Pussy Kandy

Pussy paused to let it sink in.

"Or, you can have some great orgasms, make a lot of money, and get a little revenge on a man who betrayed you and wanted to murder you. A man who lied to you and cheated on you for years, Jaycee. A man who doesn't even want to touch you anymore."

"I mean, c'mon. I know it's been a crazy, shitty night, but be smart here! Take the money! Make the movie! It may not be what you want, but it's the best choice you can make in this moment. I know women in Juarez who would amputate their own arm for an offer like this, Jaycee."

Jaycee's mind was racing. She felt trapped and disoriented.

"You'll kill me anyway," she whispered, looking at Pussy. "You won't pay me. You'll rape me, hurt me, and kill me."

Jaycee couldn't hold it in any longer, and she began to cry in deep, exhausted sobs.

Pussy wrapped an arm around her shoulders and leaned close.

"Jaycee, if my boss wanted to hurt you, a completely different team would be here. I'm not a killer, I'm a lover. Mister Daddy and I are in the sex business, not the murder business."

"My boss holds you blameless in all this --has great empathy for you, in fact-- but he would very much like to convince you to hurt Jason with sex. He will pay you handsomely to do so."

"He will do this because it appeals to his sense of justice. He's a very literal, 'eye-for-an-eye,' sort of man. Sure, we could tie you up and rape you in front of Jason, but that would defeat the purpose. It wouldn't be the same kind of pain. It wouldn't be justice."

"See, he has to watch you love it. Or, if not 'love,' something in the area of 'very enthusiastic appreciation.' You have to want it. That's why Mister Daddy and I are here. We're very, very good at making people want it. And we want you to want it."

"And that's why we aren't going to hurt you. It's important to us that you're willing; that you're enjoying yourself. If he sees you liking it, that's justice. And that sort of justice is worth a million dollars to my boss."

Pussy rubbed Jaycee's back, patting her.

"Your life as you knew it an hour ago is over. You can't get it back. The only thing you have to decide is if you want something to show for it. I can give you that something. What do you say?"

Jaycee looked up at Pussy with wet eyes.

"You won't hurt me?" she asked.

Pussy turned and reached into a small pink doctor's bag next to her on the couch. She pulled out a tiny pack of pink Kleenex, like kids keep at school, and plucked a few from the top.

"Tools of the trade," she said to Jaycee, in a tone that implied it was just-us-girls.

She leaned in and dabbed and wiped at Jaycee's eyes and nose. She wiped away tears with her thumbs and ran her small hands along Jaycee's hot cheeks. She took her face between her hands and pulled it down until their eyes were at the same level.

"Jaycee, I don't want to hurt you. I want to fuck you."

Pussy kissed her like she was disarming a bomb with her lips. She caressed Jaycee's face with soft hands and light fingers. As Jaycee's tension began to slip away, the kisses became deeper, wetter.

Jaycee had begun to breathe a little hard when Pussy pulled away.

"See? That wasn't so bad, was it?"

"No."

Jaycee thought for a long five-count.

"How do I know I'd get paid?" she asked.

"Good girl! Always get the money first!" Pussy said, in a 'you-go-girlfriend' tone. She turned toward the men.

"Green?" she purred at one of them, making a come-hither crook with her finger.

The man placed a thick, meaty briefcase at Jaycee's feet. Pussy bent at the waist and massaged the wheel locks with her thumbs. There was a weighty click, and the case cracked open like an oyster, revealing banded stacks of hundred-dollar bills.

Jaycee didn't think of herself as materialistic, but she had to admit that seeing that much money was exciting. Still, it had to be a ruse, she thought.

"How do I know you won't just kill me once you get what you want and take the money back?"

Jaycee felt the heavy beat of the time passing before Pussy responded.

"Let's just say that demonstrations of power are useful. Tomorrow morning you'll call the police. You'll tell them that kidnappers posing as trick-or-treaters took your husband."

"'They zapped me with a stun gun, officer! See? Look at the marks! Look where the zip ties were!' you'll say."

"We barged in, tied you up, searched the house for a while. You were blindfolded most of the time, couldn't see much. Everyone was wearing masks anyway. We told you your husband fucked up, that we were taking him, told you to watch the video. We told you that we were watching you; to wait until morning to call the police. You'll show them the video and the other documents."

"They'll put two-and-two together, but we will be gone and out of reach; no prosecution will come of it. The story will spread, and it will become known to my boss's enemies that they can be touched, even in Michigan, even from Altiplano prison. That is also worth the money to him."

It all made a sort of sense, and Jaycee started to allow herself to hope. Maybe she could make it out of this.

"Will you put it on the Internet?" she asked Pussy.

"It will be highly incriminating evidence, Jaycee. It is for my boss's purposes, not public consumption. You aren't going to see this on Pornhub."

Jaycee could feel her resolve crumbling. She was still scared --very scared-- but she also wanted to let herself believe in a way out. Could she really do it? Would they really let her live? The thought of being naked in front of all these people --of having sex in front of strangers with strangers-- made her feel sick. The thought of seeing Jason made her feel like running for the door.

"It won't be as bad as you think. Trust me. You'll forget they're there," Pussy said, seeming to read her mind. "Or you might get turned on that they're watching. Sometimes I do. Whatever happens, we're gonna make you feel good, Jaycee. You'll get into it. If nothing else, think of this: for the next hour, you'll make over sixteen thousand dollars a minute."

Jayce did the math in her head. It actually came out to $16,666 per minute.

Sexy Witch. 666. How appropriate, she thought.

"Ok," Jaycee said, so softly it was almost a whisper. She regretted it almost immediately.

Pussy clapped with her dainty hands. "Great!" she said, "Let's make a movie!"

Jaycee could feel the sweat behind her knees as Pussy stood and clicked away toward the bedroom again. She kept her head down, staring intently at the floor, aware of all the eyes on her. She could feel the weight of the camera lenses. She wasn't sure she could go through with it but couldn't see a way to back out that seemed safe. She closed her eyes and tried to breathe.

More muffled conversation in the bedroom. A bark. The bassy rumble of casters rolling over the wood floor, growing louder as they made their way up the hallway.

Jaycee looked up as the dog rounded the corner. Pussy was right behind him. She snapped and pointed out the door they'd just walked through at the floor in the hallway.

"No, Mr. Snickers. You can't watch."

The dog barked once.

"Miiister Sniiickers..." she chided, pointing again at the spot on the floor she'd chosen. The dog whined, turned, and walked away.

The wheels rumbled through the doorway. They were attached to the base of a rolling metal A-frame rack. Jason was strapped astride the top of it as if it were a saddle. He was naked, with a black bag over his head, in the same position that a jockey might sit a horse in the home stretch: ass high in the air, knees bent, shins folded tight underneath, and his torso low and hugging his mount. His arms stretched in front of him as if his hands were holding invisible reins. His head seemed unnaturally high, and his neck stretched into the black bag at what had to be an uncomfortably severe angle.

Nylon straps were cinched tight at his joints, at six-inch intervals along his limbs, and around his waist and torso, holding him immobilized against the frame. His fingers and toes were all that he could move, and they flexed and folded nervously as Mister Daddy pushed him past the couch.

Jaycee looked away.

"Gonna have to tie down those fingers and toes later, huh, Jason?" Pussy said. "Can't have you wiggling your piggies to distract yourself when I want all of your attention."

The flexing stopped.

"Roll him there, Mister Daddy," she said, pointing to a spot eight feet in front of the couch. "Spin him so he's facing us but leave the bag on."

Pussy turned her attention back to Jaycee.

"Time for wardrobe! I found this very nice piece in your bedroom," she said, reaching into her small pink medical bag on the couch. She pulled out a crumpled ball of green and black lace, shook it free of itself, and held it up in front of Jaycee.

It was a sheer, lacy teddy with an emerald green spaghetti-strap harness that framed the tops of the breasts in soft, curving fabric lines, and connected to a green lace choker at the neck. The front was a deep green satin and lace panel, the sides sheer black lace. It looked like a dominatrix had designed an Irish doily.

Jaycee had bought it earlier that year for Valentine's Day, but she and Jason had fought that night and she'd never worn it.

"With your green eyes, your skin tone, that red hair?" Pussy said. "I bet you look fucking gorgeous in this."

"I've never worn it," Jaycee said.

Pussy inhaled, pulling an exaggerated 'shocked' face.

"Well let's try it on!"

"Mister Daddy, would you come here and help me and Jaycee with wardrobe?"

The big man moved like water to Pussy's side. He was easily six-and-a-half feet tall. He had ditched the hat, and long, wavy brown hair hung to his shoulders. Pussy reached up and, with deft, practiced fingers, slipped the pink fabric closure loops free. The front of the mariachi jacket slid open like a peep-show window.

He wasn't wearing a shirt, and Jaycee couldn't help but notice the rippling muscle peeking out.

"Let's just get this off you," Pussy said, as she helped him slide out of the jacket, tugging it over his oaken shoulders.

Jaycee almost gasped when she saw him stripped to the waist. It was as if someone had pointed to Thor and Aquaman and said, 'Give me one of those, but the next size up.'

His skin was the color of coffee with cream, and upholstered with dozens of tattoos, stitched together across his arms, chest, and shoulders --which were the size of bowling balls.

"That's better," said Pussy, tracing her palm across his abs as if they were the fender of a Ferrari.

"Isn't he gorgeous?" she said, smiling down at Jaycee on the couch.

Jaycee nodded.

"His body feels amazing. Why don't you feel it?" She reached down to Jaycee. "Here, give me your hand."

Pussy placed Jaycee's hand under hers, just above his beltline. His skin was silky and hot. She could feel firm muscle as Pussy's hand led hers on a guided tour of a torso that felt as if it had been carved from something warm, firm, and delicious. He felt so solid, like he was a pot roast the size of a double-door refrigerator. Pussy guided her hand below his waist, and soon Jaycee's palm was gliding over a bulge so large it scared her. It was like he was smuggling two Coke cans down his pantleg.

"Don't worry! He's so gentle with it!" she said, bending to eye-level. Her eyes laughed like they'd heard a dirty joke.

"Until you tell him not to be."

She bit Jaycee's bottom lip between her perfect white teeth, as carefully as if it were a water balloon, holding Jaycee's gaze the whole time.

She released Jaycee's lip and said, "Isn't that right, Mister Daddy?"

"Yes, Pussy."

His voice wasn't what Jaycee had imagined. It was a buttery and deep with a hint of bassy gravel. It was like honey dripping from a lion's mouth.

He sounded flirtatious, too. Jaycee had expected a more monotone reply, but his voice had slid out like smoke, with a curled lip and a winked eye.

"Jaycee, why dont you stand up so we can get you dressed," said Pussy.

"Give her a hand up, Mister Daddy."

He bent and hooked his hands under her arms, lifting her to her feet with all the effort of a parent lifting a toddler. His hands were warm and firm as he slid them down to her waist, holding her steady.

"Jaycee, have you ever used a safe word during sex?" Pussy asked.

"Yes."

"What's your safe word?"

"Pickle."

"Mister Daddy is going to get you into costume. From here on out, if you're uncomfortable, use your safe word. I may ask you at intervals if you'd like to use your safe word. Please be honest. Mister Daddy and I value honest communication."

"Mister Daddy, why do we value honest communication?"

"Because communication is the first ingredient of great sex, Pussy."

"Very good. Take off her dress."

His hands trickled over her hips, until his fingers hooked under the jagged hem of her ruined Sexy Witch dress. He was bent over her like she was a garden gate, and he was reaching for the latch.

"Slowly."

His bare chest pressed against her face as he inched the dress up her thighs. He smelled like vanilla, and cinnamon, and leather, and sweat. His fingernails skated aching lines along her lonely skin. She missed being touched.

"What's the second ingredient of great sex, Mister Daddy?" asked Pussy.

"Enthusiastic participation, Pussy"

The hem was just below Jaycee's crotch. Pussy slid her hand underneath the dress and traced a fingertip along the groove in Jaycee's panties like she was rubbing dirt off an artifact.

"Is that a little enthusiasm on my finger, Jaycee?" She licked her fingertip like she'd just pulled it from the batter bowl. "Because it tastes like enthusiasm."

Pussy stood and lifted the dress over Jaycee's breasts, then reached around and unhooked her bra-strap with expert dexterity. She slid her hands under the cups. Her nimble fingers teased and flicked, pinched and rubbed.

"Those feel enthusiastic, Jaycee."

Jaycee was shivering, but no longer from fear.

Mister Daddy peeled the dress over her head and dropped it to the floor. Pussy knelt and scraped Jaycee's panties down over her knees and puddled them at her ankles.

"Step out."

Jaycee lifted her feet one at a time as Pussy pulled the underwear away. She was very aware that she was naked.

"Mister Daddy, what's the third ingredient of great sex?"

"Eye contact, Pussy."

"That's right, Mister Daddy."

"Jaycee, I'd like you to stand with your feet shoulder-width apart and maintain unbroken eye-contact with Mister Daddy."

Jaycee's heart was racing as she shifted her feet and stared beyond the mask, into eyes that were the color of rich iced tea.

"Let's try out that communication. From now on, why don't you respond to my commands and questions with a 'Yes, Pussy' or a 'No, Pussy.' Ok, Jaycee?"

"Yes, Pussy," said Jaycee, like a defendant before a judge.

"Mister Daddy? Why don't you see how hard you can get Jaycee's pretty pink nipples," Pussy said from her knees.

"Yes, Pussy." A hint of a smile.

Jaycee could feel the heat of his eyes on hers, could see how much he wanted to touch her. Could he see how much she wanted to be touched? His large fingers were nimble as he began to stroke, pluck, and tease her.

A hot, wet, almost electric shock caused her eyes to widen, as Pussy's tongue began to lap between her thighs. She was breathing as if she were jogging uphill. The sounds from between her legs became wetter. Her nipples were like pencil erasers between his fingers.

Mister Daddy bent until his forehead was touching Jaycee's, their eyes inches apart. She looked up at him, intense and dripping with passion. Jaycee felt like she'd been plugged into an outlet. She could feel Pussy's hot, wet mouth and tongue working her, almost frantically. Her legs began to shake. Mister Daddy's fingers pinched harder --firm, but not cruel, like he was holding something he wanted glued back together. He plucked at the hard little cylinders as if he were pulling lint from a sweater.

Her orgasm struck like lightning, and she gasped as the first wave passed over her. Her toes curled; her knees quivered. Every lap of Pussy's tongue or brush of Mister Daddy's finger brought another gasp and another wave. Throughout it all she kept her eyes locked on the big man and his eyes behind the mask, feeling him fuck her with his gaze. She wanted him inside her the way a junkie's vein wants a needle.

Soon the waves ebbed, and Jaycee leaned into Mister Daddy like a boxer in the clinch, panting like she'd just jumped hurdles. Her eyes bored into him. Her fingers were claws pressed into his chest like she was writing her name in cement.

Pussy stood, trailing light fingers up Jaycee's curves as she did so.

"Looks like we're making friends up here," she said, running a hand up Jaycee's neck, her other hand blazed a ticklish trail across Jaycee's abdomen.

"Mister Daddy, I think Jaycee would like to be kissed. Would you like to be kissed, Jaycee?"

A long beat.

"Yes, Pussy," she croaked.

"Well let's use our communication skills and tell Mister Daddy what we want. Say 'Kiss me, Mister Daddy.'"

Another beat.

"Kiss me, Mister Daddy," said Jaycee, finally, her voice husky.

He took her face between his hands and began kissing her as if her mouth were unexplored territory that he was mapping with his tongue. She moaned a little each time he pressed and teased her. Soon she was trembling again. She hadn't shivered from arousal since she was a teenager, but she was shaking like the living room was a walk-in freezer.

"Let's get her in that teddy, Mister Daddy," said Pussy.

He disengaged his lips like he was playing Operation and her mouth was the wishbone. He plucked the lingerie from the couch and knelt in front of her. She placed a hand on his massive shoulder as she stepped each foot into the lace, like a child stepping into a swimsuit.

Pussy turned her back on the pair and pointed at a camera on a tripod like a dealer signaling a pit boss. She walked the few steps to Jason's rack and removed the bag from his head in one motion, as if she were swiping it from a store shelf.

A man in black placed the camera a few feet from Jason's face. In the viewfinder, his panicked eyes and tear-streaked cheeks filled the frame. A U-shaped bracket wrapped around his throat, just below his jaw. The arms of the 'U' extended halfway up his skull, where a thick headband attached, locking Jason's head in place. The bracket was attached at the other end to a telescoping base, allowing the head to be raised or lowered while remaining immobilized. It was adjusted so that his head was high, and neck extended, like a dog on-point.

Pussy bent down to whisper in Jason's ear.

"Remember our conversation, Jason. Not one sound."

Across the room, Mister Daddy was adjusting the pasta-thin fabric harness so that it followed the curve of Jaycee's breasts.

"Ella se ve bien, ¿no es así, Jason? Muy follable. ¿Te arrepientes de no poder follarla por última vez?" Pussy said in Jason's ear, but for the benefit of the camera.

"Oh," she mocked, "Did fucking my boss's wife not teach you enough Spanish to understand me?"

"I asked if you regret not fucking her one last time. Oh, well. Too late. Now you'll just have to make do by watching Mister Daddy fuck her. He's so good. She's going to cum so hard. Already has once, I think. Enjoy it, Jason. This is the closest you're going to get to having your cock in a woman ever again."

Across the room, Mister Daddy had turned Jaycee so that she was facing the couch, her back to everyone, while he fastened the lace choker at the nape of her neck. Jaycee was surprised at how gentle and nimble his every movement seemed. It was if he were dressing her and petting her at the same time, and she wasn't quite sure which was which.