Have Spacecat, Will Travel: And Other Tails by John Hartness (top ebook reader .TXT) 📕

“Ooooh, Herman. You do want this! I can feel how much you want this. But what’s wrong, Herman? Why are you struggling?” Herman was thrashing against his bonds, pulling with his arms, pushing with his legs, and flailing about like a fish on a pier trying to break free of whatever was holding him, but he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t break free so much as a finger.

“Don’t bother, Herman. You’re not going anywhere until I finish playing with you. And I think I’m going to play with you for a long time. After all, weren’t you planning on playing with me for a long time? You watched me walk for sooo many blocks, I know you wanted a little happy fun time with Cindy. So now you’re going to get it. So why don’t we get started?” She got off his lap and walked away from Herman, tossing a leather wallet onto a small kitchen table. Herman realized with a start that it was his wallet. So that’s how she knew his name.

Herman watched her walk through the almost barren apartment into a back bedroom and close the door. He took in his surroundings, at least as far as he could crane his neck to see. He was in the cramped living room of a dingy apartment. Off to one side there was a small dinette table with two chairs, the pale green with gold flakes kind of crap Formica tabletop with aluminum tubes for legs, matching chairs with split cushions taped together with yellowed tape, and a couple of circular cigarette holes. He could see a sofa, a heavy, wood-framed thing that looked like something off the set of Archie Bunker or some other TV show about poor people. Herman couldn’t see a television, but he was sure there was one somewhere. Whores and drones always had a television. Herman never watched television. Lions didn’t watch television.

Sitting in front of him, the focal point of the room, was a large free-standing floor-length mirror. It was oval, with dark wood, and the mirror itself was a good five feet tall. All around the wooden frame were roughly carved notches, starting at the center of the top of the mirror and proceeding clockwise. There must have been fifteen or twenty notches carved into the wood, but Herman saw with a shiver that there was room for several more. Looking into the mirror, Herman saw himself for the first time, and what he saw made him thrash against his bonds all the harder. His shoes were gone, as were his socks, but his pants and shirt were untouched. On his head was a leather bondage mask, the kind you found in the pervert stores where Herman sometimes did his hunting. It had zippers for the mouth, eyes, and nose, all open for now, but they could be closed at a moment’s notice, sealing him in darkness. The ball gag in his mouth was bright red, and the whore had painted a yellow smiley face on it so that as Herman looked at himself in the mirror, the perversion grinned back at him.

He was bound hand and foot to a heavy wooden chair with stout arms. The chair was sitting in the middle of a bright blue tarp, taped to the floor at the edges, and there was a pile of towels sitting on one corner. He could see the plastic ties fastening his arms down, three of them at each wrist and more running up each arm. His legs were similarly bound, and thick leather belts wound around his waist and chest, holding him firm to the back of the chair. He pulled, and twisted, and yanked and strained, but nothing he did budged the heavy-duty zip ties. The apartment was bare other than that, no decorations, no clothes on the floor, nothing to make you think that anyone lived here. Maybe the whore didn’t live here, maybe she just worked here. Herman didn’t know. He didn’t care. But she would. Oh yes, as soon as he freed himself, she would care.

He saw the door into the back room open, and the whore came back out. She was stark naked except for her feet, where she wore big clunky galoshes, and her hands, which were covered in latex gloves. Her hair was pulled back into a single ponytail now, and all hint of the little girl makeup was washed away. Now Herman could see that she was a good ten years older than he had thought, at least thirty, and the stretch marks on her stomach said she had given birth at least once. Herman tried to look away, but his eyes betrayed him. His gaze was drawn to her porcelain skin, flawless except for the tattoo of a purple dragon running down her left thigh. Chinese in style, the dragon’s tail wrapped all the way around her waist and buried its pointed tip into the red curls of her hair down there. She had shaved the hair there into a triangle, so the whole thing looked like her hair was the dragon’s tail. Herman looked up, trying to focus on her face, but his eyes kept dragging down to her small, pert breasts, each with a small silver hoop dandling from the nipple. She reached up and pulled on each ring, closing her eyes in a mockery of passion, then strutted over to Herman and ran her breasts over his nose.

She giggled at Herman’s discomfort and said, “It’s just easier if I do my work in the nude, Herman. You don’t mind, do you?”

Herman closed his eyes, sealing her nakedness away from him to preserve himself from the image of her filth. He felt the rush of wind even before he felt the sting of her slap land on his temple.

“Open your eyes, Herman.” All the giggles were gone now, and her voice was cold. “I want you to look at me. Look at what you lusted