A Sack Full of Bricks [18+]

part 3

(content notes: domestic violence, physical abuse, violent man, abusive BDSM, healthy BDSM, dom-sub relationship, invasion of privacy, profanity, m/f sex, gentle bondage, abusive bondage, harrassment)

(The hall where the bathrooms were is mercifully much quieter, and much emptier. The red walls serve as an insulator. I heave a sigh of relief and continue toward the almost completely silent restroom around the corner.

Halfway in, some scrawny blitzed looking dude with an ill-fit, rumpled button up and too-long, wet spiked hair straight out of the nineties shoulders past heading the opposite way. He reeks like the cheapest booze they sold here, and before he's even completely past me he's giving that sloppy leer only drunk creeps can.

"Daaamn, baby, you wanna show me what that pretty mouth does and smile?"

I glare daggers at him and say nothing, still walking.

"oh forget the mouth, what's that ass do, girl!"

The drunk bitch must have brought it back from China, because he slaps my ass and it hurt. Worse still, he squeezes hard and tries to pull me back.

"Hey, get the fuck off!"

I swing my elbow back, the momentum wrenching my ass cheek out of his grimey hand, and feel it squelch his nose with a deeply satisfying crunch. He yowls and bends double. Before I can bail, he gropes blindly and catches my arm. He yanks me back and stars explode in my eyes as he slams me full across the face – a splayed-finger, cupped-palm bear swipe that had my ears ringing. He shoves me back hard into the wall and my feet slide out from under me.

"Don't you fuckin play with me like we don't all know you're just a stupid whore!"

He sways, one clumsy hand fumbling on his belt buckle, and braces himself on the wall. Sheer panic latches onto my chest and as my vision starts to clear, I twist sideways, knocking him away with my shoulder.

And then he's gone, with a sound like he'd been hit by a truck.

"Get his ass outta here!" a solid female voice calls. "And don't let me catch him in here again!"

I look up in time to see two burly as hell bouncers hauling Mister Dirty Pop out of the hall. He's still hollering about how everyone knew I was a dirty slut that liked it rough.

The fuck's he on about? I think.

While I pat my lip and my buzzing, tingling cheek, a spikey, sharp, curvy pair of PVC fetish boots – with an impossible stiletto heel – step close.

"You alright, honey?"

The flat of a warm, smooth, brown hand tips my chin up to her. Her deep sable eyes hit me first – they are lined heavily with precise sharp lines and bold eyeshadow and they are concerned, but also unwavering and tight, as is the set of her full, burgundy painted lips. She's definitely having none of this. She exudes poise and power, peering at me unflinchingly through the bouncy natural coils fanning her oval face, the red lighting glowing off her rich terra cotta skin giving her the air of royalty. I nodded dumbly. She gives me a short nod in return and steps back, motioning toward the ceiling then offering me her hand.

"Come on now, up you get."

I take her hand and shimmy to my feet, back against the wall. She looks me up and down then toward where the bouncers had dragged the fuckboy, complete disgust obvious even in her quiet, subtle expressions.