Joe

Pauline returned home, the time was approaching, she dressed in something simple but practical, a white bluse and grey trousers.

Initially she told herself she wouldn’t go. She wouldn’t give in. She poured herself a drink instead, whisky, older than most of her colleagues and sipped, lips smearing the crystal glass with scarlet.

But her body betrayed her. Her nipples pressed hard against the silk of her blouse. Her thighs rubbed together under her trousers. The thought of resistance was drowned in the low thrum of need between her legs, a hunger that had only grown since the dreams began. She hated it. She loved it and it terrified her.

She grabbed her bag, her keys, and descended to the car waiting below.

The address led her not to a mansion or an exclusive club dripping in velvet and power but to a cheep late night café, it was somewhere she though she would never enter.

Pauline’s lip curled as she stepped inside. The place stank of burnt coffee, frying oil, and old milk. The floor stuck to her Louboutins. She slid into a booth as a waitress approached, she looked decidedly common, gum cracking between dull teeth, her eyes dull, Pauline barely looked at her just saying. “Coffee, black?”

The waitress shuffled off. Pauline drummed her nails against the laminate table. She would sit. Drink. Leave. Nothing here could shake her.

The bell over the door jingled.

She looked up and her stomach dropped.

The tramp.

The same ragged old man she’d mocked on the street. The one she’d once allowed to paw her in exchange for his stinking coat. His beard was yellowed, his skin ashen, his smell cutting through the café’s grease. And now he slid into the seat opposite her as if he belonged there.

“Get the fuck away from me,” Pauline hissed, voice low but sharp. “I don’t want your stench in my air.”

The tramp laughed. Not the thin, broken laugh of the homeless. A deep, rolling laugh that filled the space. His hands folded on the table. And then, changed.

The beard dissolved into nothing. The hair darkened, thickened. His back straightened, his shoulders swelling into the cut of a suit that hadn’t existed a breath ago. A sharp, black suit, tailored, gleaming. His face smoothed into something dangerous, a jaw chiselled sharp, lips full, eyes burning like embers behind glass.

Pauline’s nipples tightened so sharply it hurt. Her cunt clenched in betrayal, wet heat gathering instantly. She swallowed. Her pulse thundered. She was terrified. And aroused.

He smiled, teeth white, perfect. “Hello, Pauline.”

Her throat constricted. She **** her voice steady. “Who the fuck are you?”

He leaned in, elbows on the table, as casual as a lover. “You don’t remember me?”

Pauline sneered. “If I’d met you, I’d have remembered.”

He chuckled, low, knowing. “Let me tell you a story, then. A story about a girl. Blonde. Eighteen. Last day of school. Bad exam results. No prospects. A poor little house in a crappy part of town, a tired mother, five screaming siblings, no two of them had the same father. That girl looked at her mother and saw her future, sagging tits, ruined body, wasted life.”

Pauline’s nails dug into her palm under the table. “Shut up.”

He tilted his head, eyes fixed on her. “Her name was Pauline Kew. She wanted more. She wanted wealth, beauty, power. And she offered herself for it. Do you know how she begged?”

Her lips parted. “I never—”

“She spread her legs on a filthy mattress, begging, drooling for me” he said softly, his voice silk over steel. “When I pushed my cock into her she was so tight she cried out as I burst her virginity and took her, when I pulled out. She sucked me clumsily, gagging, drooling, eyes wide with desperation. She told me she’d do anything if I gave her a future. She promised herself to me as I cam, my seed dripping down her throat, down her chin and almost drowning her. She said that she would mine for ever and sealed it by giving me her soul.”

Pauline’s body jolted as if struck. Her cunt throbbed violently, slicking her silk trousers. Heat scalded her cheeks. She shook her head, blonde bun trembling. “You’re lying. You’re insane.”

He smiled wider, wolfish. “I’m Joe. The tramp. The devil in rags. The one who heard you beg. And I remember every inch of you.”

Her pulse pounded in her ears. His words wrapped around her, pulling tight. She wanted to scream. To deny. But her hand was already moving, traitorous. Slipping under the table. Popping the button of her trousers. Sliding down the zipper. She couldn’t stop.

Pauline’s breath hitched. She slid her hand inside, fingers pushing against the soaked lace of her panties. Her clit pulsed against her touch. She hated it. She couldn’t stop.

Joe leaned closer, voice low. “Yes. That’s it. Touch yourself. Just like the girl you were. Eighteen and begging. You’re wet for me, aren’t you?”

She gasped and whimpered "its not true, I went to private boarding school, my parents died when I was young, I have forged this life for myself"

Her lips parted. Her fingers worked faster. She bit her lip hard, stifling a moan.

Joe smiled without warmth "No that is the story that you wanted to believe, you wanted to be in control and have everything, you wanted power"

Pauline gasped loudly causing some of the other people in the café to look over, but she carried on.

“That’s why you’ve ruined men,” Joe continued, voice calm, cruel. “That’s why you’ve smiled while they cried. Every act of cruelty fed me. Every orgasm you’ve stolen built this moment. You’ve been mine all along, Pauline.”

She writhed, thighs clamped around her hand, cunt twitching against her fingers. Humiliation burned through her here, in a filthy café, grinding herself under the table like a bitch in heat.

Joe’s smile widened. “Look at you. The great Miss Kew. Posh, polished, perfect. Masturbating in public because you can’t resist me. You think you’re in control? No. You’ve always been my whore.”

Her orgasm ripped through her with brutal ****. She clamped her teeth against her lip, shaking, her cunt squeezing around her fingers. Her breath hitched, her eyes fluttering closed as wave after wave tore through her.

When it ended, she sagged in the booth, trembling, her trousers damp, her fingers slick.

Joe sat back, composed, utterly calm. “And now the time has come. You’ve sinned enough. You’ve delighted me enough. Now, you’ll be mine fully. My succubus. My creature. My whore.”

Pauline dragged her hand free, knuckles glistening, chest heaving. She wanted to deny him, to spit venom. Instead, all she could whisper was, “No.”

He chuckled, the sound rolling through her like smoke. “Oh, but you are. You chose this long ago. Every humiliation from others just confirmed what you are.”

And then he was gone.

The chair opposite was empty.

Pauline sat frozen, cunt still twitching, blouse damp with sweat. The waitress walked over and placed the cup of coffee without a word and The world went on, indifferent.