Page 10 of H Is for Hardcore

“Yes, to the point. How much?”

“That’s entirely up to you. Payment is not due until the end of the service. You pay what you feel it was worth.”

“You’re kidding, right? What if I’m not happy? Hell, I could just say I wasn’t happy.”

“There’s only one way to find out, Mr. Friar.”

Her voice captivated him and it didn’t take long for him to agree. She gave him a time and a location, said good-bye wistfully, and his mind raced, yet there was concern. He wasn’t in control here. Far from it.

But something about that tantalized him, and he could think of nothing else as he slipped away from the office early.

The blue-collar bar stank of cheap liquor and cigarette smoke. It wasn’t the sort of place he’d normally be caught in, but this was different. He understood this could be a strange sort of setup. His wife knew of his habits, of course. How could she not know of the trips to the Costa Rican whorehouses, the calls in the middle of the night, the lipstick on the underwear? Benjamin supposed she might finally be fed up, anxious to exert her own control over the situation, but having the imagination to do something this elaborate, just to prove his philandering ways, was beyond her.

And besides, who did she know with a voice like that?

“Mr. Friar?”

The man behind him was a walking wall covered in the graffiti of one too many trips to jail. His face was impassive and hard.

“That’s me.”

“Come with me, sir.”

The big man turned toward the back door, and Benjamin hesitated. What if this was some bizarre kidnapping scheme? He shook his head, dismissing the thought. It could be a thousand things other than what the crimson-voiced woman on the phone had said it was. He had no control.

And that scared the living shit out of him.

The bar’s back door opened into a small alleyway, moonlight making dancing shadows of the piles of garbage and empty beer cases.

“Say, if this is a fucking blow job behind a bar…sorry, I’m not interested.”

Benjamin didn’t see the fist as it slammed into his face, driving him backward. He tried to struggle, but the vice grips locked around his arms and a black bag was forced over his head.

“Relax, Mr. Friar. If you struggle I’ll have to make it rough for you. Not that I necessarily mind making it rough, but Ms. Michelle won’t have anything to do with it. Not her precious customers, no.”

Michelle. A name with a voice. A voice with a promise.

But fear overwhelmed the desire to see the face connected with the voice, “Please…”

The big man chuckled as he tied Benjamin’s hands behind his back. “Please what? Don’t hurt you?”

A powerful hand gripped his wrist, pain and numbness flaring through his hand. “Just realize I’m in control here, Mr. Friar. If you misbehave and displease Ms. Michelle, I’ll have your testicles.”

The big man thumped him in the crotch, just hard enough to make him jerk, to emphasize his point.

The passage of time was meaningless as his wrists throbbed from their bindings and the van hummed through the city streets. Benjamin had no idea where he was, nor did he have any idea how many sets of hands, once they’d finally reached their location, lifted him from the van and laid him on his back. The hands were gentle but firm, untying him and then stretching out his arms, affixing them to planks of wood running crosswise from his feet to the opposite arm in an X shape. His legs were outstretched similarly, and as his pants were removed, he felt every inch of his nakedness.

“Welcome, Mr. Friar.” He heard that voice, the voice of a sex goddess, as the hood was pulled off.

She stood before him, nearly six feet tall, with long vibrant red hair that seemed to have a life of its own, and legs to dream about at night. She was dressed, if the word dressed could be applied to her skimpy outfit, in the barest of red sashes, not bothering to cover her firm full breasts and large pink nipples.

“I…” Benjamin stuttered, unable to bring his eyes from the object of the afternoon’s fantasy.

“You do not speak, Mr. Friar. Only I speak here. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” he gulped and then cried out in pain as the cat-o’-nine-tails lashed out, striking him broadly across the chest.

“There is punishment for displeasing me. First, it’s the simple whip. A few lashes here and there.” She struck out at his thigh, leaving raised red welts across the pasty flesh. “Continue to displease me and it’s Frank.”

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