Tit for Tat

He watched her surreptitiously from his table on the crowded patio. His beer was cold. She was hot. Okay, that was bad, almost as bad as some of the crap on his t-shirts, but, like the crude slogans he favored, it summed things up perfectly and briefly if not tastefully. He sipped at his Dos Equis, moving his lips and tongue on the bottle thoughtfully. His eyes moved with impunity behind his dark glasses, staring at her breasts, her legs, the swell of her ass in the short tight skirt. She was American, or maybe European (he'd not been able to hear her voice through the bustle and chatter of the crowded Cantina) and exuded a haughty confidence that drew him like a moth to an open flame. Or a fox to a henhouse. He'd like to take her down a peg or two, oh yes he would. Down to her knees for a start.
He was developing quite the boner under the tablecloth. He'd not had any Anglo pussy in a while now. Might have to look into remedying that. Variety was, after all, the spice of life.
Suddenly, she looked up and directly at him, making eye contact through his shades. He started and sloshed a dollop of beer down the front of his shirt, then turned his head hastily. SHIT! That was a bad slip. The sort that could, under other circumstances, get a man in his position killed.
From the corner of his eye, he saw her rise and approach his table, moving like a cat through the active crowd. DOUBLE SHIT!
"Have we met?" An American. He struggled to regain his composure and say something cool and suggestive, rather than the pathetic excuses which danced on the tip of his tongue.
"We have now," he managed. She smiled, whether with amusement or pity he couldn't tell, pulled out the chair next to him and sat.
"I was just thinking," she said quietly, "how much I'd like to fuck you until you pass out."
He managed not to choke on his beer, but only just. He examined her face closely, looking for signs of humor or spite, and saw none. She WAS fucking with him, though...had to be.
"You were?" He smiled and sipped.
"Uhmm hmm. What were you thinking?" He felt her hand land on his thigh and slide slowly upwards until it covered his hard-on, then squeeze.
"I think that's obvious, don't you?" His voice was calm and collected, but his mind was reeling. She kept rubbing and squeezing him, one moment softly, the next more firmly, bordering on rough. He wasn't used to being on this end of the manipulation, of feeling more controlled than controller. Part of him liked it very much. Another part was getting more and more pissed off. The two sensations went together better than he would have imagined. She definitely needed to be put in her place, this one.
"Were you thinking of what you'd like to do to me?" she asked.
"Something like that," he said.
"Because I don't usually let people do things to ME", she continued as if he'd not replied.
"I was thinking of what I'd like to do to YOU. Of EXACTLY what I'd like to do to you and of how much you'd enjoy it." She removed her hand and sat back in her chair with a sigh. It took all his will not to ask or indicate that she put it back. Bitch. Oh, he'd do something to her, alright. He'd break down her haughty smoothness and have her whimpering and pleading to have things done to her, oh yes. His erection throbbed and ached; he hadn't had a boner like this since....
"I think we could work something out," he said, a small smile playing on his lips. "Something that would, uh, work for both of us." He lit a cigarette and blew smoke out the side of his mouth as he watched her.
"You think so?" She looked at him with an expression of regretful doubt."Because it doesn't appear we're all that compatible." Her teasing made him feel desperate and helpless, made him want to bargain and beg. He hated her.
" I do think so, yes." He kept his tone level and light. "But if you don't agree..." He pulled out his wallet and began settling up his bill, his hands hardly shaking at all. There was a very long silence.
"Tit for tat," she said finally.
"What?" He was stalling for time, thinking it over.
"You heard me. But tit before tat, comprende?" He thought he did. He thought it sounded insanely risky and not exactly to his taste, but he found himself in no position to dicker. Damn her.
"Deal," he agreed, thinking that the terms could always be renegotiated later, oh you bet they could.

She took him back to her place, yet another concession on his part; he didn't like being out of his territory. Part of it came from his years of living undercover, of needing to know his surroundings like the back of his hand just in case. Part of it was simply his nature. He supposed if she were in the service of an enemy, he was fucked, and not in the good way. At this point, it was a chance he was willing to take, which wasn't smart, he knew.
The apartment was on the second floor of a run-down pink stucco building around the corner from the Cantina. It was sparsely furnished, and scattered boxes in various stages of unpack testified to her recent assumption of residence.
"So, how long have you been here?" he asked, lighting a cigarette. And where did you come from and why?
She just looked at him steadily for a moment then moved into the tiny kitchen. "Would you like a drink?" she asked. So that was to be the game, he thought. Fine. The anonymous fuck. Excellent. Like he really gave a shit anyway.
"No thanks." This was a potentially dangerous situation. Better to keep his head as clear as possible. She retrieved a bottle of beer for herself and returned to the living room, gesturing for him to sit on the small leather couch. He settled into the end closest to the door and she took the other.
She nursed her drink and stared at him. He watched the way her mouth slid over and around the opening of the bottle, and though she wasn't making any efforts to exaggerate her motions, his erection came roaring back. She dropped her eyes to his lap matter of factly, then resumed their eye contact. He smoked his cigarette and tapped his ashes on the floor, which she didn't seem to mind, but when he'd smoked it down to a roach, she leaned forward (affording him a commanding view of her breasts and making his cock jump) and retrieved a small clay ashtray from the coffee table. He took it, crushed out his butt, and slid it back onto the table. When he settled back, he saw she was reclining now, one leg draped off the edge of the couch, the other bent at the knee against the back cushions, letting him look up her skirt. Her panties were black, sheer, and obviously damp, the thin fabric clinging.
"For someone who doesn't want things done to them, you're tempting fate," he warned. Didn't this girl realize he could take her right now? And if she kept this up, he would, fuck the deal. He wouldn't need his gun to do it, either.
She considered him for a moment, then smiled slowly and sat up. "Come on," she said, standing and brushing past him. He cocked his head, raised his eyebrows, then rose and followed her down the short dark hallway to the bedroom. A neatly made double brass bed dominated the tiny room. The only other item of furniture was a small dresser. There were no boxes in evidence. She went to the dresser, opened the top drawer, and pulled out a set of handcuffs and two short lengths of cord. "Get undressed and lie down," she ordered, without turning around.
He stood beside the bed, not moving, his face impassive. "I don't think so," he said finally.
She turned. "Tit for tat," she reminded, and shook the cuffs at him.
"What guarantee do I have that you won't...oh, I don't know, torture and kill me?"
"None." Her expression was serious. She ran her free hand up her inner thigh and caressed herself.
He contemplated this for a moment. "Okay."
He removed his clothes and left them in a pile on the floor beside the bed. She had turned her back to him again, an oddly prim touch, all things considered, but it came in handy. Before he removed his jacket, he slid his gun out of its shoulder holster and, stooping, stuffed it underneath his pants at his feet. He unbuckled the holster next and pulled it off with his jacket, letting it be folded in the fabric. He glanced back over his shoulder a few times, but she just stood there, staring at the wall, shifting the cuffs and cords in her hands.
When he was nude he stretched out on the coverlet, arms behind his head, ankles crossed.
"Ahem."
She walked over to the bed, looking down at him, that same small smile on her lips. He didn't entirely trust that smile, come to think of it. His cock, however, seemed unfazed. Seemed, in fact, to be thriving on the aura of danger in the air. It stood there between them proudly, and when she ran the tip of her tongue out to lick her lips, it twitched.
"Spread your legs," she whispered and he did. She took hold of his left wrist and secured it gently to the metal headboard, then reached across him, her breasts almost brushing his face, and clicked the other cuff closed around his right. His breath was coming faster now, both with excitement and fear. He was officially at her mercy now, his gun as out of reach as if it were on the moon. The moment of truth was close now, one way or the other. His heart raced and his cock pulsed, a small droplet of fluid forming on its opening.
Next, she used one of the cords to tie his left ankle to the outer edge of the footboard. The cord was thick and soft, which was good, as she bound him tightly, leaving virtually no play. She walked around the foot of the bed and secured the other leg in like manner, spreading him a bit wider to reach the last rail.
Standing back, she examined her work. Appearing satisfied, she began undressing slowly, watching his face. First her top, then the lacy black bra underneath. Her breasts were large and firm, the coffee-colored nipples plump and erect. She pinched them softly between her fingers and sighed. Sands watched her rub and flick them, fascinated. It seemed he could feel little bursts of pleasure in his own nipples with every movement of her fingers. He groaned softly and shifted on the bed.
She removed her hands from her breasts and reached down to slide her skirt off. She stood before him in the filmy black panties, and he could see now that her pussy was shaved. She slid her fingers down the front of the panties and stroked herself. Then she approached the head of the bed, positioning herself so that her sex was at his eye level. He turned his head in that direction and she reached out and wiped her fingers under his nose, leaving a moist smear. He breathed in her scent greedily, his nostrils flaring.
"Do you like that?" she asked breathily. He let his eyes fall closed and nodded.
"If you're a good boy," she purred, "I might let you taste it later."
She stepped out of the panties and draped them over his face, the scent of her engulfing him, the gauzy fabric obscuring his vision. He felt her climbing onto the bed, then straddling him, her ass brushing his stomach. He raised his hips, but she was already over. She lay down next to him, their sides touching on the small mattress, her left leg lying over his right. She reached up and slid the panties off his face, leaving them on the pillow beside his head.
He turned his head towards her and saw she was touching herself again, her right hand rubbing and stroking. She moaned and arched her hips, then brought her left hand to rest on his upper thigh.
Jesus! He'd been right about the torture, anyway. He strained towards her, but was unable to move more than a few inches. She began gasping and slowed her hand, prolonging her pleasure. Her orgasm, when it came, made her buck her hips and cry out.
"Oh, fuck," he groaned. He felt on the verge himself, as if the slightest touch would bring him off like a fucking bomb. He wouldn't beg, if that's what she was waiting for. He'd die first. Or SHE would.
When she'd caught her breath, she got on her knees beside him and smiled down at him. "You've been very good, very patient," she said. "I think it's time for a little reward. Not too much, not yet, but maybe just a little." Oh, you BITCH, he thought. It was a good thing for her he WAS bound. He managed a return smile, as if this were all just a pleasant conversation. One thing he knew for sure was that she'd better enjoy it while she could; if she thought she was ever getting him tied up again, she was even crazier than he was for allowing it in the first place.
She lowered her face to his chest and began running the tip of her tongue over and around his nipples. The contact sent electric jolts through him and he felt a strong spasm in his cock that made him want to weep with frustration. He heard himself moaning and panting, felt himself pumping his hips up and down, and still she kept on, now circling, now flicking. The sensation was maddening; he felt himself teetering on the brink but unable to take the plunge. She held him there for several more minutes, leaving his nipples now and then to run her tongue across his chest or in the hollow of his collarbone before returning to her torment. Just as he felt he WAS going to be able to come, so exquisite was the mounting pressure, she stopped and sat back on her feet, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. He pulled towards her with a small sound of protest, then fell back weakly, gasping.
"Now lick mine," she commanded, and leaned forward, presenting her nipples to his mouth.
"Why should I?" he panted angrily. She didn't reply, just waited, and he ran his tongue out and touched it to a nipple. She pushed closer and he sucked it in, pulling at it roughly.
"Oh," she sighed, "that's a VERY good boy. Yes." She tilted her head back and closed her eyes and he released that nipple and seized the other one, licking and sucking it firmly. He worried at it, loving the feel of the hard, wrinkled nub between his lips and under his tongue in spite of himself, loving the sounds and movements his touch was eliciting from her. But oh, his poor throbbing cock! She pulled away from him and mounted his chest, holding her weight on her knees, her breath rapid.
"Do you want this now?" She tilted her pelvis forward, showing him her cunt. He simply stared up darkly into her eyes, and she moved herself closer. Holding her eyes a moment longer, he put his lips to her and began moving them. She shifted slightly, spreading herself further, and he started probing with his tongue, driving it deep inside her then drawing it out to play at her lips and clit. She was engorged and very wet, her juices covering his cheeks and chin as she slid against him.
"Oh, oh, oh, oohhh," she chanted and reached out to grasp his head in her hands. He slipped his tongue more rapidly across her swollen clit and she suddenly jerked, clenched her thighs together, and began pulsing under his lips. He forced his tongue inside her again, feeling her pussy tighten around it rhythmically. Christ, he didn't know how much more of this he could TAKE!
She fell backwards, off of him, and lay still for several moments. When she pushed herself up to a sitting position, he saw she was smiling again. His arms were starting to ache, but compared to the ache elsewhere, it was nothing.
"I think your turn's just about up, honey-cunt," he said. "Time for tat." And you'd better brace yourself, sweet-cheeks, oh yes indeed. Daddy's in charge now.
She nodded. "Just about," she agreed. "But I can hardly let you loose like this, now can I?" Perhaps she hadn't underestimated him as much as he'd assumed.
She looked down at his erection, still going strong, stronger than ever, he marveled. "Now," she murmured, "let's see what we can do about this." He felt her hand encircle him and drew in a hitching breath that turned into ragged panting when she began pumping him gently. He arched upwards, straining against his bonds painfully. She lowered her head and encased him in her mouth, sliding slowly down, then up, spreading lubrication as she went. She let go of his shaft and cupped his balls, squeezing them firmly and rolling them in their sack. Then she tightened her suction and drew him deep, still massaging. He could feel his load already rising, the base of his cock growing full and tense, drawn tight like a quivering bow. Then she raised her head and paused, dipping it again to softly lick the already flowing cum from his head.
"Jesus, PLEASE!" he cried, thrashing back and forth. She smiled again, goddamn her, and bent over to whisper in his ear. "Good boy."
Then she threw a leg over him and slid onto his cock, lowering herself slowly, taking him into her slippery tightness until he was to the hilt. His mouth fell open and he started thrusting, driving into her as she rode him, watching her breasts bounce and her smooth cunt slide up and down on his shaft. She moved her hands up his chest and stroked his nipples and he erupted inside her, jet after jet exploding, until it was running out of her and coating his thighs and balls. She kept moving on him and he spurted again, his orgasm not yet spent. Or perhaps it was another, he didn't know or care, just that the release was overwhelming and seemingly unending.
She left him after a time, slipping off of his shrinking cock to free him from his restraints. First his legs, then his arms, using a small key she took from the dresser-top. Then she left the room, returning with a folded towel.
"You can shower first, if you'd like," she said, so he did, taking his bundle of clothes with him. She was sitting on the couch, wrapped in a robe, when he came out.
"I'm busy tomorrow, but you can come by the day after, say, 6 o'clock, to take your turn."
He met her eyes for a moment then turned to go. "Fine."

He sat smoking and drinking in the Cantina, glancing at his watch every few minutes. He'd debated whether or not to even bother keeping the date, it was still a dangerous situation, but here he was. The temptation had simply proved too great. At 5:45, he put his money on the table, weighting it down with one of the empty bottles, and strode in the direction of her apartment.
She answered the door wearing the same robe he'd last seen her in, obviously nude beneath it. Her mood seemed subdued, pensive even.
"A drink?" she offered.
"Just had some," he replied. "Let's just get on with it, honey-cunt."
She nodded and led the way down the hall. He undressed, this time leaving his gun on the dresser. She glanced at it without change of expression or comment. She went to the drawer and got out the restraints, letting her robe fall to the floor where she stood.
When she turned, he was stretched out on the bed, watching her.
"You don't want these?" she asked, indicating the cuffs and cords, her tone almost hopeful, he thought.
"Oh, I want them," he said.
She held them out to him, and jerked her head for him to get up.
Instead, he smiled slowly and held his arms up, spread his legs. She smiled back. "Oh, what a good boy," she said.