He lay on the floor crying his hands bound behind his back. The open safe devoid of its contents sent fear through his heart – even so, the pain she caused worried him more. The big black cases held the substances formerly in his safe while she sat next to them smoking a cigarette. She had removed the big strap-on with which she hammered his ass.
"So, Mr. Banker, how long have you laundered money for the Columbians?" Gabriella asked him.
"Three years and four months," he whimpered, then spat blood on the floor.
"Was this payment or money you skimmed?"
"Both, about two-million was payment the other five I skimmed off the top for the last year." He coughed out in ragged breaths.
"anymore here?" She asked he didn't answer. Gabby stood moved closer a belt dangling from her hand the big rodeo buckle dripping blood. "anymore here?" The palpitation of his heart pounded in his ears and he nodded. "Where?" she asked.
"Safe upstairs," he said spitting blood as he spoke.
"How much?" she asked him.
"About three million more," he told her rolling on his blubbery belly closing his eyes.
"I don't like drug dealers or fuck heads that do business with them," she told him. She bent down to him and whispered in his ear, "Tell the cops that Columbians did this to you, took your money – their money and left. Give them names, the dates of the deals you brokered, the way you laundered the money, and anything else they need to bust those scumbags." Standing, she looked around, "Where do you keep your trash bags?"
"Kitchen under the sink. If I do that, they'll murder me."
"If you don't I'll kill you ... besides, the cops will put you in witness protection. What's the combo?" she asked. He gave her the numbers, after collecting a couple of garbage bags she went upstairs. Coming back down the stairs the masked woman laughed at the man saying something cruel about his ability to make love. Redressing she gathered up money and the odd tools she had used and exited. A few minutes later she reentered the room. Bending down the muscle bound woman picked his head up by the hair.
"To bad your wife and son weren't here – I'd would have fucked him raw and made your old lady eat it out of me," she said face in smirk, she delivered a hard blow on his chin. The brass knuckles cracked his skin and bone sending him into a black realm.
Standing over his body, she looked around found the phone called 911 – then in perfect Spanish she said, "Este agujero de culo necesita a un médico! Chupapollas de mierda doble cruzan nosotros..." then repeated it in English with a heavy Spanish accent, "This asshole needs a doctor! Scumbag, cocksucker doubled crossed us."
Once she got home she placed another call. "Hey boss I got it – set up the damn Columbian's just like you wanted." She listened and smiled, "Ten million all up." Her smile grew bigger. Hanging up the phone she put the money from the garbage bag in her safe. Then she delivered the rest to her employer. Three weeks later, Gabriella watched, with great interest the arrest of sixteen men on drug-related charges.
It had been a hard day at work, pulling an engine and breaking it down for a rebuild. She had just finished with the tear down when she realized she had worked thirty minutes' overtime. Damn, she didn't have to work this hard anymore. Soon she figured she would just work for her other employer and leave this grease monkey shit behind her.
Mounting her big Harley, an Electra Glide, Gabby kicked down and the motor turned over the first time. The powerful motor shook her body in a pleasurable manner. Pulling out into the dwindling rush hour traffic she quickly covered the two miles to one of her favorite watering holes.
She watched the man flash cash all night, time after time pulling a big fat roll of bills from his pocket. He bought rounds for the house, flirting with all the girls. All the girls but Gabriella, she was muscled up woman with short cropped hair. It would be hard to say why he did not flirt with Gabby, part of it was women with great physical power frightened him. Then there's his attraction to this kind of woman. Something outside his control drew him to women that were outside the norm.
Women with authority frightened David and excited him, not equal's they were better than him. Women that didn't fall into the norm physically were an extreme attraction to him as well, not thin, full-figured, toned, or plump – no they were muscular filled with power. While he was agitated to arousal by this kind of woman – he knew he was inadequate to the task necessary. He feared them, what they could – would do to a man that did not please them.
Noticing her the instant he saw her, Dave could not help but take in the vision of her, she must be five eight or five nine. She wore ratty jeans and torn men's T-shirt, with a pack of cigarettes rolled up in one slave. He learned her name from one of the waitresses who gave the admonition, "better keep away she's a man hater –," she then added in an odd tone, "a man-eater."
Gabriella had a lovely face – even so, her countenance registered as severe and harsh, evidenced by her hateful stare. Piercing green eyes, high cheekbones, full luscious lips scowled a disapproving frown every time his eyes meet hers. Her hair was cut like marines, one big bulging bicep held a tattoo of a skull, the other a dagger dripping blood while on the back of one hand was the marine emblem.
Her exposed belly rippled with hard muscles, she was wide in her shoulders, with a broad muscular back, and a thin waist. Her tattered grease stained jeans were tight and strained to contain the brawny legs. Flirting with this girl or that brought him near her. Glancing over, he saw her rough, callused hands. Powerful course hands that worked for a living. With a sidelong look, he saw her take a drag of her smoke, she French inhaled it. The spectacle of the thick smoke rolling out her mouth and being sucked in through her nose caused his little pecker to harden.
The waitress brought her a tequila shot and the proper accouterments. Licking her hand, she asked the server, "Who's money bags over there?" as she put the salt on crux between forefinger and thumb.
"David MacLaine big shot with the airplane manufacturer." Gabby downed the shot.
"I hate him," she said, biting the lime.
The waitress moved on to the next table thinking, "Yeah, but you hate all men."
He continued to flirt with every woman the bar, except her, through the night. Drinking beer after beer – he peeked over to her table and his heart sank, she was gone. His full bladder demanded attention looking around he saw them. Men's Room – Ladies Room and he walked over going into the men's room. Looking around, making sure he was alone, David stepped up to a urinal. He unzipped the pants of his suit, fished around inside and hung out his cock. It barely cleared his zipper, he stepped as close to the cold percaline as he could. He lay his head onto the cool tile as his piss flowed.
He felt the powerful body slam into him, forcing his tiny cock right against the nasty, back of the urinal. A course hand clutched his cock, "I'm less than impressed." The voice said he knew in an instant it was her, cold and hateful the voice cut him to the quick. His pecker grew stiff as a board. "Big money tiny cock," she hissed. Her other hand snaked around his chest and going under his shirt to his chest. "Flabby, weak fucker aren't you?" Her hand clutched at his chest clamping hard with a steely grip. The other hand clenched on his prick and balls. Tears formed and flowed out and he gasped aloud whimpering.
"Please, you're hurting me," he begged.
"Not yet, but I'm going to," she told him. Releasing his chest, she took hold of his tie the narrow end, the one that pulls it tighter and yanked. Pulling him around by the tie she led him to the back of the restroom, to a door at the back.
"We can be alone back here," she said, her voice emotionless. Opening the door, she glanced down, "Oh, your wittle dicky is all stiff ... Ewww it sticks out, oh my gosh, I bet it is all of two inches." She laughed her giggle hurt him. In a cold and maniacal tone, she added, "A baby penis on a man's body, disgusting."
Letting go of his tie she turned and locked the door. David loosened the tie sucking in air and trying to regain his senses. Gabby turned back him, standing hands on hips her broad shoulders, ripped body, and domineering attitude held his attention. She paced up to him her right hand out her palm up as she got close to him.
"Your money, now," she demanded in a mean tone. He shook his head in a twinkling her outstretched hand turned to a fist, her arm went back followed by the first crashing into his belly. The full weight of her body was behind the punch causing David to double up, sucking for air. Putting his hand on his knees he puked up peanuts, popcorn, chips, and booze spewing over the grimy mop room floor.
"Money," she said, her voice even colder, crueler her eyes set on him in an angry glower.
"No," he croaked, at once he saw the big steel toed boot rise. His groin exploded in pain as he collapsed to the floor his shoulder landing his vomit. From his left pocket he pulled a large wad of bills, ones, tens, twenties, and a couple of fifties, then he tossed the bundle at her.
"Take it bitch," he growled.
"The rest, the big wad in your right pocket, all those smaller bundles in the coat pockets, and that billfold stuff so thick with hundreds," She said.
"No, I can't, I won't..." her boot struck a rib hard twice. He pulled the other money out tossing it at her each time. At last, he yanked out the wallet and looked up with pleading eyes. Kicking his hip she knocked him on his back, placing the ball of her foot on his balls and the toe on his tiny prick she bent down and yanked the wallet from his hand.
Looming over him Gabby unbuckled her belt and slid it out, the buckles said 'bitch' in big letters. Holding the belt in one hand the buckle dangling near the floor she unzipped her scruffy jeans. Her fingers unhooked the button on the jeans and an odd, hateful smile passed over her face.
"Strip asshole," she said working the pants over her hips. Without protest he acquiesced to her demand laying on the nasty floor, he watched her strip as well. Her tough husky build, small perfect and yet out of place breast, this goddess of pain stood over him uncovered a small strip of hair in the form of an arrow over her pussy. "That pathetic little, dork doesn't get in here," she said pointing to her pussy. "Only your tongue, that disgusting Vienna sausage couldn't excite a thirteen-year-old, nor please her for that matter."
Straddling his face, she lowered herself to his mouth. "Eat me bitch," she ordered. As she grabbed his small pecker with her course hands. After two fast strokes, he spurted, "You keep this fucker hard or I'll hurt you but good."
He ran his tongue over the lips, up to the clit sticking out from its hood, and down to the hole plunging his tongue in deep. No matter what he kept eating, he would feel her raw hands jerking him, hurting his cock the ragged flesh of her hand scratching his sensitive skin. He would spurt out his goo but her skillful abuse kept him hard and soon he would blow again. Through it all, he just kept trying to pleasure her.
Her hips began to thrash on his face, her lubrication flooded over his face, and she moaned loud. She stopped yanking his cock and pounded his stomach with a clenched fist. Sometimes as she writhed on his mouth she brought both hands down with blows to the stomach or chest. Rising up she picked up her pants, looking over her shoulder she gave him the hardest look he could remember from anyone.
"Just lay there, fucker!"
After she was dressed, right down to the steel toed boots Gabby fished a cigarette out, then rolled up the pack in her sleeve. Lighting the smoke with her zippo she shoved it back in her pocket. Taking a deep drag, she then French inhaled again.
"I didn't hear a rib crack," an evil smiled crossed her face and she advanced in a flash. Kicking hard at him, David rolled tried to crawl away as her boot pummeled his back and side. Three sharp cracks in a row resounded in the small room, Gabby stopped.
"That's better," she exclaimed, "go home to your wife. Tell her you fell down stairs at work. Don't go the hospital, a doctor, or the fucking cops. I'll know if you do – what do you think will happen to you if you disobey me?"
"I don't want to know," he croaked out in a painful rush, rolling on the gritty floor racked with pain.
"Yeah, I know you don't but I'll tell you anyway," she said, rolling him over he looked at her.
"I'll fucking kill you," he believed her. "Never come back to this bar, this bar is my damn bar. Get dressed ... get the fuck out of here – do ... you ... understand?" He nodded tried to get up then tried again, at last, he managed to get to his feet. With considerable effort he redressed himself. Getting to his feet, he started for the door.