Beauty and the Beast
Richard Wilkey
don’tlookatmelikethat
Someone seemed to be scolding him. The voice was faint, hazy, almost distant. It sounded like a woman, but his mind was cloudy and his head ached so badly that it was difficult to concentrate. Where was he? What was going on? don’t-look-at-me-like-that
There it was again, but, hell, he wasn’t looking at anyone. His fucking eyes were closed; he felt too dizzy to open them.
“Don’t look at me like that!” her voice screeched again, intensifying his headache.
Jason Walker struggled to open his eyes to a wavering blur. Could this be the worst hangover of his life? The room seemed to sway to the left and then to the right, rocking as if he were on a distressed steamer on a stormy sea. As his senses gradually improved, he realized he was naked from head to toe—and strapped to a straight-back wooden chair. His worst hangover became his worst nightmare.
“Are you happy now ... stalker?”
He almost did a double take when his vision finally focused on her. She was stunningly gorgeous, with long brown hair that tumbled over her shoulders and a dark, even tan everywhere that he could see. She had sparkling blue eyes and was packed inside a light blue cutoff T-shirt that was at least a couple of sizes too small. She obviously wore no bra, because the nipples of a pair of what seemed to be grapefruit-sized, near-perfect breasts strained against the thin fabric. She wore ultratight, supershort shorts and looked like one of those Dallas Cowboys cheerleaders in black spiked heels. Few women in his life had taken his breath away, but the sight of this one could damn near put him inside an oxygen tank. But what the hell was she talking about? He hadn’t been staring at her; his fucking eyes had been closed!
Jason tried to focus. A dog barked from another room of this scarcely furnished apartment. “Wh-what?” he managed to mumble. The nightmare was now transforming into his wildest fantasy. Here he sat, naked, his clothes obviously having been removed by this virtual goddess. Could it be some kind of twisted, sexy role-play that she wanted? But something felt wrong. She was almost a dream come true—except for her demeanor. She was fidgety, like she was either high on something or was suffering from withdrawal. She paced back and forth, taking short, quick steps, mumbling beneath her breath. Then she stopped and stared directly into his eyes.
“You were gawking at me, you asshole,” she hissed.
Jason expelled a burst of pent-up breath, becoming more aware of his nakedness. Who the hell wouldn’t stare at her? But what the fuck was she talking about? He tested the tension at his bound hands and found it uncomfortably tight.
“Hey,” he began, “help me out here. I’m—”
“SHUT UP!” she yelled, her face a reflection of mounting anger. Jason realized that his perception was shifting once again, this time making a sharp U-turn from Fantasy Boulevard back to Nightmare Junction. The damn dog, still unseen, continued to bark incessantly.
This was crazy. He vaguely recalled meeting this sexpot in a bar. She’d been overtly flirtatious, and he thought he’d struck gold when she invited him to her place. They had made out on the sofa, but he couldn’t remember much beyond that. It seemed she had made him a drink, and then ...
“You were leering at me,” she spat. “At the bar ...” Jason swallowed hard. “What? No!” he defended himself. “I wasn’t leering at anybody. But you put something in my drink and—”
“Liar!” she interrupted him.
Jason slowly shook his head, but even the slightest movement amplified his headache. “Lady, I was just minding my own damn business at that bar when you—”
She stomped her right foot, the tip of her high-heeled black shoe slamming against the hardwood floor. “SHUT UP!” she yelled again. “Don’t lie to me.” Her voice almost echoed within the sparsely decorated walls.
Jason struggled against the ropes and glanced around the room for any hope of help. He could barely see a worn-out sofa ten feet or so away, but the lights in that area of the apartment were off. He thought about yelling to get the attention of neighbors, but her own loud voice hadn’t called attention to herself. Anyway, this bitch obviously had something evil in mind, and she could do whatever she wanted long before anyone could come to his assistance.
She stepped directly in front of him and bent over toward him, yielding a close-up view of her ample cleavage. “You wanted to fuck me,” she whispered.
There was definitely something wrong with this bitch. She was incredibly beautiful and sexy on the outside, but there was something dark and wicked within. How should he respond to her? Which answer did her twisted mind want to hear? “What?” he finally answered. “No, I didn’t—”
She backed away and glared at him again. “You’re all alike. You’re disgusting,” she interrupted him again.
Now he was angry. Of course he’d wanted to fuck her. She’d baited him from the beginning, and he’d swallowed her hook. What the hell did she expect from him? Wasn’t that what it was all about? “Listen, bitch,” he snarled, “I don’t know who the hell you are or what you’re trying to prove, but I want out of here.”
She smiled for a split-second, then hissed, “I told you to SHUT UP!” She stared at him through narrowed eyes and slowly shook her head in apparent disgust. “Besides, my name is not Bitch. It’s Carla. You’re thinking so much about fucking me that you can’t even remember my name.”
Carla. The name did seem familiar. But she had obviously drugged him and wiped out much of his shortterm memory.
“But I remember your name ... Jason.” She pronounced it like it was a fresh pile of horseshit. “But names aren’t important now.” She backed a step farther away and eyed her prey like a cat stalking a mouse, playing with him, taunting him. “Do you honestly think you can just lie your way out of this?” she said, finally in a calmer voice.
Jason shook his head again. The headache was clearing, and his senses were rapidly returning. He knew he had to do something. “You’re fucking crazy, lady. I want out of here ... now.”
Carla strutted seductively toward him, laughing. “You’re not in much of a position to tell me what to do ... pervert,” she said slyly.
Jason tried to calm himself. She was right. He shouldn’t be so demanding. He’d have to be diplomatic to get out of this mess. The air conditioner kicked on, and a vent directly above him blew cold air across his exposed skin, raising chill bumps. No matter how he tried to lower his pulse, however, he couldn’t control the anger in his voice. “I told you, dammit, I was just trying to get to know you. Sure, I was looking at you, but I never leer at anybody. The way you were dressed, everybody in the whole damn place was giving you the eye.”
“Oh, so it’s my fault now?”
Jason slowly shook his head and exhaled in frustration.
Now, suddenly, her attitude shifted again. She smirked at him, pursing her lips and batting her eyes seductively. “Do you really expect me to believe that you didn’t want to fuck me?” she said. She ran her fingertips through her hair and jutted her breasts out farther. “Think you could pass a lie-detector test?”
Jason groaned and shook his head harder. She was crazier than he’d imagined. He struggled against the ropes again, but they were as tight as ever, offering little hope of escape. Should he play along with her? Maybe she’d loosen the ropes for whatever she had in mind, and he could make a run for it then. He was at a loss for words as the air conditioner chilled him even more.
“I’m not stupid. I knew all along what you were up to,” Carla said. “I know exactly what you want.”
Jason groaned in exasperation. “No, that’s not—” He stopped in midsentence, reminding himself of her lie-detector question. “Yeah, yeah, I could pass a test,” he finally said. “Like you just happen to have a fucking lie detector in your closet, huh, bitch?”
She smiled, and her nerves seemed to suddenly calm. “Oh, no, not at all,” she cooed. “There’s a lie detector right here.”
She was staring at him as she said it. What the hell did she mean? She wasn’t making any sense, and he couldn’t figure out what to say next. He swallowed hard, then said, “Okay, okay, so let’s see your fucking lie detector.”
She stepped directly in front of him, bent to her knees, and stared at his crotch. “Oh, it’s not my lie detector, honey. It’s yours. Right there ... between your legs.”
She seductively pulled the tight T-shirt up and over her head, her breasts springing free with the most erotic jiggle he’d ever seen. Her dark pencil-eraser-sized nipples were erect and bobbing directly in his face. Her perfection seemed even more flawless than before. Jason was captivated.
She leaned closer, and he could smell her perfume, her mint-flavored breath. “If your lie detector doesn’t move, I guess you really don’t want to fuck me.” She slowly glided around him, her hip lightly grazing his naked arm. Then she leaned in close against the side of his head, nibbling at his ear and neck. “But if it points straight up ...” she whispered as she stepped back in front of him and slowly peeled her shorts down to her knees. She was wearing no panties.
Jason leaned as far back from her as he could get and closed his eyes. “Oh shit, this isn’t fair.” He gasped. The familiar tingle began at his groin.
“Look at me!” she hissed. She pinched his bare thigh sharply as she stepped out of her shorts and stood totally nude in front of him, revealing her smoothly shaven snatch. She slowly ran her fingertips down her body to her crotch, enticingly running her fingers between her legs. “If you’re lying and your lie detector points straight up,” she repeated, “I might just have to ...”
His eyes expanded as she reached behind him, dangling her breasts in his face and bringing back a long, menacing knife. “Cut it off!” she spat.
Jason momentarily held his breath in shock, then pleaded, “No! No! ”
She grasped the knife in her right hand and took in several deep breaths, thrusting her breasts forward, then slowly approached him. His dick responded as it normally did, as any heterosexual male’s would. She smiled and wet her lips with her tongue, then carefully straddled his knees, facing him, leaning against him to whisper in his ear as she gazed down at his manhood. “Uh-oh. Your lie detector says you’re lying,” she whispered.
Jason summoned all of his strength, trying to rock the chair to knock them both to the floor. “Oh God, no, lady—please!”
She laughed in his face and slid the blade of the knife against his cheek. Sensually she ran the fingers of her left hand through her hair again and softly moaned.
She’s completely over the edge, Jason realized. He leaned away from her again and felt his erection lightly graze against her pussy lips. It was maddening.
“When Pinocchio lied, his little nose grew,” she said in a lighthearted tone. “Looks like something else grows when you lie.”
“My God, lady, what the hell do you want from me?”
She brushed her breasts against his face, and he fought the urge to take an erect nipple into his mouth. “Just the truth, fucker,” she hissed. “I only want the truth.”
Jason’s heart pounded against his chest, his skin tingling now with fear. “Please, lady. For God’s sake, I’ve never done anything to you.”
She smiled wickedly and leaned in closer, pushing her breasts against his chest. “Oh, but you want to do something to me. That’s all that men like you ever want, isn’t it?”
His mind was spinning now. His dick stood at attention, and there was a sharp blade only inches away. He was at her mercy. “Listen, we can work this out. Do you really want me to fuck you? Is that what this is all about?”
She laughed and stared blankly into space for a brief instant, then kissed him long and passionately. When she pulled away, he saw an expression of lovely hatred, beauty and the beast all in one. His erection began to wilt, far too late. Terror consumed his consciousness. She glanced down at his crotch again and slowly shook her head. “Oh, too late for that,” she said. “The truth hurts.”
Carla smiled at him seductively, appearing almost normal again. Then she slid back along his lap to straddle his knees, making room to reach down between his legs. “Looks like I’ll be adding another one to my collection... .”
Jason screamed and rocked the chair back and forth, but she hung on like a cowboy on a wild steer. She grabbed his now-flaccid dick with her left hand and lowered the knife. “It’ll be worse if you fight me,” she whispered. “A clean cut will be better for both of us.”
He swallowed hard and sat perfectly still, sweat beading across his forehead, willing her to please stop, praying that this was just a bad dream, when he felt the knife blade slide underneath his balls. Tears streamed down his cheeks. “Please, lady,” he begged. “I’m sorry ... if I—”
Without warning she pulled his dick straight up and began to saw through tender skin. Left to right ... right to left. Jason shuddered, feeling the motion at his groin a split second before the pain registered. Too horrified to scream, too frightened to even move, he closed his eyes tightly, unable, or unwilling, to watch. A warm liquid flowed down his legs, and with his eyes shut he didn’t know if his manhood had been severed or if he’d pissed on himself. A short while later, lying on his side but still strapped to the chair, Jason’s breath ceased, his movement subsiding amid a spreading pool of crimson.
His final conscious sight was a pair of bloody footprints leading away into the next room.
Clad only in a bra and bikini panties, Carla stood at the kitchen stove gently stirring the simmering contents of a small saucepan. From the nearby living room her roommate called out, “I guess Trixie had another accident last night.”
“Oh ... right,” Carla answered.
Trixie, their seven-year-old golden retriever, padded into the kitchen just ahead of Marsha, who still wore her faded and baggy flannel pajamas. Marsha was of stocky build, about Carla’s age, with short-cropped brown hair. She yawned, then stepped behind Carla and gave her a kiss on the neck. “Good morning, sweetheart,” she cooed.
Carla glanced at her watch. “Actually it’s two-fifteen. What time did you get home last night?”
Marsha exhaled deeply. “I had to work a double shift. I’m not quite sure what time it was, but the smell of bleach on the living-room floor almost knocked me to my knees when I opened the door.”
Carla shrugged. “Trixie gets nervous sometimes. She can’t help it.”
“Well, at least she didn’t do it on the rug.”
Carla smirked. She always made sure there wasn’t a mess on the rug.
Marsha stretched her arms and took in a deep breath, apparently awakening more by the minute. “Mmm, something sure smells good,” she said, easing behind Carla and peeking over her shoulder into the saucepan. “What’s cooking?”
Carla stirred the contents a bit more rapidly. “Meat balls,” she answered.
Marsha looked closer at the saucepan’s contents, a confused expression sweeping over her face. “Only two?” she asked.
Carla groaned in disgust. “They’re for Trixie.”
Marsha laughed. “You’re kidding, right? That’s hardly even a mouthful for her!”
Carla slowly raised her head and stared blankly ahead, then pivoted to face Marsha, glaring at her. “Don’t get started with me. I’m not in the mood,” she growled.
Marsha touched Carla on the shoulder and said, “Honey, please. I didn’t mean anything by it.”
Carla’s look of anger grew worse even after Marsha leaned forward and gently kissed her on the lips. “We need to talk,” Marsha said.
“When I finish this—”
“Now,” Marsha interrupted. “I’m serious.”
Carla prodded the simmering contents with a spoon and shrugged. “They’re almost ready anyway.” She turned the burner off and flashed a grim expression at Marsha.
Marsha took Carla’s hand and led her to the living-room sofa. The two sat together, and Trixie occupied the far end of the sofa. Marsha began to gently massage Carla’s neck, but Carla flinched. “Your shrink called yesterday,” Marsha began.
“So?”
“He said you’ve missed some appointments.”
Carla looked away. “He has no right to talk to you about me,” she said.
“You signed a release, remember?” Carla sulked and turned away. Marsha squeezed her shoulder. “Have you been skipping your medication too?” Marsha asked.
Carla slammed a foot against the floor. “You don’t understand me!” she shrieked. “Nobody understands me!”
Marsha tried to hold her, but Carla jerked away. “Leave me alone,” she shrieked. “Don’t touch me!”
Marsha’s expression suddenly faded. She reached for her cell phone, glanced at Carla, and pleaded with her eyes. “Calm down, honey,” she whispered, swallowing hard. “I’ll get you some help. It’ll be okay, I promise.”
As Marsha punched numbers into the keypad, Carla grabbed a nearby lamp and swung its base hard against her roommate’s head. Restricted by the length of the electrical cord, the blow only stunned Marsha but sent her tumbling to the floor. By now, however, Carla raised the straight-back chair in which Jason had been recently strapped and brought it down hard against Marsha’s head, promptly muting her screams. “No. You. Won’t,” Carla repeated over and over. When she stopped swinging the chair, little was left of her roommate’s head other than a bloody lump.
Carla shook her head. This time the rug was a mess.
Trixie whined and plopped to the floor, taking a quick lap of Marsha’s pooling blood, then staring sadeyed at Carla.
She’d never attempted this before, and it proved to be more difficult than she’d imagined. Marsha’s lifeless corpse lay faceup and naked on the floor, legs spread far apart. The jar of pickled penises rested just to the right of Marsha, and Carla fished out another one, a larger one this time.
Even after adding a lubricant, this one was still practically impossible to jam inside Marsha. It was like stuffing Jell-O through a keyhole.
“Damn,” Carla muttered. She considered applying a make-shift splint to the flaccid member when another thought occurred to her. Was it possible to preserve an erect dick? She recalled her Uncle Ed, who had molested her repeatedly as a young teen. He could never get it up, so he used some kind of pump device to get hard. He’d stick his dick into a tube, then pump out the air to draw blood into his dick, forming an erection. When he was totally hard, he’d slide a tight rubber band over the tube to the base of his dick to trap the blood inside. Purple penis ... purple penis ... She stared blankly ahead and shuddered at the thought.
Perhaps if she clamped something tightly around the base of the next pervert’s dick and somehow sealed it as she cut it away, she could preserve the boner. It was worth a try.
Carla dropped the shiny, severed penis back into the jar of alcohol with the others. She replaced the lid, then shook the jar, watching the various-sized penises swirl against each other. Carla smiled. Looked like she’d soon have to find a bigger jar.
It wasn’t supposed to be like this.
Carla paced nervously in front of her latest victim. He was beginning to awaken, and she didn’t know what to do. She took a deep breath and looked him over once again as he slumped in the chair to be sure she wasn’t missing something. There was a bald spot at the crown of his head that she hadn’t noticed before. Streaks of gray in his hair had been virtually invisible until now. Perhaps she had overlooked it.
A thick mat of chest hair looked like a bearskin rug stretched over his husky, masculine body. His legs were open but—
No. It just wasn’t right. How could this be?
His head rolled from side to side. His eyes slowly opened, then blinked repeatedly. He seemed to be focusing his attention on her now. Carla continued to study him carefully.
His eyebrows arched. As his senses apparently returned, he showed little concern over being naked and bound. He swallowed hard, and a grim expression washed over his face.
“Don’t look at me like that,” he hissed.
Carla stood speechless. Wasn’t she supposed to say that? He glanced down at his crotch, then made eye contact with her again. “You hot bitches are all alike,” he said. “You only want perfection. You don’t have even an ounce of sympathy for guys like me.”
“I ...” she started but then was at a complete loss for words. She swallowed hard; then her mouth hung open.
He slowly shook his head, glanced down again between his legs, then grimaced at her. “I wanted to prepare you. I meant to say something before I passed out.” His eyes narrowed as he scrutinized her. “You spiked my drink, didn’t you?” She stood motionless, and he laughed unexpectedly. “I thought only guys did shit like that,” he said.
For the first time that she could remember, she was self-conscious about her appearance, but it seemed that no matter how she moved, he stared at her harder.
“That hot body of yours is hazardous material,” he said. “You should put one of those yellow labels on your ass.” He smiled broadly and pursed his lips. “But I know what you’re wondering,” he said. “And the answer is yes.” He tested the rope at his wrists and shrugged. “You’ve heard of phantom limbs before, haven’t you? A guy loses an arm in an accident, but it feels like it’s still hanging there?” He hesitated briefly. “Well, babe, I’m hard as a rock right now.”
Carla stared blankly at the vacant space between his legs.
“Arms aren’t the only body part that can be lost in an accident,” he said. “But guys like us? We still gotta live. We still have urges, but we learn to compensate.”
An uncharacteristic sense of sadness washed over Carla. Perhaps she’d been wrong to judge all men so harshly. Maybe there were actually some out there who couldn’t think with their dicks.
His face turned to stone. “I’ve already felt a fucking Rottweiler clamp his teeth between my legs. There’s nothing you can do to me that could be any worse, so go ahead and get it over with.”
She stood speechless. He slowly shook his head and grinned.
“Never seen a dickless guy before, huh?” he said. “You’re no different from any other bitch. They’re all curious. . . but no compassion.” He took a deep breath, then exhaled hard and swallowed. “I can still piss through the little tube you see down there.” On closer inspection, she saw what he was referring to. “I can even have an orgasm if someone will take the time to lick around the scar tissue.” He rolled his eyes and laughed. “But there ain’t many bitches around who’ll bother.” He gave her a cold, hard stare. “You bitches are all alike. You’re only out for yourselves.”
Carla trembled as a wave of emotion overcame her. “I ... I’m sorry.”
“Yeah ... sure you are,” he smirked.
A tear trickled down Carla’s cheek. It felt odd. How long had it been since she’d felt such emotion?
Following a moment of awkward silence, he said, “So, what the hell happens next? Sorry I disappointed you.”
Carla slowly shook her head. “I was wrong. I didn’t know.”
He exhaled deeply. “You’re not making any sense.”
She quickened her pace. How could she have been this mistaken about men? Was it possible that some were not sexual predators? She felt her skin tingle. The familiar restless feeling swept over her. Should she take her medication? No, not yet. She had to do something with this guy first.
“It’s getting cold in here. Can’t you at least throw a blanket over me?” he complained.
What should she do? She had been so wrong.
And then the thought occurred to her. Maybe a gesture of kindness could make everything right. Perhaps through one simple act she could turn her life around. In her twisted mind it made perfectly good sense.
A smile crept over Carla’s face as she stepped across the hardwood floor to her bedroom. Trixie barked and jumped all over her bed as she retrieved the jar from her bedroom closet. Everything would be fine, she felt certain. She would untie him and let him have his choice of any of the jar’s contents. He could feel whole again.
He would thank her, she was sure.
She couldn’t wait to see the look in his eyes when she handed him the jar... .