Hair of the Bitch - A Twisted Suspense Thriller Read Online Free

her place…”
     

PART TWO

The Freak
     

5
    I don’t remember driving to her house. And I could not, for the life of me, give you even the most rudimentary directions on how to get there; with the potential of what lay ahead, such details had been demoted from steak to vegetables.
    In a matter of moments we were on her porch, and, I shit you not, she kicked open the front door. Her hand gripping mine, she pulled me up a flight of stairs and led me to a bedroom.
    I had not managed, nor had the time or opportunity (or a fucking care) to get a look at the rest of the interior of the house, but the room the two of us now occupied was huge. It’s red and black décor suggested eroticism with a devilish taste of the unknown, a kind of danger that entices our better judgment, woos with control and power and all kinds of good wrong.
    I barely had a chance to take everything in before Angela was guiding me towards the foot of an enormous bed. She kissed me, sucked on my lower lip as she withdrew, and then shoved me backwards onto the bed where I happily flopped.
    She wasted no time in joining me, straddling my waist, undressing the both of us, pausing every now and again to fondle, tantalize, and tease, securing my state of arousal (as if it was going anywhere).
    This was brutal anticipation at its best. My entire body throbbed.
    We were nearly naked—me in boxers; she in a pair of bra and panties I wanted to eat.
    We locked eyes, and then with a flick of her chin she gestured above my head. I followed her gaze, turned and glanced up. A pair of leather wrist wraps dangled across from one another along the headboard. Handcuffs that didn’t look like handcuffs. I hadn’t noticed them when first flopping on the bed; they too had been demoted to vegetables. 
    I turned back to Angela, and in a failed effort to control my eagerness, attempted to cut short her performance by reaching up and pulling her to me. My grip was instantly met by hers. She released hold on one of my wrists and wagged a playful finger in my face.
    Bad boy, Mr. Court , that waving finger said.
    I smiled and let my arms go limp. She began fastening my wrists to the leather cuffs overhead. Finished, she slid off my body (tongue tracing my torso as she did, God bless her) and stood before me at the foot of the bed. She was still wearing her bra and panties, and I took in every inch of her.
    I guessed her height at about five-seven, her weight I didn’t care to guess; my eyes gifted me with far more than a scale ever could. Full and curved in all the right spots, taught and firm…in all the right spots.
    Her hair was shoulder-length and dark, almost black, the color accentuating her blue eyes; lips full and red, her blue eyes accentuating
them
.
    Assuming I wasn’t still asleep in my car, this was real. I was about to have Angela.
    “All good?” she asked, gesturing towards the cuffs that held my wrists overhead.
    I could only nod my confirmation—words had no place here. She smiled her approval, and turned her back to me. Slowly, she bent and removed her panties, revealing an ass you wanted to bite, and kiss, and slap, and bite…
    An uncontrollable spasm of anticipation hit me and I inadvertently tugged on the cuffs overhead—and my right wrist nearly popped free. Turns out the cuff was loose and not properly fastened.
    Her back still to me, Angela had not noticed my incident with the loose cuff, and I sure as hell wasn’t about to let her notice lest she stop her performance to re-fasten the stupid thing. So I simply held my hand in a fixed position as though the cuff on my right was as tight as the one on my left. As long as I didn’t do anything stupid like that again, I figured I’d be okay.
    Once her panties had been removed, Angela went to work on her bra, glancing over her shoulder at me as she did so. The look she cast me was something no surgeon could ever provide, a confidence I’d never seen in any woman, like she damn well knew she could