Page 22 of Taunting Tarran
‘That’s a good girl. See how smoothly things can be when you do as you’re told.’
I inhale deeply, my eyes closing to drown out his presence as he lowers himself in front of me, each forearm resting on my legs. As I start to urinate, I feel the cold, metal barrel of his gun against my clit, and I stop mid-flow. My eyes open mere inches from his, and I’m staring into his black, cold, eyes.
The gun taps me between the legs, and I gasp.
‘Come on,’ he whispers. I’m frozen. He doesn’t move, but I can feel the movement of his gun beneath me. Slowly the gunrubs back and forth. The click of the safety switch has me lifting off the seat, but his free hand holds me down.
‘Empty, baby. Let it go.’
‘P-please,’ I beg.
‘We can sit here all evening, but sooner or later you will pee.’
My body is tense, full of humiliation, anger and excitement, and I can’t process what’s happening. Finally, I do pee, hot air steaming between us. He pulls the gun out from between my thighs, the glistening barrel dripping with urine, and his tongue flicks out to catch the last drop that drips off the barrel.
He hand wipes the gun clean, and he shoves it back into his trousers. And then, without a word, he walks out.
The slamming of my front door signals his departure, leaving me alone in the suffocating silence.
Right now I hate myself. I hate how my past has made my body react to adrenaline and fear. He is right, I do go tohisclub to get treated like a common whore, and I hate myself for it. But going there, it’s so much more than that.
His club… Naturally, someone like him wouldn’t work there, nor have to go there for sadistic pleasure. He would have women literally crawling on their hands and knees over hot coals, he’s that intimidating. No doubt he’s broken a few hearts over the years too.
I lie in bed staring at the ceiling, wondering if he’s outside, and I’m silently fuming. I try to force the memory of his face from my thoughts, but he’s taken hold, and there’s a steady throb between my thighs.
Was I really punishing myself to repent my sins or did I enjoy it?
My hand slips into my pyjama bottom waistband, snaking into my knickers, and my fingers motion at my aroused clit. My legs widen, and I’m climaxing within minutes, hating myself as I lie here, wet and breathless.
If he doesn’t want to kill me or fuck me, what does he want?
My chest heaves at the thought of him; he’s tall and lean, loaded with muscle. Would he use his large hands to strangle me? To choke the very last breath from my body? I can feel him watching me, and strangely, I feel a twisted sense of security. For the first time, in a long time, I think about death, and if his hands were to be the end of me then I’d gladly meet my fate with a smile. I’ve never felt so vulnerable and invisible at the same time, and I kind of like it. I must do! Why else would I subject myself to such torture?
I’m so fucked up!
A thousand thoughts course through my mind. Why hadn’t I fought back? And what was more confounding was how my body betrayed me.
Jesus, he’s beautiful!
Stop it…
And even when the cold barrel of his gun brushed against my pussy, I’d forgotten who I was. I was paralysed.
And now I can’t stop thinking about him. G? What kind of name is that? He probably sees himself as some kind of deity on the hunt for a worshipper, like a self-proclaimed god craving adoration.
The saddest part? I’m already on my knees, praying for his return.
It didn’t take long for me to uncover the truth: the owner of The Lickerish Lounge, Mr G Lewis, is a mafia boss and an unhinged psychopath, rumoured to have slain his own father. If those rumours hold any weight, my five-foot-two, one hundred and ten pound frame stands no chance.
I’ve always been drawn to the shadows, dancing with darkness, in love with mystery and the thrill of the unknown. It’s a seductive pull that draws me into its inky depths. From a young age, I found comfort in Grandpa’s flickering candles that cast eerie shapes on the stone walls, the creaking of the old floorboards in the dead of night – they became my lullabies. The thrill of the scare, the rush of adrenaline, and the shared laughter became a craving I couldn’t resist.
Since his passing, the laughter has faded into echoes of what once was, yet the darkness still beckons me.
Fuck,this is going to get me killed one day.
CHAPTER 12
THE PUNISHER
