Frank
glanced at the envelope he’d brought home from his meeting with Charlie, then
back to me. “Here,” he said, handing me the cash from inside the envelope
but not the photograph of our mark. “You can keep that.”
I
didn’t take the money. “But not do the hit?”
“Nope.”
I
did my best not to get defensive. “Why?”
He
looked me over with a slight smile. “You’re too little.”
Now
I took the money, and threw it in his face. He grabbed me by the throat
and yanked me from my chair, shoving me down to the floor. He held my
wrists against the carpet. The cash framed my head and I grinned up at
him, sweetly asking, “Too little for
what, Frank?”
“Garroting.”
“Is
it that hard?”
“Tell
you what, if you can get free, I’ll let you do it.”
I
set my jaw, not even bothering to try. There was no way I could get my
arms free with Frank holding me down. Not unless I tricked him, which
would defeat the purpose of the lesson. I decided to do it anyway.
“Kiss me.”
“Absolutely
not.”
I
licked my lips. He played tough, but I knew I’d win. “Why not?”
“Because
you will bite me, and then I’ll have to garrote two people.”
With
the threat of strangulation I really
wanted him to kiss me. I squirmed beneath him. “You’ll be right
beside me while I do it. What’s the worst that could happen?”
He
released my wrists. “You could get hurt, baby. Garroting is
very physical work.”
“You
wouldn’t let me get hurt,” I said. Frank sat back on his heels, my legs
extended between his. He reached to the table and brought down the
envelope, pulling out the photograph for me to look at. It was tough to
say for sure just from a headshot, but his square skull and complete lack of
neck screamed beefcake. “How
can you strangle someone with no neck?”
“Carefully.” He got up, leaving me on the floor to writhe
with desire.
“Come
back!” I whined. I pulled off my clothes
in anticipation of his return, tossing them in his general direction.
Frank
shook his head disparagingly, then went fishing through his duffel bag. He came back with a coil of wire and his wool
scarf. I sat up to show him that he had
my full attention. “This is a garrote.” He held it
up by the wooden handles and stretched the wire out a bit, turning it around at
different angles as if there were more to it than met the eye. He looked like one of the ladies in evening
dresses displaying kitchenware on The
Price is Right, but I kept that comment to myself. “Hold out your arm.”
I
did as I was told. He wrapped the
garrote around my forearm and gave it a squeeze. I winced and pulled back, which only made it tighter. I grit my teeth. “Ow!”
“Garrotes
hurt, so we’ll be practicing with the scarf instead.” He unwrapped the wire, leaving a bright red
line all the way around my arm. The
garrote looked like it just might’ve
been long enough to get around our mark’s shoulderhead. Frank tossed it on the bed and pulled me to
my feet. He handed me one end of his
wool scarf and turned away from me with the other end in his hand, passing it to
me around his neck.
I
moved closer to him, carefully wrapping the ends around my hands. I would’ve said that I didn’t want to hurt
him, but after he’d maimed my poor arm I wasn’t feeling especially gentle. “Ready?”
He
laughed. “Try me.”
I
gave it a tug. He casually reached over
and pinched me where he’d garroted my arm.
“Ow! Cheating.”
“Hardly.”
I
pulled again. This time he’d already
gotten his hand between his neck and the fabric and yanked it away from me so
fast I lost my footing. Then I got an
idea. “Ready?”
“Quit
playing around and choke me.”
I
used the scarf for leverage and jumped up on his back, nearly pulling him off his feet. He steadied himself while I kept tugging, my
legs wrapped around his hips. His hands
were between the cloth and his neck so I wasn’t really choking him, but his voice was a little strained as he said,
“Interesting technique.”
“Was
that better?”
“Yes,
it was better.” He bent forward,
flipping me over his back and onto the bed.
“A little warning next time.”
“You
said you were ready!”
“Not
for you to put your full weight into it.
You just ate a whole pizza.”
“I
did not!”
Frank
smiled and knelt on the bed beside me.
“At any rate, you’re going about it the wrong way.” He took the scarf from me and wrapped it
gently around my neck, then crossed his
hands before taking the ends again.
He pulled until it constricted.
“Like so.”
Somehow
I found myself a bit distracted from the lesson, lying vulnerable to a man who
not only could give professional tips on strangling people, but actually enjoyed strangling people. “Go ahead.
Show me how it’s done.”
He
blushed, though I didn’t think he understood the extent of my interest in our
new game. My eyes grew heavy as he
straddled me, leaning his body over mine with his hands on either side of my
head. He gripped the scarf and slid his
hands across the sheets, watching my face intensely as the scarf
tightened. I began to pant,
instinctively trying harder for oxygen as my airway was restricted further by
the scarf. Then it was cut off. I smiled at him, my heart racing even though
I felt completely safe. Blood pounded in
my temples. I was painfully hard.
Frank
released the scarf and I gasped, but instead of letting me breathe he kissed me
roughly. I kissed him back, trying
futilely to steal his breath. My lips
were tingling and numb. The bed began to
spin and suddenly I was hyperventilating, taking great gulps of air while Frank
sat on my legs. “Deep breaths, V.”
I
nodded, inhaling through my nose and exhaling through my mouth. I was giddy with dizziness, grinning
wildly. “What a way to go.”
“I don’t
think it’s quite as pleasurable for real victims.”
“Do
it again,” I begged. Frank laughed. I grabbed my discarded pants, which had
luckily ended up on the bed with us so I could get to the lube I always
carried. “Do it again.” Now I had his full attention. I reached between us, unbuttoning his pants
and eagerly slicking his cock. He hiked
my legs up over his arms and retrieved the ends of the scarf, pulling it taut
as he slid his entire length into me. My
mouth opened to moan but there was no sound.
He
thrust hard, lifting my whole body upward, forcing the scarf to constrict
against my neck. It loosened as he
reared back, only to choke me again when he plunged in. I couldn’t catch my breath long enough to
speak, barely able to groan when he reached deep inside of me, pulling out and
hammering home.
Everything
felt intensified, my blood pulsing in my ears, my body aching for release. He stared into my eyes, his own eyes bright
with fascination. The smile on his face
was wider than Mr. Muscle’s neck.
I
started to come and Frank tugged the scarf tight, silencing my moans. Darkness began speckling my vision and he
gave just enough leeway for me to quickly inhale before pulling so hard on the
scarf that his hands shook. Then Frank
came, groaning loud enough for the both of us.
His grip on the scarf became completely slack as we panted together, my
breathing naturally more labored than his.
It was several minutes until either of us spoke. “So, can I do the hit?” I asked, my voice
hoarse.
Frank
blinked a few times, like he couldn’t quite remember what hit I was referring
to. “Little Vincent…” He stopped and chuckled to himself.
“You can do anything you want.”
I
watched our mark lift weights bigger than me, as if he knew we were planning to
strangle him and he was working to increase the width of his neck ahead of
time. He went to the gym three times a week, which meant we went
to the gym three times a week. I could’ve been luxuriating in the
sauna, but instead I was working on increasing my upper arm strength by being
pinned underneath a weighted bench press bar, trying, and failing, to lift it
off my chest again. Frank was on the treadmill, sprinting in place at
full speed with his attention focused on his quarry. I imagined that
Frank would step in at any moment to spot me, but it was another gym member who
came to my rescue.
“Maybe
you should start lighter,” he said with a Day-Glo smile. He had muscles
on top of muscles. His skin was Oompa Loompa orange. His cock was
right in my face.
“Maybe
you should mind your own business,” Frank said from behind him.
Frank set his hand on the bar and leaned his weight on it, as if trapping me
underneath it was the most efficient way to keep me safe from the man’s
tangerine clutches.
The
guy smiled again and raised his hands defensively as he backed away.
“But
Frank, he was gonna give me the keys to Willy Wonka’s chocolate factory!”
He
lifted the bar off of me one handed. “Should I have any idea what that
means?”
I
sat up and wiped some sweat from my brow. “No.”
Our
mark started flirting with a female Oompa Loompa with brittle bleached hair,
and we took it as our cue to leave. Mr. Muscle was quite the ladies’ man,
as long as said lady didn’t get herself knocked up. Then he’d choke them
half to death in their kitchen and cause them to miscarry his child.
That’s why he was getting strangled when it would be so much easier to drop him
with an elephant gun. His ex’s father was the protective type, and
stinking rich. If everything went according to plan, our mark was getting
strangled tomorrow. And I was getting strangled again tonight.
Frank
turned a page, lounging quite comfortably on our mark’s sofa with a copy of Candide that looked like it’d been found
on the side of the road. I got to stand where I’d be hidden from sight,
and I bounced up and down in excitement. “Hold still,” he said without
looking up.
“I
can’t.”
He
turned another page. Then I heard the front door and I froze, gripping my
garrote.
Our
mark paused in the hallway, staring at Frank on his sofa. He growled,
“What the fuck are you doing?”
Frank
held up his book, as if it weren’t obvious. Our mark started to approach
him, like a bull ready to charge. I slipped the garrote over his head and
pounced on his back. He made a gurgling noise and stepped backwards,
gripping first for the wire and then trying to swat me like a mosquito.
Frank stood, walking casually toward us as our mark stumbled further away in a
panic.
Then
the surprise wore off, and Mr. Muscle started getting angry. He grabbed
at my arms, which he could’ve probably ripped right out the sockets if I wasn’t
dangling off of him with my full weight plus
a big dinner. I pulled tighter, holding onto him with my legs around his
hips. He gurgled some more and backed into the wall, slamming me against
it. I lost my footing and swung precariously off his neck. He nearly tripped on the rug and we stumbled
together into a side table. There was a crash of something hitting the
ground and I tried pulling myself up his back again but my arms were starting
to shake from the strain. He punched my arm hard, once, twice. I
didn’t let go, kicking off the wall to project us forward where I wouldn’t be
squashed.
Frank
slid behind us and put his hands over mine, giving a sharp tug that drew blood
and would’ve brought all three of us to the ground if we hadn’t met another
wall. I panted, sandwiched between Frank and our mark. He was still
fighting it, bumping us repeatedly against the plaster. Frank’s grip
didn’t loosen, and our mark finally started to go slack. We waited
several minutes, holding onto him together before Frank released my
hands. There was no way I’d be able to hold him up on my own. My
arms were like Jell-O. I let go of the
garrote and our mark fell unimpeded to our feet.
I
looked beyond the man’s massive form at the destruction we’d caused in his
hallway. The destruction caused to me
was invisible under my dark clothes, but I could already feel bruises
forming. “I can’t believe you let me do this hit.”
“I
told you it was tough,” he said. I leaned back against him and he wrapped
his arms around me. “Are you hurt?”
“Nah.”
Frank
rolled our mark over with his foot. His mouth was hanging open, his
tongue sticking out to the side. The garrote was imbedded in his flesh, a fine
line of blood coated neatly around it, like his throat had been slashed after
he’d already bled out. I frowned at the mess of Mr. Muscle’s neck and
sympathetically brought my hand to my own throat, the delicate skin rubbed raw
from repeated contact with Frank’s wool scarf. “But we really ought to
switch to silk.”
