She’s a vamp. You saw that the moment you opened the door to let her into your flat.
She strode briskly in. Six foot two of quiet confidence, acknowledging your existence by handing over her coat and telling you to hang it up.
‘You’re a worm.’ She took the money from the sideboard and dropped it in her handbag. ‘You will call me Mistress.’
You slavered. You wanted to get on your hands and knees, crawl to her on all fours and run your tongue over her don’t-fuck-with-me stilettoes.
‘Get on your hands and knees,’ she said.
And now here you are on the settee, butt naked and trussed up like a Christmas turkey. Your underpants are being used to mute what Mistress calls ‘your pathetic whimpering’. They taste vile.
The past hour has been painful, humiliating and pleasant. Mistress is worth every penny of her £500 fee.
She has the money now. It took a year to save that much and you weren’t planning on letting her leave with it. But things haven’t gone your way.
Fundamentally, you made one fatal mistake: you surrendered too much control.
And now she has you where you wanted her and it looks like Fido is going to go hungry. And Fido doesn’t like it when Fido goes hungry.
It was the early hours of this morning when Fido last ate. You were aware that the old wino you found in that shop doorway was substandard fare, but it was the best you could do.
‘You can’t sleep there,’ you told the tramp, trying to sound concerned. ‘You’ll catch your death of cold.’
The wino regarded you through cataract-spangled eyes. ‘Fuck off,’ he said, his voice laden with all the sufferings and disappointments of a life that had come to nothing.
‘You look like you could use a drink,’ you told him. It was like telling a fish it needed water. ‘I have whisky back at my place. And gin and vodka and brandy. And a sofa you can sleep on.’
The wino told you to fuck off again but got to his feet anyway. You had to hold his arm to keep him upright and it left a sticky residue on your hand.
Out in the open air, the tramp’s odour had been pretty bad. Here, in the confines of your flat, it was unbearable.
You could hear Fido in the bathroom, slobbering as you can hear him now. Isn’t it funny how no one else seems to hear? Perhaps they don’t see him either. Perhaps he remains invisible to his prey even as his claws rip into them and his jaws tear them apart.
After opening a window, you handed the wino a bottle of gin and watched him down half of it in one greedy draft.
‘Need a piss,’ he said, which was music to your ears.
Fido heard and growled a happy growl. You could hear the splash-splash of his saliva hitting the floor.
The tramp was going to piss against the settee. You hastily steered him to the bathroom door. He had trouble with the handle and Fido whined in frustration.
As soon as the door was opened, you pushed the wino through and quickly closed it again.
Fido roared. The tramp screamed.
You came home from work expecting Fido to be happy. But the tramp hadn’t been much of a meal. Too much gristle, not enough meat.
Fido was hungry and he had no qualms about letting you know.
As you sat and watched television, he scratched at the bathroom door. His whining played on your nerves. You tried to ignore him. Did your best to let him know who was boss. But who were you kidding?
Giving up on the television, you put on your headphones and listened to George Michael’s Greatest Hits, but it did no good. Even though you were deaf to Fido, you could sense his displeasure, were aware of his disappointment in you.
Finally, at nine o’clock, you caved in.
‘All right, Fido!’ you shouted, banging on the bathroom door. ‘You win. Just give me a while to sort something out.’
It was too early to go hunting for winos and there weren’t many left in the area anyway. And there was no use cruising the red light district for what you call ‘cheap meat’. After the disappearance of three girls in as many weeks, the others had grown cautious, and you already had a reputation amongst them for being an unsavoury creep. It was unlikely you’d persuade any of them into your car.
Which left you with but one recourse.
For a long while, you’d known this night would come. Fido food isn’t something you can pick up at the supermarket and there’s only so much human flotsam out there. Sooner or later, you were bound to need a fresh supply.
That’s why you’d already searched the Internet and selected tonight’s main (and only) course. And why you closed out your savings account. It’s more money than you can afford to spend, but you never intended to actually part with it, did you?
Unfortunately, you’ve cocked things up.
Not knowing much about women, you believed the first thing they do when visiting someone is ask for the bathroom. When Mistress didn’t, you weren’t too perturbed. In fact, you regarded it as a bonus. Sure, Fido was going to be kept waiting, but in the meantime you were going to have the best hour of your life. It looked like being a case of you having your cake and Fido eating it.
If only Mistress hadn’t tied you up. If only her bladder wasn’t as strong as the rest of her.
And now she’s putting on her coat. In another minute she’ll be gone and so will your savings. And Fido will still be hungry...
‘I suppose I’d better untie you,’ says Mistress, making it sound like an afterthought. ‘But first, I need to pee.’
This is good news and bad news. Fido’s definitely going to get fed but that still leaves you tied up without a stitch of clothing and your underpants in your mouth. And if Mistress doesn’t close the bathroom door before she gets eaten, Fido’s going to get free and all Hell will break loose.
You can’t take your eyes off her as she walks to the bathroom door. She is as close to close to your ideal woman as you’ve ever seen. Tall. Strong. Sadistic.
For a second, you regret that soon she’ll be no more. But then you remind yourself that at £500 an hour, she is beyond your price range anyway. A session with her is a once in a life time prospect and that ‘once’ has now gone.
As she turns the door handle, part of you wants to shout a warning - so perhaps it’s as well you can’t.
Fido is quiet. He knows what’s coming.
Mistress closes the door behind her.
Fido growls and roars. You hear the familiar sounds of a scuffle - a frantic, primeval struggle between prey and predator.
And then, instead of the expected scream, there is a yelp. And a brief, pitiful howl.
‘Sit!’ says Mistress and Fido whimpers. ‘Good boy! Now you wait there and I’ll fetch you a tasty treat.’
The bathroom door opens. Mistress steps out, unscathed and as magnificent as ever.
‘Nice pet you have there,’ she says, standing over you. ‘He and I are going to get on very nicely. And as for you – .’ Mistress smiles. Ruby lips draw back, revealing a perfect set of carnivore teeth. Her twin fangs gleam wickedly. ‘You’ve been invited to dinner.’