Angry cyclist

Exiting the studio through the back door, John walked up to a limousine waiting on the street. The driver was waiting by the passenger door. He opened it and John got in and made himself comfortable in the leather seat, pouring himself a glass of bourbon from the bottle in the built-in compartment. He put his feet up and sighed contentedly.

The driver got in his seat and looked back at him. 'Where to, Sir?'

'Back to the hotel, Donald. It's been an early rise today, so I could do with a shower and a power nap.'

'Certainly, Sir.'

They pulled out onto the main road but within minutes they encountered bumper-to-bumper traffic and slowed to a crawl.

'What's going on, I thought rush hour would be over!'

'There's a lot of diversions today, Sir. It's the preparations for the Caribbean Parade.'

'The what?'

'The Caribbean parade, Sir. Kinda like the Rio Carnival.'

'You mean chicks in rhinestone bikinis, feathers and shit, shaking their T&A on the street?'

'Yes, Sir. It is the inaugural parade and it promises to be a big one.'

'Holy shit, I've got to see that! When does it start?'

'Not until mid-afternoon, Sir. We have plenty of time to get you rested. Want me to make any arrangements to help you enjoy the event?'

'No, just find out the route so that you can drop me off nearby after we leave the hotel and stay close so that you can pick me up. I might be bringing home some souvenirs.'

'Of course, Sir.'

'Now try and find a way out of this gridlock. I don't want to grow old sitting in this car.'

The driver turned on the siren and the lights affixed to the limousine's roof started flashing in blue. He veered right, driving over the bike lane and partially mounting the kerb.

They were making good progress, but got stuck again at an intersection.

Suddenly there was a banging on the window. John looked up and saw an extended middle finger pressed against the tinted glass. A female cyclist was punching the window while giving him the finger with her other hand. She wouldn't be able to see him and he couldn't hear her, but could clearly read the word 'asshole' off her lips.

Angry as she was, she looked very pretty. Long blonde hair flowed out from under her helmet, she had light blue eyes, a slightly pointed nose and lips made for sucking cock. (To be fair, that last one applied to nearly all women on the planet, as far as John was concerned.) She was wearing a body-hugging lycra onesie, against which her C-cup breasts were straining desperately.

The cyclist then spat on the window, punched it one last time, got back on her bike and sped away, her tight ass swaying in the air as she worked the pedals.

This pissed John off to no end. 'Oh, hell, no!' - he shouted and turned to the driver.

'Donald, you're going to follow her, get ahead of her and stop to let her catch up with us again. I want her on our right hand side when she gets near!'

'Yes, Sir!'

It took them a good ten minutes to navigate ahead of her, changing lanes and making good use of of their emergency signals. Eventually she ended up behind them, still on the bike lane.

Donald stopped the car and John looked out the rear window, watching her get closer.

The moment she got close enough, he quickly swung his door open, right in front of her.

The bike's front wheel smashed against the inside of the door with a crunch. As its rear lifted off the ground, the cyclist was thrown off her seat and somersaulted over the door. She wasn't going too fast, so she didn't fly off, but rather slid off the other side of the car door with her back against it and landed on her ass.

John jumped out of the car and circled the door to face her, glass of bourbon still in hand.

'Owww, you bastard!' - the blonde moaned.

She probably wanted to continue, but John threw his drink in her face. She gasped, the **** rolling down her face and stinging her eyes.

'SHUT THE FUCK UP, SPORTY SPICE!' - he roared, and smashed the glass against the ground, shattering it. He grabbed the largest shard and held it against her neck.

'The fuck do you think you're doing? Spitting on my car? Swearing at me? AT ME?'

'HELP! POLICE!' - the girl screamed, pressing her head back against the side of the car, trying to get away from the piece of broken glass.

John laughed at this. 'Sure, let's see, where's a knight in shining armour?' - still holding the improvised blade against her throat, he looked around at the crowd of people walking by them.

Some looked up at the noise, but the moment they saw John, lost all interest and kept walking. John spotted a policeman.

' Oh, look, a cop! Let's call him over so he can save you from the big bad man!'

'HELP ME! OFFICER! POLICE! HELP!'

'Yeah, officer, come, help!' - John joined in, giggling.

The policeman looked at them and walked over at a leisurely pace.

'What seems to be the matter?' - he asked, looking down at the ruined bicycle, the hyperventilating woman sitting against the car and the brick shithouse of a man squatting next to her, holding a sharp piece of glass against her throat.

The cyclist was taken aback by the situation not being perfectly clear. 'This man, he, knocked me off my bike and he's threatening me with the...I mean, how do I have to...why...why aren't you doing anything?'

'I'm sorry, Miss, I'm not sure what it is you would like me to do.' - the officer raised an eyebrow and looked at John, seemingly hoping he would make more sense.

'I am very sorry for this, officer.' - John replied. 'My friend is not from around here. She wouldn't believe me when I told her I could hurt her, **** her and discard her like a filthy cumrag and that there's nothing wrong with that.'

'Of course there isn't. Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to continue my patrol.'

The policeman looked annoyed as he turned around and walked off, muttering 'Tourists...' under his breath.

'Wait...don't...go...' - the woman reached out with one hand, then let it fall to the ground, her voice diminishing with every word.

'OK, sugartits, enough with the demonstration, we have places to be, you and I.' - John said. 'Take the helmet off.'

She reached up with trembling hands and undid the strap under her chin, just inches away from the glass shard pressed slightly against her throat. It seemed like she wanted to say something, but every time she opened her mouth, her lips trembled and only a weak 'hoooo' sound came out. Tears rolled down her cheeks as she looked ahead, scared to look at her assailant. She took the helmet off and held it against her chest, as if it had the ability to give her any protection. Her hair was a bit messy, but luscious and shiny after being freed.

'Drop it.'

She put the helmet down next to her.

'Now get up. We're going for a ride.'

'Please...' - she begged, sniffling and blinking more tears away. 'I'm sorry I shouted and banged on your car and spat at it, I'm sorry, I'm not doing great, my mom's not well and I'm stressed at work and I'm just on the edge all the time...'

'Cool story. Get up.'

'Please...'

Annoyance crept back into John's tone. 'Oh, for fuck's sake, does it really look like I'm open to suggestions?'

He grabbed her by the hair and lifted her into a standing position with ease. She was up to his shoulders, standing upright. Still holding her hair with one hand, he dropped glass shard, cupped his other palm around her chin and pressed her face against the car door window.

John used the girl's right cheek and hair to soak up her spit smeared on the window, moving her head in a circular motion. He then moved to the other side of the door, pulling her by her hair, and shoved her inside the limo, where she landed on the floor between the seats on her back.

He reached down, grabbed her ankles and brought them to the bottom of the seats on each side, spreading her legs and bending them at the knees. He opened a compartment under the seats on both sides and pulled out a pair of shackles attached to chains. He clasped them around her ankles trapping her and allowing easy access to her crotch. Grabbing another plastic handcuff from his belt, he tied her wrists together above her head. The girl was immobilised and ready for ****.

John climbed in and shut the door behind him.

'Shall we go, Sir?' - his driver asked, looking up at the rear view mirror.

'Yeah, but we're making a detour. Find me a tattoo parlor and take us there. And drive gently, I have to get to work back here.'

'Of course, Sir.'

As the limo pulled away again, John opened a built-in cabinet and pulled out a pair of scissors.

'What's your name?'

'O-Olivia. Please, Mister...'

'Olivia, you must stop begging. I'm not letting you go until I fucked you. Make it easy for both of us and just work with me here. That way it will be quick and painless. I'll get my fuck on and you'll be on your way before you can say "****-baby". Got it?'

With her face smeared with bourbon and her own spit, her eyes red from her tears, Olivia nodded, her lips quivering.

'Awesome' - John acknowledged, pinched Olivia's lycra suit at the crotch, and started cutting into it.

'And what do you do for a living, Olivia?'

'I teach kindergarten.' Her voice was still choked with holding back tears, but at least she stopped asking to be let go.

Having cut away much of the suit downstairs, John cut the cute pink thong she was hiding underneath it and revealed her shaved pussy. He moved on to her chest, cutting big holes to reveal her breasts. She was not wearing a bra and her tits were suddenly free, her pink nipples pointing upwards, the flesh around them covered in goosebumps.

'You have nice tits.'

Olivia said nothing.

'Say "thank you".'

'Thank...thank you.'

John noticed a diamond ring on her finger.

'You married?'

'Yes.'

'Any kids?'

'No, but we're trying.'

'Awww, that's cute. I'll try to help with that.'

'Please...'

John slapped her hard, leaving a pink mark on Olivia's face and making her cry out in shock.

'No pleading!'

He pulled down his fly, got his cock out, dropped the scissors back in their cabinet and grabbed a bottle of lube from inside. He squirted a generous amount onto his fingers. Olivia stayed silent apart from the one small yelp when he slapped the cold substance onto her snatch, parted her pussy lips and slammed two fingers into her, moving them around quickly for a few seconds.

Once done, John positioned himself over Olivia and drove his erect cock into her. She inhaled sharply, but bit her lips, scared of the consequences of further protest.

He started moving his hips, going deep inside her, with his arms in line with her shoulders. Olivia avoided eye contact, looking off to the side, teary-eyed and tight-lipped.

'So, do you like it rough or gentle when you and hubby fuck?' - John asked while continuing to pump her.

'Ge-gentle.'

'So not like this, then' - he replied and put his hands around Olivia's throat and squeezed strongly, making her eyes open wide and eliciting a choked 'Hhhhrrrr!' sound from her. He started stabbing into her violently, making her head hit the door with every thrust.

She started thrashing, as much as she could, but she had no chance of escaping her torment.

John stared at her face as he rammed into her again and again, as hard and fast as he could. Olivia's face turned purple and her eyes rolled back up into their sockets. Spittle seeped out of the sides of her mouth, rolling down her jaw and gathering under her head.

This wasn't John's first rodeo. Keeping one hand on her throat, he placed his fingers on her wrist and found her pulse.

Olivia went limp. John kept an eye on her pulse and when it got as slow as he was ready for it to go, he let go of her neck. A few minutes later later he grunted and spilled his sperm deep into her womb.

He stayed buried in her as he reached into the compartment again, this time getting a butt plug and a syringe with the words 'Small dose' on it. He pulled out and quickly slammed the butt plug up Olivia's pussy. 'Let's keep those little swimmers in there!' - he said, smiling at the passed-out girl. He then injected her with the contents of the syringe.

'We're here, Sir.' - the driver said.

'Perfect timing. This might take an hour or two. Wait for me.'

John wiped his dick clean on Olivia's tattered lycra bodysuit, leaving wet smudges all over it. He put his junk away, cut the woman's wrists free and removed the shackles from her ankles. Climbing backwards out of the car onto the busy sidewalk, he pulled her out by the legs until she was half out of the car. He reached under her arms, lifted her onto his shoulder and walked into the tattoo artist's shop, pushing the door open with his free hand.

They emerged after about two hours. Olivia was on her feet now, but still unsteady, as John gently guided her outside.

He held her shoulder with one hand while she was slightly swaying, facing him. He removed her diamond ring and put it in his pocket. He then brushed her hair back from her face and smiled.

The word "CUNT" was tattooed across her forehead in huge, black block letters, stretching from just under her hairline down to the level of her eyebrows.

'Well, you better hope bangs suit you!' - he said to her, grinning with satisfaction.

'Off you fuck, Cunt!'

He turned her around by the shoulders, gave her a little slap on the ass and watched as she staggered away in a random direction like a drunk zombie, bumping into cars and pedestrians.