By Tamara Clay
Copyright© 2012 by Tamara
Gilda Locke flew out of Miami like a bat on fire. The roaring red convertible burst down highway at top speed, whipping through the traffic like the other cars were standing still. The top was down, the wind whipped at Gilda’s face, whipping the tears that fell from her eyes before they could fall down her cheeks.
“That bastard!” she cried. She cranked the stereo higher as the car screeched out of Miami, trailing further and further south into wine country. Gilda was running away from her boyfriend, for lack of a better word. What he really was defied explanation, but she was running. It wasn’t the best thought out plan in the world but she couldn’t stay with him anymore.
When he took her away from the Pensacola, he promised her exciting things—a shared lifetime of kinky sex, spankings, being tied up and blind-folded, the occasional consensual gang bang on his cool tile floor. But not long after he’d gotten her out of the country and to his fabulous Miami Beach house, all those promises had come to nothing. At first she had begged him to do what he promised, what he had done in the beginning when they first met. She longed for him to gag her, tie her to a chair, fuck her mouth and spew his hot spunk all over her face and breasts.
Sometimes, he did that. But it was only sometimes, maybe once a month. The rest of the time, he wanted vanilla sex, two in the bed, her on the bottom, the lights off. She had tried to bear it because she loved him so much and had given up the comforts of her parents’ big farm and the money they lavished on her, their youngest and sweetest daughter to be with him. And this was how he repaid her.