Last Tango in Miami Beach

BADLANDS PRESS. APPEARED IN THE 95-JUNE. EDITION OF: DECADENT CAFÉ ZINE. LAST TANGO IN MIAMI Beach. With apologies to Pauline Reage, who wrote, The Story Of O, this story also has two beginnings. A side note is that both Frank and Hanna had read, The Story Of O, and had taken it to heart...literally speaking. Which one embraced to their heart, The Story Of O, over the other is a matter of interruption. But in any case one version of the beginning goes like this: After a hard day at the office, Hanna, not so much physically tired but mentality drained, arrived at the apartment on the ocean she shared with Frank. She said the normal hello to Frank who sat on the couch. He grunted. She went to the bedroom and immediately took off the white nurseís uniform because the uniform reminded her of work. She had an orderly mind and even though tired took a moment to hang the uniform in the closet. After sliding off her panties and dropping them in the hamper in the bathroom, she lounged on the bed. The mattress, soft, cushioned her aching legs. The open window faced the ocean and a cool breeze stroked her body. According to her, Frank followed her into the bedroom. She figured he intended using the bathroom and ignored him, and out of habit continued playing over the day at work. Doctor Monks had scolded her twice for failing to have a patients chart at hand. The first scolding wasn't so bad, to her way of thinking, after all she had forgotten that Mr. Wilson had checked in and was sitting in cubical four for at least an hour. But the second scolding, to her way of thinking, was uncalled for. She had requested the patients file the moment the patient had arrived. But somebody in records had screwed up and the file had never been sent. But she took the heat. She always took the heat as far as Dr. Monks was concerned. Right than, according to her, Frank interrupted her thoughts. "Get your collar," he ordered. I don't feel like this tonight," She, still dwelling on work, absently replied. As she lay on the bed, brow furled, he studied her for a brief second...a

long gaze that ran the length of her naked body. "Go get your collar," he repeated. Work stepped aside. And a spark grew angry inside her. Protest quickly mounted. She had worked all day. She wasn't in the mood for games. Damn him. At the same time she felt the familiar tingle below her navel. Before she could respond either way, he added, "And the whip." This is one version of the beginning. Another goes as so. Frank had the day off from his job as day reporter on the city desk and had whittled away the hours by reading and watching television. He was dreamy and tranquil by the time Hanna had arrived home. The moment he saw her he thought, poor girl, worked all day...I'll take her out to dinner. But she didn't allow him time to mention going out for dinner or anything else for that matter, instead she started right off and bitched endlessly about her day at work, while at the same time shedding her clothes and dropping them on the living room carpet. As she walked to the bedroom she passed him an all too familiar look. From the living room windows what was left of the daylight shone on the pale white of her untanned buttocks. He obediently followed her to the bedroom. She stretched out on the bed, a hard edge to her gaze. Although the window was open, a humid heat stifled the room. And not a speck of breeze blew in from the ocean. He wore tan shorts and a blue T-shirt. He considered himself a meticulous person, and always neatly folded his clothes before retiring for bed. But he recognized the signal in her eyes and quickly undressed, leaving the shorts and T-shirt where they fell. She now passed him an approving glance. "Shell I get the collar and the whip? He inquired. "What do you think?" She sarcastically asked. He slapped her. Not very hard, in fact he barely brushed his hands across her face. He even thought that the act hurt her more then him. "Say again," he requested. She repeated her question, only this time dropping the sarcasm and strongly adding the word: Sir! "And also bring the surprise," they both said, she adding sir.

From here the story merges into one. This is to say that both parties agree on the events. She obediently rises from the bed and goes to the closet and from the top shelf removes a black collar studded with brass thumbtacks. Next she removes a whip. The whip is also black and brass thumbtacks studded the handle. Ready to turn away yet still staring as one does when removing an item or two from there secret place and expecting to find the place empty of hidden objects, a slight gasp escaped her lips. In the confines of the closet the gasp echoed out: Ooooooo! What she gazed upon was a set of black leather hand braces. The braces sat alone on the shelf. She stared at them for a good long second before carefully picking them up. To do so she had to grasp the collar and the whip in the same hand. For a moment she examined the braces. Curiously, were only a single brace to be worn to a bar or a restaurant, the brace would pass as a wrist ornament. But the braces were not meant to be separated. Each brace had two brass snaps. The ends of a two inch link chain of the kind found on pet leashes were imbedded into the cuffs. The braces, when snapped closed around a wrist, restricted hand movement to a few inches. She carried the whip and the collar and the braces to the bed. Did she have any thoughts during the voyage from the closet to the bed? Yes. She thought, wondered really since she had played the scene many time before, if their relationship was based on sex, and she briefly considered her role. All her thoughts came to a screeching halt the moment she faced Frank. He stood naked, his clothes a heap at his feet. His cock, as he preferred to have it called, hung against his thigh. She lowered her head and handed him the whip first. He took it and let it dangle from his right hand. His cock hardened, just a little, but enough to raise it away from his fleshy thigh. "Do you want me to put the collar on sir?" she asked. "No," he commanded and took it from her hands, "The hair." "Yes sir," she replied. From this moment on Hanna's thoughts focused on Frank's voice. Her hair, dishwater blond, fell to her shoulders thus obscuring her neck. Her hands folded

around the back of her neck and she lifted the hair so the neck was exposed. He looped the collar around her neck and fastened it. The collar had the unmistakable smell of leather, but also of sex. Semen stained the collar, as did pussy juice. But the two go hand in hand. Hanna thought this. Raw sex. Not the missionary passion, but sex. The thought made her wet and the mental tiredness from work evaporated. God, she thought. Just God. This was her last thought before her head rocked back. Frank's palm stung her left cheek. She blinked, clearing away the momentary water in her eyes. "Down," he ordered. But she had anticipated him and rested her knees on the carpet before he had finished the command. The bristles felt soft against her knees. But she knows from experience that soon rug burns would scorch her knees. "Hand me the braces," he instructed. She complied. "Hands straight out." Also anticipating this, her hands shot straight out. Her hands were thin, delicate. The thin delicate fingers quivered slightly. He ignored the quiver and placed a brace around the left wrist and snapped it closed. He did the same with the right wrist. The braces were a new experience, and she tugged on the braces. The short two inch lead confirmed the braces intent. He stared down at her. His face, rock hard, betrayed the power he felt coursing through his veins. "I am going to whip you," he stated, voice monotone, as if he had made this statement a thousand times before. But in reality this was only the third time they had played out this scenario. She kneeled at the same level as his cock. His cock, now hard as stone, throbbed, the veins bulging. The wet in her pussy dripped down her left thigh. She felt this. The moisture on her thigh, as always, drew a sharp intake of breath from her. God, she thought, mouth cotton dry. "Well," he said. "Are you whipping me because you are angry, sir," she managed to say, not asked because during this play acting she wasn't allowed to ask. She could state

her wishes and he would take them under consideration. But she couldn't ask or demand. "For my joy," he replied in the same steady monotone. But his breathing had grown husky. "Anything you want sir," she answered, her voice matching the monotone of his. But her breathing had also grown husky. Frank wasn't a large man. Five eight, one fifty. But Hanna was small, barely five foot and just topping the scale off at an even hundred. So when he wrapped five fingers around the collar, he effortlessly dragged her to the foot of the bed. As expected, her knees scorched on the carpet. The collar bite at her throat, and she gasped out in pain. She was forced to look down by the strong pull of the collar and only knew they had reached the bed when her head bounced off the mattress. She automatically raised her head a few inches and rested it on the mattress. Her long spine now stretched out giving way to her open and inviting torso. The humid room sucked water from her and her white buttocks, sweaty, glistened. A part of her was aware that her position made her look silly. Demeaning. But God, she panted, but was unable to finish the thought because right than the whip lashed her buttocks. "Oh, God," she moaned. There was a pause, and she tensed anticipating the next blow. The bastard, she thought, as the pause stretched into a second, then two, then three. She relaxed her rigid body. The tautness inside her gave way. What is he doing, she thought, smoking a cig...The second blow came right than, slicing at her thoughts. She felt the force behind the blow, how the lashes of the whip cut deep in the soft flesh of her buttocks and let out a cry of pain. In fact Frank had lit up a cigarette. The cigarette now burned in an ashtray on the floor. He reached down and placed the cigarette between his lips while at the same time savoring the red welts on Hanna's buttocks. Her body lay tense, and he thought: I should wait. But he couldn't wait. The red welts excited him too much. He drew back the hand that held the whip and raced the lashes across her buttocks. While twitching against the blow, she instantly cried out, "Oh that hurt!"

"What!" he yelled. "Sir." But her cry had fueled the passion in him and he mindlessly struck her again, only with more force. Again she cried out. Each time she ended with: Sir. But he didn't hear her. He struck repeatedly until welts streaked the soft flesh. With each blow, she cried out, her body jerking involuntary, the hand braces straining at their lead. At last the rain of blows ceased, and her body sunk in against the bed. She murmured through stuttering teeth, "Oh, Oh." She had murmured in a whisper, but cried out loud when his hard cock suddenly and without warning invaded her pussy. "Frank!" she protested. But he thrust deep, slamming against her buttocks. "Oh Go...," she screamed. But he grasped the collar firmly, and yanked on it. Her head flew up and her voice gargled. He slammed into her repeatedly, his balls bouncing off her buttocks. A steady panting moan escaped from her mouth. Just as suddenly as the fucking had ensued, it ended and he pulled out of her with such force the act shocked her; numbness took over and she laid her head down on the mattress, tongue out panting. She was drained and she weakly thought: Just a little rest, Frank. But rest wasn't forthcoming. A bare moment later she felt the familiar tug on the collar. Without thought, her head followed the collars lead. The lead turned her upright on her knees and twirled her body around. For a brief second, she looked up at him. "Don't ever look up at me," he demanded. "Yes sir," she murmured and stared down at the carpet. But not for long. He grasped her cheeks and led them to his cock. He forced her mouth apart and shoved until his cock seemed like she must either choke or puke. If Frank thought of anything during this time it was of animal satisfaction. He fixed on his cock; the way it smoothly rode between her lips. Like the rest of her, Hanna had a small face. Small skull, really. And his, to him, cock seemed enormous as it glided in and out of her mouth. But all these thoughts were tied up in the animal satisfaction he felt. Her wet lips gliding over his cock. The head of his cock tingling as the lips traveled over it. Yes,

he thought, so nice. That he enjoyed her lips on his cock was evident to both of them. So as usual he engaged in gliding in and out of her mouth far too long. So long in fact that Hanna, only minuteís earlier tense with pain and pleasure and eager to please, had relaxed and now worked her mouth over his cock much in the manner of filing a file at work...mindlessly, without thought or passion. He soaked the pleasure in, his mind locked on her lips. Suddenly he realized what he was doing, falling into the all too familiar trap, and yanked, as he had done to her pussy, his cock out of her mouth. The act left her with her mouth agasp. He pulled on the collar, and such was her shock that she resisted. Her resistance angered him and he yanked harder. She wanted to cry out that he was choking her, but the leather collar constricted speech. He led her back to the position on the bed so her head rested on the mattress. The moment her spine stretched out so her buttocks invited, he mounted her from behind and invaded the narrow passage of her asshole. The wet from her pussy had soaked up to the narrow passage and as such allowed free and smooth passage for him. The invasion was sudden and unexpected, but only because they had agreed to lay off anal sex. She screamed in pain. Her hands yanked on the hand braces, as if trying to break free to stop him. But the braces bound the hands tight. If she expected the scream to halt his advance, she was sadly mistaken. He plunged his cock to the hilt, and she cried out again. But he continued plunging, the animal passion gripping him. Thirty seconds later he ejaculated and collapsed atop her spine, sweat visibly dripping from him. "God," he murmured. Buried under him, she echoed likewise. But added: Sir. Fifteen minutes later, they, backs against the mattress, rested relaxed on the floor. Frank's arm hung loosely around Hanna's shoulders. Her head lay on his shoulder. The whip and the hand braces lay on the carpet in front of them. She still wore the collar. The ocean outside the window had long ago swallowed up the day and the moon and darkness filled out the sky. The night brought with it a cool breeze. The breeze cooled their sweaty bodies. Hanna had brewed them both a cup of tea and she lifted her head while raising the cup to her lips and

took a sip. Frank took the moment to light a cigarette. She said something, but he didn't catch it and moved his leg to turn her way. His leg brushed against the ashtray, spilling it over. Ashes and cigarette butts fell out. "Oh?" Hanna said. "It's nothing," he replied. He righted the ashtray, then quickly scooped up the ashes and butts in his hand and placed the mess in the ashtray. "What was it you said?" "Just thinking out loud," she answered. She eyed the remaining ashes on the carpet. "Well it doesn't matter. We can vacuum later." "I got most of it," he said. "No it doesn't matter. Really." But she stared at the ashes not him. "So what did you say?" "Thinking out loud," she responded. Her eyes swept over him before returning to the ashes on the carpet. "I'll vacuum. Won't take but a moment." "It can wait," he said. "Won't take but a moment." With this she was up. A second later she returned with the vacuum. She plugged the cord in the wall socket and flipped the switch. The vacuums motor caught and a whoosh filled the room. She worked the vacuum over the ashes. Frank shook his head once before laying it against the mattress. Playacting, he thought. Jesus he had to get a life. ??