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From: Mad Dog Literata <literata@cyberramp.net>
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Subject: FW: STORY: KillJoy (FF, Violence, Extreme)
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Date: 17 Mar 1997 18:16:53 GMT
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PROLOGUE:
In the summer of 1978, the Central Intelligence Agency worked
in conjunction with the U.S. Army's Advanced BioChem Warfare Unit
at Fort Detrick to develop a highly specialized drug, which it
code named 'Alpha Blade.'
The first -- and only -- test on human subjects occurred in
April, 1979. Microdosages of Alpha Blade were administered to
eight US Army Medical Corps nursing students.
Within three hours, all eight subjects were dead. A partial
transcript of the after-incident report reads as follows:
"Subject 1 found dead from self-asphyxiation...
"Subject 2 [had] apparently crashed her head into a plate
glass window, with the deliberate intention of severing her
carotid artery...[her] hands were found inserted into her own
vagina and anus...
"Subject 9 found hanging in her room...extreme sexual
excitement detected during autopsy...
"Subjects 4 and 11 found in bed; each subject's hands were
stuffed into the other's throat, and into the other's vagina..."
The medical staff at Fort Detrick developed a serum that it
hoped would counteract the effects of Alpha Blade. Its code name
was "KillJoy," and was tested on only one human subject. This
subject, another nursing student, was subsequently committed to
the ultra-high-security detention center at Fort Detrick after
committing seven murders. She resides there today, in solitary
isolation and under a 24-hour armed guard. All psychological
tests on her show no abnormalities; there is, in fact, nothing
wrong with her except an uncontrollable impulse to kill. Unlike
the code name for "Alpha Blade," "KillJoy" turned out to be
especially prophetic.
In July, 1995, a survey of the Military Toxic Control Unit at
Fort Detrick determined that three vials each of Alpha Blade and
KillJoy were missing...
----------
Elizabeth Eileen Ross paused in the broad entryway of her
apartment, a rubber band in her mouth, her arms raised to the back
of her head where she was gathering her blonde hair in a ponytail.
She was wearing a shimmering blue lycra bodysuit beneath a silver
jumper with dancer's knee warmers and Nike tennis shoes. When she
had her hair pulled tight, clasped in one small, lavender-nailed
hand, she took the rubber band from her mouth and wound it several
times around the shank of hair. As she did this, pulling at the
loose hair of the ponytail to tighten the band, she listened to
the television in the living room where two of her roommates,
Patricia and Jennifer, were eating spanokopita and souvlaki.
Elizabeth Ross was a vivacious, charming woman. At 27, she was
the youngest securities broker in the company (Lewis Taggart and
Associates), and one of the best. She was, in her employer's
opinion, a rising star.
Elizabeth stood a little over 5'3" and at 120 pounds, felt that
she was a tad plump -- not that any of the men in her office would
have agreed, not with her hourglass figure and pert, rounded
breasts. She was rosy-cheeked, fresh, plump and tempting -- a
vividly beautiful woman. She wore her blonde hair in a modern
page-boy style. Everyone who knew her was struck by her kindness,
intelligence and femininity.
On Tuesdays and Thursdays, Elizabeth taught a computer class
for adult students at the local high school. On Mondays, she
tried to make time to tutor her young niece in algebra. Thursdays
were reserved for catching up on work and reading for pleasure.
The weekends, however, were something else...
Grabbing her monogrammed athletic bag from the closet near the
front door, she noticed Virginia's umbrella hanging against the
closet wall. Virginia refused to take it with her. It just
cluttered up the car, she argued, always getting in her way.
Besides, she simply never needed it. She parked in a covered
garage and walked to her office through the tunnels. She would
remind Virginia of the times she had been drenched -- it had
happened three times in the last three months -- but she would
shrug off her cautionary examples as 'unusual.' Virginia did not
entertain the unusual. At this, Elizabeth smiled, then left the
apartment.
A fresh spring rain had moved through the city only half an
hour earlier, making the woods fragrant and washing the city clean
in the dusk. Elizabeth inhaled deeply of the damp evening smells
as she tossed her bag into her dark blue Land Rover and climbed
behind the steering wheel, flipping on the headlights. It was
just now getting dark enough to use them. She started the rover,
fastened her seat belt, wheeled it around the island of magnolias
in front of the condominium, and drove quickly along the drive
bordered by a white fence covered with brambles of pyracantha.
When she reached the street, she waited for a car to pass as she
checked her watch. It was seven-forty. Her aerobics class began at
eight o'clock.
Hurrying along the winding street she came to the major north-
south artery of Voss and turned left. Within a mile or so she
would come to Woodway where she would need to turn left again to
go to Sabrina's, an athletic club that catered to the already
sleek bodies of the woman of the Villages. But Elizabeth Ross did
not turn left at Woodway. Instead she breezed past the
intersection and turned left at the next street, San Felipe, and
pushed the Land Rover east through the high-dollar neighborhoods
of Briargrove and Post Oak Estates and Tanglewood until she made
her first right turn onto the fashionably post Post Oak Boulevard.
Now known as Uptown Houston, the Galleria area was the largest
suburban business district in the nation. Its newest pearl was
the Pavilion, Saks Fifth Avenue, a multimillion-dollar complex of
elegant shops separated from the boulevard by a phalanx of sixty-
foot palms that glistened in the light mist that was now moving in
on heavy air from the coast fifty miles to the southeast.
With the lights of the office towers and high-rise
condominiums reflecting back at her from the wet, black boulevard,
Elizabeth Ross whipped the Land Rover into a medium turn lane and
quickly cut across traffic to the Doubletree Hotel, a flat-faced
structure with an inset glass curtain wall in its center section
that fell to two overlapping half-barrel arches that were also
made of glass and formed the hotel's porte-cochere. She did not
stop for the uniformed doorman who stepped to the curb to open her
door, but contrinued past him and drove around to the parking
garage gate. She took a ticket from the buzzing dispenser, which
opened the gate, and entered the garage, driving up to the third
level before finding an available parking space. She snatched her
bag out of the Land Rover, locked it, and walked to the elevator
which took her back down to the lobby.
At the registration desk she presented a counterfeit driver's
license and told the concierge she wanted to pay in cash. The
license was a document that had cost her a significant amount of
money as well as considerable trouble. Those among them who were
in sensitive positions -- married, in important positions -- had
to worry about those kinds of things; their wire was stretched
tighter, their balancing act a little more delicate than the
others. But it had been worth it. It had served her well for over
two years now. She asked for a room facing the boulevard on the
highest floor available. After signing the registration forms and
paying, she declined the help of a bellboy and walked straight
across the cavernous lobby to the elevator, her high-cut bodysuit
and stylish figure turning heads, female as well as male.
Elizabeth Ross was a beautiful woman.
She found her room on the eighth floor not far from the
elevator and slipped the rectangular magnetic card into the slot
above the handle, heard it click, and shoved it open. She did not
turn on the lights, but tossed her bag and the card on the bed and
walked straight to the curtains and opened them. A little to her
left a sweep of buildings rose up above her, their lights
glittering in the mists like a rainy sky of winking eyes peering
at her in the opened window, their vantage points the envy of even
the most demanding voyeur savant. And across the shiny boulevard
the palm trees of the Pavilion stood dripping in a surreal desert
of green sand.
Elizabeth Ross walked to the telephone and placed a call. She
spoke only a few words and hung up, then walked back to the
window. Standing in front of it, she reached up and began taking
the rubber band from her ponytail. But her hands were shaking,
the rubber band was to tight. It snapped, startling her. She
raked her fingers through her hair, tossed the rubber band aside,
and shook out her hair. She took a deep breath. The room was new
and clean.
From this moment on it would be different from all the times
before. Until now she had been learning. It had been a long
apprenticeship, hampered by her own anxieties and psychological
impediments. She might never have come to this point at all if she
had not had help, if she had not been coached and coaxed and
brought along with patience and understanding. She had reached
that stage where she would have to give herself up completely or
never know what it might have been like to understand something
few people would ever know. It was that simple. It had been
explained to her, but she had known anyway, instinctively. The
body was the gateway to the mind. She almost had done it before,
almost had crossed the threshold, risking her identity until she
had grown intoxicated on nothing more than the other's breath,
that feather of one's essence that no one could ever alter or
destroy.
Her hands were trembling even more now as they slid up her
body, caressing her thighs, stomach and breasts. Her skin felt
tingly, pulsing beneath the sheer blue fabric, alive with millions
of tiny sensitive fingers, and she began to grow intensely,
powerfully aroused. Standing in front of the plate-glass window,
she let them look at her, let them glitter and wink at her. It was
electrifying to have finally made the decision to acquiesce, and
for a full week she had been distracted with anticipation. The
curtain was about to rise on her repression.
Her pulse began to race as she placed her bag on the bed and
opened it. She took out a pack of Virginia Slims 100's cigarettes
and a gold Dunhill lighter. She lit a cigarette, inhaling deeply,
her breasts rising, then expelled a thin stream of blue smoke
toward the ceiling.
She set the lit cigarette in a large crystal ashtray and
reached into the bag, beneath the athletic gear, and took out a
flat black leather box. She undid the snaps on the cover and
raised it. Inside, sitting in a cushion of dark blue velvet, was a
Glock 9-mm pistol. She pried it out of its cushion, feeling its
weight. Elizabeth wrapped her slim fingers around the grip and
lifted it. The weapon was lighter than she had remembered, but the
odor was the same, that faint petroleum smell. The gun was a
polished, dark blue that reflected the light. Elizabeth removed a
loaded clip from the box and deftly ran it into the stock. The
gun was now almost at its familiar weight -- she was surprised to
find that she would be sensitive to that! There was just one
final item.
The silencer sat in its own recess in the box, a long, narrow
black tube. It had been procured at considerable risk by her
mentor, from sources unnamed. Elizabeth suspected it had been
bought in Europe, so careful was her mentor in such matters. She
picked it up and screwed it onto the barrel of the Glock. There,
she thought, it was now exactly as it had felt before. Her thumb
pushed the safety off, and with her left hand she pulled back on
the cocking arm and released it. There was a tiny click as a
bullet slid into the chamber, and with it she felt a silent
blossom of warmth between her legs, felt it rising slowly to her
soft breasts, to her supple arms and flushed face...
She picked up her cigarette and took a long, luxurious drag.
Now there was just the wait. It would not be long. She slid the
weapon beneath the seat cushion and sat silently, smoking.
As the sun set behind the Houston skyline, the room grew
darker, and Elizabeth could make out some kind of movement on the
outside of the door. Her heart racing with anticipation, she rose
and went to the door. Kneeling, she slid the magnetic card beneath
it, then returned coolly to her seat.
The door opened. A figure entered, closing the door silently
behind it, standing in the shadow. There were no words spoken.
Elizabeth curled her legs beneath her, conscious at all times
of the gun on which she sat, and beckoned to the figure. It moved
forward, out of the shadow, and Elizabeth sighed involuntarily. It
was a young woman -- tall, brunette and breathtakingly beautiful.
She had on a long burgundy raincoat, and as she stepped forward,
her hands deftly undid the belt and let it fall to the floor.
Elizabeth gasped audibly. It was just as she had requested: The
girl wore a shimmering white lycra playsuit, cut high above the
thighs and daringly decollete. Her skin was supple and smooth, and
Elizabeth could easily make out the girl's bush of pubic hair and
erect nipples. Her only other accoutrements were a pair of shiny
black stiletto pumps and a set of opal stones that dangled from
her earrings. Elizabeth was immediately and profoundly aroused.
The girl must have noticed; she gave Elizabeth an enigmatic
smile, her eyes gazing deeply into Elizabeth's.
Elizabeth picked up the pack of Virginia Slims 100s and took
out a cigarette, and the amazonian girl came to her, almost
gliding, and knelt down in front of her in an obeisant manner. She
took the lighter from the table and, holding it with both hands,
ignited it. Elizabeth held the cigarette to her lips as the girl
lit it for her, their eyes still locked. Elizabeth became aware
that her own nipples had grown granite-hard and were clearly
outlined in her outfit.
The girl took the cigarette from Elizabeth, and took a long
drag on it, then set it down in the ashtray. She expelled the
smoke from her nostrils and brought her hands up to Elizabeth's
breasts, cupping them from below. Her thumbs drew lazy circles
around the aureoles, and when Elizabeth's lips parted to a large,
inviting O, she brought her mouth down on Elizabeth's, and they
kissed. Elizabeth's body responded hungrily; she slid her fingers
into the other woman's hair and pulled her closer, savoring the
taste, the smell, the touch of her lover. Their tongues met,
parrying and thrusting, and as the other girl rose their bodies
merged, their breasts squeezing together tightly. Elizabeth felt
faint from the heat.
The girl, Elizabeth noted, was following her orders to the last
detail. She knew what the next action was to be -- the girl was to
stand and disrobe by the door -- but she held the embrace, feeling
a slight twinge of regret and at the same time an anticipatory,
hypersexual pulse shuddering through her body.
The girl felt it too; she pulled away tenderly, still wearing
the same mysterious smile, her eyes wide and unblinking. She put
her hands on Elizabeth's thighs and rose, then backed off several
feet.
With Elizabeth looking on, she slid her hands along her legs,
up her slender waist, along the supple curve of her breasts. She
clearly enjoyed the attention she was receiving from her mistress,
and Elizabeth wondered idly where her mentor had been able to find
such a willing, pliable woman. Elizabeth realized that her left
hand had slipped between her legs, and was rubbing the taut
material above her clitoris in ever harder movements. She looked
up at the woman and smiled, almost as if in embarrassment, but did
not stop; being watched would be half the fun. The woman stood
motionless, watching her effect on Elizabeth, watching as her
client slipped her right hand beneath the seat cushion and brought
out a gun.
The woman's eyes grew wide, and before she could register what
was happening, Elizabeth lifted it up with one hand, lining the
sight with her left eye, and squeezed the trigger. There was a
slight, subsonic pffft! that cut through the silence, and the
woman slammed up against the wall. Her arms flailed out and her
knees buckled momentarily. She looked down dumbly at the small
hole in her right breast, at the rapidly growing red stain over
her white playsuit, then back up at Elizabeth.
Elizabeth returned the gaze coolly; her eyes, looking along the
barrel of the gun, took in the scene -- the beautiful girl, her
fingers clawing uselessly against the wall, the noiseless pulsing
of blood that ran down her chest. For a moment, both women were
motionless, one in pain, the other in strange ecstasy. Then the
moment was gone, Elizabeth had returned from her distant reverie,
and she became aware of her own deep, sensual breathing.
The girl still held Elizabeth with her eyes. "Please, no..."
she moaned.
Elizabeth took aim and fired again. The second bullet struck
the woman in the forehead. The bullet tore through her brain and
blew out a large piece of her skull, along with blood, grey matter
and hair. She died instantly. The force of the impact threw her
head backwards against the wall; she jerked once, then slid down
to the floor, her legs splayed out in front of her, her lifeless
eyes staring up at Elizabeth, and a small line of blood trickling
from the left corner of her parted lips.
Elizabeth Eileen Ross felt the familiar thrill build up within
her, only much greater this time, and she shuddered visibly as a
massive orgasm wracked her body, lasting over five minutes and
leaving her feeling wasted.
She lowered the weapon slowly, cursing herself for her own
haste. It was supposed to have lasted much longer! That, of
course, had been her own fault; her mentor had warned her of it,
had told her that the first time was always the most difficult.
She gathered her things quickly, then left the room, glancing
back one final time at the girl who she had killed, the girl who
stared unseeing toward the ceiling, a surprised expression still
on her lips.
----------
Ann Fitzpatrick stood jauntily in the entrance to the
crowded nightclub, her right hand on her hip -- a tall,
stunningly attractive woman. She wore a black, daringly decollete
velvet evening dress with a high fan collar that accentuated her
ample cleavage and slim, hour-glass figure. Her full lips matched
the color of her long, curved red fingernails, and she had on
black silk stockings and gold-tipped high-heeled stiletto opera
pumps. For jewelry, Ann wore a set of gold hoop earrings and a
pearl choker. Ann looked at her image in the foyer mirror and
smiled confidently. She was dressed to kill, and she knew it.
After waiting a few minutes, Ann saw an empty seat at the main
bar and took it. The bartender, a young curly-haired girl, saw her
and came up. "What can I get you, miss?"
Ann thought for a moment. "I'd like a martini."
After she ordered, Ann took out a pack of Max 120's from her
purse and pulled out a long white cigarette.
The bartender brought her drink over, set it down, and held up
a lighter with two petite hands. "Here, I'll get that."
Ann held the cigarette to her lips as the other woman lit it
for her. Ann inhaled deeply, her breasts rising. She expelled a
thin stream of blue smoke toward the ceiling and smiled at the
girl. "Thank you," she said, crooking her elbow and holding the
cigarette in the air.
The bartender smiled back. "You're welcome."
Ann crossed her legs, sipped her drink and took a long,
luxurious drag on her cigarette. Her left hand slipped subtly
beneath the folds of her dress, and her fingers felt along her
thigh. Halfway up, connected to a thick elastic strap, was a
clamshell case containing four grams of Peruvian flake cocaine and
various accoutrements. Satisfied that it was secure, Ann removed
her hand and took out a photograph from her purse. It was a shot
of two women, a blonde and a brunette. The brunette was her
employer; it was the blonde that Ann sought tonight, a sloe-eyed,
large-breasted girl named Patricia Ortiz.
Ann took another drag on her cigarette and scanned the mirror
in front of her, looking at the crowd. Almost all of the people
were women, which wasn't surprising for a lesbian nightclub. There
were several gorgeous women out on the dance floor. As Ann
watched, she felt a familiar warmth swelling up within her. As
she strained over to get a better look, she noticed a young girl
sitting at the opposite end of the bar, wearing a tight blue
leotard top and white faille wraparound skirt. It was Patricia.
She had already decided her strategy. She finished her drink
and cigarette, and the bartender, who kept giving Ann discrete
glances, came over immediately. "Can I get you another one?" she
asked.
"Yes, please," Ann said, "and do me a favor."
The bartender smiled. "I'd love to."
"Do you see that woman over there?", Ann pointed to Patricia.
"Give her another drink with my compliments."
The girl nodded. "You mean Trish? Sure."
Ann took out another cigarette, along with a long ebony
cigarette holder. She carefully inserted the cigarette into the
holder and lit it. "Tell her it's from me."
Ann put the photograph back in her purse and watched as the
bartender took a scotch on the rocks over to Patricia and set it
down in front of her, discreetly pointing over to Ann. Patricia
looked over, smiling. Ann returned the smile and took a long,
luxurious drag on her cigarette holder. She was beginning to get a
kick out of this, and her heart began to race when Patricia stood
up, drink in hand, and sidle through the crowd.
She arrived finally, smiling brightly, her eyes looking Ann
over at close distance. "Thanks for the drink," she said. "Mind
if I join you?"
"That," Ann replied, "was my intention. My name's Ann. What's
yours?"
"Patricia, but everyone calls me Trish...say, why don't we grab
a table?"
Ann rose. She stood several inches taller than the other girl.
She held out a lavender-nailed hand. "Lead the way."
Trish smiled again, took Ann's hand, and maneuvered her through
the crowd to a table on the dais, overlooking the dance floor.
They sat down and placed their drinks on the table. Trish
looked up at Ann, her eyes still sparkling. "You've never been
here before." It was said as a statement, not a question.
"How are you so sure?" Ann asked, taking a long drag on her
cigarette holder.
"I would have remembered seeing you," Trish replied. "God, I
love your cigarette holder. Where did you get it?"
"My mother gave it to me," Ann said. "She thinks I look very
...vampish with it."
"Very sexy," Trish purred. "Your mother has interesting
tastes. What brand of cigarette do you smoke?"
"Max 120s. Would you like one?"
"I'd love one."
Ann gave her a cigarette, and as Trish held it to her soft red
lips, Ann lit it for her with her lighter. Trish inhaled deeply,
her breasts rising, and expelled a thin stream of blue smoke
toward the ceiling. "I like these," she told Ann.
"Me too. A long white cigarette in a black holder is a turn on
for me."
"Well," Trish said, letting her hand slip beneath the table,
"it's doing wonders for me too." Her hand found Ann's thigh,
rested on it slightly with gossamer pressure. Ann smiled to
herself; this was going to be almost too easy. She covered Trish's
hand with her own, felt the warmth of it.
She looked up at Trish, her eyebrows arched. "Are you this
forward with everyone?"
"Only with mysterious, beautiful women." She paused. "Would you
care to dance?"
Ann guided Trish's hand along her inner thigh, felt the other
woman tingle with excitement. "Not particularly."
Trish stroked Ann's thighs, her long-nailed fingers pulling
playfully at the silk hosiery. "Well," she said, "we'd better do
something, Ann. I think I'm about to wet myself." She said this in
a soft, throaty purr. Then her fingers reached the edge of the
clamshell case. "Oh, what's this?"
Ann's eyes met Trish's. "About four grams of pure cocaine. Why
don't we go to your place and have some?"
Trish's eyes sparkled. "I'm yours, darling!"
The two women left the bar, hand in hand.
Trish lived in an uptown penthouse with her own private pool.
Ann guessed that Trish was looked after very well.
Trish had suggested a midnight dip, had selected a jet-black
one-piece swimsuit for Ann and a white bikini for herself.
Ann was already in the pool, hanging lazily on the side when
Trish arrived, carrying a large mirrored tray. She set it down
beside Ann, then wordlessly slid into the warm water. Her long
blonde hair fell across her shoulders, and even though the only
light came from a full moon, Ann noticed that Trish's nipples were
fully erect, like miniature penises, clearly outlined in the thin
material of her bikini. At the sight of them, Ann could feel her
own nipples grow granite-hard. This is going to be wonderful, she
thought to herself.
Trish handed Ann a cigarette and lit it for her. Ann took a
long drag, then passed it back to Trish, who did the same. She
blew a cloud of smoke into the air, then set it down in an onyx
ashtray on the poolside and turned her attention to Ann.
"God," Trish purred, "you are so gorgeous!" She slid her hand
beneath Ann's waist, pulled close, and opened her lips to a wide
O. Ann's mouth covered hers, and they kissed, delicately at first,
then with increasing passion, Trish's legs wrapping around Ann's
torso. Their breasts met, squeezed together, and Trish let out an
involuntary moan.
My God, Ann thought to herself, this woman is a bull! She found
herself responding with equal force, and for a long moment,
nothing else existed except the woman in her arms.
She finally pushed Trish away, a sensual smile on her lips.
"There's time for that later," she told Trish, turning to the pool
side. "I want you to try some of this." She carefully laid out
several lines of powder on the the mirrored tray and handed Trish
a small gold straw. "Here."
Trish eagerly took the straw and held it to her nose as she
slowly inhaled a line of coke. She closed her eyes, let her head
fall back, and murmured sweetly, "Oh God, yes!"
Ann smiled as she took the straw from Trish's shaky hand. She
floated Trish to the side, then took a line of powder and laid it
within the other woman's deep cleavage. As she buried her nose
between Trish's breasts, she snorted the powder as Trish's hands
dug into her hair, pulling her closer.
Ann rose up. "God, that's great." She looked up into Trish's
eyes.
"Fuck me, Ann," Trish said.
They each tenderly removed the swimsuit from the other, until
they both stood in the water, totally nude. Trish froze. Ann's
fingers had softly, gently covered hers, bringing them upward,
over the other woman's fluttering belly, higher past her ribs, to
the heated undersides of her heavy breasts.
Trish lay back, her eyes closed, breathing deeply, the swelling
tops of her breasts just visible above the slight suds of the
water's surface.
For the first time Ann felt Trish's nipples. They were hard and
soft at the same time, slightly rubbery and long, reminding her of
a man's erect penis. Involuntarily, she stroked at the breasts,
up from their wide base, out to the ends of the cones where she
pulled at the nipples with harder and harder tugs, using only
thumb and forefingers, milking them.
Trish opened her eyes to see Ann staring at her from out of her
huge slightly almond eyes, their brown as soft as doeskin. "Help
me, Ann," she whispered. Her mind was whirling.
"Yes." Ann's wide sensual mouth curved in a tender smile. "My
sweet Trish. I know what you want." She leaned forward, her lips
opening like a flower against Trish's neck.
With eyes stoned with lust, she watched Ann's hands slide up
her rib cage toward the lower slopes of her breasts. Light
filtered over the pool in cool, pale bars.
Trish gasped as she felt Ann's warm hands lifting her breasts
up and away, cradling them. Then the fingertips began to move,
around and around the sensitive flesh, circling closer and closer
to Trish's areolas. Sparks of pleasure rippled through her chest,
pooled up between her thighs. Her legs began to tremble and rise
up but Ann calmly flattened them back down. She had trouble
breathing.
At last the fingertips reached the areolas, caressing them with
a feathery touch. Trish groaned. Her nipples were so stiff they
seemed painful. She felt Ann's lips against the shell of her ear.
"Does it feel good?"
She nodded drunkenly.
"Then tell me, darling. Tell me."
Ann's head dipped into shadow, her opened lips swooping down to
envelop Trish's nipples. Trish cried out and her thighs opened
involuntarily. She arched her pelvis upward. "Oh, God."
"Tell me. Tell me." Those lips pulling, sucking, twisting the
nipples.
"It feels -- ohhh! -- like heaven."
"Yes...yes!" It was an animal's cry.
Trish moved her hands down, frantically trying to rub herself,
but Ann's fingers encircled her wrists. "No, darling. Let me do
that." And she lifted up and Trish saw the hanging weight of her
dusky breasts above her, lifted them into her hands. The feel of
them, hot and hanging full, was like no other she could imagine.
Her thumbs probed at the hard nipples until Ann groaned and moved
downward.
Immediately, Trish's mons was enveloped in wet heat. She felt
Ann's palms against her buttocks, the fingertips in the crack, one
long nail probing...
At that instant, Ann's tongue stabbed out, directly into
Trish's core. Trish arched up. It sounded as if there were an
engine in the pool, working at peak capacity. Her fingers locked
in Ann's hair, pulling the face hard into her as she bucked up
uncontrollably, crying out until she was hoarse.
After a time, her eyes opened and she pulled Ann's lush body
over hers.
"Tell me," she whispered hoarsely, "what to do."
Ann reached up behind her and, not seen by Trish, picked up her
bikini top. She slid her arms around Trish's neck and kissed her
hard on the mouth, her body pressing down on Trish's. Trish
responded in kind, totally possessed and never once aware that Ann
was deftly wrapping the top around her neck. Her fingers found
Ann's stiff nipples and pinched them, causing Ann to gasp with joy
and bear down even harder. "Oh, yes," she purred, "harder!"
Trish obeyed her, nearly faint from the kiss, the heat from
Ann, the warm water...
Suddenly Ann pulled the ends of the bikini top as tight as she
could and drove Trish down into the water, swinging her body so
that she was now in the deeper part of the pool, unable to stand
above the surface.
Trish began immediately to thrash about, her arms flailing at
Ann, trying to grab ahold of her. But Ann deftly avoided her grip
and held the pressure on the bikini top. She maneuvered Trish
against the side of the pool, raised her leg, and pushed firmly
against Trish's stomach, the effect of which was to cause her to
expel her remaining air.
When she felt Trish's strength start to fade, she released the
pressure on the bikini top, inhaled deeply and sunk beneath the
surface. She planted her mouth firmly on Trish's, squeezed the
other woman's nose shut, and wrapped her arms and legs around her.
Together, they sank to the bottom of the pool. Ann was now in a
perpetual orgasm, her eyes locked on Trish's, who stared dumbly
back at her, dimly aware that she was dying.
Trish made one final, feeble attempt to fight her assassin; Ann
redoubled her strength, continuing to hold her breath until she
felt Trish's body arch abruptly and go limp.
Ann could stand it no longer; she released her hold on Trish
and kicked up to the surface, gasping for air. She looked down
into the pool, watching Trish's body float lazily down to the
bottom, into the shadows, her eyes staring up accusingly at Ann,
her arms and legs outstretched. Even in death she was beautiful.
Ann climbed out of the pool, her body still shaking from the
massive orgasm, and put her swimsuit back on. The entire roof was
quiet, save for the distant sounds of the street far below.
Suddenly Ann heard the roof door open; she crossed the distance
and went into the open apartment door. Luckily for her, the lights
were out, or she would have been noticed by the two bikini-clad
women now strolling around the side of the pool. She grabbed her
purse from the living room table and returned to the side of the
open door and watched the women.
One of called out. "Patricia?"
"Look, Jenny," the other one said, pointing to Trish's
discarded swimming attire by the pool. "She must have gotten
lucky at Sfuzzi's tonight." They both giggled.
Ann fished into her purse, brought out the Beretta, quickly
attached the silencer to the end of its long, black barrel and
flicked the safety off.
"Should we bother her?" the one called Jenny asked.
The other girl walked over to the mirrored tray. "Not if you
want to share this with her." She dipped a long, curled
fingernail into the cocaine, brought it up to her nose and inhaled
sharply. "God, where did she find this -- this is great! Becky,
come over here!"
Ann's heart began to race again. My God, she thought, this is
perfect!
The two women eagerly inhaled the remaining cocaine, moaning
and tossing their heads back. Enjoy it, Ann thought, because it's
going to be your last.
When they had gone through all of the coke, Jenny stood up,
unsteady on her feet, and called out. "Trish...Trish! Come on
out, darling -- we want to party!" Meanwhile, Becky had slid into
the pool and was lazily circling out to the deep end...
Ann stood out from behind the wall, raised her weapon and
pulled gently on the trigger. There was a quiet pffft and the
bullet struck Jenny directly in her abdomen. It knocked her to the
ground, where she landed on her ass, her legs splayed out in front
of her.
Becky looked over at her, still giggling, when Ann came out,
still holding the gun at Jenny. Jenny looked up, barely feeling
the pain, and said, "Shit...what have you done." She looked down
at her chest, then over at Becky. "Becky, I'm bleeding." Her eyes
and mouth were agape with surprise.
"What..." Becky began to say.
Amazingly, Jenny stood up, clutching the fiery pain in her
stomach. Ann smiled coolly and fired again. The second bullet hit
the woman in the right tit, just below the nipple. Jenny spun
around and fell back on the deck, clattering against the patio
furniture. Her legs and arms flailed wildly, and she had just
enough strength to look up at Ann.
Ann fired one last time. The third bullet struck Jenny in the
mouth, blowing out pieces of flesh and brain from the exit wound
in the back of her skull. Her body slammed back down against the
ground. She voided a large gush of blood from her lips and she
died, her limbs twitching in a growing red pool of blood.
Becky looked over at her dead friend, then up at Ann, her eyes
wide with terror. "God, please don't," she begged. She tried to
turn around, but was frozen by her fear.
Ann aimed the gun at her head, once again caught in the throes
of her strange ecstasy, and squeezed the trigger.
Nothing. A misfire!
Becky must have heard the click, because she began heading
immediately for the far side of the pool, away from Ann. Her legs
kicked with a strength she had never realized, and she gave out an
almost audible sigh of relief when her hands touched the side of
the pool.
She looked around. Ann had disappeared.
"Fuck!" Becky cried. She looked out to the roof entry door; it
was closed. That bitch would be waiting for her there; she dared
not to risk it. She looked back to Trish's apartment, saw the
sliding door, the soft curtains blowing in the cool breeze.
"Lady," she sobbed, "please...!"
No answer.
She bolted back around to Trish's apartment, hurriedly closing
the door behind her and panting heavily. Her eyes roamed wildly
around the room. Where's the fucking phone?
Finally she saw it on a table by the foyer. She dove for it,
grabbed the receiver, and swung around the wall into the foyer.
She listened to it. Thank God -- a dial tone!
Her fingers slipped twice while trying to dial 911, but by a
miracle, she managed to complete the number. She sniffled, looking
out on the carnage by the pool, waiting for a response.
She finally heard a man's voice. "What is the nature of your
emergency?"
Becky never saw it coming. All she felt was a sudden, sharp
blossom of pain in her back, driving through her like a white-hot
beam piercing her body. Looking down, she saw the gleaming tip of
the stiletto sticking out of her right breast, right above the
nipple, blood dribbling down in a warm, red wash.
Ann turned her around gently and took the phone from her hand.
She spoke into it. "I'm sorry, officer," she explained. "My
daughter's been playing with the phone again." Ann listened
intently, still holding Becky up. Becky tried to say something,
but the only thing from her lips was a thin trickle of blood.
"I...yes, I understand," Ann said into the phone. "Thank you."
She hung it up, then turned her full attention to Becky.
"Why...?" Becky whispered, looking into Ann's soft eyes.
"Because I love it, dear," Ann replied, holding the gaze. She
propped Becky up against the wall -- Becky screamed when the wall
hit the knife handle in her back -- and took something from her
purse that Becky could not make out.
"Please...help me..." Becky begged.
Ann smiled. "Of course," she purred, raising the second
stiletto.
Becky's eyes could barely register what it was before Ann
shoved the deadly little blade directly into Becky's neck. A jet
of blood spilled out from Becky's gaping, gurgling mouth and her
hands went up the hilt of the blade embedded in her neck, but by
the time her fingers had found it, she died. Her eyes still open,
she jerked and slid to the floor burbling, assisted by Ann.
An hour later, there was no sign that Ann had ever been there.
----------
Later that week, Ann met Elizabeth at La Mansion, near Clear
Lake. It was a cool, sunny afternoon. Ann wore a billowy white
blouse set of by a black skirt and matching vest and a pair of
old-fashioned victorian boots that went up to her knees, her hair
done up in an elegant bun. Elizabeth had on a soft blue silk
skirt.
They chose a table on the balcony outside. At this time of
day, the bistro was nearly deserted.
After ordering drinks -- a martini for Ann, a scotch and soda
for Liz -- Ann took out a pack of Max 120s cigarettes and handed
one to Liz.
"Well?" Ann asked, taking out her lighter.
Elizabeth gave her a secretive smile. "It was...wonderful!"
She held the cigarette to her lips as Ann lit it for her, then
leaned back and blew out a cloud of smoke.
Ann lit her own cigarette. "I remember my first time," she
said. "I was shaking so much, I thought I was going to faint." She
took a long drag on her cigarette. "Did that happen to you?"
Elizabeth smiled wider. "Not at all...I wanted to savor every
single moment."
The waitress brought them their drinks, then left them alone
again.
"It happened faster than I'd wanted it to," Elizabeth told Ann.
"That was my only mistake."
"That's natural," Ann replied, sipping her martini. "With
experience, you can learn how to make it last much, much longer."
Ann held her cigarette in the air, her elbow bent. "I once had
one that went for two hours."
Elizabeth's eyes grew wide with envy. "How?"
Ann crossed her long, slim legs. "We'd gone to a cottage in the
country, not a soul around for miles." She paused, deliciously
savoring the memory. "She loved to mix cocaine and ecstasy -- the
drug, that is -- and was past feeling anything when I went to work
on her."
"That must have been exquisite," Elizabeth purred. She took a
thoughtful drag on her cigarette and exhaled twin plumes of smoke
from her nostrils. "God, just thinking about it turns me on!"
Ann nodded. "It was...sublime. But look at this." She put her
cigarette down and reached into her purse. She brought out a small
amber vial and handed it across the table to Elizabeth.
Elizabeth turned the small vial over; there was no label. "What
is it?" she asked.
Ann picked her cigarette up and took a drag. "My mentor gave
two of those to me. I forget the chemical name, but it induces an
extreme psychological state in the user: A combination of ecstasy
and death wish."
Elizabeth's lips curled in a smile. "May I have this?"
"Certainly. Be very careful, Liz. Even just a drop of this is
dangerous." She paused. "Let me know how it works out for you."
Elizabeth's eyelids fluttered. "I will."
* * *
The mall was crowded at this time of day: People enjoying their
lunchtime, mothers pushing their carriages. Elizabeth sat on a
bench near the center of the mall, her legs crossed, smoking a
cigarette and watching the people passing by -- especially the
women. She wore a brightly colored western-style skirt with a blue
denim shirt and cowboy boots.
A young blonde-haired girl walked by briskly and happened to
look over at Elizabeth. Their eyes met, then she averted hers
away shyly and continued on.
Elizabeth's attention went back to a magazine she held in her
lap. She read the first page of her article and was turning to the
next when she noticed that the girl was now seated on the bench
across from her, trying not to be too obvious with her own
sideward glances. Elizabeth smiled to herself and decided to
forfeit the first move.
The girl wore a skintight black leather skirt that barely
reached down to her thighs. Black silk stockings went up her long,
shapely legs into the darkness of her skirt. Her outfit was
complemented by a fetching white blouse and a black velvet choker
worn high on her soft throat. Elizabeth noted that the girl wore a
name badge, meaning that she probably worked in the mall, and was
on a break. Judging by her long, sculptured nails and double
earrings, she most likely worked in one of the bohemian clothing
stores scattered throughout the mall.
Out of the corner of her eye, Elizabeth watched as the girl dug
in her purse and brought out a pack of Virginia Slims 100s. She
continued to dig again, and Elizabeth suppressed a smile, reaching
into her own handbag for her cigarettes and lighter. She lit a
cigarette, blowing smoke toward the ceiling.
The girl got up and came over to her. "Excuse me," she said, a
slight tremble in her voice, "but can I get a light from you?"
Elizabeth smiled kindly. "Of course. She opened the lighter and
ignited it. The girl held her cigarette to her lips as Elizabeth
lit it for her. As she did so, the girl touched her hand to steady
the lighter and looked over her cigarette into Elizabeth's eyes.
Elizabeth returned the glance unblinking.
The girl -- whose name, Elizabeth saw from her tag, was
Deborah -- inhaled deeply, her breasts rising, and nodded. "Thank
you," she said.
"My pleasure," Elizabeth purred. "By the way, I love your
outfit."
The girl smiled shyly. "I was thinking the same thing about
yours." She took a drag on her cigarette, her eyes on Elizabeth.
"My name is Elizabeth. Won't you sit down?"
"Thanks." Deborah sat beside her.
"Do you work here in the mall?" Elizabeth asked her.
Deborah nodded and pointed down the east corridor. "Over at Le
Chatelaine."
Elizabeth took a drag on her cigarette and nodded. "I've been
there before. You must be new; I would have noticed you in there
before."
Deborah smiled. "That's right; I just started there last
Tuesday." She paused. "I would have noticed you, too."
Elizabeth held her eyes on Deborah's for just a beat extra.
Then she reached into her purse and took out a card. She handed it
to Deborah.
"I have to go now," she told Deborah, "but here's my number.
Call me, Deborah. I'd like to get to know you better." She smiled
and pressed the card into the other woman's hand, then leaned over
and whispered in her ear. "I think you're gorgeous. Call me
tonight!"
Then she stood up and walked away, leaving Deborah thinking
silently to herself.
* * *
That evening, around seven, the telephone rang. Elizabeth
picked it up. "Hello?"
"Elizabeth? This is Deborah; we met today at the mall."
"Of course! I'm so glad you called. How are you?"
"Fine. I was wondering if you might like to meet me over at
Sfuzzi's."
Sfuzzi's was a nightclub downtown catering predominantly to
lesbians, although Elizabeth had heard of a strong S&M thread
there as well.
"Actually," Elizabeth said, "I'm not too up on going out
tonight. I thought I'd spend a quiet evening home this evening."
She paused. "Would you like to come over and join me?"
"If you're sure..." Deborah said, hesitatingly.
"Absolutely," Elizabeth said. "Tell you what -- I've got the
penthouse pool all by myself tonight. Why don't you bring your
swimsuit and we can go for a dip?"
Deborah's voice brightened. "That sounds great. Can I bring
anything over?"
"How about your overnighter?" Elizabeth purred coolly.
"How do I get there?"
* * *
Deborah arrived an hour later. She was met at the door by
Elizabeth, who had put on a deliciously daring black swimsuit,
high on the thighs and low-cut in front.
Elizabeth ushered her in. "Deborah! I'm so glad you came over."
She noticed that Deborah was carrying a rather large handbag with
her. Good, she thought.
Elizabeth went to the bar. "The bedroom's over to the right,"
she motioned. "Why don't you go change while I make us a drink --
are martinis okay?"
Deborah nodded, looking over the sumptious apartment. "I love
your place," she said. "So nice...and private."
Elizabeth nodded. "It is that. Now go in; I'll meet you outside
by the pool."
After Deborah had closed the door behind her, Elizabeth
carefully made a pitcher of martinis and poured two glasses. In
the one on the left (the glass with the chipped stem), she quickly
emptied the vial Ann had given her and stirred it into the drink.
She sniffed at it; the potion was odorless.
She put the martinis on a tray along with her cigarettes and
lighter and took it outside by the pool. Evening was beginning to
approach. Her heart began to race. She sat the tray down beside
the pool as Deborah came out. Elizabeth looked up and smiled. "My
God," she said, "you look fantastic!"
Deborah wore a tight red string bikini, beneath which her
breasts and pubic muscles bulged. She was much more shapely than
Elizabeth had suspected, and very nicely built. The muscles in her
legs rippled as she walked, and her breasts were firm.
Elizabeth took her hand and moved close. "Would you mind," she
said throatily, "if I kissed you?"
"Kiss me," Deborah said. Elizabeth leaned over and put her lips
on Deborah's and kissed her, feeling the other woman roil against
the light pressure. She held the kiss for several moments,
relishing the taste of her, the musky smell, the heat coming off
of her in waves.
Elizabeth broke off lightly, smiling. "I think I could use a
drink." She picked up the two martinis, carefully handed the
correct one to Deborah, and raised her glass. "To newfound
friends," she said.
Deborah must have been very thirsty; she finished her martini in
one long sip. "Delicious," she said.
Elizabeth poured her another from the pitcher, then picked up
her cigarettes. "Would you like one?" she asked.
"God, yes," Deborah said and took a cigarette from the pack.
"Max 120s," she said. "I don't think I've ever tried these
before."
"They're really good," Elizabeth said, taking a cigarette. She
lit Deborah's cigarette, then her own, and leaned back in the
advancing shadows. "So, tell me a little about yourself."
Deborah took a long, luxurious drag on her cigarette, aware of
the other woman's eyes on her and aroused because of it. Her
nipples grew erect and painful. She leaned back beside Elizabeth.
"I noticed the ball gag in your bedroom," she said simply. "Are
you into bondage?"
"Yes," Elizabeth replied. "What about you?"
"God, yes," Deborah breathed. "I've always been into it." She
took another long drag on her cigarette; Elizabeth detected a
small tremor in Deborah's hands.
"As a top, or as a bottom?"
Deborah smiled. "Oh, definitely bottom. I --" She paused, put
her hand to her forehead. "Oh, dear," she said, "I must have drank
that martini too fast." Then she looked back up at Elizabeth. "Did
you plan on picking me up in the mall today?"
Elizabeth smiled. "After you asked for a light, I did."
"Really? I've never been seduced by a strange woman before -- at
least, not outside Sfuzzi's."
Suddenly, Deborah leaned over and kissed Elizabeth again, a hot,
passionate kiss, full of hunger. Elizabeth's teeth bit down
lightly on Deborah's lower lip. Deborah pulled away playfully, her
hand unconsciously sliding up and down along her chest. "God, I
feel so...light," Deborah said. She looked down and giggled.
"Elizabeth," she said, "I think I just came."
"Tell me what you were thinking of," Elizabeth said.
"I was...I was thinking what it'd be like if I were tied up,
with your lovely body over me."
Elizabeth took the cigarette from Deborah's hand and set it down
in the ashtray. She turned Deborah around, put her hands on her
tan shoulders. "I bet your fantasies were a little more involved
than that, darling." She faced Deborah and drew her in; their
breasts touched together. "I think they were more...brutal than
that." Elizabeth's hands slowly slid up to the base of Deborah's
neck, then on up, her long-nailed fingers closing seductively
around Deborah's throat.
Deborah gasped. "God -- God, yes," she whispered. Her blue eyes
widened, stared into Elizabeth's. "Help me," she begged, "I can't
stop coming."
Elizabeth looked down, saw tiny rivulets of moisture rolling
down Deborah's legs, saw the pelvis jutting out with its soft
cover of hair outlined in Deborah's bikini.
Deborah's hands went up to Elizabeth's hard nipples, her fingers
gingerly tugging at them. Her legs parted slightly, and she felt
very unsteady.
Elizabeth smiled tenderly. "You want me to..."
"Yes," Deborah pleaded. "You know what I want."
Elizabeth tightened her grip suddenly, and Deborah began to
pant. "Yes...yes," she said in a strangled voice, "harder..."
Elizabeth let go suddenly.
"What's...what's wrong?" Deborah said plaintively. "I thought
you wanted me!"
"I do," Elizabeth said, "but there are better ways than this --
much better. She reached down and took Deborah's hand.
Deborah's eyes were wild with anticipation.
Elizabeth led her into the pool. The water was warm, and her
flesh felt tingly. She pushed Deborah up against the side of the
pool, pressed her body against hers, opened her lips against
Deborah's earlobe.
"Oh, God," Deborah moaned. Her hands encircled Elizabeth's
svelte waist, drew her closer, slid up the side of her swimsuit
and tugged at the straps. Elizabeth drew back and allowed Deborah
to remove her swimsuit; it peeled off like a second skin, and she
stepped out of it. Her breasts floated in the water, firm and
round, like soft melons.
Deborah looked down, smiling, and leaned back as Elizabeth ran
her fingers along her sides, her nails catching and pulling at the
string bows on Deborah's bikini. Elizabeth undid the top and
bottom and drew them out of the water, setting them on the side.
Deborah's mouth opened in a soft, inviting O, and Elizabeth
pressed down on her again and kissed her. Elizabeth's tongue slid
into Deborah like a serpent, and Deborah's hands went back up to
the other woman's breasts, cupping them and then kneading the
nipples with her thumb and forefinger.
Deborah's hands now slid down, past Elizabeth's taut belly, past
the mons with its silky hair. Her fingers found Elizabeth's
clitoris and pressed.
Elizabeth gasped. "Oh, yes, darling!"
Now the fingers slid even further, past the vaginal lips, and
Elizabeth nearly cried out. She bore down on Deborah even harder,
her heart racing like an engine, and she parted her legs slightly,
accomodating a deeper foray which Deborah gladly provided. With
her other hand, she cupped Elizabeth's ass and squeezed the soft,
warm tissue.
Deborah grunted and arched her back. She tore away from the
kiss. "Now, darling," she begged, her eyes fixed on Elizabeth's.
Elizabeth reached up behind Deborah and picked up the bikini
top, wrapped it lovingly around Deborah's throat...
Deborah smiled in anticipation, worked her hands even faster,
moaned, "God, I can feel it..."
Elizabeth pulled the top tighter. Deborah's body jerked, and her
long-nailed fingers dug into Elizabeth's ass. Her eyes grew wide,
and her mouth opened again, a satisfied look on her face.
Elizabeth pulled with all her might and planted her mouth on
Deborah's. She could feel the other woman's lips growing cool, but
her hands still worked on Elizabeth.
Elizabeth came in a tremendous sexual explosion; she could not
stop, just kept blossoming, one orgasm right after the other. She
wrapped the bikini top tightly around Deborah's throat, reached up
to the side again, picked up one of several long stiletto knives
from the tray. She brought it down, and when Deborah saw it, she
opened her mouth as if to say something.
Deborah could no longer speak; in some rational part of her
brain, she had calmly accepted the fact that she was dying. Part
of her also accepted the fact that she wanted it -- needed it for
this incredible sexual release -- and that is why she took
Elizabeth's hand, guided the tip of the blade down to her left
breast, and pulled it into her. The smile on her lips wavered
slightly as the blade slid into her breast, and her hand went up
to the knife. Deborah shuddered, and suddenly began to buck
wildly. Her free hand thrashed the surface of the pool, and her
eyes grew wider, still locked on Elizabeth's. Then she arched
suddenly. Her mouth opened slightly, and a thin line of blood ran
down the left corner of her mouth. She looked as though she wanted
to say something, but her legs buckled, and Elizabeth put her lips
over Deborah's and gently pushed her beneath the pink-tinged
water. Her long blonde hair floated above her head, a few bubbles
escaped from her mouth and nose, and her arms lifted up silently.
She stared lifelessly at Elizabeth; she was dead.
-----------
The apartment was quiet, except for muffled noises coming from
a room in the corner. The apartment belonged to Elizabeth; the
room was her bedroom, and on the bed were two women, both
completely nude.
"They're beautiful, Elizabeth." Ann sighed. "Have I ever
told you how beautiful your breasts are?"
"No." Her voice, sharp and strangled, seemed to come from some
other throat.
"Uhm, well, I should have." She twisted around so that she was
on her side. "Your whole body" -- her voice was like a
bolt of silk, caressing -- "beautiful."
With eyes stoned with lust, she watched Ann's hands slide up
her rib cage toward the lower slopes of her breasts. Light
filtered into the room in cool, pale bars, illuminating the
lower half of the king-size bed with its coral satin comforter,
the precise shade of intimate flesh. They lay side by side, naked.
Elizabeth gasped as she felt Ann's warm hands lifting her
breasts up and away, cradling them. Then the fingertips began to
move, around and around the sensitive flesh, circling closer and
closer to Elizabeth's areolas. Sparks of pleasure rippled
through her chest, pooled up between her thighs. Her legs began to
tremble and rise up but Ann calmly flattened them back onto the
sheet. She had trouble breathing.
At last the fingertips reached the areolas, caressing them
with a feathery touch. Elizabeth groaned. Her nipples were so
stiff they seemed painful. She felt Ann's lips against the shell
of her ear. "Does it feel good?"
She nodded drunkenly.
"Then tell me, darling. Tell me."
Ann's head dipped into shadow, her opened lips swooping
down to envelop Elizabeth's nipples. Elizabeth cried out and
her thighs opened involuntarily. She arched her pelvis upward.
"Oh, God."
"Tell me. Tell me." Those lips pulling, sucking, twisting the
nipples.
"It feels -- ohhh! -- like heaven."
"Yes...yes!" It was an animal's cry.
Elizabeth moved her hands down, frantically trying to rub
herself, but Ann's fingers encircled her wrists. "No, darling.
Let me do that." And she lifted up and Elizabeth saw the hanging
weight of her dusky breasts above her, lifted them into her hands.
The feel of them, hot and hanging full, was like no other she
could imagine. Her thumbs probed at the hard nipples until Ann
groaned and moved downward.
Immediately, Elizabeth's mons was enveloped in wet heat. She
felt Ann's palms against her buttocks, the fingertips in the
crack, one long nail probing, sliding in deeply...
At that instant, Ann's tongue stabbed out, directly into
Elizabeth's core. Elizabeth arched up. It sounded as if there
were an engine in the room, working at peak capacity. Her fingers
locked in Ann's hair, pulling the face hard into her as she
bucked up uncontrollably, crying out until she was hoarse.
After a time, her eyes opened and she pulled Ann's lush body
over hers.
"Tell me," she whispered hoarsely, "what to do," not realizing
that she had already begun, that the well, now opened, had made
her so insatiable that two hours later, Ann was begging her to
stop.
* * *
Afterwards, Ann went to the bar and brought back a bottle of
wine and two glasses. She poured drinks and handed one to
Elizabeth, who drank it down. Ann opened a cigarette case and
took out two cigarettes, handing one to Elizabeth. She lit both
with a table lighter near the bed, then leaned back, idly
stroking Elizabeth's breasts.
"God, that was wonderful," Elizabeth purred.
Ann nodded, sipping her wine. "How did things go with
Deborah?"
Elizabeth smiled. "Absolutely incredible. At the end, she was
begging me to kill her."
Ann's lips curled. "And that was the diluted vial."
"Really?" Elizabeth looked up at her. "God, I wonder what it
does at full strength." She finished her cigarette, then held up
the wineglass and smiled. "You didn't happen to put any of it in
here, did you?"
Ann laughed and took a drag on her cigarette. "No," she
replied. "But tell me: How do you feel?"
"I feel fine," Elizabeth said. "Stop playing around."
She lit another cigarette. She paused, the cigarette in her
lips. "Actually, I feel kind of strange..."
"It was in the cigarette," Ann told her. "The one you just
smoked."
Elizabeth looked over at her, a poignant expression in her
eyes. "Oh," she said quietly. "That's why I feel...so..."
Ann nodded.
Elizabeth started to rise up off the bed, then changed her
mind. "I'm going to die tonight," she said simply.
Ann sipped her wine. "Only if you want to."
"I -- I don't know."
Ann sat up, put her hands on Elizabeth's shoulders.
"Darling," she purred, "remember your first time -- how good it
felt?"
"Oh, yes," Elizabeth said. "How the blood washed over her
white swimsuit, the look of surprise in her eyes..."
"And what about Deborah," Ann continued, "how she guided the
stiletto to her breast."
Elizabeth sat thinking for a moment. "That's right," she
said presently. "She was ready -- ready to die. She wanted it."
A tear rolled down her cheek. She looked up at Ann. "That's --
that's what I want."
Ann drew her close. "I understand, darling," she cooed. "Wait
right here." She rose, went to the living room and returned with a
mirrored tray. She sat it down on the bed in front of
Elizabeth and sat down beside her. "This is a mixture of
cocaine and ecstasy," she explained. "It tends to...prolong
the experience."
"Is it dangerous?"
Ann smiled. "Why does it matter?"
Elizabeth picked up a gold spoon. "I guess not," she said,
and dipped the spoon into a pile of fine white dust. She held
it to her nose and inhaled sharply, snorting the drug. It hit
her system immediately; she convulsed and leaned her head back.
"God," she exclaimed. "Fantastic!"
Ann set up another pile. "Have some more, dear. I'll be right
back." She rose and left again.
Hungrily, Elizabeth snorted the dust again. It made her feel
so...alive, so tingly. She licked her fingers and began riding out
the first high.
Ann returned with a leather case. She opened it and took
out a set of restraints. "All finished, darling? Good, then,
turn around and lie on your stomach."
Elizabeth did as she was told.
Ann put a restraint on each limb, fastening them to each of the
four posts on the bed. Elizabeth had been arranged so that her
ass was parted and exposed.
Ann fit a collar around Elizabeth's neck and ran a length of
chain through a loop in the back and down to a cross chain
between her feet. It pulled her neck and head up; now she could
only see straight ahead.
"Is that too tight?" Ann asked.
"It's perfect," chirped Elizabeth, who was now lost in the
effects of the drugs. She looked into a full-length mirror
directly in front of her and admired her image. She was growing
intensely aroused.
Ann moved within her frame of vision and took out her gun.
As Elizabeth watched with anticipation, Ann loaded it and screwed
on the massive silencer to the end of the long black barrel. She
set it down on the bed before Elizabeth and smiled. "How do you
feel?"
"Ready," Elizabeth said. "God, I can't wait!"
Ann held the gun up to Elizabeth, who smiled. "Bring it
closer, darling," she purred. Ann held it up to Elizabeth's
lips, and Elizabeth fellated it.
"Are you sure you want this?" Ann asked.
Elizabeth nodded, her lips still encircling the barrel and
silencer.
Ann pulled the hammer back; Elizabeth's body tensed up, and
she took the entire silencer into her mouth. The look in her
eyes was wild.
----------
To be continued...
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