The Killing League

55.





Lady of the Evening

Patrick Tomlinson couldn’t believe his luck. He’d gone to the bar with one plan, and one plan only: to get face down drunk in some good whiskey. And he’d been halfway there until a voice spoke into his ear.

“I’ll have what he’s having,” the woman’s voice had said. Tomlinson turned and looked into the eyes of a beautiful woman. With a journalist’s trained eye, he pegged her as late thirties, with plenty of mileage on her. But she was gorgeous, he was sure of that. He was a little worried that he might have on whiskey goggles and that she wasn’t really as attractive as he thought, but the booze washed away any doubt he briefly had.

“And put it on my tab,” he said to the bartender. It was a long time since he’d been elbows to elbows with a beautiful woman in a bar, and longer still since that woman drank Jameson whiskey.

“I’m Patrick,” he said.

“Patrick, I’m frazzled,” she said.

He laughed. “Well hello frazzled,” he said. “Is that a nickname or did your parents have a sense of humor?”

She smiled and Tomlinson went weak at the knees. She was even prettier than he’d thought.

“Oh, they had a sense of humor, all right,” she said. That’s about all they had.” She raised her glass. “To parents,” she said.

They both drank deeply and before long, Tomlinson bought her another drink. And then another, and another.

It was nearly midnight when they both staggered from the bar. When she told him that she was a businesswoman here for a convention and that she was staying at a hotel two blocks from the bar, he offered to walk her there.

She accepted.

Even better, she invited him up to her room and offered him a drink.

He accepted.

Once there, he sat at the edge of the bed, amazed at how absolutely shitfaced he was. He got drunk pretty much every night, he would admit that. But he’d been doing it a long time and his resistance was very high. Right now, he felt totally snockered and just wanted to put his head down and fall asleep.

Instead, he managed to pour them both a drink from the minibar while she went to the bathroom.

When she came out, he nearly dropped his glass.

She was dressed in black stockings, knee high leather boots and a black leather bustier.

In her hand was a black leather riding crop.

She walked over to the bed and knocked the glass from his hand.

“Take your clothes off and get on the bed,” she said.

Tomlinson nearly had an orgasm. He had never been into kinky stuff, but then again, he’d never really had the opportunity.

Now, he fumbled at his shirt and pants, finally got them off. Nearly tripped over his shoes as he flopped onto the bed. He was excited, though. He gladly let this incredibly sexy woman tie his arms to the bedpost, and bind his feet to the footboard. He almost fell asleep but forced himself to stay awake. No way could he let himself miss this.

Just for the hell of it, he tested the restraints and found they were pretty damn good. He pulled his leg and he really couldn’t move.

When the woman went to her back and pulled out a large knife, the fatigue Tomlinson felt changed to worry.

He stopped worrying shortly thereafter, but through the gag in his mouth he screamed for the next three hours.

Until he couldn’t scream, or breathe, anymore.