THE THUG

Sommer Marsden

“Boss said to keep you on ice in here.” He dumped me in the claw-footed tub with a soft grunt. I have to hand it to him—he put his hand beneath my head to keep me from rapping it on the porcelain.

Then he sat back on his haunches and studied me. Tall and broad in a pin-striped suit and a fedora that had seen better days, he was handsome in a thuggish kind of way. The darkness in his brown eyes sent a chill through me.

He pushed my wavy bangs back into place, restoring my hairdo to pristine pin curls. I’d have thanked him but for the strip of duct tape over my lips.

“I’m only doing what the big boss wants, doll face.”

Doll face. I shivered again. I imagined the big strapping body beneath that suit. The scars from a life spent wild.

“It’s not necessarily what I want to do, see?”

I nodded vigorously. My best bet was to go along with whatever he said. His tie was askew slightly and some particular part of me wished I could straighten it.

He reached out slowly as if I would—as if I could—bite him, and stroked the sticky tape over my mouth. I felt a pulsing rush of blood in my pussy, a swollen kind of want in my clit. I shut my eyes briefly and tried to ignore the feel of my nipples going tight in my bra.

I shifted my wrists but the rough rope bit deep into my skin. I flexed my fingers to keep the blood flowing. I tried to wriggle my ankles in their hemp bonds, but only managed to make my arousal worse and twist my back-seam stockings around my legs.

“I could be persuaded, though. I could maybe accidentally let you go if you were to…do me a service.”

His fingers smelled of the unfiltered cigarettes he’d been smoking since he nabbed me on my walk home from work, tied me up and dropped me in the backseat of his car, demanding I be quiet or I’d “be sorry.”

The dress was hiked up around my hips and something was itching, which made my nose begin to itch. But I couldn’t do anything with my hands bound and the sensation was starting to drive me mad.

I nodded. I’d do it. Anything. Whatever he wanted.

He grinned at me. His first true smile. It made him look less thuggish, but not a lot.

“Glad to hear it, doll face. Good to know some old-fashioned reason still works. I think you might even like the favor you’re about to do for me. At least I hope you will.”

He got me up on my knees in the tub, my belly pressing the porcelain. It was cold even through my navy-blue polka-dotted dress. I found myself wishing he’d take my dress off me, but I pushed the thought away. I watched him open his belt and then his pants. He didn’t even have to fish around in his striped blue boxers for his cock. There it was, standing at attention, the tip flushed and shiny with urgency.

He looked me in the eye and there was that flash again, that darkness in his gaze that set off something deep inside me. “I’m going to pull that piece of tape off, okay? Don’t get it in your crazy little head to do anything rash. Do you hear me?”

I nodded. My heart pounded and I wiggled my wrist again and felt my pulse beating crazy and heavy beneath my bonds. He pulled the tape off and I sucked in a great breath of air.

“I’ll do whatever you want,” I said. “Please.”

He smiled, taking my face in his hand, running his thumb up my jawline. “You look like a smart dame. I’ll trust you not to bite.” Then he leaned in and tapped my lower lip with his cock. He smelled of tobacco, cotton and a musky cologne.

I shut my eyes and sucked his tip into my mouth. He pulled free and tapped my lip again. “Baby blues open,” he said. He moved back enough for me to see my bright red lipstick ringing his cock. “See what pretty marks you leave.”

Before I could reply he pushed his cock back in my mouth. I dragged my lips along his silken sheath, feeling the tip brush the back of my throat. My eyes watered slightly and I shivered. He chuckled and pushed a hand down into the bodice of my dress. He slid his fingers past the grayish blue silk brassiere I wore and pinched my nipple hard.

Conversationally, he said, “There’s this stripper at this joint we go to, she rouges her nipples. Ever thought about rouging your nipples, doll face?”

I shook my head even as I tried to deep-throat him. I couldn’t quite get to the root of his cock but I seemed to get points for effort because he sighed and gently stroked my hair.

“How about we rouge your nipples then? I might be inclined to untie your wrists for that.”

I nodded vigorously, realizing as soon as he said it how terribly the rope was irritating my wrists. The bruiser attempted to unbutton the buttons on my bodice but abandoned his efforts after two failed attempts.

I moaned, moving my wrists restlessly against the edge of the tub to remind him.

“Patience, sweetheart. Patience is a virtue. Didn’t they tell you that in school?” He stepped back, cock painted brightly with my lipstick. Then he took his fedora off and hung it on a wall hook. He opened the medicine cabinet and rummaged around. “Maybe the boss’s missus has some in here. You never know what you’ll find in these things. Dames keep all kinds of shi—sorry. All kinds of things in medicine cabinets.”

He pulled out a blue makeup case and unzipped it, producing a small round compact. He flipped it open. “This rouge?”

He tilted it toward me and I looked. Cream rouge in a shade of rose. I nodded.

“You can speak, you know.” He pointed at me. “You just can’t scream. You scream and things could get rough.”

“It’s rouge,” I confirmed.

He set the case down and nodded to my wrists. “Put them up.”

I did as he said, my body showing a fine tremor from the adrenaline. He produced a pocketknife and began to saw at the rope that bound me. My skin emerged, tattooed with fine marks from the hemp. Pink and achy and shiny.

The thug surprised me by leaning in and kissing my wrists just above my pulse. “To make ’em feel better,” he grumbled. Then he nodded to my dress. “Undo those buttons. Pull out those tits.”

I bristled at his blunt language but did as he said. My fingers trembled as I undid the pearlescent buttons and then I pulled my bra cups down to expose my breasts. My knees ached dully from kneeling in the tub.

He squatted down and opened the small compact. “Remember, no screaming, no biting. And I’ll be real nice to you.”

I heard myself exhale. It was a stuttery breath. “I will. I promise.”

He coated his thick fingertip in rouge and began to paint it on my nipple and the areola. I watched that pale pink flesh pucker and go tight beneath his touch. I moaned before I could catch myself. His dark eyes went to my face, and I felt naked beneath that brazen gaze.

“I’m going to assume the boss man wants you to play with. But I think I’ll risk getting snuffed out to play with you myself.”

He got more rouge and moved to the other nipple, stroking it, covering it in rosy pink. I clutched the edge of the tub to keep myself steady—and to repress my sudden urge to touch him of my own volition. I was supposed to be scared of the thug.

When both my nipples were painted fetching pink, he dropped to his knees and kissed me. I stiffened at first, tasting cigarettes on his tongue and wondering what kind of violence such a big man was capable of. Then he was stroking my freshly rouged nipples and kissing me and I let myself get lost in it. How gentle he could be. I sighed into his mouth before I could stop myself.

He laughed. “Not such a scary guy when I want to be nice, now am I?”

I shook my head, remaining mute.

“If I untie those delicate ankles of yours will you behave while I take off your shoes? And your hosiery? And your delicates?” he asked, his voice growing gruff as he spoke.

I nodded. “I promise. Anything,” I said.

He lifted me out of the tub and carried me to a small room with a sofa and a desk—someone’s office. He set me on the sofa and put my feet in his lap, slowly but surely unwinding my ankles. He didn’t use the knife this time but instead showed patience at undoing his own handiwork.

When the rope was puddled by his leg he got up and pulled me to my feet. “Arms up.”

I put my arms up like a child and allowed him to pull my dress over my head and off. Next he unhooked my bra and dropped it at my feet. “I thought you were all tied up in my rope.” He smiled and I realized it was a crooked smile, almost likeable. Handsome. Almost. “But you’re much more bound by the stuff under your dress than by anything I supplied.” He removed one spectator pump at a time.

I felt my cheeks turn as pink as my nipples when he unhooked my hose from my garter belt. Surprisingly, he knew how to roll them down properly so they wouldn’t snag and could be stored. I felt myself go wet between the legs at the realization. His face was so near my underpants his breath penetrated the silk. The humidity of every exhalation was intoxicating.

I watched, fascinated, as he removed my garter belt and then my panties. I was bare before him.

“You’re much prettier out of all those things than you are in them, doll face.”

I could only nod.

“Spread your legs.”

I spread my legs and with two big fingers he parted my nether lips. Then: “You’re so pink down here you don’t need any rouge.” Then he pushed a finger inside me. I cried out little. He said, “And you’re wet, too. Did I make you wet, sweetheart?”

I nodded.

“Good to know.” He didn’t say any more. He just leaned in and brushed his lips over my clitoris. He pushed his tongue into my slit as his big, heavy hands held on to my upper thighs. He kept me right on the edge to the point where I began to whimper.

“Oh, does my captive want to come?” he whispered.

I found my voice then. Maybe it had been unveiled by him removing all my restrictive clothes. “Yes,” I said softly, my voice watery.

“Then come,” he said, latching on to me, sucking harder and faster. His fingers drove into me over and over again and I found myself clutching his broad shoulders, still sheathed in his pinstriped jacket. I came, saying nothing but “Oh” over and over again.

He grabbed me and stood, moving toward the desk. Then he bent me over, put my arms across the blotter and took my hips in his hands. I arched back, shameless and helpless to deny that I wanted this. I did my best to beckon with my body. Not that I had to.

He hissed as he entered me. Just the tip at first. He made me wriggle and beg without begging. I could still feel blood thumping and rushing in my wrists and my ankles where he’d had me bound.

“I decided I wanted you for myself,” he grunted.

I came.

“All for myself. Fuck the big boss.”

He slammed into me, thrusting so hard my hip bones hit the edge of the desk. He pulled out of me and picked me up, laying me on my back, spreading me wide. His eyes ate me up. His gaze felt almost tangible. He parted my legs, hauled me forward so my bottom was on the lip of the desk and drove into me. “I want to see your pretty face when I come all over your pretty pale skin.”

I gasped again, not just from his words but from his thumb, which he pressed relentlessly against my clitoris as he thrust deeper and deeper still.

“I love what that pretty mouth of yours does when you gasp. I love what that pretty mouth of yours does on my dick,” he said.

I moaned.

“I love all the pretty things about the pretty dame,” he said gruffly. Then he laughed.

He made a sound—a simple animal sound—that told me he was about to come. I pushed my legs up a little higher to get him deeper. He rubbed my clitoris and when he said, “Christ,” I came. Knowing he was right there.

He stayed in me long enough to feel my pussy milk at him and then he pulled free and shot his come all over my belly, using his fingers to rub it into my skin and paint it around my belly button.

He grinned at me. My thug.

“So there was your noir movie, doll face. What’s next? Can I be big boss next time if we do noir again?”

I was shivering and Mike pulled me close, wrapping his arms around me to warm me. He’d taken the throw blanket off the back of his office sofa to set the scene.

“Not noir again. Sci-fi,” I said, teeth clacking lightly.

“Oooh,” he said, pulling a sweater from the closet by the sofa. “Can we have a scenario where I have more than one cock?”

I snorted. “We’ll see. I’ll have to think it over.”

“Whatever you want, doll face,” he said, laughing.

“Good thug,” I said, kissing him.