The Velvet Choker Ch. 02

"A beautiful woman, appreciated by many." Mustache pulled Bill's attention away from Nancy and back to the table. "Perhaps, you'd like to see how she was appreciated in New Orleans." He pulled a stack of pictures from his pocket.

"We went to Bourbon Street the first night." He pushed a snapshot across the table to the left of Bill. Nancy, dressed in short shorts and a sleeveless top, was in the middle of a crowd. There was lacy ironwork in the background.

"She wanted a string of beads. You know how pretty women get beads on Bourbon Street?" He put another photo beside the first. Nancy had her blouse pulled up, breasts exposed.

"She turned out to be really popular." Another photo appeared. Again, she had her blouse pulled up. This time she had a half dozen strings of beads hanging down.

"She got really excited showing off. When we returned to the hotel, she insisted on walking down the hall nude." He added another picture to the end of the row. It was Nancy, nude, from the back, walking down a long hallway. Maybe twenty strings of beads were hanging down her back. The beads pointed to her firm ass, accented by high-heeled sandals. Bill thought her ass was kind of skinny, but so sexy.

"Of course, she had to wait for me to open the door." He placed another picture in the row.

Bill looked at the last picture. She stood there leaning to her left, a hand on the door handle. Her eyes were half-lidded with lust. The beads hung down, but her pose made them circle one breast, showing the brown nipple as a target surrounded by the multi-colored plastic. His eyes swept down her long legs and then jumped back up. Her bush had been trimmed to what he had heard called a Mohawk. There was a pink line dividing her pussy.

God, she was desirable. He wanted to fuck this slut.

"She is hot, isn't she?" Mustache's condescending voice brought him back to the sordid bar. "Ah, my dear, you're back."

Nancy was standing at the end of the table. "You said you wouldn't show those to him." Bill could see that the zipper was open about four inches below her waist.

"I wanted him to see your humiliation in New Orleans. Show us what you were doing in the Ladies' Room."

She tossed some yellow cloth on the table. Bill caught a whiff of her scent. He realized it was a thong, a thong wet with her juices.

"Now raise your skirt."

She lifted it slowly. Bill was mesmerized as the trim legs were slowly revealed. She stopped just below the juncture of her thighs.

"Come, come, my dear. Don't be shy. Show us that cute cunt."

Nancy pulled the skirt up to her waist. Bill could see that the Mohawk was gone and she was entirely bald. Again, he could see a pink line between her legs.

"Yes, she really is hot. A lot of men think so." A last picture slid across to the end of the line. Back in Bourbon Street again, Nancy was lifting her blouse. Beads were hanging down the center. A white hand was holding one breast, a black one the other.

Mustache swept the pictures together and stuck them in Bill's coat pocket. "Here, you can keep these. I've got more at home."

Nancy was still holding up her skirt when Bill bolted past her for the door.

***

Bill didn't expect Nancy home much before seven. He had just gotten on the Perimeter when he heard the radio announce three separate accidents on the Interstates around Atlanta. He didn't know where she had to go to get her car, but she wasn't going to get there fast and she wasn't going to get home fast.

He poured a double scotch. He didn't feel like eating, but he grabbed a handful of nuts. He sat in the den, no lights, no TV, no thoughts.

Nancy came in about 7:30. She was wearing her real estate uniform, slacks, blouse, and flats.

"How many men did you fuck in New Orleans?"

"Nobody but him."

"Yeah, right!"

"He asked me to, but I refused."

"What the fuck was this afternoon all about?"

"He likes to humiliate me, sometimes. He told me it would be more humiliating if you saw me."

"When we started, I told you I wouldn't stand for any humiliation of me."

"I didn't humiliate you."

"You bring your lover to meet me. He fondles you in front of me. He has you do things that you wouldn't do for me. He shows me pictures of you exposing yourself in New Orleans. What part of humiliation don't you understand?"

"I'm sorry." She hung her head. "He told me that the pictures were just for him. I didn't think about the rest of it. I should have."

It was silent for a bit.

"I'm going to turn in." He stood and left the room. When he got to the guestroom, he closed and locked the door. He started to strip down to take a shower. He hung up his slacks and then grabbed his sport coat to hang up. He remembered the pictures.

Taking them out of the pocket where Mustache had jammed them, he threw them on the bed. The one with two hands covering her breasts was the top one. He tore it in two and then in half again and again. He took the others from Bourbon Street and did the same one by one. He looked at the last two showing her in the hotel hall.

She was gorgeous. She was sexy. She wasn't his anymore. He broke down crying.