THE TEASE


By ANGELA KNIGHT


Steve first met Carol in the elevator. It wasn't the most auspicious
way to meet a beautiful women--panting and streaming sweat from a
five mile run, dressed only in sopping wet nylon shorts and cursing
the August heat. Granted, Steve looked better than most men would
have in that situation--three hours pumping iron in the gym every day
saw to that. And his blond good looks, complete with a square-jawed
face and cheerful green eyes, generally made him the sort of man most
women wouldn't have minded sharing an elevator with. Even sweat
slicked and panting.

But this woman eyed him nervously from behind the cardboard box she
held in her arms as the doors closed them in. Steve, huffing, sent
her an embarrassed smile as he rubbed his chest with the t-shirt he
held, uncomfortably aware he must smell like a goat. She looked away
and shifted the box in her arms. He hit the button for the fifth
floor.

She was pretty, Steve noticed, as the elevator started up, a long-
legged redhead dressed in fashionably ripped jeans and a yellow t-
shirt, hair tied into a long silky pony tail with a rainbow scarf.
His writer's mind ticked off details--oval face, big gray eyes, pert
nose, hint of sensuousness in the lips. A thoroughly lovely woman.
But nervous, very nervous.

Steve sighed. He had two effects on women: they either gazed with
lascivious curiosity at his 6'2" body-builder's musculature, or they
cowered as if afraid he'd rape them at any moment. His elevator
companion was evidently the type to expect assault. Steve, who could
bench press 350 pounds but wouldn't have dreamed of hurting a soul,
decided to prove he was perfectly tame.

"Moving in?" he asked brightly.

Her gray gaze skittered toward him, then away. "Yes."

"Need any help?" Steve deliberately struck a parody of a
bodybuilder's flex, grinning his best boyish lopsided grin. "I'm REAL
good with furniture."

She looked toward the muscle bulging in the bend of his arm and
swallowed visibly. "No, I can handle it."

"I'm Steve Kent," he said, refusing to give up. He stuck out a huge,
callused hand.

She shifted the box, trying to free one of her own. The carton
started to fall, and he automatically caught it with his left
hand. "Uh, thanks," she said, as they juggled it together. "I'm Carol
Peters...Well, this is my floor."

The elevator jerked slightly, stopping. "Really? It's mine, too. Are
you sure you don't want help with that?"

"No. Thank you."

She scuttled out. Steve, following more slowly, sighed. When he'd
become a bodybuilder, he'd had no idea some women would feel so
threatened by his size. But really, if he'd done nothing to keep in
shape but pound a computer keyboard while grinding out SF novels, he
would soon have resembled an egg on toothpicks. And though some women
wouldn't have found him as menacing, they wouldn't have been overcome
with lust, either. It was your basic no-win situation.

Rounding the corner, Steve glimpsed a disappearing red ponytail as
Carol closed the door to her apartment. It was right next door to his
own.

Oh, well. Maybe she'd soon realize he didn't bite. Well, not hard,
anyway.

***




Steve ran into Carol several times in the week that followed. She
still looked nervous each time, but he noticed that she also began to
watch him when she thought he wasn't looking.

Evidently, Steve thought, there was some attraction there after all.

Then she fired the first salvo in what was to become their private
little war.

It was a Monday. Steve ducked through the lobby and onto the
elevator, back from his five mile run at precisely 5:45 p.m., the
same time he always finished it. Carol sauntered in after him. He
looked up from punching the floor button and felt his jaw drop.

She was dressed in a black knit dress that revealed every inch of her
long legs...and seemed on the verge of revealing even more. It also
clung to her high, lovely, obviously braless breasts, tenting over
the intriguing little bumps of her quite hard nipples. Out of the
corner of his eye, Steve saw his hand reaching for one of those
tempting nipples as if of its own volition. He dropped it and stepped
hastily back against the elevator wall.

God, he'd known she had a nice body, but not THAT nice.

Suddenly she stumbled on her high heels, dropping the shoulder bag
she held. It hit the floor with a clatter, spilling pens, lipsticks
and assorted odds and ends out onto the elevator floor.

Automatically, Steve stooped to help gather them up, but Carol
stopped him with a single chill look. "I've got it."

He straightened with a jerk, stung by the cold hostility in her tone.
What the hell was wrong with HER?

Folding his arms in offended disgust, he watched her as she picked up
the purse's contents and dropped them back into her bag. She was
bending from the waist, legs stiff. Involuntarily, Steve's eyes
tracked up the intriguing muscled contours of her calves, then along
the endless length of her thighs. To make a fascinating discovery:
Carol wasn't wearing any panties.

And that dress had crept up until it no longer even pretended to
cover her ass.

He could see her labia, sprung open by her bending position,
revealing the pink tempting delights between them, all of it nested
in soft red curls. And above that was the crinkled dimple of her
asshole...

Forcing himself to act like a gentleman, Steve dragged his eyes away.
Didn't she know her skirt was riding up? She had to feel it, the knit
hem almost at her waist, the cool air on those white, perfect
cheeks...

Of COURSE she felt it. And what was she doing running around with no
underwear on, anyway?

Steve's eyes slid back toward the tempting view. Oblivious, Carol
went on slowly picking up her things and putting them in the handbag.
His cock hardened. She knew, she had to know. She was doing it
deliberately.

"Carol, I was wondering," Steve said, his voice throaty with
arousal. "Would you like to have dinner? There's a really nice
Italian place in town, serves the best lasagna you've ever tasted..."

She straightened, swinging the bag onto her shoulder. Slowly, she
turned to look him up and down in a long, insulting scan. Her eyes
stopped at the thick, visible hardon outlined by his thin shorts.
Deliberately, she pulled her skirt down and looked back up at him. "I
don't think so."

"Why not?" Steve demanded, feeling his jaw setting at the contempt in
her voice. He felt his erection melt as his rage swelled.

"Frankly, I don't think you've got what it takes." The elevator
jerked to a stop. Carol strutted out between its opening doors.

Rigid with fury, Steve stayed where he was, counting to 100 once,
then again, as he fought the urge to go after her and do something
that would get him locked up.

That encounter, as mortifying and enraging as it was, proved to be
only the first in a serious of deliberate taunts. During the next few
days, it seemed he saw her everywhere--in the hallway, in the
elevator, down in the basement laundry room. And she was always
dressed in something to heat his blood and harden his cock, even as
she froze him with insults and the sort of feminine contempt
guaranteed to drive any man to blind rage. Yet somehow Steve managed
to hang onto his self control. He suspected the bitch was trying to
goad him into something she could charge him with, and he was damned
if he'd give her the satisfaction.

But the night in the laundry room he almost lost it.

It was after 2 a.m.; he'd waited that late hoping to avoid her. But
he's hardly got his first load in the wash when she sauntered in,
dressed in a long black velvet bathrobe and giving him a contemptuous
stare.

Hell with this shit, I'm out of here, Steve thought. But before the
impulse could become action, the idea of running from a little tart
in a bathrobe stiffened his spine. No, damnit! He was not going to
let the bitch drive him away from his own underwear. He'd just ignore
the slut until she got bored and left.

At first he thought it was going to work. She seemed as intent on
ignoring him as he was her, fussing with her clothes basket and
detergent box. For a good fifteen minutes, he sat holding a
paperback, his face like stone, waiting for her first attack, but she
said nothing at all. Finally, he began to relax and get into his
novel.

Hearing his washer hum to a stop ten minutes later, Steve looked up.

And instantly wished he hadn't.

Her robe had fallen open, and she was wearing nothing but a black
bustier, garter belt and silk stockings. She was standing in front of
the basket he'd left on one of the washers, a pair of his briefs in
one hand.

"What the hell are you doing?" Furious, Steve sprang out of his chair
and stalked over to grab the underwear away from her.

Carol lifted a disdainful brow. "Slinky. Somehow, I had you pegged as
the boxer shorts type."

"Really?" Steve snarled. "Well, I have a pretty damn good idea what
YOU wear--or don't wear. You've made that real clear, haven't you?"

"And the very thought gives you a hardon." she sneered. "Too bad you
can look but never, ever touch..."

Growling, he shot out a big hand and fisted it in her long red hair.
Used it to jerk her toward him, ignoring her gasp at the pain of his
grip, distantly aware of how silky that handful of hair felt. Nose to
nose with her, Steve glared into her widened eyes. "STOP IT."

The fear drained out of her face, leaving cool mockery behind. "Or
you'll do what?"

"You. Don't. Want. To. KNOW."

But HE knew. His mind provided all the images. He would throw her
down across one of those washing machines, force her belly against
the cold metal, shove his cock into her taunting, tempting cunt. Then
afterwards, he'd ream her asshole while she begged for mercy...

And he could do it too. She couldn't stop him, it was late, nobody
would interrupt. He could take her the way he had in his nightly
fantasies, make her regret every nasty word, every insult, every
contemptuous glance. Drive her to her knees and force her to suck his
cock with that soft, vicious mouth.

He'd do it NOW...

"Jesus!"

Steve shoved her away from him and ran from his own brutal lust,
lunging out of the room, leaving his clothes behind. He had to get
away from her before she had him doing time for rape.




In his bed at last, he lay staring into the dark, his cock hard,
fighting the violent fantasies that kept creeping into his
consciousness. Why was she doing this to him? Didn't she realize what
he could do to her? What he WANTED, with growing brutality, to do to
her? And he could so easily do it, too. She'd have no chance against
his strength, against his hard, hungry body. She might fight, but it
wouldn't do her any good. He'd take her down, pin her, force her legs
wide...

Carol moaned in pleasure.

Almost without his awareness, his hand moved down to his cock, rigid
and throbbing against his belly. Closing his fist over it, he began
to pump slowly, lost in his erotic dream. Hearing her moans, her
whimpers. Listening to her plead.

Something thudded against the wall.

Steve started, his hand pausing in its pumping. There was a squeak of
bedsprings, filtered through plaster. And Carol's voice, faint but
clear through the thin apartment wall, "Oh, yeah. Deeper. Oh, GOD.
It's big, so big..."

The bitch was fucking somebody.

A wave of jealous rage rolled over him. He'd kill the bastard. She
was HIS, goddamnit. His to fuck, his to ride in the dark. He was the
only one who should make her moan like that. HE was the one she was
torturing, damn it...

God, he was really losing it. He had to get a grip on himself.
Someplace other than his cock.

"No," Carol moaned. "Oh, no. Not there. Please, it's too big, too
hard, it'll never fit. Not in my ass, not in my pretty little
asshole..." Another thud as the bed hit the wall again.

Steve's hand froze on his prick as his imagination seized the image.
Her beautiful behind, lifted and spread for the big cock that
approached it, nuzzled its tiny puckered opening...

"Aaaaaahhh!" she groaned, her voice spiraling. "It hurts, stop, oh
stop..."

He began to stroke himself again, harder, pumping his cock, imagining
it, picturing her impalement. Aching to be the man who loomed over
her, forcing her to take him there.

"Oh. Oh. Oh. Oh. Oh, God, it's huge, it's...Ohhhhhh! Ah! Yes, yes,
that's it, that's right! Harder, make me feel it, fill me,
yessssssssssss. I'm cumming! I'm cumming! Pump my asshole! Oh,
GOD...STEVE!"

He felt his breath catch. She'd called his name! God, that guy was
going to be pissed...Steve waited for the explosion of masculine rage.

And heard nothing.

"God, Steve, you're so big, you're so good, I can't stand it..."

Why didn't he hear him? How could any man pumping into her be so
quiet? Without gasping, without moaning, without so much as a panting
breath?

"Steeeeve..."

And then he knew. No man could, because there was no man there. She
was pretending. She was doing it to him again. Torturing him. Teasing
him.

Goddamnit, he wasn't going to take it anymore. He'd had enough. She
was going to get exactly what she'd been asking for. Now.

Steve just barely had the presence of mind to grab a robe before he
tore out of his apartment and up the hall toward hers. In his rage,
it didn't occur to him to be surprised that her door was unlocked.

The layout of Carol's place was exactly the same as his own, he saw
as he stalked in through the half light provided by an open hallway
door. Passing the door, he glanced in to see the bathroom he
expected. Several pairs of stockings draped over the shower curtain
rod. He swept into the tiny, closet-like room and grabbed a handful
of silk, then jerked them down and started for her bedroom again.

For a moment, he stopped in the doorway to her room, staring in at
her as lust scalded its way through his veins.

As he'd expected, she was alone, naked, lying in the tangled sheets
of a king-sized brass bed. One hand still held a vibrator buried in
her cunt, buzzing among her soft red curls as she looked up at him,
eyes wide, fear on her face.

"Why settle for fantasy," Steve said with soft menace, "when you can
have the real thing."

He was on her before she could move, shoving one of the stockings in
her mouth, grabbing her wrists as she lifted fists to beat at him. In
seconds, he had both her hands bound with another stocking and tied
together to the brass headboard.

Finished, he rocked back on his heels, gazing down at her naked torso
clamped between his hard thighs, at the lovely breasts that jiggled
so beautifully as she fought to pull in enough air through her nose.
Her eyes were huge, and he took a perverse pleasure at the fear he
saw in them. Yet there was desire in their gray depths, too...

She made a protesting sound behind her gag.

"Shut up," he told her. "You've been after me to do this for two
weeks. It's what you wanted all along, isn't it? You kept waving that
pussy under my nose, waiting for me to take the bait, to take you.
Goading me with your constant insults, knowing no man would put up
with that shit without doing something. Well, now I'm doing
something." He leaned down, putting his face inches from hers. "But
we're playing your kinky little game by MY rules now."

Deliberately, he grabbed the breasts she'd taunted him with, his
hands rough, fingers pinching and rolling her nipples. They were
hard, those sweet pink nipples, aroused. As hard as her breasts were
soft. He swallowed, and his hands gentled of their own
accord. "Nice," he said gruffly.

Slowly, Steve ran his hands along her body, trying to be taunting
about it, yet disarmed by the softness of her skin. She was like
silk, so smooth and tempting.

So hot.

He shifted his weight off her so he could reach her pussy. So he
could plunge a thick finger into her. She gasped behind her gag, and
he savored the sound even as he pushed deep, loving the creamy
tightness of her cunt. His cock throbbed, the edges of his robe
falling open to reveal its length and eager thickness.

Groaning, he bent to shove his face against her cunt. Began to lick
and tongue the wet folds of her pussy. The smell maddened him, the
salty taste, the pure distillation of feminine lust that pearled on
her lips...God.

Steve reared, moving between her thighs as she spread them for him.
Throwing off his robe, he pushed her legs even further apart, wanting
her wide open, completely vulnerable. When she was spread as far as
she could go, he settled down onto her, savoring the sensation of
damp curls brushing his prick.

Then, finally, Steve made his first thrust, shoving through Carol's
hot, soft lips, forcing his big cock into her tight cunt. Helplessly,
he moaned at the sensation.

So did she.

He began to pump, his powerful back and buttocks working as he
shafted her, wanting to get as much of him into her as he could.
Carol moaned, sounding deliciously helpless.

Voraciously, he sought out one of her long, pink nipples. Began to
bite and suck. She writhed under him, but she couldn't get away from
his mouth, his hands, his cock. And, listening to her pleasure moans,
Steve knew she didn't really want to.

Abruptly her muscles clamped down on him, and she arched, whining in
pleasure behind her gag. Coming. Steve watched her face, loving it,
loving the way she surrendered so completely to her orgasm. To him.
He shuddered, knowing he was about to come himself.

No. Not yet. Not until he'd made sure she knew she'd been fucked. And
he knew just how to do it...

Steve pulled out of her, hearing her soft moan of disappointment. A
moan which became a startled gasp as he drove his middle finger
brutally between her perfect cheeks and up her ass. He grinned,
feeling how unnaturally slick she was. "Why, Carol, your asshole is
all greased up. For me?"

She stared up at him, eyes huge. And nodded.

Pure lust jolted through him. He grabbed one of her thighs and
flipped her over, then found a pillow and shoved it under her.
Elevating his target. Mouth dry, Steve parted her cheeks with both
hands, dying to thrust into her. Remembering her voice, begging
through the wall: "Not in my ass, not in my pretty little asshole..."

Oh, yes.

He set his cockhead against her tiny dimpled anus and began to push.
Small, she was so small, but he was strong and ruthless, and his cock
began to sink in, inch by throbbing inch. She keened behind her gag
even as he groaned himself at the searing pleasure of her impossibly
tight asshole.

Then, as he forced his cock deeper, she began to relax, loosening her
muscles, surrendering. Until he was in to the balls. Steve shook his
head convulsively, shuddering and gasping at her tight heat. He could
hear her desperate breathing through her nose, her whimpers around
her mouthful of silk. Slowly, he began to drag his cock out of her.
It slid more easily now; she had yielded to him completely, her well-
greased asshole becoming a sheer delight to fuck.

Grinning in triumph, he braced himself on his palms and began to ream
her, taking it slowly, making her feel every inch.

"Do you like that?" he said into the soft cloud of her hair. "Do you
like the feel of my cock up your ass? Who's not man enough for you
now, hmmm?"

She made a strangled sound.

Taking pity, Steve reached around and pulled the wadded stocking out
of her mouth, never stopping his steady stroking. "Better?" he purred.

"Oh, God...Ohhhhhhhh, Steve, I...You're so HARD..." She was bucking
up against him now, lifting her ass for each thrust, taking every
inch of cock into her behind.

Steve was starting to lose it. He could feel the hot well of his
orgasm beginning to gush to the surface. Gasping, he demanded
again, "Am I man enough for you now?"

"Oh, God, yesssssss. Haaaaarrrrderrrr! Your cock feels soo...good in
my ass...ah ah ah AHHHHHHHH!"

Growling, he thrust into her with all of his strength, ruthless,
driving up her asshole over and over. Until he began to peak,
shooting stream after stream of thick, hot cum into her bowels.

Carol screamed in raw pleasure, the sound mixing with his own howl of
ecstacy.

***

Later, much later, she explained as they lay in the damp, hot
sheets. "When I met you that first time in the elevator, you...well,
you looked so big. So male. And I couldn't help but think you could
do anything you wanted to me, and I couldn't stop you. But you
didn't, of course."

"Of course not," he said, indignant, as she stroked her fingers along
his thick bare biceps. "I don't jump women in elevators. Or anywhere
else. Before tonight, anyway."

"But I couldn't stop thinking about it. Picturing what you could do
to me, every time I saw you. You didn't do anything, but I couldn't
stop thinking about it. Dreaming about it. Then I realized I wanted
you to take me like that. Rough. I wanted you to...rape me. Just
thinking about it made me hot."

And it HAD been hot, Steve thought. But dangerous.

"So I started to taunt you. I thought you'd do it that first time in
the elevator for sure. You looked so big, so angry. But you didn't.
So I kept after you, but you wouldn't do it no matter what I did or
said. I didn't really MEAN any of those things..."

He snorted. "You could have fooled me. I thought you were the world's
biggest cock tease, getting off on torturing me."

"I was torturing me too, Steve. Tonight...Tonight I couldn't take it
anymore. I started masturbating, thinking about you. And then I
realized how thin the walls were..." She shivered deliciously. "When
you burst into the room, I didn't know whether to die of fear...or
come. And then you jumped me, and you were so strong, so rough. Just
like I imagined. And it was wonderful. Wasn't it?"

He eyed her, eyed her sweet bare breasts and tousled hair. "Yeah, it
was wonderful. But I think we'd be better off keeping this game just
between the two of us. I'd hate for you to go looking elsewhere for
rapists--and I certainly don't need to be looking for other victims."

She grinned, puckish. "Okay. Want to rape me again?"

He grinned back. "Haven't you heard? You can't rape the willing."