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

make you come with just her eyes. The next time someone tells you it’s big tits or a tight ass, scoff; nothing is sexier than the elusive trait of true confidence.
    The bra was off. She turned slowly and faced me, her arms across her chest, a hand covering each breast. It seemed illogical that she would cover her breasts while everything else was exposed (and looking fucking amazing FYI), but logic had no place in Angela’s world. And while men usually accommodated the breasts in order to get further below, I found myself wanting nothing more than to just see her breasts, even if it meant I might never get to touch, taste, or enter her where I’d always presumed it counted.
    The power. The power this woman had. She was turning out to be everything I’d been pining for.
    My state of arousal was now higher than it had ever been. I wanted her on the bed with me. Nothing else mattered. Nothing else existed. This strange room was my whole world and Angela and I were the only two people alive.
    Or so I thought.
    Something caught my attention to the right of me. About fifteen feet from the bed, a pair of long, red drapes hung and cloaked what I assumed was some kind of panoramic window. What made these drapes catch my attention at a time when very little else could catch my attention, was that I was sure I saw something move behind them.
    Angela, reading my face, turned and joined me in staring at the drapes, hands still covering her breasts.
    “Now,” she said.
    I looked at her, and then immediately back at the drapes as a man stepped out from behind them. At least I think it was a man. Hell, it had to be; he was huge. The rest of his appearance was far too bizarre to initially comprehend. He donned a full-body get-up; tight to the skin and all black, like something a villain in a comic book might wear. His face was covered by a mask that looked to be fashioned out of the same tight-fitting black material as his body suit. There were holes for the eyes, nose, and mouth, but they were covered in circles of black mesh—nothing identifiable to the onlooker; vision, air, and a voice for the one wearing the mask.
    I found myself almost laughing at the flagrant absurdity of it all. I wanted Angela to take me to places as yet untapped, but this…
    Chuckling I said, “What the f—?” but stopped when I saw this freak pull an aluminum bat out from behind his leg. Hardly chuckling now: “What the fuck ?”
    As if my words were a starting pistol, the freak let out a deafening battle cry and rocketed towards the bed, bat cocked and ready. I quickly rolled to the left, my right wrist that hadn’t been properly fastened to the cuff breaking free, allowing me out of harm’s way.
    Thank God I never mentioned the fucking thing.
    The bat clanged off the headboard a mere two inches from my head. I rolled off the bed completely and began frantically working on the remaining cuff that held my left wrist. The cuff was held on by the same mechanism you might attach a leather belt, and the pulling I’d just done caused a good deal of tension to accumulate, tightening the bond. I needed to loosen the slack.
    To my right, the freak was regrouping, cautiously circling the bed, securing his grip on the bat. I could hear him breathing, excited. I backed up further against the wall and felt my right hand graze something. I glanced down at a sizeable porcelain lamp on a nightstand.
    He finished circling the bed. We now faced each other, maybe eight feet apart, the bat swaying over his shoulder as though waiting for a pitch.
    Another battle cry and another charge. He vaulted forward, bat cocked. I spun, snatched the lamp by its neck, spun back and whipped it into his oncoming face. It shattered on impact, knocking him backwards, out cold.
    Ignoring all of my mother’s childhood advice, I decided to use my teeth as a tool, spinning back towards the bed and chomping down onto the leather strap that held my wrist captive, hoping to loosen the slack.