been in a long time. Bills were mounting and I wasn't making payments, a wedding that no longer seemed important crept closer and closer, late nights and lack of sleep had added up and I looked haggard, but through everything, I remained relaxed. Apart from the spikes of malignity that I displayed locked in secret rooms with Scarlett, I felt purified, as if our sessions were a cleansing ritual of sorts. Co-workers commented on my improved disposition, I noticed myself smiling for no reason. It was a fucked up life I was living, but it felt good. The system was disturbing, maybe even damaging, but it worked, and I entered every day eager to discover what awaited me at the end.

It stayed that way until I came home one night, after experimenting to see what sounds different-sized bottles of liquor would make when plunged in and out of Scarlett's pussy, to find Mandy gone, not moved-out gone, but missing. Nothing had been taken, only she and her car weren't there. I figured she'd finally grown weary of me being late all the time and had gone out to scare me or make me jealous. I went to sleep thinking she'd be beside me when I woke up. When she wasn't, I began to feel anxious.

I was so concerned that I stayed home from work. For the first time in months something cracked the layer of lust and violence that I had armored myself with. I was worried. My fears were confirmed when I got a call a little before 10 a.m. There had been a wreck, Mandy had been badly injured. I should come in right away. ***

I spent the rest of the day in the Emergency waiting room. I nursed coffee and twitched impatiently as the hours ticked away. A short doctor with a bald spot and thick glasses came out every so often to update me on her condition. Both of her legs had been broken in several places, and she had several lacerations and extensive bruising. More seriously, though, she had sustained a dangerous head injury. Her SUV, smashed like a can, they told me, had rolled after she careened off the road, breaking through a guardrail on the way. During this, the side of her head had bashed into the door frame and her skull had cracked. There was some bleeding in her brain. They weren't sure how it would turn out, couldn't say either way. Having spent months wishing she would shut up, I found myself terrified I would never hear her voice again.

It was dark when they let her out of surgery. The bald doctor told me it had gone well. She was going to be fine. They were moving her to a room. It was past midnight when they finally let me see her.

She looked smaller than normal in the hospital bed, legs encased in two plaster casts, her skin a paint-shop mix of tan and purple flecked with scrapes and slashes. Swollen and tender, her usually beautiful face was unrecognizable, and her hair spiked out messily from beneath a gauze head-wrap. She saw me as I walked in and she began to cry, eyes darting in the opposite direction as if trying to flee, the only avenue of escape open to her since, in her state, she couldn't even manage to turn her head.

"Don't!" She sobbed immediately. "Don't look at me! I don't want you to see me like this. Just go!"

"Shhhh. I'm not going anywhere, sugar. I'm sorry it took me so long to get to you; they wouldn't let me see you."

"Oh, Will, my legs, my legs hurt so badly."

"I know, dear. I'm here with you."

"I-I-I..." She broke down, shaking as her body was wracked by emotion. I moved my hand to hers and gave it a small squeeze, just letting her cry. We sat like that for a long time, her bawling and me trying to be supportive.

"It's OK. I know. I know. It's going to be all right. I love you." I was surprised to discover that I meant the last part. I had always meant it, but it had faded into the background of my thoughts, a piece of forgotten lore that startled me with its sudden relevance.

She eventually quieted. "Thank you, Will. Thank you for coming." Her voice was hoarse.

"What do you mean, sugar? Of course I came. Why wouldn't I? Why would you even say such a thing?"

"I didn't think you would." This admission trigger a new session of weeping.

I rubbed her arm to soothe her and immediately regretted it as she winced in pain. "Sorry! Sorry. Mandy...you needed me. Of course I came."

She didn't say anything in response, but shook in a silent sob.

"Mandy, sugar, talk to me."

"It's just that," she said, lifting her arm to wipe snot from her nose then grimacing in pain. She lay mortified as I took a tissue and did it for her. I thought she might cry again, but she fought it back and started to speak again. "It's just that, lately, you've seen so far away. I feel like you don't even like me anymore."

"Sugar, of cour-"

"I know I can be a bitch. I don't mean to be. My mom was the same way, demanding, impossible to please. I'm sorry if I've been that way with you. I didn't mean to, I swear!"

"We'll talk about this stuff later, Mandy. Right now, you need to get some rest."

"No! No...I know there's something wrong. I know you haven't been OK, that you've been keeping things from me. I didn't mean to push you to that. I love you, honestly I do. I'm sorry I've made you unhappy."

"Sugar, I love you too. I'm not unhappy. I'm not hiding anything fr-"

"I followed you last night!"

Her strangled cry hung in the air for several seconds before I replied.

"What?"

"I followed you. To the strip club. Sprinkles, or whatever."

"Mandy...I..." My words fled.

"I'm not mad. I knew it had to be something like that. The late nights. You never having money. It's my fault. I made you do it, go to that...place. It's my fault. All of this is my fault." She swept her eyes around as if to indicate her injuries, and then fell back into weeping.

"What do you mean?" I pressed her. "What do you mean this is your fault? The wreck? How was it your fault?"

Sobbing.

"Mandy!?"

"I was so upset. I was crying. I shouldn't have been driving. I'm stupid."

It hit me. She had followed me to the club. She had driven away from the club. She had wrecked because of the club, because of me, because of Scarlett.

"Oh my God, I'm sorry, Mandy. I'm the worst person in the world. It's not your fault; it's mine."

"You weren't driving..."

"No, but I drove you to it. I'm so, so sorry. How can you ever forgive me?"

"It's not even that bad. Lots of guys go to those kinds of places, especially when their girlfriends aren't...romantic enough. I can see why you would go."

She didn't know. She thought I was just at a titty bar. She didn't realize it was closed, that I was with Scarlett, that I was a worthless, cheating monster.

"I'll do better." She stared up at me, her brown eyes pleading at me from out of a mask of bruises. "We can make this work. I know I messed up, but we can be all right. We can have sex more, and I won't spend so much money. I'm sorry."

"No, sugar. I should be the one apologizing. You're fine, more than fine. What can I do to make it better?"

"Love me."

I leaned over and held her tenderly in my arms as she let loose with another course of crying. When it subsided, she raggedly breathed out the next part.

"And, Will, please don't go back there anymore."

Silence.

"Will?"

"Yeah."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

A short time later, after the lights had been turned out and Mandy had drifted off to sleep and I had almost begun to doze myself, my cell vibrated. I took it out just to make sure. The word CUM was illuminated in the dark. I slid the phone back into my pocket and pulled my fiancée's blanket up to her chin.

***

I got the same message twice again that week, the second time on the day they let me bring Mandy home. I ignored it each time. During the second week, she began with sentences. "Where are you, Daddy?" "I miss you." "Someone needs a spanking." I erased them as soon as I got them and tried to push them from my mind. The third week signaled the start of the pictures, tame at first, snap-shots of whips and paddles, ruby lips and plaid skirts. They soon intensified, showing tits, ass-shots, and, eventually, still frames of her shaved pussy gaped completely open. These were harder to delete, but I found the strength. In week four I sent a single response, "NO", but it had no effect. It had to stop; I had almost cost my fiancée her life with my reckless lust and I couldn't take the risk of her seeing even one of the messages, not in her condition. Hadn't I done enough to hurt the poor girl? I called the phone company and had my number changed, confident that in doing so I had put an unfortunate chapter of my life behind me.

Meanwhile, Mandy and I grew close again, closer than we had been in a long time. She pleaded that we not push the wedding back, and I, glad to give her something to look forward to, agreed. She vowed to walk down the aisle and seemed completely determined. Most of her bandages came off after the first week but she still had to remain in a wheelchair to get around, though she wasn't very good at it. I used my vacation days, saved up from two years of working through holidays and never going anywhere but work and home, and took the entire month off. I devoted myself to taking care of my injured lover, and she healed under my supervision. We healed, as well.

We spent most of our days playing games, like checkers, and talking. We laughed more than I remembered, and she listened better than she had. When evening came, I would carry her to the couch and lay her across it before snuggling in behind her so we could spoon and watch TV, comedies mostly. After everything that had happened, she said she just wasn't ready for the serious stuff.

As soon as her injuries healed enough to allow it, she started to insist on giving me a blowjob each night before we went to bed. I resisted at first, but gave in upon seeing the desperate-to-please look on her face. She would sit in her chair and suck me off enthusiastically and with as much vigor as the situation allowed. It was nothing compared to what I had experienced with Scarlett, who had been an absolute master at sucking cock, but she did a commendable job, all things considered, satisfying me. On those nights she was comfortable with it, I would return the favor, placing her on the bed and laying between her two plaster casts to lick her pussy. Not being able to shower properly kept her pussy from being as fresh as normal, but she did the best she could and I was glad to be able to make her feel good. It was a nice change.

We even started going out on dates again. We had to choose activities that were wheelchair friendly, things like dinner-dates and walks in the park where I pushed her in front of me, but they were still enjoyable. It was on these excursions, away from everything that was familiar, that Scarlett troubled me the least. She seemed like a relic from a different life, a stage I had gone through as a child, almost like something that had happened to someone else.

It was after we had returned from one of these jaunts, a midday trip to the art museum, that it all fell apart.

Mandy and I both came home horny, excited from an afternoon of flirting amid the galleries of half-naked men and women. We shared a lingering kiss just inside the door, and then I wheeled her into the bedroom, intent on ravishing her, or at least a gentle, loving equivalent.

When we entered our bedroom, an oversized master that Mandy had loved when I was house-shopping, Scarlett was sitting cross-legged on our bed, looking quite unlike I had ever seen her. Her hair, dyed a deep crimson, flowed loosely over her shoulders and her make-up was significantly darker than usual--purple around the eyes and mouth--no sign of the familiar copper pigtails and bright eye shadow she typically wore. She had on, rather than her usual tie and panties, a form-fitting black leather dress, sleeveless and short. A pair of knee high boots, black leather as well, completed the ensemble. The dress made her look powerful and commanding, even a touch scary. Her eyes were smoldering when she spoke, her mouth a dark slash, the color of crushed blackberries.

"You never come see me anymore, Daddy." Her tone was teasing without mirth and contained not a hint of submission.

"Will," Mandy said, fearfully. "Who is this woman?"

"And this must be little Miss Mandy Pooh! "

Scarlett rose in one smooth motion and came to stand in front of my fiancée. Bending to put her face close to Mandy's, she examined her like a judge would a show dog, looking from different angles, crinkling her brow and squinting her eyes as she inspected.

"You're right, William," she said my full name in such a way as if to imply that it was the proper pronunciation and that Mandy had misspoken. "She is hot. Kind of damaged, though. Do you think it's too late to send her back for a refund?"

"What the fuck?" Mandy stammered.

"How did you know where I lived?" I said. I thought to ask her how she'd gotten in but, recalling her proficiency with a bobby pin, I didn't bother.

"I saw your license, remember?" she answered coyly.

"I think you should go!" I said stiffly.

"Who?" My fiancée questioned again.

"Sigh. William can be so rude sometimes. Hi, I'm Scarlett. It's a pleasure." She took one of Mandy's hands in hers and gave it a quick, patronizing shake. I noticed that her nails were painted black to match her dress and boots. "Would you like to tell her how we know each other, dear, or should I?"

"What's she talking about, Will?"

"Nothing, sugar. Scarlett, get out!"

"Nothing!?" She feigned mock pain. "I'm hurt. I thought all those nights at the club meant something to you."

"She's from the club?" Mandy sounded shrill.

"Yes, but it's not important."

"She's a dancer?" Shock was giving way to outrage on my fiancée's face. "Like on stage?"

"Yes, I dance, and yes on a stage, though for William, I've done it on a desk, and the floor, and a bar, and the backseat of his car...."

"Enough!" I shouted.

"A stripper? You brought a stripper into our home?"

"Not just a stripper. I do a lot more than that, Mandy. I have a whole slew of services I provide and, I have to say--well I guess I don't have to, but I want to--that your William has taken advantage of almost all of them."

I moved from behind Mandy's chair and grabbed Scarlett roughly by the wrist. "I said...enough!"

"See, Mandy," she said, biting her lip seductively as her gaze scanned over my forceful grasp. "This is the William I know."

"What does she mean!? What have you done with this woman, Will!?" Mandy's voice was almost a screech.

"Let's show her, William."

I never saw the punch coming. It connected solidly on my mouth, thrown with the stripper's free arm. I tasted blood as I fell back on the bed, black dots sprinkled across my vision. I had never been hit by a girl before, but if they all punched like Scarlett did, I owed them an apology for all the derogatory comments over the years. I was vaguely aware of Scarlett pushing Mandy's chair against the wall then engaging the brake with her foot, leaving my injured girlfriend trapped. Before I could collect myself, the redhead had covered the distance from Mandy to the bed and jumped into a pinning position, her legs spread over me. I tried to sit up, but with surprising quickness Scarlett reached into the depths of one of her tall boots and retrieved a silver black-handled knife, which she held to my throat in warning. I froze.

"What should we do first, William? Should you spank me? You love to do that." She spoke over her shoulder to Mandy as much as she did me.

"I-is that true?" I could hear Mandy ask.

"Why are you doing this?" I said desperately.

Scarlett's countenance softened. "I miss you, Daddy." Then, just as quickly, it changed by to a hard, wicked look. "Tit fuck? Nah. I know! Why don't you fuck my mouth!? Did you know he liked that, Mandy? He gets so into it. The loads he shoots after that. *whistle* But I'm sure you already know about that. No? Pity."

"This is stupid." I said, feeling the situation spinning out of control.

"You're right, you can't even see her. Move!"

Blade still held to my throat, she forced me to rotate my body so that Mandy and I had an unobstructed view of each other, then began making a show of kissing me softly on my busted mouth, even making a grotesque production out of licking blood from it. When I turned away, she merely continued with my face and neck. The hand without the knife reached down and fondled my balls through my pants. My cock hardened at her touch almost immediately, no matter how much I willed it not to. She nibbled my ear and whispered in a quiet, vulgar tone.

"At least that big dick of yours remembers me." Louder, she said. "All good options, but we've done them all. So. Many. Times. I think we should try something new."

"Is she telling the truth?" Mandy trembled and her eyes were unbalanced. She tried to reach down to release the brake but couldn't, and then attempted to lean forward but found that the girth of her casts kept her securely wedged. Having no other option, she collapsed back and cried in frustration.

"Tell her, William," Scarlett instructed.

When I wouldn't, she pressed the knife more firmly against my throat drawing a thin line of red for her efforts. I still wouldn't comply. She would have to kill me first. Unable to look at my fiancée any longer, I turned my head the other way. Scarlett gave me a fierce sneer before abruptly shrugging with a childish giggle and saying, in a fake German accent, "Vine. Ve yave vays ov vaking you talk."