Chapter 6
CHAPTER SIX
INDIGO
“Tonight is the night... when Ramon gets a new pretty face!” I scream-sing in the shower. My heart races with excitement, each note punctuated by a wild giggle that echoes off the tile.
I can barely contain my glee as I think about the masterpiece I’m about to create. The thrill of it pulses through my veins. I can already see the look on Ramon’s face—the mix of terror and disbelief—as he realizes that beauty comes at a price. I want to hear him cry, to feel the desperation in his voice as I transform him.
This afternoon, on my ride home from the bike shop, I stumbled upon a new construction home. The moment I laid eyes on it, something clicked. It’s set in an open field, far from prying eyes, with nothing but bare bones—perfect for what I have in mind. No neighbors to interrupt the artistry. Just me and Ramon, and the sweet sound of his begging.
Stepping out of the shower, I pad to my dresser, completely naked and unashamed. I pull on a pink chrome pleather jumpsuit, the tightness wrapping around me like a lover’s embrace. Who needs panties or a bra? This jumpsuit shows every line, and even I’m not that crazy.
Back in the bathroom, I braid my hair, twisting the strands as I pin it atop my head, creating a crown for tonight’s queen. I swipe on a matching shade of lipstick and layer on mascara that makes my eyes pop. After slipping into some black flats that add a touch of elegance, I’m ready.
As I drive to Dodge Lane, my heart races. I’m taking a chance, hoping he will be here tonight again. Sure enough, as I pull into the parking lot, I spot him—the man of the hour, strolling toward the door, blissfully unaware of the danger that awaits him. My lips curl into a grin, excitement bubbling over. Tonight is going to be unforgettable.
My intuition is spot on. Ramon is a creature of habit, predictable as a clock ticking down to midnight. I just knew if he was inviting some nice lady here last night, this would be his chosen haunt. But tonight? Tonight is the last time he’ll ever show his face here—or anywhere else.
I park my bike, the engine humming to a stop as I swing my leg over and pull off my helmet, checking my hair for any flyaways. Strutting toward the door, I tug at my tits, lifting them just a bit, a daring little tease before I walk inside.
As soon as I step through the door, a haze of smoke envelops me. The gross smell of stale beer, a pungent reminder of how grateful I am to not work in a place like this. No holiday decorations in sight, just the usual dim lighting and sticky floors. This place couldn’t care less about Christmas cheer, and for that, I’m thankful. I glide up to the bar, positioning myself to have the perfect view of Ramon. I set my clutch down, waving the bartender over with a flirtatious grin, order a Wet Pussy, and set the night in motion.
I take a sip and gag at the taste, a shudder coursing through me. The peach schnapps is sickly sweet, and the cranberry just amplifies it. It’s gut rot in a glass, and I’d choose my Apple Crown any day over this sugary disaster. But I remind myself that the kind of woman Ramon likes doesn’t order whiskey. He’s hunting for an easy, giggly target, and tonight, I’m more than ready to play that part.
It doesn’t take long—just three drinks—before Ramon slides onto the stool next to me.
“This one’s on me,” he coos to the bartender, but his gaze is fixed on my tits, hungry and unyielding.
“Thanks!” I giggle, throwing a wink his way. “But that has to be my last one. I’m getting kinda drunk,” I add, a playful pout on my lips, knowing full well it’s all part of the game.
I can feel the warmth of his hand on my thigh, causing my stomach to roll. “We better make this one count then, huh, sugar?”
“What are you thinking, handsome?”
“I’m thinking we go back to my place after this round. I’ll show you a good time.”
With a smile, I playfully nibble on my bottom lip. “You should get a drink too, then. We need to cheer to the night.”
“You’re right.” He smirks. “Hey, barkeep!” His voice echoes across the crowded bar. “Get me a Malort on the rocks. Make it a double.”
Even his drink of choice is disgusting. Malort tastes like sweat and gasoline; only douchebags and weirdos enjoy it.
The bartender slides us our drinks, and Ramon hands him his card. He looks at me with a twinkle in his eyes and raises his glass in a toast. “To tonight and how you’re gonna look on my big dick.”
“Bold,” I husk. “I like that.”
We clink our glasses together, and I drink from mine. As I set my glass down on the bar, my hand accidentally grazes the sticky bar top, causing my cash to fall to the floor.
“I got you.” Ramon bends down and starts picking up the few singles I have left. Seizing the opportunity while his attention is elsewhere, I extract the small capsule hidden in my cleavage and sprinkle the powder into his glass.
He straightens, carefully placing my money back on the bar top, and I pick up his drink, pretending to savor its aroma. “Mmmm.”
With a swirling motion, I carefully place the liquor down and eagerly observe as he drinks the remaining contents. “Drink up, sugar. I’m ready to take you home with me.” He licks his lips.
“Well, let’s go then.” I stand, grab my clutch, and take his hand, letting him lead me from the bar.
By the time we get to the parking lot and are crossing to his car, the drug has kicked in. After stumbling a few steps, Ramon stops abruptly and gazes around, looking disoriented.
“Whaaa ssss wrong ith me?” he slurs.
“Shh. Shh. Shh,” I whisper, gently cupping his face in my hands. “You just drank too much. I got you.”
I guide him to his car, forcefully push him into the passenger seat, and hastily settle into the driver’s seat. With a swift movement, I reach over and retrieve the keys from Ramon’s pocket, feeling the cool touch of the metal against my skin.
In just ten minutes, we reach the house, and I gently wrap my arm around him, guiding him. When we get inside, I push him against the framed wall and tie him up.
In a bare-bones house, finding a way for him to remain upright and easily reachable is a challenge.
Now, I need my tools and to get rid of his car. Rushing back to the car, I drive to his street and park in front of his house.
Hurriedly, I grab the bleach wipes from my purse and start wiping down the steering wheel, the gearshift, the door handle—every surface my fingers touched. Each swipe erases any trace of me.
Satisfied, I pause to glance around, making sure no one's watching. I step out and close the door with my sleeve, scanning the quiet street. I walk a block, maybe two, before pulling out my phone and ordering an Uber. The driver arrives in minutes, a middle-aged man with tired eyes and a silence I’m grateful for. He doesn’t try to make small talk, just focuses on the road. The hum of the engine and the muted glow of streetlights are my only companions.
The ride to the bar is quiet, the streets lights blurring past. Once I’m dropped off, I straddle the seat of my bike and put my helmet on, feeling the familiar hum of the engine beneath me. Now I'm ready to make Ramon pay for touching what’s not his.