Ken Douglas - Ragged Man

“ Take off the bra.”

She felt her smile broaden, in spite of her reservations, as she reached behind her back and undid the clasp. She gasped as her breasts sprang free and began to wonder what this big man would be like in bed.

She started to think about Rick in a sexual way about two months after Ann died, but she was tired of waiting for him to come home. This man was here now, and he obviously wanted her. Her fear was gone, she was enjoying herself and she was going to enjoy herself even more.

“ Play with your tits.”

She opened her eyes, meeting his dark glare, and she widened her smile, showing her perfect teeth. Then she did a slick bounce, bouncing her breasts like buoys on the water. She cupped one in each hand, pointing the nipples at him and she gently squeezed, moaning along with the saxophone.

Then she started to involuntarily undulate her hips. She felt her panties start to dampen as the orgasm approached. It hit her hard, almost knocking her over. She opened her mouth and let out a pleasure scream. She was unashamed and unable to stop. She stayed with the music till the orgasm ran its course, then started to slow as the rhythm slowed.

“ Take off your panties and keep dancing.”

She pushed them down, stepped out of them and faced him totally nude. She raised her hands toward the ceiling, spread her legs and swayed her hips, letting the jazzy sound rule her. Never in her wildest fantasies did she think that a man’s cold stare could make her come.

“ Play with your cunt.”

She lowered both hands to her pubic region, inserting two fingers of her left hand, massaging herself with the beat.

“ I’m going to do it again,” she moaned. “It’s coming, it’s coming, it’s coming.” Then she screamed and collapsed to her knees, keeping her fingers in place, eyes locked all the while on the big man’s steel grays.

Satisfied, but wanting more, she watched as Sam Storm stood and stripped off his shirt. He was a muscular man who obviously worked out. His biceps bulged without trying. His stomach was as flat as a high school athlete’s and he had a thin mat of dark hair on his chest which accented his masculinity. She was a little afraid, a lot excited and she wanted to run her fingers through those hairs.

He kicked off his loafers and bent to take off his socks, while she watched, salivating like a dog in heat, all fear gone, ruled only by excitement and anticipation, watching, wanton and wicked as his hands went to his belt buckle and unclasped it.

Still on her knees, she started massaging herself afresh as he slid his zipper down. She picked up the pace, leaving the beat of the music far behind as his pants fell, leaving him clad only in bulging Jockey shorts.

“ I want to see it,” she mouthed, eyes glued to the bulge. He must be huge, she thought.

Pumping her fingers furiously, she gaped, mouth open, making animal sounds as the Jockey’s went down and his manhood came into view.

“ Oh, my,” she moaned as the third orgasm tore into her, and despite the racking pleasure running through her body, she wondered if any woman could take in something so big.

Then it happened. Something stole into her mind, pushing her into the background. All pleasure left her body as she fought to stay in control. A tortured pain ripped into her brain, causing a scream that had nothing to do with ecstasy or euphoria to shoot out of her mouth.

And then she was gone.

“ Smell-your-fear,” Sam Storm said.

“ Smell yours!” Judy Donovan said.

“ I don’t understand,” Storm said.

“ We’ve met before, you and I.” She glared into his eyes.

“ No,” he croaked.

“ We have, and we’ll meet again.” She sensed his fear. “I’m going to the bathroom to clean up. When I get back, be gone.”

He was out the door before she started the shower.

She felt the water, prickly cold, cascading down her back. She reflexively grabbed the hot water spigot to warm up the beating spray. She was in the shower, safely enclosed by the stone brown tiles and the sliding glass door. Familiar surroundings, but how did she get there?

She remembered the dinner and remembered that maybe she’d had too much to drink. She remembered leaving the restaurant. After that everything was a blank. Except for that horrible black out.

She was revolted. She must have had a lot more to drink than she thought. Blacking out was a new experience for her, and one she didn’t want to ever repeat again. She felt used, abused and incredibly thirsty. She raised her mouth to the spray and drank, hoping that the nauseated feeling would vanish with her thirst. It didn’t.

She thought of Sam Storm, charming and delightful. She remembered the tempting thoughts she had of enticing him to her bed and she realized she was sore. So she did have sex with him, and from the way she felt it must have been wonderful.

“ Damn,” she muttered. Wonderful sex and she couldn’t remember and over a year without. Did she politely resist, then let him persuade her or did she submit willingly and jump straight into bed? She wished she could remember.

She opened the shower door slightly and reached out for the shampoo. She poured a generous amount on her wet hair and soaped it thoroughly. Then with a soapy hand, she rubbed herself between her legs and winced. She really was sore. She vowed never to drink again and she wondered if she would ever see Mr. Sam Storm again.

She rinsed herself off and stepped out onto the cold tile. She was kind of glad the mirror was covered with steam, because she wasn’t in the mood to look at herself and she was afraid that tonight she might not be the fairest of them all.

She toweled herself off, wrapped the towel around her hair, turban style, then padded into the bedroom and was startled to see the bed still made up. She’d expected it to be rumpled with the covers and pillows tossed on the floor. Where had she done the deed if not in the bedroom?

Trying to puzzle it out, she left the bedroom, crossed the hall and went into the living room, where she found her clothes strewn all over the floor.

Did she grab him, pull him down on top of her and do it right here on the floor? She didn’t think so, more than likely she walked in alone, drunk, tore her clothes off and made straight for the shower. Therefore, she concluded, they must have gone to Sam’s motel after dinner for fun and games and after they were finished, he probably dropped her at the door without coming in.

He probably didn’t want to be here in the morning when J.P. came home. What a gentleman, she thought.

Maybe it would all come back to her after a good night’s sleep.

She made her way back to the bedroom, satisfied that she had the evening figured out and eager to hit the pillows. She turned down the bed, turned off the lights, unwrapped the turbaned towel, shucked the robe, climbed between the sheets, and wondered why she was thinking about Rick Gordon as she dozed off to a deep, dreamless sleep.

Sam Storm sat four tables away from the stage and brooded. Damn the woman. How dare she? How could she? How did she?

Everything had been going along just fine. She had been doing exactly what he’d wanted, but when the time had come to kill her, she’d made him do what she’d wanted. It wasn’t the way things were supposed to be. Ever since that day in the convenience store, he had been in control of his destiny, right up till three days ago.

Now he was tormented with confusion. New York had been easy. Tonight would be easy, but something had happened and that woman was responsible.

The next time he would tie her, blindfold her and make her suffer.

He felt the knife under his jacket and a hot glow coursed through him.