Page 9 of Taunting Tarran
‘Then I own you. Now do as you’re fucking told!’ With a snarl he rises to his feet, looming over me like a predator ready to pounce.
‘You’re not making me feel very comfortable. I want to leave.’ My heart races as I cower before him, my eyes fixed on the floor in a silent display of submission. Suddenly, he rips his belt from his trouser loops and snaps it in front of my face. Ibare my teeth in defiance, daring him to make a move, but darkness descends as a blindfold is tightly secured over my eyes leaving me trapped in a moment of uncertainty. His belt wraps around my neck, cutting off my breath as his hands fist in my hair.
I struggle against his grip, ‘Where is Darren?’ I demand, but his grip tightens its hold on me as his wide palm seizes my throat. ‘Didn’t they tell you at reception? The Lickerish Lounge is under new management.’
Before I can respond, a ragged cloth is shoved into my mouth, muffling my protests and groans, and as he cinches my hands behind my back, he lowers my back onto the floor. My teeth bite into the musty, rancid taste of the cloth as it fills my mouth, making it harder to breathe.
‘Open your legs,’ he commands. ‘And if I were you, I wouldn’t move. Your pussy will do all the work.’
No, no, no, this isn’t why I’m here. There has to be a mistake!
With a forceful tug, he yanks my trousers off. His snigger echoed through the room, sending shivers down my spine.
‘She bears the mark!’ a woman’s voice snaps through the room’s speakers. ‘She might be worth a bob, don’t damage her too much.’
Snarling, the man flips me onto my stomach, pressing my cheek harshly into the red carpet. Its fibres scraping against my skin like a pumice stone. I grunt through the cloth as he lifts my hips, tucking my knees underneath to prop up my arse, rendering me completely helpless. I’m subdued. As much as I fight, I cannot move. My arms are tightly bound behind my back, andI’m unable to haul myself up.
I get the red mist, rage and despair consuming me as I hear the metallic click of a gun being cocked.
‘So…you didn’t learn your lesson the first time round, hey?’ the man taunts.
He grabs a fistful of hair and smashes my face into the floor. ‘Nooo.’ I moan in pain. He ignores me, unfastening his jeans while tears stream down my cheeks, and I struggle against him twisting myself in defiance.
Then, a buzzing sound fills the air, the whine steadily rising in volume, growing louder and more intense.
My screams struggle to break free through the fabric, a mix of guttural cries and strained whimpers, barely audible filled with raw panic and fear. The suffocating fabric reduces my voice to a haunting almost animalistic noise that absorbs my breath as I gasp for air between each muffled cry. And as I feel the reciprocating machinery thrumming against me between my legs, I still as if my life depends on it.
The sudden impact of the man’s spit spattering against my pussy makes me jump, and with one powerful thrust the machine forces itself inside me. My mouth hangs open in a silent scream as I am violated by the whirring apparatus. The man grunts in satisfaction and laughs as he repeatedly rams it into me exaggerating its back-and-forth motion.
‘Abso-fucking-beautiful,’ he mutters. I cannot stop him. I cannot stop the violation, defeat coating my skin like a film of sweat.
‘THAT’S ENOUGH!’ the woman’s voice echoes.We’re being watched! I’m being watched. Help me!
‘I’m not finished yet!’ he growls in response as he withdraws the pounding machine and spits at my entrance again before roughly running his hands over and around me to smear his saliva.
‘Session is terminated!’ she snaps through the speakers. ‘We have a problem.’
He removes the cloth that has been muffling my cries and replaces it with his hardened cock. Its protruding veins rippling the corners of my mouth as he forcefully pushes into me. Withdrawing, he smacks my cheek with it, and grunts, ‘Good girl.’
CHAPTER 4
THE PUNISHER
People fucking like Neanderthals isn’t really my thing, but it’s what draws a crowd.A crowd of all sorts. Some barely legal, while others are barely breathing – coming to The Lickerish Lounge to coffin-dodge and going out with a bang just takes on an entirely new meaning.
I’ve always prided myself on the classiness of my businesses, so having some horny, drunkard whip out his cock in the hallway of the club while watching a show is strictly prohibited. As the man in question is escorted outside by the club’s bouncer, I take a glance around. So far, so good.There was a couple at the bar, and before I could intervene, and throw him out, he was already walking off into a room. So other than that, it’s been a quiet evening.
For me, dating is a no-go. On the surface, I play the role of a good respectable gentleman, a pillar of society some might say. I own a string of successful clubs such as The Lickerish Lounge, lavish hotels, and residential properties. Mr Lewis, the most eligible bachelor Sal would say. But beneath this polished facade lies a cesspool of secrets, a shadowy existence cloaked in the filth of my father’s clandestine deeds, which, now that he’s dead, are all mine.
There’s only been one woman I have truly been able to rely on. One woman who saw me for me – my mother, but she was taken away from me in a fatal car accident when I was three, leaving a void many women have tried to fill.
Ironic, isn’t it? A man like me, the epitome of success and charm, feeling nothing. Emotions, connections – they’re all foreign concepts.
Eligible bachelor? I’m just empty.
Every day I feel more disconnected from the world. I go through the motions by playing the part, but the reality is I’m just a hollow shell pretending to be human.
I’m sitting in my newly appointed office at the back of the club, and I thumb through the contents of the desk drawers. The whispers had started weeks ago – hushed conversations in backrooms, furtive glances exchanged over brandy glasses. Now my father is dead, other heads of families are restless, and theirdiscontent is bubbling like a pot about to boil over. With my mother having died in a car accident when I was a young boy, my father brought me up. He always said I was and am a figure to be reckoned with; His ironclad grip on power and ruthless efficiency descending to the next generation. But now, as apparent heir to his throne, my status as the next don could be both my strength and my greatest vulnerability. I’d been hearing rumours, of course, the whispered threats, the veiled promises of retribution. My father had his enemies, and now they’re mine.
