Reaper III: Rookies

by Amanda M. Holt

  He peeled the jeans down over my hips and pulled them further, to my knees, to the floor, exposing the peach satin of my panties. Before I knew it, he was hooking his fingers through my panties and they were soon going the way of my jeans, down my hips, my knees, to the floor. I stepped out of the garments and he instantly urged me to lie back on his couch, lifting the nearest leg over his shoulder, the other hanging over the upholstered edge of the furniture.

  He brought his hands and his mouth to my inner thighs.

  “You smell so good,” he drawled, stroking my shaved pussy with knowing hands. “And you feel like warm velvet. Did you shave this just for me?”

  “Uh-huh,” I replied, rapt with desire for him.

  I knew what was coming.

  “Naughty girl.” He bowed his head to begin worshipping my body. “You make me so horny.”

  I was pleased to know this. I wasn’t exactly a newly sexual initiate, but every time we became intimate, I felt we learned something new from each other and I knew that he took pleasure in showing me all that he knew, every way that he could please me.

  As he licked and stroked me, I whimpered with pleasure. His attentions were making the muscles in my loins quiver, made even my legs spasm occasionally. I might have felt a little embarrassed with all of my spasms and the noises coming out of me, but more than that, I felt good. So good that the room and the candles, ceased to exist, so that all I came to care for in the world was the feeling of his mouth and fingers bringing me to the heights of bliss.

  As I came for him for what was either the fourth or sixth time—I lost count – he kissed the insides of my thighs and then moved up my body, pushing my sweater above my breasts, freeing my them from my bra of peach satin. He took my left breast into his mouth and suckled its nipple hungrily, his free hand stroking my sensitive clitoris, trying to bring me to another orgasm.

  He was so good to me, such a generous lover…

  “What can I do to please you?” I moaned, wanting him to feel his share of pleasure. He was so very deserving of it.

  He looked down at me and smoothed a tendril of my long dark hair away from my face. “Let me make love to you,” he whispered and bent his head to kiss me.

  I figured that love was a strong word for what we were engaged in, but I didn’t want to ruin the mood by correcting him on it.

  “We’ll have to use a condom,” I told him, hoping that my announcement wouldn’t spoil the mood either. “I’m on the break part of my birth control pills.”

  “I just want to be inside o’you, condom or no.” He scooped me up from the couch, taking me into his strong arms. He carried me into his bedroom and lowered me to his queen-sized bed. He took a condom from the nightstand and tossed it on one of the pillows.

  Coming back to me, he pulled his shirt over his head and I helped him with his gym pants, pulling them down over his hips. His erection stood prominently out from his groin, pointing at me. Leaning forward, I couldn’t resist the temptation…I took him in my mouth, enjoying the silken texture of his cockhead in my mouth, savoring the small, salty drop of precum that glistened at its very tip.

  As much as I wanted to feel him inside of me, I wanted to see him cum, wanted to satisfy him, as he had satisfied me.

  He groaned and tipped his head back as I took his entire length into my mouth, into the back of my throat.

  “Samantha, if you do much more of that, I’m not going to last long…”

  I suckled his head and then hesitated, to let him out of my mouth.

  “I just want to please you,” I said, flicking the tip of his swollen cock with my tongue.

  Neal put his hand on my chest and gently urged me to lie down.

  He picked the condom up off the bedspread and tore open the package to retrieve the latex ring.

  “Then tell me you want me.” He drawled, rolling the condom down the length of his shaft.

  “I want you.” My voice was silken and sultry as he covered me with his body. “I want you to fill me up, again and again.”

  I reached my hand down to guide his cockhead to my labia, to the warm folds of wet flesh there, to my honeyed slit. It was all the encouragement he needed. He sheathed himself in my body and I moaned as he filled me, a perfect fit.

  “Oh, Sam,” he groaned. “You have no idea how good you feel, how warm…”

  I rotated my hips, languishing in the feel of him there, deep inside of me.

  “You’re provoking me.” He warned me.

  “Am I?”

  “You are.”

  I squeezed my kiegels as tightly as I could and my reward was his sharp intake of breath. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” I squeezed my hidden muscles again, for emphasis.

  “You’re really asking for it,” he whispered hoarsely.

  “Am I?” Another squeeze, just for fun, to see the expression on his face, that barely restrained passion.

  “You are.”

  It was then that he finally began to move, giving me pleasure, taking his own. He moved slowly at first, then with quicker, more heated strokes. He felt so good, scratching an itch in me that I hadn’t even known that I had, until I met him.

  Sex had been so monotonous until he walked into my life…

  Every time he lowered himself to my body, I lifted my hips to him, taking him as deep as I could inside of me. Heartbeats, seconds, minutes became timeless as my flesh whispered against his. He repositioned us both, lifting my legs up over his shoulders so that he could strike that sweet target within. My consciousness focused entirely on my pleasure now.

  I would not be denied it, I craved it, I quickened toward it…

  I was so close now, I could almost taste it.

  “Oh God, Neal,” I moaned, as wave after wave of pleasure built within me, threatening to sweep me up and over, tumble me into senselessness. “I’m going to cum.”

  “Mind if I join you?” He asked, his breathing slightly labored.

  He wasn’t going to last long this time, I could tell by the urgency in his voice.

  “Come for me, then,” I told him, urging him on, raking my nails over his back, the way that he liked.

  Barely able to think, I kissed him and then reached between our legs to gently squeeze his balls. He felt so hard inside of me, so very hard…my orgasm felt like it was going to last forever, as my cries echoed off the walls of his bedroom.

  “I’m coming,” he announced, breathless.

  A pleasurable sound escaped his lips and then he was finishing, punctuating each shot of his jism with a powerful stroke of his cock. I clenched the muscles of my vagina for him and he pulsed into me, the last of his hot seed filling the latex condom.

  “Oh God, Sam,” he panted, resting some of his weight on my body. “You fit me like a glove.”

  “You and that glorious cock of yours.” I squeezed him again, internally. “I could never get sick of this Funtime at Schroeders.”

  “Is that what you’re calling it now?” He chuckled.

  “Why? What should I call it?”

  “Call it making love.”

  I flinched mentally at his casual use of the L-bomb.

  “I adore you,” I told him, kissing him softly as he lowered his mouth to mine.

  He rolled off of me, taking a few minutes to stroke my body, just as I was running my fingertips over his, basking in the afterglow of our intimacy.

  Seconds passed, then minutes….then close to an hour.

  I yawned, breaking the spell. “What time is it?”

  “Bed time.”

  “You’re probably right.”

  “I should probably get rid of this thing,” he said, meaning the condom.

  As he got up to go to the bathroom, I couldn’t resist the urge to smack his naked ass. It was the sexiest ass I had ever seen on a man in my entire life.

  My hand felt magnetically drawn to it.

  I was compelled.

  “Hey!” He yelped, as soon as my hand fell.

 
“Oops, hand slipped,” I said simply and stood up on wobbly legs to follow him out of the room.

  I was thirsty.

  I saw the wine on the coffee table, but decided to go with water instead. I helped myself to a glass in his cupboard and ran the tap until it was cool.

  A glass of water later, I felt the oncoming of a hunger that was all too familiar…

  “Well,” Neal began, as he came out of the bathroom. “I’m ready for bed, how about you?”

  How was I going to explain my departure this time?

  Appearing almost suddenly, the Dark Thing was becoming anxious inside of me and wanted me to leave, to do its bidding.

  “Neal, if it’s okay with you, I think I’d like to sleep at home tonight, okay?”

  He was silent for a long moment, clearly wary of my words.

  Finally, he posed a question, his blue eyes seeming stormy with malcontent.

  “Can I ask why?”

  “Well, I don’t have my toothbrush, or a change of panties, for that matter.”

  “Was it my making love comment back there? Is that why you’re going?”

  I didn’t have time for this.

  I felt annoyed at having to explain why I was leaving.

  Annoyed at having to lie, yet again.

  “No, Neal – not at all.”

  “Really?” His voice took on a hard edge. “Because it seems like every time I try to get romantic with you, you freeze up somehow. You turn cold.”

  Why did he have to go and make this about feelings?

  I had to get out of there, fast.

  The Dark Thing’s hunger was building quickly…that was not a good sign.

  “Look, I just don’t feel prepared for a sleepover, that’s all.”

  “So borrow my toothbrush. Wear a pair of my briefs.”

  I gritted my teeth.

  He was being so stubborn about it.

  Well, I knew how to be stubborn too.

  I put my hands on my hips and tried to give him as premenstrual an attitude as I could manage. “I don’t suppose you have pads or tampons, in case my period comes early?”

  It was playing dirty pool, resorting to ye olde women’s curse to fool him, but he was leaving me no choice in the matter.

  “Well, no, but-“

  “It’s like I told you, I’m on the break part of my pills and that means period.”

  I really didn’t have time for this.

  The Dark Thing was making my nerves fray around the edges…

  He sighed and crossed his arms. “Well, I don’t think you should drive home in your condition.”

  “What condition?” I asked, knowing that I should leave soon.

  Very soon.

  “You’ve had two glasses of wine.” He said flatly.

  “What are you getting at?”

  “You’re legally drunk.”

  “Neal, it was one and a half glasses.” I laughed off his stern glance. “Over an hour ago. With food. I’m far from drunk.”

  “The law says that you are.” He insisted, genuine annoyance in his voice.

  “Well, my experience as a bartender says that I’m not.” I watched his gaze fall away from me to the floor instead.

  Why was he so upset with me?

  Surely it wasn’t the wine alone.

  “Hey.” I took a step toward him. “What’s really bothering you?”

  “It’s just that…It would be really nice to sleep next to you tonight.” He spoke softly, a hurt look in his blue eyes. “To be able to sleep next to you, without you leaving in the middle of the night, for example.”

  “I’ll pack properly for a sleepover the next time, okay?” I promised, picking my peach panties up from the floor.

  I dressed in his silence and felt lousy for lying to him.

  The Dark Thing stirred inside of me, becoming more insistent that I leave, getting impatient with me and making my skin crawl.

  There was work to be done, somewhere west of this apartment…

  “Fine, okay, sure.” Neal was still discontent, I could tell by the tone of his surrender.

  “Thank you for supper, for everything.” Dressed, I adjusted my bra and walked right up to him.

  I held his face in my hands and kissed him.

  He was hesitant at first, but I felt his displeasure melt away, as I kissed him more ardently, wresting from him a sense of passion, leaving with him a promise of more to come.

  He followed me to the door and stood there in silence as I got my boots back on, along with my winter coat.

  “Are you sure I can’t convince you to stay?” There was a wry grin on his kiss-swollen lips.

  “Another night, Neal.” I zipped up my coat. He opened the door for me. “Goodnight?”

  He nodded his defeat. “Goodnight.”

  I smiled at him and then turned to leave, the Dark Thing urging me to head west and to do it quickly. I wondered what was waiting for us there.

  -5-

  I had been driving for nearly twenty minutes, as fast as I dared toward that western destination, when I realized that the area we were headed for was likely the warehouse district at the City’s shipping port.

  In that vicinity, there was plenty of shipping and receiving going on, even at night.

  I drove past warehouse after warehouse along the wide road that ran parallel to the district and parallel to the shore where the docks met the ocean. I found myself hoping that the port did not subscribe to the use of video surveillance, as I certainly couldn’t afford to be caught with either my license plate or my face on the evening news.

  My instincts, sharpened by the Dark Thing, led me to a large warehouse at the furthest end of the shipping area, a hulk of a structure, with an aluminum exterior that was poorly lit and didn’t seem well maintained. It looked run down and would have seemed abandoned, had it not been for the presence of two vehicles parked outside.

  There was an older model limousine and a brand new Chevy Escalade, both black, both vacant. Above the main doors of the building was a sign indicating that this was the Blue Water Shipping Company.

  I parked my car in the lot of the warehouse next to the one that the Dark Thing had sought out, hiding my small car easily from sight behind a large orange shipping crate. I shut the car off and stepped outside, throwing my winter jacket back in my car, since I wouldn’t be needing it.

  The Dark Thing would provide enough insulation to keep me warm, just as it had on other cold winter nights. Feeling as though there was no time left to spare, I willed the Dark Thing to cover my face with the reptilian layer of its thick, off-black scales, so that I wouldn’t have to worry in the least about my identity being revealed. My hair, now in the dreadlock clumps for which the Wild Animal Killer was known, was pressed tight against my skull, so that it wouldn’t obscure my view from the sides of my face. My eyes, I knew from experience, would appear entirely black to any who saw them and that was just fine by me.

  Mine was a monster’s mask, sure to scare the shit out of any villainous louse.

  There was work to be done.

  I walked up to the front of the warehouse, wondering what the best point of entry was. The Dark Thing seemed to suggest that I should use the side entrance, so I ignored the two large double doors in the front and walked, instead to the side of the warehouse where there was indeed a side door.

  I listened intently. There was a man speaking inside of the echoing building, in what I pinpointed was a location closer to the rear of the warehouse.

  No other sounds seemed to permeate the metal door, except for the occasional restless footstep and the breathing of five or six persons.

  All inside seemed to be listening attentively to whomever was speaking.

  “Last chance Eddie,” I heard the voice continue. “What happened to the other six kilos of coke?”

  As first impressions go, it sounded to me like a drug deal gone sour.

  I willed my fingers to grow short claws as I put my hand to the doorknob and, finding
it unlocked, turned it and opened the door wide enough for me to gain entry.

  My luck was holding. The door did not creak as it opened, nor did it sound as I closed it gently behind me.

  I saw row after row of shipping crates and cardboard boxes before me, with aisles so narrow that only one or two people could walk between them.

  Which was the safest aisle to take, to get a look at what was going on? The Dark Thing was drawing me toward an aisle in the center and, trusting my supernatural instincts, I followed its advice.

  A sobbing male spoke up, “I told you man, I don’t know anything. I wasn’t even there that day, honest, I-“

  There was the unmistakable sound of flesh hitting flesh.

  It sounded as though Eddie had just been slapped.

  My padded feet made no sound on the concrete floor as I approached the voice with what I felt was due stealth—none that they could hear, at least.

  When I got to the end of the row of crates, I finally saw them standing to the left of the last crate in the row, near the double doors at the rear of the building.

  There were four men standing and three on their knees, their hands bound behind them with what appeared to be plastic wire ties.

  The four men standing were armed, along with the guy wearing a chauffeur’s hat. Two of the men, looking quite like their role as common thugs, had handguns, what looked to me like a Colt .9mm and a Beretta of the same caliber.

  At the sight of the handguns, I willed the Dark Thing to plate my chest with a thicker coat of its armor, even though I knew that a thinner coat of the exoskeleton would do just fine. I wasn’t going to take any chances with this much firepower at their disposal.

  The fourth man standing, an older heavy-set man who was probably the origin of the scent of garlic that hung heavily in this portion of the warehouse, had only a large knife in his hand and was brandishing it at the throat of one of the three men on their knees.

  This victim was the only one on his knees that didn’t currently have a rag shoved in his mouth as a gag. I decided that he was probably Eddie, the one expected to answer the question about the cocaine.

  All three of the men on their knees bore signs that they had already taken quite the beating. They were bruised and bloody, with split lips and swollen eyes among them. The one man without the gag, with the knife at his throat, had already wet himself.