It was Miss Pinch!
She was dressed in mannish pants and shirt. And as I had suspected, she was carrying a revolver.
Originally Posted by tdi
... the door was flung open.
... then the outer grill. She stood back.
I said, "Miss Pinch, you have reformed me from being a beastly male and I bring this to express my affection."
I held out the flowers.
The play didn't quite go as planned.
"Flowers?" she said. "Why, you dirty (bleepard)! You're trying to steal Candy from me, are you? Well, to hell with that!"
She seized the wrapped bouquet.
She jabbed me backwards with the gun.
She slammed the flowers down on the dirty floor of the areaway!
She stamped on them with her heel!
She kicked the lid off a garbage can! I flinched at the violence of the clatter.
Without taking her eyes or gun off me, blocking my exit up the basement stairs, she scooped the destroyed bouquet up and threw it in the garbage can.
Then she halted.
She sniffed slightly. With a hand, she flapped a careful sample of the air from the top of the garbage can to her.
"Red Pepper!" she snarled. "You dirty (bleepard)!"
In vain I tried to tell her it must have been on the discarded fish. Making motions that seemed to indicate she was about to pistol-whip me, she drove me inside.
She locked the wrought-iron grill and door behind her.
She fired a shot so near my head, I felt the powder sting.
"I will give you to the count of ten to get out of your clothes!" she snarled. "And after that I am going to shoot off your (bleeps)!"
I hastily got out of my overcoat.
I shed my jacket and my shoes at the same time.
I was undressed. I couldn't see why she was still counting.
It was my hat. I had forgotten my hat! I flung it frantically away from me.
In no time after that she had me wrist- and ankle-cuffed, spread-eagled face up on that Gods (bleeped) bed!
When she finished the last cuff, she threw the gun aside. "So you like red pepper, do you?"
She turned and called into the other room, her voice lilting, "Oh, Candy dear, we're going to have Mexican red-hot tamales tonight!"
She began to hum a wordless tune. I thought i recognized it as "Praise of a Traitor"
. This did not bode well.
She took off her shirt. She took off her shoes. She stepped out of her pants. She shucked off her underwear and stood naked, still humming.
Candy tiptoed shyly in. She saw what was coming off and began to strip, halting halfway and saying, "Oh, dear Pinchy, make him look the other way."
Pinch did with a backhand slap. Then she went on humming. Slap or not, I watched in growing anxiety.
Miss Pinch opened a drawer and got out a small white apron about three inches wide that covered nothing. She put it on. Then she got a cook's hat, tall and stiffly starched. She put it on at a rakish angle.
Then she got a little gingham napkin and hung it around Candy's neck and tied it. It didn't even cover her now naked, bulging breasts. She sat Candy down on the sofa where she waited, knees apart, watching with eyes that were gradually getting hot.
They evidently used the torture-implement fireplace for barbecuing. It had all the long forks and tongs and needful tools. But Miss Pinch was putting those to one side. She was looking through a pile of kitchen utensils.
I knew it would not do the slightest good to protest. But my body was already so bruised and beaten, I knew it was impossible to do much more damage to it, so I took heart.
I shouldn't have.
Miss Pinch found what she wanted.
A cheese grater!
She tested the ragged sharpness of its jagged teeth. She cut herself slightly and stopped humming long enough to curse me for it.
Then, humming again, she approached the bed.
Very lightly and with artistry, she began to draw the cheese grater down my chest!
It was sharp. I bit my lips. I would not scream. But she was paying little attention to that. All her concentration was that of a chef's. And Candy looked like a hungry diner!
She shifted her target to my legs. She drew the cheese grater down along the insides, making a wavy pattern of scrapes very carefully.
I could see small bubbles of blood rising in the raw scrapes.
She put the grater aside. She went to a torture rack and opened a cabinet under it and got something out!
A can of red pepper!
Holding her face away, she put some in her hand and began to massage it quietly into the wounds!
I let out my first scream.
I choked it back.
More red pepper and more massage.
Miss Pinch seemed to think that was enough red pepper. Half a can. She went and got a three-foot wooden spoon. She carefully turned it to the bulging side.
She began to beat the pepper in!
With all her might!
Scorching, sizzling agony!
I lost control. I began to scream.
Candy began to scream.
I could see her, naked, bucking about on the sofa.
"Take me, Pinchy, oh God, take me!"
Miss Pinch scooped her up, carried her into the bedroom and slammed the door shut with her heel.
The pain didn't stop,
I kept screaming!
After how long I do not know, Miss Pinch came back. She had lipstick on her apron.
Candy came out, breasts rising and falling.
They had a beer.
Candy had a joint.
Miss Pinch apologized to Candy for having forgotten the dinner music. She put on some Satie Gymnopédies & Gnossiennes
, and Candy said it was nice. But she was still hungry.
"Oh, that was only the first course," said Miss Pinch. "We mustn't be too greedy. This is a gourmet dinner."
I had just begun to be able to support the awful torment of that pepper without screaming or writhing.
Miss Pinch retied her apron. She adjusted her cook's hat. She went over to the cabinet and took out something.
"This is what we need now," she said, showing Candy. "It will titillate the jaded palate. I can't stand bland food, can you, Candy dear?"
She came over.TABASCO SAUCE!