Shelly adjusted herself in her rearview mirror. Her lipstick was a shade reminiscent of ripe fruit. Not a droplet of eyeliner was askew. Hair was perfectly placed, her skirt was appropriately short and she had on the tiniest pair of panties that she owned. Tonight, she was off to rope herself a cowboy.

Nez was almost all she’d thought about since she’d woken up that next morning. Those sensuous eyes, that perfect mouth, the gorgeous thing resting between his legs. She’d refused Jack’s advances twice, lying that it was ‘her time’, which guaranteed that he wouldn’t try to touch her for a good week. In actuality, she had simply become both fixated on and spoilt by Nez.

She stood up, closing the car door and making final adjustments -lifting her breasts upward, pulling her skirt down just so- before starting up the staircase to Mitch’s house.

It was a great old place, built in the 20s, and used to belong to some rusty old silent movie star before they died. It suited Mitch in that he was the Gatsby of certain music circles, roaring twenties excess brought to its progressive zenith during the last decade or so. It was definitely a gilded palace of sin- six bedrooms, known to be occupied most of the time by fornicating couples, balconies with really heavy ‘heads that didn’t feel like sharing. The game room had a fully stocked bar and a box of cigars always at the ready for whoever stopped by to play poker or pool. During the summer the pool looked like an Olympian grotto, beautiful girls lounging like lazy water nymphs while his pals drank and drugged to their heart’s content. These were the circumstances under which she met Jack.

Someone from work invited her...one of the dancers...Carla. She knew somebody who knew somebody who had invited her over once. Carla soon got to know Mitch (in all senses of the word, Shelly figured) and he had her over more often, and she was then allowed to bring guests. And if they were beautiful girls, all the better.

Shelly remembered catching his eye earlier that day. She thought she caught him leering while she was sunning herself, top untied. The party continued as day ran into night, and Jack had continued to cast eyes on her, his intentions utterly transparent even behind his dark glasses. When she finally asked him to dance, he said "Wrong verb." Then it seemed full of swagger and cheek, but in the view of hindsight it was a bit sleazy. Well, she was going to put that behind her for the moment.

As soon as she stepped inside, her eyes immediately scanned the place for Nez. Not that a tall drink of whiskey like that was hard to find. But as a woman is wont to do, she went about finding him not to find him. At least, not until she was ready. Caution was the order of the evening. It'd be outright foreign to be there without Jack. (And for a moment, that thought made her want to announce her arrival to everyone. Let the bells be tolled, let the dirges be sung...the collective entity known as 'Jack and Shelly' was dead in her mind.)

Shelly decided to avoid making herself known, but instead chose to make a beeline for the bar. Jack had taught her to swill Jameson like a champ, so how better to unofficially say goodbye?

Mitch was a wonderful host- never a man for cheap scotch. She poured her drink and went through the motions- three fingers, neat as a pin, swish it around the glass thrice, and down the hatch. She'd not gotten to the 'down the hatch' portion when Mitch found her. Or more accurately, stumbled upon her.

"Hey Shelly," he said, confused yet pleasant. "When did you get here? Jack said you couldn't make it."

She was glad she had not yet taken a drink- this would have made her choke on it. He claimed he would be at a script reading. A tight-lipped smile possessed her. “Oh really?” she said, feeling her anger rise in her throat, “where is Jack, by the way?”

Mitch blinked, trying to remember the past fifteen minutes. “Uhhhhh,” he slurred, “I think I saw him in the game room. Might have been a while ago. I dunno.”

He smiled clumsily, laughing a little. She caught a whiff of him. Thank God he lived here- he reeked of marijuana, and you could use that breath to light the Olympic flame.

“Thanks Mitch,” she said curtly, setting her drink down a bit more roughly than she meant to. To the game room she went, looking for Jack.

And there she found him- bent over some giggly, bubbly-looking blonde; her tits were falling out of her top, and her panties traveled up her thighs via Jack’s busy hands.

Shelly caught both their eyes at once. The giggling stopped, and the air became still as death. This was the part in the Western where the gunfighters faced each other on an empty street, awaiting the word "draw". Seconds passed like hours.

Finally, Jack spoke up. “Well, the pool table’s busy. You’re just gonna have to play darts instead.” Delivered in his eternally unaffected Jack style.

Shelly just stared in silence. Not stunned in the least bit, but silent. She drummed her fingers on her thigh. The blonde twitched nervously. And Jack just stood there being Jack.

She took a deep breath, releasing it heavily. “Right,” she said, resigned, “let’s just stick a fork in it and call it done, Jack.”

“Suits me fine.” Jack tried not to smile, but the relief and satisfaction were present in his voice.

She nodded her head silently. Then she simply turned on her heel and locked the door behind her.

Well…that was that. Back to the bar, then.

Her drink was still waiting. She tipped her head back and let all of it wash down her throat. Damn the taste, damn what it might do. Just speed the poison to those brain cells and heart strings that cared about Jack. She poured herself another round and slinked off to be alone.

Upstairs, she found a veranda overlooking the hills, quiet and dark, with the lights of the city twinkling below. A good place to forget there was anyone else at this party. Especially Jack and his bimbo. She snuffed angrily at the thought.

Yeah, she came here alone, looking to wrangle the cowboy that had invaded her dreams and given her masturbation fodder for the past week. And yeah, she’d already broken up with Jack in her mind and her heart and her cunt. But giving him the satisfaction of the upper hand, knowing that he’d been sneaking into the henhouse before she’d even allowed him off the porch- that killed her.

She really did love a challenge, didn't she? All a little bit different, but all the same in the end; the 'complicated ones', the bad boys, the rebels, the guitar-totin' longhairs that couldn't keep it in their pants if they tried. The ones that were puzzles to be pieced together, ones that had walls around them strong as Jericho's. They found her as easily as she found them. And try as she might, she was always helpless to resist.

“Yew really wanna be alone, or yew just playin’ hard to get?”

She turned her head quickly to see Nez leaning against the open French door. The Cowboy Cool was turned on full taps. She couldn't help but smile a little.

"Well, I'd say the former, but I've changed my mind in light of present company."

"Mighty good of you," he grinned, coming closer.

Shelly could tell by his swaggering stride that he was there to make her just as much as she was there to make him. And those tight blue-black pants proved it- they hugged his every subtle curve perfectly. His shirt was snug around his chest, and his tie seemed to only serve the purpose of directing one's eyes downward. He looked -hell, he even smelled - like sex.

"So you where've you been hidin'?"

She sighed. "Where I’ve been," she said, her tone more abrasive than she meant it to be, "is in the game room, catching Jack with some blonde whose age is half her bra size." 'And letting him get away with it', she added silently.

He paused, seemingly unsure how to respond. It gave her a slight satisfaction to see him that way; human...not like Jack.

"And what'd he say?" he finally asked.

She tried to sound nonchalant. "Oh, some smart ass remark about the pool table being in use...just about what I expected from him."

“Sounds like ol’ Jack. Never without an insult or a poisoned word.”

“How do you know?” she said, puzzled.

“You remember in the car, talking 'bout ''that movie that Bob produced about five years ago” with Jack? The one you shouldn't bother watching? I helped write it. I was in it. I know Jack real well. Ah know he screwed us...my old band. And I figger he’s screwed you, too.”

“Yeah,” she said with a bitter laugh, “in more ways than one.”

“So that means you aren’t Jack’s girl anymore, are ya?”

“No,” she spat. Why wasn't he letting it alone?

"Good," he said, leaning in. "Thought I might have to fight him for you."

"Please," she snorted. "He'd send me flowers every time he fucked an actress in the bathroom at Canter's. He’ll be glad to save the money now."

He looked dead serious for a moment. "Then why’d yew stay with 'im?"

Shelly turned away and was silent. A pause. A blink.

"I guess I just fall a little too easily," she finally offered. "And it's easier to be unhappy than to be lonely. Either way you cry your eyes red, so you might as well have someone to hold at night. Even if he does break your heart."

Nez took possession of her chin and lifted her eyes so they meet his. A thumb smoothed across her bottom lip, painting it the color of raspberries. His voice dropped to a low, caressing tone.

"Well, if you ain't spoken for Ah might have to take ya away...claim ya for my own."

She sighed. "I don't think I'm ready to fall in love again."

A wicked grin crept across his face. "Darlin', I didn't say nothin' about love." He gazed down at her, a telling look in his eye.

Point taken. Yee-haw, cowboy.

She felt a fire expanding in her belly and it had nothing to do with scotch.

The two snuck down the hallway, trying not to draw attention to themselves. (Shelly wanted to announce that she was off to fuck the man with the biggest prick she'd ever seen, and for Jack not to wait up.) <p>

He chose the last room at the end of the hall. That one was the grandest bedroom- the master bedroom when that moldy oldie actor lived there. Mitch bought some of the furniture straight along with the house --since some of it was just too damned heavy to move-- and that included a grand four-post mahogany bed. Having christened each room in Mitch's house at some point (not to mention the game room, pool house and hot tub), she could honestly say it was the best bed in the house. All the more reason to dig Nez- he had great taste.

Shelly waited expectantly as Nez stuck his head out for one final look around the parameter. Declaring it safe, he quietly closed and locked the door. He turned, leaning against it and aiming his sights directly on her. There was no mistaking his intentions. A mounting erection was already visible through his pants.

He walked up to her with long, confident strides, then seized her in his arms and pressed their lips together. She was shocked only for a moment before wrapping her arms around his neck and stepping up to take her part in the kiss. The fire in her belly had spread, her desire now settling in a slow burn between her legs. She could feel Nez's heat as well. Both seemed overwhelmed, positively burning up with desire.

Bodies pressed together, greeting hip to hip, each welcoming the other with a pleasant familiarity. Both seemed content to dismiss the formalities that had hindered their last meeting and instead get down to brass tacks. Nez's hips took the lead, grinding sensuously to hers. Shelly's were pleased and eager to follow his lead. She had longed for this for a week...a week that passed all too slowly for her liking.

Nez's hand swooped down to knead her plush behind while he walked her backwards towards the bed. She knew what he was doing, and was delighted to give in and let him do it. He then gave her a tiny push and let her fall backwards onto the bed.

Shelly let out a satisfied little coo as Nez settled his weight on top of her, pressing himself into the saddle of her thighs. This was what was missing from their last encounter- to be pinned to a soft mattress and pillow, deliciously crushed from above. She liked the way he took charge. It wasn’t like Jack, who marked it as a struggle for power, but as one who takes control naturally, as if by birthright.

He'd remembered the weakness in her neck; he rained kisses down upon it, sucking softly at that skin, nipping at it playfully. It elicited the right response from Shelly, who let out little sighs and whispers into his ears.

It was similar to –yet very different from-- that balmy, breezy night in the canyon. It lacked that slow, tense boil of seduction, but the illicit thrill was just the same. The hunger was greater now, having only sampled each other before; the promises of new sensations were laid out before them like a banquet, on crisp linens.

But his kisses were more insistent now, his hands not taking that same long and idle route up her legs and thighs. He drove across her curves as recklessly as he had the turns and dips of the hill the week before. His long, calloused fingers slid underneath the hem of her skirt and past the silk and elastic of her panties; he let out a breathy groan as his fingers found the wetness there.

All notions of a nice, slow fuck had been thrown asunder by Nez’s rushing fingers. All the better, really. Why delay what had already taken a week too long? Nez seemed to be of the same mind as his free hand snaked upwards to unbutton her blouse. Shelly had not bothered with a bra this time...why hinder the inevitable?

Again he kissed his way south, taking a moment to nuzzle her breasts appreciatively. And again, Nez’s mouth found the smooth tips and began to tease at them with his tongue, sucking at them eagerly, filling his mouth with them, nibbling them just so that they teetered on pleasurable pain.

Shelly placed a hand between them, finding his cock already hard beneath the fabric. She commenced to rub, but found her hand reprovingly snatched away. She wondered for a moment as to why…she had already seen it, felt it, had it inside her…why so secretive?

His hands raked up her arms, pinning them above her head. A tremor of unease shook her lightly. She pushed it away at once, swept up in passion. This was how Nez orchestrated a movement; played out an act. She was there for that very reason. And a niggling little place in the very back of her mind found it exhilarating, that loss of will and yield to power. Her nipples peaked in response to both Nez’s attentions and to that little whorl of her brain that longed to lose control.

Nez continued to concentrate on her most responsive places, sucking her nipples and fingering her, filling his senses with all things female. Each sensation fueled the other like match and kindling, setting her afire with need. She moaned loudly in an outburst of delight.

This made Nez look up at her slowly; those dark brown eyes held her, piercing her straight through. They held some manner of wickedness, surely.

His lips dove at hers, thrusting a hungry tongue into her mouth. She was taken aback for only a second before her tongue rose to meet his. She tried her best to keep their lips together, though it was difficult to even lift her head.

She felt his hands shift for a moment, rummaging around for something above him. After a short pursuit he had found it.

Nez then gripped her upper arms, directing them upwards. She felt something strange brush the top of her hands…something soft, yet somehow unwelcoming. Then the rope circled her wrists and clenched closed with a yank.

It took a few seconds to register that something had gone amiss. It was only when he lifted his head that she saw that iniquitous smile curve at the corners of his mouth.

"I told yew I was gonna claim you for my own, little girl," he whispered huskily.

The look on Shelly’s face was a mask of pure shock as the situation dawned on her. She struggled to look upwards at the bedposts. The rope wound around them, then a length went between them, cinching tight. She had fallen into his web with ease.

Panicked, she tugged with each arm, trying to twist her body free…but to no avail. She was tied tight and not going anywhere until he decided to let her go. Stubbornly, she pulled again, hoping for a different answer from the ropes.

So was she intent upon freeing herself that she didn't notice him pull a long handkerchief from his pocket. She had left herself so open for it that she practically invited him to gag her.

Shelly tried to yell. She tried to bite at it but found it useless. It was too wide, covering too much of her mouth. Even the loudest noise she could muster sounded like whimpers from a lonely puppy. She was now tied and submissive, flipped like an egg; a turtle with its legs helplessly in the air, and him in between them.

She tried to kick her legs out from under his grip. He held them tight, clamping them together with his own. The long and the lean of his body disguised the strong muscle underneath. He began to fuss with his necktie, removing it slowly, almost threateningly. Shelly wriggled, hopelessly trying to fight what she knew would happen next.

She tried to pull away, move her head about the pillow. But nothing worked. The necktie twined around under her head and over her eyes. It was tied firmly beside her ear.

Shelly tried one last time to struggle out of her bonds, to push away the gag with her teeth and tongue, to free her legs from underneath the deceptively thin body that trapped them.

"Now now, don't fight. I ain't gonna hurt you." His voice was calm. Maybe too calm. Oh shit...was he some kind of sadist or something? Fearful, frustrated ears rolled out of her eyes. "And I ain't gonna do somethin' yew don't want," he continued. "But I'm gonna teach you how to do as you're told. And you're gonna learn what happens when you don't. Understand me, little girl?"

She could only simper now.

He slid her panties down her thighs, down her legs before splaying them wide open.

Shelly was terrified. She'd never felt more vulnerable in her life. Her eyes searched hopefully for even some speck of light, some tiny clue as to what may happen next.

She shuddered in fear even as he kneaded her inner thighs, like he did that first time. It still did not relax her. It only mounted the tension that gathered in knots at the back of her mind, and in the aching center of her.

One of Nez's hands reached up to stroke her public lips with his thumb. Two fingers dipped inside her, easily finding her spot. It was there he concentrated all of his attentions. Just two long fingers, callused at the tips like any good guitarist's, stroking the little pad of flesh, fucking her slowly.

Shelly bit at her gag, needing something to do to alleviate this mad tension. She couldn't touch him. She couldn't see him. Nothing to be heard but the whisper-soft sounds of him sliding in and out of her wetness mingling with her own moans. Occasionally he would let out a low sigh. And again, he had shut her down completely, making her cunt the hub of her pleasure.

She jammed her hips forward to meet his fingers. He was building her up, stoking her fire. And if this was how he was going to get her rocks off, she'd have to beg for one more. She clamped herself around them as tightly as she could, using her body to plead with him, lifting her hips imploringly. A little whinging sound came from her throat.

“I bet you want more…” he said, a sinful sort of contentment in his voice. She nodded her head vigorously.

A third finger took its place inside her, joining the others, concentrating on that one exasperating little place. Her body was working against her; letting him coax her, coerce her into moans and yelps of passion, yielding to the sensations rippling through her body. Her head thrashed back and forth on her pillow. Her back arched as her desire built to a peak. He stoked the flames higher and higher…

And then he smothered them.

He pulled away quickly, leaving her wanting. Oh, but he had played this game before, hadn't he? He'd toss her around like a helpless mouse before finally moving in for a swift kill.

Her luck was not with her. The kill was not swift.

The thumb that had been so innocuous, that had lain in wait, moved to anoint itself with her slick. He coated his thumb with it, making her whimper as he touched that needy opening. With a deliberate, torturing sloth he nudged at her clit, coaxing it out of its shell.

Now she struggled. Her need had been taken from a tingle to a burn. In her mind she cried out to stop the torture. But her body professed otherwise, letting the moisture flow from her continuously. She pulled at the rope, twisted her hips away from his attentions.

Nez responded by pinching harshly at her clit, making her jump a mile in the air. He batted it with his finger, brushing it side to side. She then had no control of her body as it moved wildly about, either straining to avoid him or grinding against him as her desire rocked her in surges.

Shelly felt as if she might finally climax; she whined loudly into his handkerchief, held her hips out to him. And as suddenly as she thought this, he pulled away again. Frustrated tears sprung to her eyes. Dear God, when would it end? She was reduced to a sniveling, flustered mass of a woman, desperate for relief.

Again his fingers found their target, and started the torment anew.

He played with her like that for what felt like an hour, alternating between pleasure and pain, teetering her near the edge of orgasm. He would volley back and forth, throwing all his affections toward one spot, then ran off to concentrate on another. Shelly felt she was about to burst. A blush fell over her entire body. Her gag was wet from her open-mouthed moans and cries. Tears welled up and spilled from her blindfold. She didn't know how much more she could take.

Finally, like an answer to a prayer, her gag was pulled away. She inhaled sharply as his thumb nudged her aching clit and his fingers pushed themselves to the hilt. Warm breath tickled her ear.

"You wanna come so badly, don't you?" he whispered, fingers moving inside her.

"Yes," she breathed deeply, "Please..."

"Then you're gonna beg me." He was serious as a heart attack.

"Please Nez..." she panted.

His fingers drew out. Before she could protest, a great booming slap shattered the whisper-quiet of the room. It had landed on her buttock, making Shelly cry out at the stinging pain. She could already feel another scarlet handprint.

"Michael." He said it in a dangerously low tone of voice. Another resounding spank, this one across the right side. "When you're at my mercy, you show me the proper respect. You got that?"

"Yes!" she yelped.

Another firm hit, this one so hard she raised herself off the bed as she flinched.

"Yes, Michael," he said, calm and firm.

"Yes, Michael."

Slap.

"Say 'Please, Michael'," he commanded.

"Please, Michael..."

He spanked harder to prove his point. "LOUDER."

"Please Michael!" she sobbed.

She was confused, split with fear and longing. How did she get into this?

"I told you I was gonna teach you, little girl. I'll turn you over my knee if I have to."

<i>What does he want to hear??</i> she thought desperately.

"Please let me come, Michael," she squeaked, hoping this was the answer he needed.

Without a word, the fingers took their proper place inside her, filling her up again. Thank goodness. He pressed at her clit, making her writhe. 'Oh god, please...'

"You're a fast learner, Shelly," he whispered in that same deep tone. "And I'm gonna teach you everything.” His fingers moved in and out. His thumb pressed and teased. She was as worried by his words as she was intrigued by them. And she was still aching for release. "I’m gonna make you my own. And you’re gonna know your place, darlin’…it’s right here under me. And I got a good, swift hand to remind you a’ that. Understand?."

"Yes," she nodded, quickly adding the words "Yes, Michael."

Shelly thought she heard his zipper open. But still he moved his fingers, and she gripped them with every muscle inside her.

What she honestly wanted was his cock. In all the fear, and in all the pain, she longed for him. She longed for the pleasure he'd served up in heaps, his dogged concentration on the task of fucking her thoroughly. The last time she had been rode hard and put away wet. She closed her eyes even through her blindfold, and awaited the cowboy's next move.

He leaned in again to whisper to in her ear. The absence of sight made the words all the more defined to her.

"Yew want me to fuck you, don'cha?"

She let out a shuddering sigh. "Yes, Michael."

"Say it," he hissed. "Say it and mean it."

"Please fuck me Michael," she breathed. She meant every word of it.

His fingers withdrew once more. She did not know whether it would mean relief or further torture. But then he spread her legs wider still, forcing them into a spread-eagle that scissors would have trouble achieving. The fuzz on his thighs tickled against hers. She could feel the tip of his cock nudging against them. Hairy arms lifted her hips and held each leg apart. And for a moment she realized that he must be fully naked now. She wondered what it might look like...

Michael glided into her depths easily. She had been an endless stream under his maddening fingers. And it seemed then like they both sighed, a desire fulfilled.

’<i>Let it be quick</i>, she hoped. She could take no more delays.

He didn’t disappoint. He drove into her immediately, rocking her back and forth on her hips. It wasn’t comfortable, but it was absolutely perfect. From this position she was truly satiated. This was the best way to feel the length of his cock, the thickness of it as it filled her over and over again. And she wanted it. God, how she wanted it. No matter how he took her, he felt perfect inside.

She moaned now, not from that horrid helpless feeling but from the portending tingle that indicated her orgasm was near. This time it would not be stopped, she felt sure of that. Not when he was pushing harder, deeper, and faster.

The sensations consumed her. She writhed and wriggled in her bonds as he brought her closer. Powerful contractions seized his cock as he hit the perfect stride. Yes…oh God yes, she was finally coming. She couldn’t help screaming into her gag as he pushed her closer and closer…

Shelly went off like a powder keg. This orgasm swept over her not with the Zen of the last one, but with the panting relief of a strangled woman who suddenly became free to breathe. Her entire body fell slack, utterly drained of energy. She merely laid there and let him finish himself off.

He took her greedily, seemingly unconcerned or unimpressed at her orgasm, pumping into her with greater and greater intensity, spattering her gleet across his stomach. Thrusts came fast and frantic, breaking his stride. His breathing became ragged and raw, primitive noises emanating from his very core. She recognized these noises, and knew he could not be far off.

Finally, a sound escaped him that was part grunt, part groan, part swallowed cry. And when she felt the hot splatter across her belly, she knew he was finished with her.

Strangely, she did not have anger and disgust as she did the time before. Only a gnawing feeling that this was not the last time; not now that he'd now marked his territory.

His weight shifted, and then was lifted off the mattress. She panicked for a moment. He wasn’t going to leave her here like this, was he? A guy who was into spanking and rope and god knows what else might do a thing like that. And he wouldn’t just leave without saying a word, would he? Not after all that... he couldn’t leave now…

The mattress gave in on her left side, and she felt the heat from his body near her. He had put his clothes back on. She knew this because she felt his sleeves touching the bare skin of her breasts and arms as he leaned in to whisper to her once more.

“Now, Ah’m gonna untie yew,” he said slowly, inflecting his drawl with menace worthy of a black-hatted Western villain, "but before I do, yew gotta tell me somethin'." He didn't wait for a response. "Did you like it?"

She lost her voice for a moment. Did she like it? Being made to submit to Michael, letting him alone decide how and when she was pleased? Trapped in a place where there was precious little breathing room between pleasure and pain? Being tense, vulnerable, senseless and helpless? Yielding all control as she simply fell away?

"Yes," she croaked softly, though she couldn’t say precisely why.

Michael picked at the knots he’d tied around her. They went slack so quickly she couldn’t fathom how something so simple had held her in place for that long. He moved her head aside with a surprising tenderness and untied her makeshift blindfold.

Finally, she was free.

She ran a hand through her sweaty hair, wiped the tears from her eyes. Her hands were stained with an inky black from her smeared eyeliner. She couldn’t know, but she was sure she looked a fright.

He stood next to the bed, re-looping and straightening his tie, looking no worse than the first moment she laid eyes on him. (Save for a few misplaced strands of hair. He even finger-combed those back into place in a mirror.) He was calm as Jesus in a black velvet painting.

He placed a card down on the bedside table.

"You'll be there on Thursday. 7pm. No sooner, no later." He didn't even look at her as he exited the room.

Shelly lay down on her back, watching the city splash patterns of light on the ceiling. Her whole body ached this time with the pain of the restraints. She looked up at them; now that she was free they were innocuous as dead snakes. Her mouth felt bone dry from the gag. Heat radiated off her blushing behind. For better or for worse, Michael always left her affected after a fuck.

She groped for the card that he had left. There was no name, no number...only had a handwritten address; this one over the hill and practically in The Valley. It must have been his house. And by his tone, she could tell that her attendance on Thursday was not optional.

What had she gotten herself into?