(Here's a piece of flash fiction I developed for a contest. The rule was to write a scene in which the protagonist wakes up in a chair, hands and feet bound.)
I rang the bell on 21 Mango Close. It was my last delivery for the night: a spicy four-ways pizza, fully loaded—thick crust and extra topping. Though the short dirt road branching off a bigger but quiet street was unlit, light glowed from every window in the house I could make out.
A woman opened the door. She was tall and willowy, wearing a short skirt and a sexy tank top. Silhouetted against the light inside, I couldn’t see her face. She looked marginally familiar, but didn’t all sexy women look alike? Or maybe it was the Lara Croft getup.
Taking the pizza from me, she dipped two fingers between her breasts and pulled out some bills. She counted it. Not enough.
“Why don’t you come in, sugar?” She had a sexy voice to go with the body.
Stepping into the light, her face finally became visible. She had to be the most beautiful woman I’d laid eyes on. As a part-time pizza delivery guy, I came into contact with a good variety of characters, but never had my work brought me in close confines with a woman who was sexiness personified.
Standing near the door, waiting for my money, I noticed a painting hanging on the wall and leaned closer to study it. Hearing footsteps, I turned around just in time to notice Lara Croft swinging a blunt weapon at me. Everything went black.
***I was suddenly awake—blindfolded, but awake. Why was I sitting? I couldn’t move. My hands and feet were tied—I jerked my arms—very firmly. The last thing I remembered was … the painting and a thud. I felt a dull pain on the side of my head where the weapon must have hit, as if the memory had brought it on.
The sound created an image in my mind of stilettos, cat-walking toward me.
“Ms. Ville,” I pleaded. It was the name she’d given with her order. “What are you planning to do with me?”
“You’ve been a very bad boy,” came the sultry voice of Ms. Ville, “and you need to be punished.”
I gulped. They always said beautiful women were bad girls, but since a woman worth anything was way out of my league, I had to take their word for it. After all, I was just a nobody, too far removed from her kind and not smart enough to join the population of brainiacs who were changing the world one invention after another. I was average to the letter, right down to working part-time at Pizza Inn. Could I hope ‘bad’ meant ‘good’?
She was now close enough that I could breathe in her stimulating floral smell.
“Call me Amanda,” she whispered in my ear.
My imagination went wild. Was she wielding a knife? Did she plan on relieving me of my equipment? Something supple pressed against my collarbone. My throat dried up. Was she naked?
I jerked in surprise when she started rubbing me through my jeans. Holy—I was rigid within seconds. I had no experience in holding back.
“Shh.” She brushed her lips against mine.
Leaving me panting from anticipating a kiss that never came, she unzipped me and released my member. She made a sound of approval, perhaps at the size of the equipment—not that it mattered, since I never got to use it as often as I’d have liked—or my state of arousal.
“That’s a good boy.”
As she rubbed me, I couldn’t help but release a moan of pleasure. If she was planning on killing me after this, I’d be dying happy. Intense pleasure shot through me when her mouth surrounded my throbbing manhood. Her tongue circled the tip, sending me knocking on the gates of paradise.
I wanted to touch her, feel her. Yanking at the ropes securing my hands and legs, I swore in frustration. My actions only seemed to egg her on. She sucked me like I was candy and it was Christmas. Mercy!
Her name erupted from my mouth in waves of pleasure as my body shuddered in rapture.
I sat in silence, wondering ‘what now?’ The only audible sound came from me as I struggled to control my breath. Her footsteps retreated, returning after a couple of minutes. I wanted to ask what the hell had happened here, but my words wouldn’t come out.
She chuckled. She still sounded sexy. I began to psych myself for the worst. Dying at the hands of a beautiful woman was probably the best thing that could happen to me.
“Don’t worry,” she said, “you’ll have your turn.”
The blindfold came off. She held up a slice of four-ways. “Pizza?