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Lyla danced to her heart’s content, bright, fluttering skirt flowing around her steps. Her eyes drifted over all the men gawking at her, appraising their worth. She tried not to show her disappointment in her dancing and smile. No, she had to dance and smile her best.
Minutes passed and more men came up to her podium to watch her dance. No one worth her time had appeared in the crowd. Lyla sighed internally. How disappointing .
Suddenly, she heard him.
The sweet sound of a worthless man who no one wanted to be around. Her calculating eyes caught his form as she spun. He was at the bar, drunk and pathetically hitting on the bartender. Oh, she had to resist licking her lips in anticipation. She had to grab his attention first.
Within a split second, she tore off her shirt, showing off just the right amount of skin. Her breasts were covered by a lacy piece of black lingerie that twisted and turned down her body to connect to the pair of panties hidden by her skirt. Oh, yes, that caught his attention.
He whooped and hollered at her to take all of her clothes off, like the hopeless man he was.
After several more minutes passed, her turn at the podium ended, causing a massive ruckus from the crowd as a consequence. She waved and blew kisses at them all as she left, but her true goal had yet to come in contact with her. Patience. She must have patience.
Lyla watched him from afar, knowing that she’d merely just get bombarded by everyone if she tried to talk to him. She’d done this many times previously, after all.
In the early hours of the morning, still so very dark outside, the man left the bar, drunkenly tripping over his own feet and catcalling every woman that walked by. Sometimes men, too. Lyla licked her lips, eyes narrowing as she followed her prey.
“Hey, honey,” she cooed, causing him to turn around.
His eyes clumsily roved her up and down, riddled with a lustful spark. “Say…yer that sexy dancer from the bar. You lookin’ fer a good time?”
She approached him and danced her fingers across his chest seductively. His breath made her want to vomit on his shoes and it was fantastic . “Are you offering?”
“Sure am, princess. You wan’ me to fuck ya right here in this alley? For all these pathetic assholes to watch yer whore pussy gettin’ pounded?”
“Oh, but I’m so shy,” she said. “How ‘bout we go to my place?”
He cackled sleazily. “Yer place, huh? Fuck, yer so much hotter than my bitch wife.”
She pouted mockingly. “She must not treat you very well, does she?”
“Fuck no. Bitch ne’er puts out. Ne’er makes me dinner either. Bitch.”
“I’ve got the best booze you’d ever drink,” she persuaded, leaning her face into his, making sure he could almost taste the scent of her strawberry lipstick. “And I’d make you the dinner you deserve.”
“And?”
She set her mouth close to his ear, almost touching, but not quite. “I promise the best pussy you ever felt.”
The man let out another sleazy chuckle. “Now we’re talkin’. Show me the way, princess.”
He tried to grab her ass, but she easily sidestepped. “Aw, I’m shy, remember? But don’t worry, I’ll let you do whatever you want to me at my house. I promise.”
“An’ here I was thinkin’ yer a prude.”
Lyla giggled. “Come on, the quicker you move, the quicker you can fuck me.”
She waltzed cheerfully to her destination, the man stumbling along behind her impatiently. The sky was still so, so dark, and she basked in it. The city became quieter the further they walked. She basked in that too. The man continuously tried to feel her up and it really started to get on her nerves. So much so that maybe…maybe he should have a slow, slow…
They reached their destination.
It was a house. Old, abandoned. Her favorite place to have fun. Her toy room .
“This yer house?” the man asked confusedly, one eye more open than the other.
Lyla folded her hands behind her back and swayed in feigned shyness. “Do you not like it?”
“Err…”
“Come on, come inside. I’ll show you my bedroom.” She excitedly danced to the door and opened it, gesturing for him to enter.
He entered, only to find her at the top of the staircase, where she sent him a look telling him to follow. His cock had been hard since she first spoke to him, but now it was trying to burst through his pants. He could climax at any moment just by looking at her.
God, he couldn’t imagine how it would feel to be inside of her.
Lyla stood at the end of the hall, in front of the furthest door, when he made it to the top of the stairs, miraculously not tripping.
“Come on, slow poke. My room’s right here,” she tempted, just like the temptress she was.
The man didn’t hesitate to enter, but was caught off guard by the contents of the room. There was no bed. Nothing to fuck on. Just an old chair at the center and shelves with strangely shaped... Lyla couldn’t help the large, vicious smile appearing when he realized where he was. Realized what she planned to do.
Lyla ran and jumped on his back, quicker than he could even begin to track, and yanked him to the chair, giggling all the while.
“The fuck is going on?” he screamed, trying and failing to rip her off his back, movements suddenly more sober.
He grabbed and grabbed and flailed and flailed, but ultimately ended up on the chair with the straps tightened dangerously tight around his limbs. His words sobered up as he yelled, much easier to understand.
It was fantastic.
Normal, as well. This always happened. Their minds quickly came back to Earth once their true situation dawned upon them.
Her face darkened, lusting for something akin to sex, but not quite. She caught something in her web, something so weak and pitiful. Something she could make better . Oh, he would make such a wonderful night.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” he spat. “Let me go.”
“Oh, but,” she hovered her hand over the many weapon choices, stewing over where to start, “I thought you wanted to play with me.”
“I don’t want any part of your psycho bitch bullshit!” He yanked on his straps, effectively flaccid.
Lyla chuckled, amusement heavily undertone with mocking. “You didn’t have to follow me. You did that all on your own.”
The fly caught in her web continued to yell at and insult her, but she tuned him out. She only wanted to hear him yell and insult her while he was in pain. He wasn’t even particularly scared yet, all the booze making him much braver than he normally would be. Lyla quite enjoyed the false bravado alcohol blessed people with.
Oh, how she enjoyed burning it to hell.
That gave her an idea.
Lyla lit the fireplace, feeding the insatiable fire until she was satisfied with it. Putting on leather gloves, she grabbed a long steel nail and held the tip over the fire. Her chest was buzzing with excitement, and her smile wasn’t going away anytime soon. Once the tip was a sizzling red, her grin grew wider.
She stalked slowly towards her fly, whom protested so loudly she couldn’t hear. Sitting on his lap, she lifted her gloved hand with the nail in front of his eye. However, he writhed and wriggled and screamed for her to get off of him. Now that just won’t do.
With her free hand, she grabbed his face roughly, keeping him still, likely bruising him as well. Her other hand, the one with the scalding nail, inched closer to his eye. He instinctively closed them, but that didn’t matter. The nail would simply burn through his eyelid.
“Let me go!” he cried. “Please let me go.”
“Don’t wanna,” she said, piercing his eye with the nail. She had to do it before it cooled off.
Her fly let out a blood-curdling scream, writhing in agony as she pushed even deeper. It was a little more of a struggle to hold his head still while he was doing everything in his power to escape, but it was nothing she couldn’t handle.
She’s had to hold down flies before, after all.
“Eyes should be open,” a dark, sharp voice resounded.
The voice was slightly hard to hear over her fly’s screams, but she managed. It was from behind her.
She let go of the nail, leaving it implanted into her fly’s eye while she turned around to face her critic. Butterflies filled her stomach immediately.
“Oh… master ,” she moaned in greeting.
“Only amateurs let victim have eyes closed,” Feitan glared at her with the power of a million daggers. “No student of mine…” he trailed off. “Won’t allow it.”
Lyla hopped off the lap of her fly and immediately bowed in front of her master. “Master, please forgive me. I wasn’t thinking. I was just…well, I just got too excited.”
“Don’t accept excuses,” he said.
“Mast—”
She was interrupted by her master slicing the head off her fly, silencing the room.
“Too loud,” was his explanation for doing so.
Lyla remained kneeled down on the floor, and she had to hold back tears for her fly. Now she had to find another one.
“Messed up,” he said, noticing her sudden melancholy. “Try again tomorrow.”
“I’m so sorry for disappointing you, master. Forgive me.”
Feitan’s eyes narrowed at her. “You commanding me?”
“Of course not, master! I would never.”
“You saying am wrong?”
“You’re never wrong. It was my mistake.”
“What I thought,” he said, then pointed at the ground in front of him. “Come.”
Lyla hurried to where he pointed, and kneeled down again, so she could look up at him looking down on her. She bit her lip, rubbing her thighs together. She loved when he looked down on her. All she could imagine were his hands touching her as deeply as his voice did. His fingers, his cock…she shivered.
She missed it all.
All of him .
“Take off clothes,” he ordered.
She almost climaxed right then and there. “Anything for you, master.”
Stripping was normally a show for all the flies she danced for, but Feitan, her master, was impatient. He didn’t care for the trivial matters of sensuality and teasing, unless it was him doing it. So she merely ripped off her dress and lacy undergarments, revealing the entirety of herself, like she always did. Just like a…
“Good girl,” he praised.
A moan escaped her at his praise, and she bit her lip to keep herself from pouncing on him. Feitan noticed this, she knew. He noticed everything.
Lyla sat on her knees in front of him, desperately wanting to grab his legs and beg him to fuck her as hard as he could, but she knew that there would be dire consequences if she touched him without his telling her to do so.
The rickety wood flooring bruised her knees, but she barely noticed, electing to wait for her master’s next command.
Feitan seemed to be in a marvellous mood, despite being a witness to her mistake. His dark, wicked eyes had a constant crinkle of amusement, and if he didn’t have a bandana covering his mouth, she assumed he’d have a resilient smirk.
“Like idea of scorching nail,” Feitan said. “Only reason I not kill you.”
He liked her idea? She giggled, blushing. “Thank you, master.”
He approached her kneeling form and grabbed her hair, yanking her head back so she was looking directly up at him. She exhaled lovingly. Oh, that little crinkle in his eyes…
The pulling of her hair hurt. It hurt so badly. But she’d never think to ask him to stop. The feeling of his hand manhandling her was just so… dreamlike . Feitan’s hands constantly plagued her dreams, the way they’d grab and grab and bruise and bruise. Her eyes nearly rolled back into her head.
The slickness between her legs was becoming far too much to bear.
“Open legs,” he ordered once more, Lyla requiring very little persuasion to obey.
Lyla whimpered at the order, struggling to keep her hands to herself. “Yes, master.”
Opening her shaky legs, her wetness was revealed, immediately getting hit with brisk air and the sinful gaze of Feitan. Feitan let go of her hair and stepped back, admiring the view.
“Please touch me,” she begged.
“Why should I?” Feitan rebutted, voice leaking amusement. He pointed an accusatory finger at her. “You need punishment.”
Lyla looked down at the ground, ashamed. “I’m so sorry for letting him shut his eyes. I’ll never do it again.”
“Sorry?” Feitan shook his head. “You not sorry.”
Mischievous giggles escaped her.
“Knew I was there,” he pointed out. “Did on purpose.”
Her giggling grew almost insane, and she bit her thumbnail innocently. “Are you going to punish me now, master?”
Feitan didn’t answer, shoving his boot in her wetness. He dug it and dug it in between her legs and she practically wailed in response. The harsh leather of his boot scraped across her skin in the most delicious way, continuously pulling wanton moans from her. She had to lock her hands behind her back to prevent temptation to use them. Feitan wouldn’t hesitate to cut them off if she did so without his orders.
Then, he removed his boot.
“Got boot dirty,” Feitan said nonchalantly, stepping his foot forward in front of her. “Lick clean.”
Lyla didn’t hesitate, bending down and beginning with a long stripe on the front of the shoe. She tasted herself, yes, but what she tasted the most was the sweat and debris of Feitan’s hard work . Leather and Feitan’s messes flooded her mouth, drowning her in tantalizing tastes that overwhelmed her. Her tongue wouldn’t stop, and licked to its heart’s content.
Up until Feitan ripped his shoe away.
However, she didn’t have time to whine about it because Feitan took her by the neck, bruising and cutting, and shoved her against a table littered with a multitude of various sizes of saws. He pushed her face down onto the surface, her nose touching the tip of a saw.
Lyla couldn’t see what he was doing behind her, but she didn’t need to. She already knew.
He slammed into her violently, beautifully.
She was so wet that it didn’t even hurt like they both wanted it to, but she knew Feitan would make up for it.
He printed his hand on her flesh, the quickest way to get her to scream in pleasure, and he relished in it. His skin smacked hers brutally, causing red patches to form on both of them. He was looking at the outline of her spine, and ran a harsh, pressing finger down it. The pain he caused her merely made her moan louder, and he smiled maliciously.
Lyla was burning, inside and out. Running through hell never felt so wonderful.
She’d scream for him to go faster, to go harder, but Feitan was already there, overloading her with pleasure. Wetness built up inside of her, escaping her through her eyes and in between her legs. It dripped down her face, reddening her cheeks and blurring her vision.
“Don’t stop!” she yelled. “Please don’t stop!”
Feitan bent her arm behind her, threatening her silently.
“Oh, break it!” she screamed. “Please!”
“Dare bark orders at me?”
“I’m begging you,” she whimpered. “Please, please, please break my arm.”
“ Well, ” Feitan snickered evilly. “Long as you’re begging.”
He broke it.
She came. Hard.
“Done so soon?” he mocked.
Lyla was breathing heavily, struggling to catch her breath after such a magnificent orgasm. Her broken arm hung limply at her side, bent in an unnatural direction, burning nearly as much as her lungs. Feitan had to rip himself out of her body because she wouldn’t let him go, and she immediately fell to the ground.
Feitan gazed at her breathless, drooling, broken-armed form, and smiled.
“You not amateur,” he cackled.