Grover watched the woman getting off the bus.

Her red trench coat almost caught in the door as it automatically shut behind her.

He looked down at the card in his hand.  Something in her eyes had sent shivers through him like he had never felt.  Grover always thought of himself as a tough guy.  A guy who could throw his weight around just as easily to intimidate as to seduce a woman.  His seduction techniques, however, usually required a lot of alcohol, but whatever got him laid was good enough for him…until those eyes.

The simple white card read:

Mistress Betty

416-555-2727

bettythemistress@tmail.ca

Just three lines in a plane courier font.  Nothing else on the card save Grover’s smudged oily fingerprint.

His leather studded jacket crinkled as he put the card in the inside pocket.  He felt the oddest sensation, when his eyes lowered to look at his bare knee poking through his ripped jeans.  He somehow felt unworthy.

“You’re not gonna call her, are ya hun?” Wanda with the pierced tongue asked and slipped her arm under his.

He glanced into her blue eyes, briefly shifting his gaze to the gold stud in her nose, before his mind settled on an answer. “No, of course not. Fucking whore, she is.”

Wanda smiled and kissed his cheek. “I’ll kiss and make it all better when we get back to your place.”

The couple stayed on the bus for five more stops before it was time to rise. Grover pulled the stop request wire and directed Wanda to the back door with his hand at the small of her back. He was more than a full head taller then the petite blonde-ish woman.

They steeped off the bus into the sunshine of early evening.  Sun was something both normally shied away from, but not tonight. They had originally planned to go to the usual vampire club on Shuter Street, an illegal joint that Grover would likely fall asleep at before they returned to his place with just enough time for a quickie before back to work in the morning.

With how much time he spent drunk at the club, Grover wondered why he bothered keeping an apartment and paying rent.  “Wanda, let’s go back to my place.”

“But the club?” Her eyes widened and a smile quickly followed with the realization she would have him to herself all night. “Yes, sir.”

Leather arm in leather arm, they walked up the steps in front of the disheveled building he lived in.

Wanda’s long black skirt swayed at her ankles in the light breeze.

Grover snapped his key in the lock and entered pulling Wanda inside.  The gray walls surrounded him and suddenly felt foreign.

They walked the three flights up to his apartment with boot heels clicking on the bare floors.

The room was black.  White walls were shadowed by heavy black-out blinds covering the windows at the end of the bachelor pad.  A kitchen with beige appliances was shrouded in the darkness.  A small love seat was on one wall across from the tiny television and ghetto blaster, which shared a coffee table.  A double mattress covered in a few rumpled blankets sat on the floor in front of the dark blinds.  A small oak vanity-desk with a cheap swivel chair resided beside the kitchen counter that held a less than  hygenic black microwave.  A green corded phone was planted on top of that.  The laptop computer on the vanity-desk blinked as it slept in front of the mirror.

Grover glanced around the darkness and went to flip his boots off, before realizing the state of the floor and thinking better of it.  He stepped through the garbage scattered on the floor and right on to the mattress.

Wanda followed and gave a hopeful look at the mattress.

Grover pulled the blinds back and the sunlight coming in over Lake Ontario blasted into the room. After a moment for eyes to adjust, he walked off the bed past Wanda and gave her ass a quick squeeze as he passed. He continued back to the desk and pulled the card from his pocket.

Wanda, from behind him, laughed. “Thought you said you weren’t gonna call her. Don’t fuckin’ call her, Grover.”

One more look at it, and he laid it on the desk top.  ”No fucking way,” he whispered.

He stripped his leather coat off and was about to throw it on the love seat but, again, thought better and walked to the closet to hang it up. “Coat?” He held his arm out to Wanda and took it from her once she slipped it off. He hung her coat and pointed to the love seat. “Have a seat.”

Wanda did as instructed. Her bare shoulders white paper against her black tank top.

“Beer?”

She slipped onto the corner of the love seat and folded one leg beneath her. “Yeah, please.”

He opened the fridge and pulled two beer bottles from the fridge.

Other than the case of beer, the only other residents inside the fridge was a couple of cans of Diet Coke and a half eaten steak covered in stretch wrap on a plate.

A quick twist and hisses proved the bottles open before he tossed the metal caps into the open trash bin.

Returning to the desk, he handed one beer to Wanda and sat with the swivel chair squeaking in protest.  Flipping the laptop open, he started his music off with his usual dose of Metallica.  He glanced at the card again, then stared into his own eyes in the dusty mirror.  His brown hair was spiked up a good six inches giving the illusion of spokes.  His blue eyes and extremely pale skin made him the perfect goth.  Even now it was not what he wanted, but always felt like a good fit.

A car honked out on the street below and the sun began to vanish past the lake’s horizon through the large windows.

Grover turned and looked out.  He could not recall the last time he had intentionally watched a sunset.

“Come sit with me.” Wanda sipped her beer and then patted the seat beside her.

Grover grinned. “Yeah.” Standing he moved over and accepted her invitation.

Wanda put her own bottle on the desk and turned to face him. Her hands immediately began working at his belt buckle and zipper.

The beer bottle met his lips for a sip. Leaning back, he awaited for the inevitable.

Wanda did not disappoint. Her hand slipped inside his fly and quickly moved past his briefs to his erection. With little effort, she pulled it free. “Oh my, you’re perfect.” Slipping onto her knees she tugged his pants and briefs down, leaving him bare to the ankles.

“I’m not that big,” he chuckled and sipped again. “But thanks.”

Wanda leaned forward and studied her prize. “I didn’t say you were huge, I said perfect. Huge is not always better as too big is another problem.” Her pierced tongue flicked at his balls, allowing the metal stud to circle each one. “Oh yum.”

Grover smiled, but was not completely paying attention. He barely noticed the tongue and stud as it ran up his shaft. He did notice, however, when the warmth of her hooker red lips took him in…that he could not ignore.

A new tune started, an odd one for his random selections. It was a recording of Sting performing at his Tuscany castle on 9-11 called “All This Time”…and the song Fragile slowly came up.  The music always dragged Grover up from the darkness he felt so comfortable in.

He leaned back in his love seat and allowed Wanda to continue devouring him.  He reached up, as he watched Wanda, and plucked the wig of spiked hair off of his head, laying it aside on the floor.  His balding head always shamed him as he felt he looked too much like his father.

Too much like the man who beat him for years.  The man who told him that a man is not a man unless he gets his hands dirty and oily.  The man who taught him how women deserve to be treated.  The man who taught him that to want a stage career was the first step to being gay, and “no son of mine will fucking be gay…now let’s go work on the car.”

As the sun dipped below view, just leaving an orange vapor, Grover grasped and handful of Wanda’s hair and pulled her down on him to the point where she made a gagging noise. Wanda gagged a few times, but was on a relentless hunt for cum. Only allowing his cock to escape for a single breath and some licks to remind him of the metal stud in her tongue.

Two hours later, Grover awake beside a lightly snoring Wanda with his cum still dropping from between her legs.

Her hands were still bound together with rope, and her ankles with duct tape.

He slipped out from under the covers and went to the fridge. Surprising himself, he pulled a Diet Coke can out rather than his usual beer. He drained half of the can immediately.

Returning to the desk chair, he turned on the small desk light and looked in the mirror again.  He finished the soda.  ”I’m not my father,” he whispered.  ”I’m not my father,” a little louder.  ”I’m not my fucking father!” He threw the can  at the mirror without damage save a few splashes of soda.  His mirror image, however, now had tears rolling down.

Wanda stirred and shifted, but the ruckus did not seem to wake her.

The card sat in front of him on the desk with a drop of spilled cola on one corner.

He picked up the green phone.  After a moment of fighting to get enough cord, he tapped the phone number into the hand set and then held it to his left ear.

A female voice answered.  ”Hello?”

“Hi, I am looking for someone,” Grover said and blushed at how juvenile he sounded.

“This is Mistress Betty.”

Grover felt all his blood drain from his face…and just her voice had a new erection forming in his pants.

Wanda’s voice drifted in, “Grover?  Who are you talking to?”

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