Dragon's Breath Magazine, September '91

by Jeffrey MacManus

      As he poured hot coffee along the length of his live-in girlfriend's quivering calves, Juan thought of just how lucky he was. Lucky to have a girlfriend who'd give in to his incessant demands, and lucky to have such demands in the first place.
      His girlfriend, Maria, was lying on her back, blindfolded, and tied to a pair of special hooks mounted in the bathtub. The tub was half-full of lukewarm water turned brown by the constant application of warm French Roast coffee to her legs, genitals, and belly. Juan had been pouring it onto her body for over an hour, and her thighs were beginning to redden. She had great thighs, by the way.
      "Ah," his girlfriend said. "That's too hot."
      "Sorry," Juan said half-heartedly, applying an ice cube to the injured area. But he continued to pour and pour, and pretty soon she began to wonder if he was going to fuck her or not. And if so, how.
      In the next room, Maria could hear the automatic-drip coffee maker brewing up another pot.
      Juan had opened a window to the outside right after he'd blindfolded her, and three guys from the neighborhood were outside with camcorders. A small group of neighborhood boys was also there, pointing, talking quietly to each other, and nonchalantly scratching their crotches from time to time. And, unbeknownst to any of them, a raccoon had taken up position in the bushes outside the house, but was quickly losing interest.
      "I'm starting to get a cramp in my neck," Maria said.
      "Shut up," Juan said. When the blindfold went on, he was boss.
      It was getting late, and the half-dozen boys watching outside should have been getting home. But they stayed around as Juan began beating Maria somewhat savagely about the thighs and buttocks with the back of a heated hairbrush.
      "Ah!" Maria said. "That's too hard!"
      "Shut up," Juan said.
      One of the boys from outside came closer to the window, propelled as if by some moral slingshot. The boy, who could be no older than nine, wore a red baseball cap that had a white letter O in the middle of it. He was dirty, too: he'd been playing and running around all day. And he didn't have the slightest idea what was going on in Juan and Maria's bathroom.
      "Hey," the boy said.
      "Who's that?" Maria said.
      Outside, the boy's friends and the men with the camcorders scurried away, realizing the jig was undoubtedly up.
      "What are you doing to her?" the boy asked.
      "None of your fucking business," Juan said, reaching to close the bathroom window. "Take a fucking hike."
      But the kid was too fast for him. In a flash, he'd grabbed hold of the window-ledge, pulled himself up onto the sill, and plunged into the bathroom, knocking Juan over.
      Overpowering Juan wasn't too difficult, even for the nine-year-old. Juan was only five-foot-two, and he had been drinking for the past seven hours, so he fell over quickly after wrestling with the boy for a few minutes.
      "What's going on?" Maria asked. "What's happening?"
      She struggled to get loose from her binding, but could not - Juan tied a mean knot.
      But now Juan was unconscious on the floor of the bathroom, bleeding from his left ear after striking the side of the sink.
      It was only the woman and the boy now.
      "What's your name, lady?" the boy asked.
      "Maria," she said. "Who are you?"
      "I'd better not say," the boy said. "Do you like this? All this? Do you like it?"
      "Uh," the woman said. "Yes."
      The boy looked around for awhile, closed the bathroom window, and made sure the door to the bathroom was locked. He then picked up the pitcher full of hot coffee and picked up where Juan had left off.

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