Message-ID: <26366asstr$969120605@assm.asstr-mirror.org> X-Original-Message-ID: <20000916114531.1361.qmail@nym.alias.net> From: Delta <delta@nym.alias.net> Subject: {ASSM} "Revenge is a Dish Best Served ..." by Delta (MF) Date: Sat, 16 Sep 2000 12:10:05 -0400 Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail Approved: <assm@asstr-mirror.org> Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d X-Archived-At: <URL:http://assm.asstr-mirror.org/Year2000/26366> X-Moderator-Contact: ASSTR ASSM moderation <story-ckought69@hotmail.com> X-Story-Submission: <ckought69@hotmail.com> X-Moderator-ID: RuiJorge, newsman RE All rights retained by author. My story is for the enjoyment of my readers only. It is *not* to be reposted, posted elsewhere, etc, without the express prior consent of the author. It is *not* to be made available in any media for profit or put up on any webpage. You are entitled to one hard copy (and/or electronic copy) for your own amusement. The characters in this story are purely fictional and any resemblance to people living or dead is coincidental. There are sexually explicit scenes in this story. If under the legal age, don't read further. If you have received this story as an e-mail, it has been sent without my permission and is not from me. Comments welcome. delta @ nym . alias . net Delta. REVENGE IS A DISH BEST SERVED . . . . By Delta copyright 2000 This was the last time I'd meet Karl in a place of his choosing. I reconsidered. Karl was the best customer I had and if a strip bar was where he wanted to meet, that is where we would meet. It would do my reputation neither good nor ill to be seen here. As my eyes became accustomed to the dim light after the bright sun outside, I saw an unoccupied table far from the empty stage. I made my way over to it after scanning the thin early crowd to make sure that Karl had not arrived before I had. Fat chance. He was almost always late, which tended to irk me a bit. Came from being an army brat, I supposed. My father had always made punctuality out to be one of the great virtues. I guess I had inherited (or been inculcated with) that belief. I laughed at myself. It didn't matter that I *knew* Karl would be late, I was still five minutes early for our meeting. I sat down. Nothing much was going on. It was still too early and the after-work crowd hadn't shown up yet. A server made her way over to me. She looked tired. Likely she was covering the entire floor until it became a little busier. Dark haired, she was, with a pleasant face and nice figure I noted automatically. She stepped around a chair which had been left sticking out from its table and looked up to catch me watching her. She smiled and I knew it was her professional smile. I smiled back. "What'll it be?" I liked her voice. "Do you have wine?" I asked. She laughed at the way I said it, as if ready to be snake-bit. "Red or white?" she grinned. I nodded in weary acceptance of the poor cellar. "White." "Coming right up." She turned and left and I followed her slightly swaying hips until they disappeared behind another customer. "Yeah, I could go for that piece of ass, myself." It was Karl, big, blond, tall and boorish, who'd come up from behind me and was following my gaze. He'd come from the direction of the washrooms, meaning that he'd been even earlier than I. Life was full of surprises. Right now I was just thankful that the dim lighting masked the slight blush which had come to my face after being caught watching the server's bottom. "What're you doing way over here?" Karl tugged on my sleeve and then led the way up to the stage where two glasses of beer sat on coasters on the ledge in front of two empty stools. Gynecology row, I think they called it. I sat down hoping, now, that no one I knew would come in. Karl pulled the second glass of beer over to him as he downed what had been left in the first glass. "Ahh!" he breathed out as if the beer were the nectar of the gods. "Good stuff." He took a large quaff from the other and signaled the server at the same time. Great. Just what I needed, a drunk Karl. I pulled out my slim notebook and opened it. "Have you had time to go over my proposal?" "Gimme a minute." He turned to the server who greeted him with a big smile. Not, I noted, the professional smile she'd used on me. "Hey, Kate, want you to meet a friend of mine. Alan." She looked at me and nodded, her smile now friendly. "You're a friend of Karl's?" she asked as she placed a coaster down in front of me and placed my glass of white wine on it. I paid with a ten-spot and pushed back one dollar of the change. Her eyes thanked me. "'Fraid so," I grimaced in mock despair. Karl would like that. She nodded, sizing me up. It was as if it explained my presence in a joint which didn't fit the way I was dressed. "Don't take it too hard," she soothed, "we all make mistakes." Karl tilted his head back and guffawed. "Good one, Kate." He gave her a quick pat on the behind which I don't think she really enjoyed, but which brought a smile to her face nonetheless. I guess there was a slightly pained expression on my face--I don't much like it when people take advantage like that--and I looked up to see her watching me closely. Karl, keeping center stage belched forth, "Another two." He indicated the empty and half empty glass. She picked up the empty and turned, receiving another light pat as she walked away. That was my Karl, a real lady's man. "Yep, wouldn't mind having that in my bed at all," Karl said appreciatively. He turned to look at me, a wide grin on his face. "Course, Brenda would kill me if I did, but there's no harm in looking . . . or the occasional pat, is there?" It was a quiet warning that I was to say nothing about this where Brenda might hear. "Nothing wrong at all," I agreed. "Now, about my proposal. I have all the figures here . . ." "Later, man." He tilted his head in the direction of the sound equipment. A busty brunette stood there, talking with the soundman. She handed him a tape and made her way to the stage. The stage lights came on and the first beats of the music started. "Gentlemen, please welcome TIFFANY!" Applause and some catcalls and whistles. "I cannnnn't hear you!" The catcalls and whistles became louder. I clapped my hands together politely. It was going to be a long and probably unproductive business meeting. Oh well . . . . I took a sip of the wine which was serviceable, but not worth what I'd paid for it. Then again, it wasn't just the wine I was paying for. Tiffany, dressed in colourful, pleated, Spanish party dress, knew how to move. There was a wide smile on her face as she spun for the crowd, the skirt coming up to show her white undergarment. She'd obviously taken some ballet at one time or another, but she'd obviously blossomed. Hers was no longer the typical ballerina's body. Loving dance, I projected, and being no longer the 'type' for ballet, she'd come to express herself in other ways. You could tell by her face that she enjoyed doing what she was doing--either that or she was a very good actor and I don't think she was that good. I applauded dutifully with the rest when the piece came to an end. Now a slower piece played and she began to take off her white blouse, exposing her large bra encased breasts. They weren't surgically enhanced, either, I noted, as they obeyed all the laws of gravity and inertia. Karl was transfixed by the sight of them, and he gave a loud wolf-whistle as the bra came off and she held it high above her head in her two hands. It was like a salute of victory and she displayed herself to the four corners. Not really my cup of tea, my gaze had wondered about the room until it finally settled upon the next dancer, who'd just come from the dressing room and was talking with the soundman. She was a blonde and something about the way she stood caught my attention. She had her back to me and her blond hair came down well past her shoulders hiding any possible sighting of her features. There was something about the way she shifted her weight from foot to foot that reminded me of someone . . . Wendy. I hadn't thought of Wendy in at least . . . oh a week. Dear Wendy who had been the love of my life for one year and the bane of my existence for the next six months before we'd both had enough and called it quits. A cold empty feeling filled my stomach. Did I have to see her in every woman who bore even the faintest resemblance to . . . . Dear God! I froze as the blonde brought her hand to her mouth, kissed her fore and index fingers and then touched them to the soundman's cheek. The cold in my stomach spread out through my entire body before my stomach rebelled and jumped. That had been a patented Wendy 'thank-you'. I could even feel the touch on my own cheek as she touched his. She turned and I stared. There was no longer any doubt about it. It *was* Wendy. Dear, sweet, little Wendy. Vindictive, prudish Wendy. What was she doing here? Wendy stripping? It just didn't make any sense. This woman, who thought anything but the missionary position was depraved, here? Just seeing her brought up all the old resentments. I still had the note she'd left on the kitchen table before she'd walked out, leaving me to find it and the empty house when I came home from work. I read it now and again to keep my anger fresh whenever I thought nice thoughts of her and whenever I neared the decision to just let it go. Karl was whooping it up beside me and I dragged my attention back to the stage for the moment. The well-built brunette was doing her 'floor-show'. She was on a blanket, lying on her back opening and closing her legs in time to the music, twisting so that each side of the stage got a good look at her exposed pussy. At that moment she twisted around again and gave Karl and me a good look. Gynecology row. Good Lord, would Wendy be doing something similar? My Ex doing it for all these men? How did I feel about that? Not any of my business, I decided. Then my thoughts went back to the note. She'd always liked to get in the last word and that had been hers. A typical Wendy move which didn't allow me to bring out my own hurts, to argue my own case. According to the note, it had all been my fault. She'd poured out all the vitriol she'd been storing up and let fly with it. It still hurt. For two years now I'd planned my revenge, what I could say, how I could hurt her back. Suddenly it hit me. Now was my chance. A small smile came to my lips. Revenge is a dish best served cold, I'd heard. I was cold now. There was a cold anger inside and I could use it to exact my revenge. Who better than an ex-lover knew all the buttons to push? Who knew all the intimate things which could be used to embarrass? My face went quiet as I considered still other things: like her old friends and acquaintances. That crowd didn't come to places like this. They were a much more upscale lot. But they would come if I suggested it. Some I would tell and some I'd let it be a surprise to. But Wendy, poor Wendy, she'd be the one to get the real surprise. If I was lucky it would about finish her. The brunette was collecting her things and getting ready to leave the stage. I looked over at Karl. He was beaming. Conservative. I almost laughed. If I had a couple of people start chanting 'conservative' to some of her moves we'd really see something. 'Conservative' had been my code-word for 'prude' in our arguments. If she asked me about her clothes or hair style or anything and I replied that it was a touch on the conservative side--boom! Instant argument. Her face would turn red and she sputter for a few moments before things became really interesting. Actually, it had been my only way to get her to try other positions--like the fearsome doggy style, or woman on top. I could almost see her, now, back in our bedroom as we got ready for some good old-fashioned sex. "God, Wendy, you're beautiful!" She preened in front of me, laughing good-naturedly at my trapped hardness as I viewed her naked body before me. "You're a pretty sexy babe, you know." She laughed and danced around me, kissing at my hands, my bare back, my chest and my lips as I bent over to capture her. "You're kinda cute, yourself, Alan." She casually stroked her hand up and down my hardness, then squatted suddenly, pulling my shorts down to my feet, allowing my stiff cock to spring up. She kissed her two fingers and touched them to my cock, a knowing grin on her face. As I reached for her she danced backwards toward the bed and threw herself on it. After bouncing she opened her legs and arms to me. Her wonderful breasts were tipped by lovely hard nipples and her soft pubic hair was nicely parted in the middle, showing me the way to her paradise. Her smile was one part love, one part excitement. I moved for the bed, then stopped abruptly, putting a considering look on my face. She gave a little frown. "What is it, darling?" Her face held a tentative smile. "Don't you think the missionary position is a little conservative?" I asked judiciously. Her smile disappeared and her eyes flashed anger as her face grew red. She glared at me for about five seconds then she turned over and got to her hands and knees. She turned her head to look at me, and my god but she was a picture of beauty. "I've read what you wrote," she sneered at me. "Is this what you want?" she spat out. Her back was bent and her ass up in the air. Her hair, wild and tossed, framed her face. She looked like a lioness. I loved the way her breasts hung down, just waiting to be held. It was, indeed, what I wanted and I was going to take advantage of it. She wanted me to apologize and humble myself. Then she'd forgive and we'd have nice ordinary sex. Instead I smiled. "I think you've got it down just right!" Shock and then anger filled her face. "Then take it, you bastard," she snarled. I did. I got up behind her and held my cock at her entrance. Then I pushed, hard. She was ready, but she wasn't. I enjoyed the sudden expulsion of breath and I didn't let up. I gave it to her hard and fast, cupping a breast with one hand and using the other to best advantage at our juncture. She went wild on me, bucking back into me, meeting my every thrust. There's nothing quite like a good angry fuck, and she was trying to prove something, though I don't think even she knew just what. I'd studied her body, knew just what she liked and gave it to her. She was gasping now, not just from my assault, but from her own excitement. "Oh God, oh God," she kept repeating in pants as she spiraled up out of control. "Oh God!" She shouted out the words as her body went rigid. I kept moving in her and stroking her clit and she cried out inarticulately as her arms collapsed. Her ass was still in the air, held there by me and I pumped into her hard and fast. "Oh, God!" I echoed her cry and collapsed on top of her. Her hips came down under my weight and her legs splaying out to either side of my own. It was at least two minutes before either of us could do more than simply pant. It had been the best sex of our relationship, I knew. She knew it, too--but would she admit it? I finally got up the strength to roll off of her. She waited another minute, recovering herself, before she spoke. "Is that the sort of thing you enjoy?" Sarcasm dripped from her tongue. There was no question as to what she was calling me. I slapped her playfully on the butt. "Precisely, my dear." I was going to spend the next several days paying for my pleasure, so why not enjoy it to its full? She rolled over and off the bed, heading for the bathroom to wash the filth and perversion from her body in a long shower. I fell to sleep. That didn't help matters any, either. "Yes! Oh, Baby!" Karl was shouting and howling and whooping, and it brought me back. Half the clientele were on their feet whooping and shouting. There were quite a few more in the bar, now that the dancers had started. I guess the regulars knew the times by heart. I looked up and saw Wendy climb up on the stage with three rolled up posters. Above the noise, I heard the soundman giving his introduction. "Gentlemen, a big round of applause for ANGEL, our Angel of Desire!" He needn't have bothered. Wendy, aka Angel, was strutting her stuff on the stage, cupping her free hand to her ear as the patrons tried to attract her attention, desirous of one of her posters. For some reason I badly wanted to see one, but not badly enough to make a fuss. I hoped that Karl would do it for me, so to speak. One man behind us was giving forth with a quavering cry and a poster went flying over our heads to him. Everyone else stepped up their own noise-making. Karl received the second one from a broadly grinning Angel and the third went to a young man off to our left. The noise abated as the music came up. The music was fast and Angel danced like a mad woman, her hair flying all over the place. It totally surprised me. There was no hint of inhibition. Her movements were open and full-bodied. I was impressed. Beside me, Karl was removing the elastic band from the poster. I glanced down to watch him open the poster. It was about 18 x 24 inches and had a naked Angel on hands and knees, back bent and presenting her rear quarter, so one got a good view of her pussy, but still could see her beautiful breasts hanging down. Her hair was like a mane, tossed by the wind; her face turned to the camera with a wild expression. "Wow!" Karl muttered loud enough for me to hear. "Gotta get her to sign this!" Wow! was right. Outside of the incident I'd just been recalling, this was the sexiest I'd ever seen her. I almost wanted one, myself, but then I thought of all the terrible things she'd said to me. One of the worst things she could do was ask about my 'novel'. "How's your 'novel' coming?" would lead to an argument just about as fast as my saying the word 'conservative'. I'd asked her to read and comment upon it as I wrote. A major mistake. She'd been particularly upset with the early sex scenes, though they were milder than some of the ones in the romances she seemed to love--I know, I read a couple of them. She stopped reading and she never let me forget her disdain. If she asked how my writing was coming, then she was being solicitous. If she asked about my 'novel'--boom! I went cold inside again. And cold, I remembered, is how the dish called revenge is best served. Two months after she left I finished the novel. Another eight months until it was published. It didn't do badly, but it was apparent that my writing would never earn me a good living. As they suggested, I didn't give up my day job. Angel's skirt was gone and she pranced about in her high heels, panties, garter and bra. From here and there, folded bills were being held up. She would dance over to the man holding one up and he would slip it into her garter. Often she would bend down and give the man a kiss on the forehead. One man held up a bill and she danced over to him. I don't know what he said, but she went to her knees before him, held her hands high in the air and gyrated. He put the bill in her garter and she pulled his head between her breasts and hugged it. A great laugh went up from the man's companions. 'Conservative'. I would begin to chant it and see what she did then. She'd recognize me and know what it meant, though none of the others would. Then, for her next performance, I'd have some of her acquaintances here, some who would enjoy spreading the word, who would love to see her naked and humiliating herself. I was cold all over. It was time for revenge. Angel (as I now preferred to think of her) pursed her lips as she played with the clasp on her bra. Her eyes were wickedly lit with lust. She winked at a patron and quickly opened then closed her top. The patron, a fat man, threw his fist in the air and yelled "Yeah!" She laughed, twisted and danced away to give a peep to someone on the other side of the stage. She was obviously enjoying herself immensely. I could end that with a word. With a single word. I prepared as she danced my way. I'd never seen her this exuberantly happy. Thinking back, I wonder if I'd ever really seen her happy at all. A single word. Her face was above me as Karl put a folded bill in her garter. She leaned down to kiss his forehead. At that moment she saw me. Recognition was sudden and total. Her face fell for just an instant before she kissed his forehead, pulled her smile back up, stood and danced back to the other side. It was different, now, and everyone who was truly watching could realize it. Something had gone wrong, but I was the only one who knew what. I watched her face closely, seeing that her enjoyment had gone. The freedom of the dance wasn't as it had been. It was the first step on the path to revenge. Wendy was there and within my grasp. Angel had disappeared. The openness was gone. The mere sight of me here had done it. Just think what I could do with a word! I pulled a bill out of my wallet and began to write upon it. Finished, I folded it and held it aloft. Wendy noticed at once, but found a reason to dance somewhere else. It took a half minute, during which time her top had been discarded, until she finally decided to face me. She danced her way over, knelt before me and gave me a good look at her breasts. I held up the bill, reached forth and placed it in her garter. I looked straight into her eyes and said three words instead of one. "Live the Joy!" I mouthed them again and a great smile came to her face. She leaned forward and gave me a light kiss on the lips, took my hands and placed them on her breasts, then turned a back somersault and came to her feet in the middle of the stage. The crowd cheered. Angel was back. She danced with abandon through her next number which saw her lose everything but her shoes. She was very, very good and I was excited because I knew she was dancing for me. Not for the crowd and not for herself, but for me. For the gift I'd given. Yes, that, and to prove to me what she could do. She was loving every minute of it. Then the last song came on. It was Patti Smith singing 'Because the Night'. The sensuous way she moved, the intimate motions had most of the audience sitting spellbound. She went on her hands and knees just like a cat, wagging her rear about in a way which said sex with capital letters. She was playing to me, I knew and I laughed with the sheer joy of it all. It was good to laugh. Laughter was cleansing. She saw me laughing and gave me this great grin before turning her sexy face back on and looking at one of the others on gynecology row. Angel finished her blanket dance with a flourish to wild applause. She mouthed the words 'Thank-you' to me. I saw Kate with her jacket on, getting ready to go. Her shift was over. "We'll have our meeting later, Karl," I told him and stood. He stood as well, his poster gripped in his hand. "Think she'll sign it for me?" "Definitely. Give her my love, will you?" He looked a little startled, but I was already turning, of no mind to explain. I met Kate at the door and held it open for her. "Thank you, Alan." She'd remembered my name. "My pleasure. Can I offer you a coffee?" She looked at me speculatively, then nodded. "Okay, a coffee it is." We walked to a small restaurant a couple of blocks away and sat down to coffee, strong and black. "You really a friend of Karl's?" "Not really. He's a customer. One of my best, actually." She nodded. "He helped my brother through a bad time. Might even have saved his life." That explained a lot. She sat there contemplating her coffee. Finally she looked up. "I was watching you during that last dancer's set." I met her gaze. "Care to tell me about it?" "My Ex." She raised her eyebrows. "Really. I had no idea she'd be there. It was something of a surprise. Haven't seen or heard from her in two years. Had no idea she danced." "How did you part?" "Bitterly," I laughed, feeling foolish for having held all that hate inside me for so long. "Tell me about it." There are times to question a woman and times to just do as she tells you without question. This was one of those latter times. I told her. When I'd finished the coffee was gone and so were the slices of pie we'd ordered. "So, what did you write on that bill?" She'd seen everything. I was flattered. "I wrote, 'You look happy. Stay that way.'" Kate nodded, satisfied. She glanced at her watch. "Oh, it's getting late. I have to go now." We both stood. I paid the check and we left the restaurant. I walked her to her bus stop. The bus came to a halt and the waiting people began to climb in. Then it was her turn. She paused at the first step. "I get off same time every week day." She climbed on board and the bus moved off. I walked back the way I'd come then, just for the hell of it, jumped up and clicked my heels. Got a couple of odd looks from strangers nearby. I laughed, not caring what they thought. I was warm all through. About a week later I received a letter in the mail. In it was a postcard with the same photo as had been on the poster. On the back she'd written. "Got your address from Karl. Bet you recognize where this pose came from. You live the joy, too. Angel. PS: Read your book. It was good." I went into my files and removed that last note she'd written. I tore it into little pieces and dumped them into the garbage. They say that revenge is a dish best served cold. They are wrong. Revenge is a dish best served not at all. End of "Revenge is a dish best served . . ." by Delta delta @ nym . alias . net -- Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated. +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+ | alt.sex.stories.moderated ----- send stories to: <ckought69@hotmail.com> | | FAQ: <http://assm.asstr-mirror.org/faq.html> Moderator: <story-ckought69@hotmail.com> | +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+ |Archive: <http://assm.asstr-mirror.org> Hosted by Alt.Sex.Stories Text Repository | |<http://www.asstr-mirror.org>, an entity supported entirely by donations. | +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+