End Game Ch 03

I was bound to a maple chair, my arms duct-taped to the arms of the chair. My thighs were separated, the knees forced to go outside the arms of the chair. My ankles were rope-tied to the feet of the chair.

The only part I could still move was my neck. I turned until I could see Oily Hair standing behind. He was standing at the sink, washing his hands. When he saw that I had regained consciousness, he snapped his head around.

"You're awake, that's awesome." He sounded like he was planning some kind of celebration. I hoped he was planning to celebrate alone. I did not think I could handle another multiple penetration.

"What's the matter with you?" He stood in front, his crotch inches away from my face. "Are you giving me the silent treatment?"

"You said not to say anything until you asked a question. There wasn't an inflection in your voice after the word awesome." I said in a matter-of-fact way. It was as if we were in a corporate conference room, negotiating over the fine print of a contract. The only problem with that imagery was that I was completely naked and he was wearing only a pair of jeans.

"We are alone now, just the two of us. I want you to enjoy your experience with me. What kind of foreplay turns you on? Or should I say whoreplay?"

"You asked two questions. Which one should I answer first?" I decided to push the envelope.

"Trying to be cute?" He whacked my face as he spoke those words. White and black spots exploded in front of me, like watching July Fourth fireworks on a black and white television.

"Is this the only way you can fuck a woman? Tied up and unable to reject you?"

He punched my rock hard stomach, moving the chair a few inches backwards. The chair rocked back and forth but did not topple. My hair hung over my face.

"You don't ask the question. I ask the questions. Understand?" He pinched and twisted my left nipple, pulling it a few inches until he could hear a long guttural scream.

"Yes, sir." Blood flowed back to my tits when he released his death grip. This was not the time to act tough. I had to buy time until Don could realize I had been captured. He would have time to disappear and lie low.

To emphasize his power over me, he inserted his middle finger into my vagina and scratched inside with his fingernails. "Next time you try to be funny, it will be with a screwdriver inside. Understand?"

"Yes, sir." I sat up straight and answered military style.

"You know why I'm so happy now?"

"I do not know, sir."

"You see this phone?" It was the iPhone 5.

"Yes, sir. I can see you have the latest iPhone."

"I have programmed it to play my favorite song every time it rings."

"What is your favorite song?"

"I love Katy Perry's Fireworks." He had forgotten I was not supposed to ask questions.

"I love Katy Perry too." If we could have a conversation, he might start to think of me as a human being and stop thinking of me as a job. I could get an opening if he let his guard down.

"Sing with me, will you?"

"Yes, sir. Anything to help you relax." My plan was working.

"Baby, you're a firework...come on show them what you're worth...make them go oh oh oh..." I sang along and moaned the words. His sense of timing was good, remembering each word perfectly.

He relaxed and removed his jeans, freeing up his trapped cock. It sprang up and grinned at me. His foreskin rolled back smoothly, like the doors of an elevator.

"Come closer," I purred. "Let me kiss you."

He bent his knees and lowered himself, closing his eyes as our lips touched. His tongue tried to enter, but I had moved to lick his right cheek. He turned sideways to encourage me, his eyes still closed. My breath was hot and rapid, melting into his face.

My wet tongue skidded until it touched his ear lobe. He stood up to relieve the strain on his knees, thighs, and calves.

"Free my legs so we can stand and do this." I spoke in as feminine and soft a voice as I could manage. He raised his eyebrows. "My hands are still secured to the chair. Where can I go?"

He nodded his head and went down on one knee, untying the ropes on my ankles. Not only had he forgotten I was not to ask any questions, I was effectively giving him instructions on what to do.

A minute later, I stood awkwardly. Although my legs were separated by the arms of the chair, I stood lip to lip with him. We began with the same routine, lips touching briefly, and then my wet tongue slid up to his ear, his eyes closed for maximum enjoyment.

Time slowed down for the next few seconds. After licking his ear lobe, I sunk my jaws on his ear lobe, crushing the soft cartilage and tearing it out before he realized what was happening. His piercing screams came a second later. By then, my forehead had rammed into his nose, the tempo of breaking bones combining with his soprano screams to form music in my ears. He staggered backwards, completely caught by surprise.

I shuffled along with the chair that was still taped to me. Moving backwards, I hammered the chair against the fridge with all my strength. The chair broke into half a dozen pieces, a loud cracking sound exploding, as if providing the soundtrack for an action movie. My arms were still glued to the chair, but my legs and most of my torso were completely free.

Oily Hair had recovered and was holding a knife. He charged at me furiously. I pivoted sideways and smashed the remnants of the chair against his forearm. He yelled in pain and dropped the knife. I kicked the knife along the floor until it was out of range.

I moved backwards and hit the chair against the fridge again. This time, only a few splinters left the chair. A part of the chair had also hit the lever of the ice dispenser, shooting out ice cubes.

I jumped on top of the sink, using only my legs. I was on high ground. Oily Hair tried to do the same. But he stepped on an ice cubed. The looked on his face was comical as he tried to stay upright. The more he tried, the more ice cubes he stepped on, sprinting and spinning his wheels in a futile way. The ice cubes spun and slid away from him in all directions. When he went down with a thud, his head bounced off the refrigerator. He was out cold.

Alone in the basement, I found the knife, cut through the tape, and was completely free of the parasitic chair in less than five minutes.

He was still unconscious when I tie a rope around his neck, his hands duct-taped behind. Sooner or later, he was going to tell me who he was working for.

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To be continued in Ch. 04...