35
"Did you bring the rope?" Susan asked.
"Yeah," Bartelli said. "Yeah. It's in my pocket. But I don't know if I'm
gonna do anything with it. I mean, why the hell should I?"
"Oh, really!" Susan said impatiently. "It's not such a big deal, for
god's sake! I'm just asking you to tie my hands, that's all."
"You are really a sick broad, you know that?"
"Yes, I do know that, Mr. Bartelli, thank you very much. But you don't
seem to mind that sickness when you are the beneficiary. Do you?"
"Fancy words," Bartelli sneered. "Fancy lady. Look at you." He gestured
at the gown she was wearing. Light blue, and strapless, in accordance with her
instructions, it left her arms and shoulders bare and clung precariously to the
upper slopes of her breasts. "All dolled up like you're goin' to the opera or
someplace. Instead of to be fucked by some creep weirdo you don't even know. And
I'm supposed to help him out by tying you up for him? Shit on that!"
"Well, pardon me," Susan said with bitter mockery. "I didn't mean to
wound your poor delicate sensibilities, Mr. Bartelli. You didn't strike me as
the jealous-lover type."
Bartelli's face twisted. "Hoity-toity," he growled. He took a sudden
step toward her and grabbed a handful of her hair, pulling her head back. She
gave a sharp cry. He retained his hold, but allowed her head to come up a
little, so she could look at him. Her breath was loud and ragged, and her eyes
were beginning to lose focus. As he tightened his fist in the brown hair, her
hands rose instinctively to the source of the pain.
"Hands down!" he rasped. "Down!"
Slowly, Susan lowered her hands.
"Hoity-toity," Bartelli repeated, watching the excitement rising in her,
watching the melting eyes and the panting mouth.. "Stuck-up, fancy-talking lady.
You're not so damn hoity-toity when I get my hands on you. Are you, Mrs. Garson?
Huh?"
"No," Susan gasped. "No. No..."
"Okay," Bartelli said. "Take off that fuckin' dress."
"Yes..." Her arms reached up behind her to fumble at the catch of the
gown.
Bartelli didn't let go of her hair. With some difficulty, she got the
catch undone and pulled down the zipper. The gown fell around her feet. She was
naked beneath it. With her head straining backwards, her round, hard-nippled
breasts thrust out toward him. His free hand went to them, squeezing and
fondling them roughly, bringing loud moans from her open mouth.
Then he turned her body around, still holding her hair. "See that couch
over there?" he demanded.
"Ohhh..."
"Go bend over it." He released her suddenly, and gave her a hard shove
with his hand in the small of her back. With a startled cry, she stumbled across
the room toward the sofa he had indicated. Her momentum carried her against it;
she hit the side and fell across one of the padded arms. She started to push
herself up, but his voice stopped her.
"Just like that," he said. "That's perfect."
Susan stayed where she was, bent awkwardly over the sofa arm, her rear
end in the air, her face in the couch cushions. "What...what are you going to
do?" she said in a quavery voice.
"I haven't tried plugging your asshole yet, Mrs. Garson," he said. "Now
seems like a good time."
Susan caught her breath. "Oh my god," she breathed. His cock was so damn
big! "You'll kill me if you do that."
"You'll love it," Bartelli said, and she closed her eyes as she heard
him coming toward her.
