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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
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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.
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