Calvados

"Do you like Calvados?" Angela asked, brandishing a bottle, as she barged her way into the hotel room. Jonathan Franklin had been alone in there since leaving the studio earlier that evening. She had taken him completely by surprise; he had only just had a shower and only a white terry cloth bathrobe shielded his naked vulnerability from her.

"I've never had it. What is it?" He asked surveying the bottle in her hands.

"It's a drink, a bit like brandy, but made with peaches and almonds? she said somewhat dishonestly, perhaps trying to make it sound more exciting than it was. She disappeared into the bathroom to fetch glasses.

Jonathan was a nineteen year old student who had had a crush on Angela Armitage since he was fourteen. In her thirties, she was very much the darling of Middle-Brow television, hosting quiz shows and the occasional chat show. She was a tall blonde lady with enormous blue eyes, who was incredibly photogenic.

Her beauty was not the obvious kind, that passes for glamour in most tabloid pin-ups, but of another order entirely. She always gave the impression of being very intelligent (which she was), since her brow was high, and her eyes penetrating. She always dressed in elegant suits both on television and in real life. Many of the clothes she wore were graciously provided by Italian design houses, in return for an acknowledgement in the closing credits of any porgram on which she appeared.

Jonathan was a good-looking boy who oozed youthful overconfidence. His appearence on "The Short Straw" (the quiz show which Angela hosted) had not won him many friends, because of the arrogant way in which he dealt with all of the questions. He had been more than a match for Angela, who had earned a certain notoriety for her acerbic wit in putting down contestants who failed to answer questions correctly, and a pitiless lack of sympathy for those who lost quantities of money that would probably make significant differences to the quality of their lives. She derived a certain enjoyment from letting people have what they wanted, and then violently snatching it from their hands, and much of the show's appeal was based on the schadenfreude of the audience when this occurred. The show also sold on the ridiculously large amount of prize money on offer.

Jonathan was the only contestant the show had ever had who looked at all likely of winning the jackpot of twenty million pounds. He had already won a million, before it had been necessary to stop the filming for the evening (the shows were recorded over a two week period in a studio near Central London, and broadcast over several weeks later in the year).

He had two more straws to draw: the long straw in which was contained a question that would, if answered correctly, enable him to double his winnings; and a short straw, also containing a question, which would result in his winnings being increased by a factor of ten. The short straw questions were supposedly harder, and usually defeated the contestants in the end, and failure to answer a question resulted in losing all of the accumulated winnings. Jonathan, had not been phased by any of the short straw questions so far, and was very close to the full twenty million.

He could have retired from the game with the million, but he calculated that he could win the twenty million without any difficulty. Furthermore staying over night meant he could spend longer with Angela Armitage. Since he was already a millionaire he could ask her out, and take her somewhere nice. Being quite a cocky teenager aware of his own good looks, he was sure she would accept, but the opportunity had not yet arisen, until now, when she turned up at his door with the bottle of Calvados.

He took the glass she offered him, and drank the viscous amber fluid. It stung his lips slightly, and produced a sense of warmth within him. He did not normally drink, being unusually abstemious for a student, but he decided he liked it.

He sat on the bed, while she made herself comfortable in the armchair, taking her jacket off, to reveal a low cut silk blouse, which showed a tantalising half inch of interesting cleavage. He wondered how to approach the issue of asking her out. He was alone with Angela now, and there was nothing to stop him, but somehow his confidence deserted him. He groped the recesses of his mind for the best way of suggesting a date, and hopefully sex afterwards.

He need not have said anything, since Angela sensed his attraction. He was just another man (or rather a boy). She waited, enjoying the silence, since it exacerbated his discomfit. His mind drifted on to the question of whether one asks television personalities on a date. (Does their fame get in the way of any possible intimacy?) His thoughts were suddenly interrupted by Angela's pleasant voice, enunciating a question, but one that did not require a correct answer.

"I can't taste the almonds," he said. "But it is nice. It has a delicious sting."

This told Angela, all she needed to know. She went over and kissed the young boy on the lips. A delicate gentle kiss, but as her tongue probed his mouth, it promised so much more to come. He responded eagerly, if inexpertly. He was grateful she had made the first move, and removed the need for words. His penis swelled, to a size he never imagined possible. His skin felt so tight around his glans, as if it was being stangled. She could sense his arousal, and thought contemptuous thoughts about teenagers, and the ease with which they are seduced.

The feel of her soft lips on his was so exciting, he never wanted to let them go. Then suddenly she bit his lower lip.

She bit deep and hard, and drew blood, which left traces on her teeth and lips. Slowly she licked the scarlet fluid, with enjoyment of a vampire. She took a mouthful from the bottle, and kissed him again, passing the Calvados into his mouth from hers, and running her spirit sodden tongue over his cut lip. It stung so hard, he wanted to scream. She suddenly disengaged. His mouth open, the Calvados dripped over his sore lower lip again, causing more pain.

She laughed mercilessly.

"I'm a bit like Calvados," she said harshly. "I sting deliciously too, and I can make you feel warm inside as well."

She pulled the cord of his bathrobe, causing it to fall open. She placed her sole and stilletto heel on his bare chest, and pushed with them so that he fell backwards onto the bed. He did not know what to expect, as he was inexperienced in many of the refinements of sex. He did not understand what Angela was doing to him, but he knew he was enjoying it. She was taking control so he did not have to. He was to do what she told him, and not to question it, ever.

She tied one end of the cord, around Jonathan's wrist, and threaded it through the brass bedstead. She took his other wrist and tied it as well, tightly so the material dug into his flesh. Jonathan's arms now lay spread out along the width of the bed. His feet were unfettered, but that did not matter, he would not move.

Angela stood up on the large double bed. Its yielding surface did not affect her poise or balance, despite the spike-heeled shoes she wore. She walked around Jonathan?s prone, restrained body admiring him. Naked to all intents and purposes, with the bathrobe open like angels wings underneath him, she began her devilish seduction.

She stood with her feet either side of his head, and undid her skirt, letting it flutter down over Jonathan's face. It filled him with her scent, light perfume. The soft material caressed his face. She was not touching him, but he could feel her.

Stepping out of the skirt, she tossed it aside. She let Jonathan look at her naked sex above the high gloss sheen of her flesh-coloured stockings. Her top half remained shrouded in silken blouse which hung like a curtain over the lower reaches of her midriff.

Completely beguiled, he was transported to a world beyong the most unrealistic of his dreams, and his penis swelled even more. He struggled against his bonds, wanting to free his hands so he could touch her, and yet peculiarly the restraint enhanced the intensity of his arousal.

She stood upon his taut stomach, her stilletto heels digging into the skin, leaving deep imprints where they had been. Jonathan held his breath, trying not to move his diaphragm, so that she would not fall. Despite the discomfort, he clenched his teeth. Trying not to shout, not to give vent to his pain, unless the movement unbalanced her. She lifted one foot, leaving more weight on the other, causing him even greater agony. With the pointed toe of her raised shoe she tickled Jonathan?s burgeoning erection.

He felt the hard leather against his foreskin, its touch was gentle, and cool compared with the heat retained by his now enormous member. She smiled as she sensed the effect she was having on him.

She turned around on his tight, muscular stomach, leaving heel-shaped impressions wherever she moved, and placed the sole of her shoe against his mouth. Instinctively he began to lick it, the taste was nasty but he continued, until she raised her foot again. This time she stuck her spiked heel into the cut of his lip. Hurting him there all over again.

She was a petite woman, and yet when channelled through the conduit of her narrow heels, it caused so much pain, in the midst of which there was tremendous excitement, and he trembled with passion and desire. He could not believe what was happening. He hoped the building tension would have its release and soon, but for now he had to watch and wait.

She stepped off his stomach, and continued to walk around the bed. Never once losing her balance. It was as if she was looking for something, and when she found whatever it was, she dug her heel into his chest again, and with her toe raised, dragged the heel across his skin causing a deep scratch. He cried out, and struggled against his fetters, to no avail. She continued to scratch with her heel, making patterns of thick crisscrosses and curves.

"You're fortunate," she said sarcastically. "I don't usually give autographs."

He did feel fortunate. He was in bed with the woman he loved, although not quite in the way he had always imagined. Her cruelty was the most powerful erotic charge he had known in his limited sexual experience. He felt it was love, since he was giving her what she wanted: his body as a plaything to do with as she pleased, enjoying the way she derived enjoyment from hurting him.

With his chest and stomach now an erratic latticework of deep scratches, Angela took the Calvados and poured it over the damaged skin of his chest. It started to set off numerous little sparks of soreness, as it seeped into the wounds. She placed her sex over his mouth, and bade him bathe it with his tongue, and to tug it gently with his sore lips, while she licked the Calvados deep into the scratches, causing more pain, while she enjoyed the heady cocktail it made, when mixed with the drops of blood from his flesh.

Her arousal was palpable, and he could taste it inside her, as his tongue probed adventurously, in its frantic search for her pleasure centres. When he found them, her climax was quick to arrive, and of considerable intensity. She cried out loud when she came, and collapsed forward onto Jonathan's lacerated body. Her head lay next to his penis, and he could feel her warm, uneven breath caressing it, and thrilling him more.

When she recovered, she decorously dismounted Jonathan, and put her skirt on again. Taking the empty bottle of Calvados with her, she left Jonathan tied to the bed, with the taste of her orgasm on his lips, a room heavy with the smell of calvados, and an erection like a tree trunk.

"I want you!" He called out tearfully, as she reached for the door handle.

"Maybe tomorrow, when you win the twenty million," she smiled enigmatically, as wicked thoughts crossed her mind. "I promise." She added as an afterthought, before shutting the door behind her.

* * *

A deeply embarassed Jonathan was released from his bonds by a giggling chambermaid the next morning. He showered quickly and made it to the show in time. He was tired having slept little the night before, and with a considerable amount of soreness on his lips, chest, and stomach.

In no time at all he was back in the studio, ready to start filming for the end of the show where he would win twenty million pounds. He could not wait. He saw Angela standing in the middle of the stage, but she refused to look at him in a way that suggested anything had passed between them the night before. He remembered her promise last night however, and was sure that if he won the twenty million pounds, he would see her again, and maybe get to have all she had denied him. Last night had thrilled him. He had felt her sting, but now wanted the promised interior warmth.

The filming started. He took the long straw, from the large plastic fist on the stage and handed it to Angela. She pulled a thinly rolled up piece of paper from within, and asked the question that was supposedly written on it. In fact the questions were sent to her earpiece from the production gallery, where a man with a stack of quiz books and encyclopedias set the questions.

The show was completely fraudulent since contestants were often allowed to go on long winning streaks, before being fooled by obscure questions, from the abstruse outer reaches of general knowledge. The earlier rounds of the competition allowed the question setter to assess the strengths and weaknesses of the contestant's learning. He or she would be asked questions on subjects about which they displayed some knowledge, until they looked like winning serious money, in which case a suitably impossible question would be found, and they would go home with nothing.

Jonathan had so far defeated the attempts to catch him out. There was some worry that he might actually win the twenty million which would have bankrupted the production company. Angela however, who had most reason for concern (since she owned it), was confident that Jonathan would go away as poor as when he arrived. There was nothing to worry about, she reassured her team. The high ratings that a winner would produce would increase the market value of the program anyway. Certainly ratings soared when people had come close before. If she worried at all she concealed it well, as she asked Jonathan the long straw question.

"Who wrote the famous novel Don Quixote of La Mancha?" She asked, having heard it from the earpiece. There was no sign of tension in the even, almost sweet tones of Angela Armitage. She thought it was a fairly easy question for a bookish student, but she knew that there would be a sting in the tail.

"Miguel de Cervantes." Came the answer. Jonathon Franklin stood smugly behind the console, awaiting the confirmation of his correct riposte. His overconfidence in no way diminished by the events of the previous evening.

"I'm afraid I must have his FULL name, or you cannot win the money." Her voice was sharp, piercing almost. The audience were dumbstruck, since the more literate amongst them would have accepted Miguel de Cervantes as the complete answer. There was an air of expectation around the studio, as if everybody's hopes rested on what Jonathan was about to say.

There were some signs of relief in the production gallery, as Jonathan hesitated, giving every indication that he did not know the answer. Then came the shattering disillusion, as a smile formed on Jonathan's face.

"Miguel de Cervantes SAAVEDRA!"

The crowd was in uproar. Jonathan had won two million pounds. He had to draw the short straw question next If Jonathan correctly answered that question, he would win the jackpot of twenty million pounds.

He took the straw, and reverentially gave it to Angela. A question concerning astronomy came into her earpiece, but she chose to ignore it.

"Of what fruit (or fruits) is Calvados made?" She asked kindly. She smiled benificently, as if to suggest he already knew.

Jonathan smiled, thinking she wanted him to win, since last night she had told him the answer to the question. For effect he paused and made a gesture of giving the matter some thought, before decisively enunciating.

"Peaches and Almonds." He said. He tried to give the answer an intonation of hopeful enthusiasm that suggested he was not sure. Angela's kindly smile was to tell him he had won the quiz, he was certain. He tried to be restrained in his excitement, confident he was about to win twenty million pounds, more money than he was ever likely to see in his life. He was also going to bed with Angela, holding her firm exciting body, making repeated passionate love to her, as they rolled around a large divan covered in twenty milion pounds worth of banknotes.

Something was wrong though; strangely the audience groaned at his answer. He did not understand why, but did not care since he was as rich as Croesus, or so he thought.

"I'm afraid it's made from Apples Jonathan." Her tone was patronising, and contemptuous. There was a round of commiseratory applause from the audience. Jonathan suddenly felt as if his stomach had been surgically removed. He did not understand. Thinking back to the night before. He was sure she had said Calvados was made from Peaches and Almonds. Then he slowly realized that he had been led on, fooled by his own helpless adolescent crush on Angela.

The visit last night had been a set up to find something he did not know. Angela did not want him as a lover, and nor she did not want anyone to win the money. He could not believe how stupid he had been. He looked at her, and yet all he felt was arousal. Her continued cruelty exciting him even more than before. His lust precluded any anger. Particularly after all she had taught him last night. The only trace he would have of her would be the scars. He hoped they would be permanent. He would treasure them for always.

Angela's eyes shone triumphantly as she continued with the show's catchphrase. "You had two million pounds, you now have nothing, you drew the short straw, good bye!" With that he was led away from the studio, and never saw Angela Armitage ever again.