by Jane Brooke
Title Page
DEATH AT THE SAPPHIC BALL
Jane Brooke
Publisher Information
Death at the Sapphic Ball
Published in 2013 by Andrews UK Limited
www.andrewsuk.com
The rights of Jane Brooke to be identified as the Authors of this Work has been asserted by them in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1998
Copyright © 2013 Jane Brooke
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser. Any person who does so may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.
12 Hours Later
“To Judge from the notions expanded by theologians, one must conclude that God created most men simply with a view to crowd a burning hell.
DeSade
“Thank you, Jane darling, wasn’t that just divine?” Ash whispered.
DIVINE?
Jane was satiated, exhausted and her naked body felt like it was undulating in an out of body experience from what Ash had done to it through the night and early morning. Her brain felt that it was without the capability of forming words as she simply stared at a naked Ash. Jane began a whisper, but that was dissolved by Ash’s teak colored forefinger pressed against her lips.
“Shush, darling. You sleep now, Ash much go now. We shall chat more later my lovely.”
GO?
Jane wanted the soap opera romance, the cuddling, the warmth of two new lovers bodies pressed together as they slept, the morning after kiss. You know just like every Fabio, cheap romance novel every created, but that was not to be.
Ash laced her hands under Jane’s blond hair, lifted her head, fluffed a pillow and gently laid her head upon it. She pulled back the white sheets and down comforter, guided her legs and body under them.
Unable to help herself, Ash pushed her finger between Jane’s legs, coming to rest on her cunt. For several moments, as she seemed again to drift into her own personal dream world, she allowed her fingers to rest there.
Jane remembered what Ash had done to her before with her aquiline fingers and simply felt frozen in sexual anticipation.
Coming back from ever a sexual savant roams when lost within their visions, Ash smiled, touched Jane’s Face tenderly as Jane’s body began to shiver and undulate from her touch.
Ash, with her eyes never leaving Jane’s blues, started to hum again, to some music in her mind. Minutes passed, and then Ash felt it, leaned her lips close to Jane’s lips, reached into her small black Fendi bag, with drew the black latex dildo, and pressed it into Jane’s trembling hands.
With a breath of violets Ash whispered in her mixed British and American accent.
“There my darling, my beautiful little girl. This shall have to do, until we meet again.”
Thinking that Ash’s breath held the essences of cut roses to it, Jane closed her eyes, as her teeth began to chatter from the simple touch of Ash’s fingers on her vagina as her back arched as Ash pressed her lips to hers, allowed their tongues to mate.
The mind is an exotic and beautiful things as Jane, simply from the touch of Ash’s fingers felt an orgasm role through her entire body.
“OOOOOh AAAAH... OOOOOOH... I....I....I.... Loooove yooou.”
Ash, wanting nothing of that crippling word, broke the kiss and words from Jane’s lips, sat back and almost scolding Jane, she whispered to her through a small smile.
“We will have none of that my darling. Now, I must go, here.”
Jane out stretched her hands to Ash, she ignored the gesture. She covered Jane to her chinny chin chin, smiled at her, touched her lips, and whispered to her.
“Sleep darling, I shall say good bye, if you are awake when I return.”
She stood, seemed to weave for a moment, righted herself, did an air kiss at Jane with the O of her lips. Pirouetting on a bare heel, a naked mahogany colored reed, she gaily skipped across the room and disappeared into the bathroom. Jane sighed, knowing that the fairy tale, as they always did, had ended.
3 Am, morning moved for sometime as if the clock has no memory, numbers etched within its face. As always it is a machine stealing precious time from humans that banked so little of the commodity in lives lived far too short.
Moving in and out of the coma of pleasures Ash had induced upon her, Jane felt as if her body had been entombed in a crinoline coffin. She did not remember her eyes closing and, then opening them she felt something satin touching her face.
Jane smiled, for Ash and as thin and muscular as the powerful athlete that she was towering over her, her fingers touching her cheek. She was smiling, teeth as white as ever, her green eyes still splashed across her unbelievable beautiful face.
She was now dressed in a man’s black suit, white men’s shirt and black tie, black men’s tie ups, and a black fedora on her head. Naked before, wild erotic, exotic and untamable as a female she was now even more stunning as perhaps the new Masculine Ash.
Jane was immobilized and her body felt like a noodle, weak, renewed, exhausted as Ash leaned in and kissed her. Jane responded as Ash backed away from her, Jane assumed being pulled by some stellar lunar force.
No offer of a phone number exchange, no mention of marriage, no mention of another fluid exchange. There was no hint of an encore of finally bringing to light to Jane’s fantasies, thus breaking her out from the cerebral jail cell of denial she had been living in her entire 29 years. Looking at the 18 year old Ash, and as Jane had thought before, she knew that Ash was the adult in the brief time they had been together. From the smile on Ash’s face, Jane knew that smile meant that what had happened had been a one-time deal.
It had been two hungry girls feeding needs, whatever those carnal, eclectic needs were? At the moment Ash knew it, and Jane knew it, and Jane guessed the bubble head aliens waiting for Ash in the space machine outside knew it too.
She smiled. Jane smiled.
She thought she saw a single tear spilling down a high cheekbone, but it was just her imagination Jane assumed. Ash leaned down and kissed Jane one last time, and whispered.
“We shall see each other at your London Agency my beauty. We have so much work to be done. I am your client now. Never forget my darling, how special you truly are.”
One last smile and, then she turned on a men’s brogue, walked solidly across the bedroom and at the door she hesitated. She turned her head and simply stared at Jane.
What is she thinking? What does she want? Jane wondered.
In Jane’s fantasies she will return, this minute, strip naked and savage her again. But she did not as Ash smiled, and whispered.
“Be brave my lovely Jane. Be true to yourself.” Jane blinked and, then Ash was gone.
Suddenly, and to her amazement, she was happy, felt beautiful, renewed. She knew that this was a transformational moment in her life. It was, the changing moment that she would cherish forever. It was what it was, a rebirth of her heart and lesbian soul.
She of course could not sleep, and wanted the feeling of sleeping in her own bed. She was so disorientated, not to mention confused by what just had happened.
More than anything else, she needed the solace of her familiar apartment
It would clarify matters more than anything. Help her realize that she h
ad not been abducted by an ET and that she still lived on Planet Earth. She began to giggle. Her sense of humor was there still intact, thank fully.
She rose from the bed, placed her feet on the floor and pressing her elbow’s to her knees, she layered her face into her hands. She groaned from so many shoots of glorious pain and pleasure still striking through her body.
Ash had, through the many hours of the night savaged her and she wanted more.
Suddenly, she felt tears streaming down her cheeks as her face crushed into her fingers and she moaned.
“Just fucking great. Now what in the fuck am I going to do?”
And then she began to weep uncontrollably.
24 Hours Earlier
2 AM. Manhattan
ONE man was dead, an evil and lascivious monster and as she, the killer of such men stood before the wall mirror of her opulent hotel suite and scrutinized herself. More men would die yet she just did not have the numbers set into her abacus mind yet.
She wore black skin tight leather hip huggers cut off low on her ankles. On her small feet we’re a pair of soft soled, black leather ankle boots. Soft soles, always utilitarian for great traction when a girl played with hand guns.
On her lithe and muscled body was a black long sleeve, half way down her palms and crewed at the neck muscle shirt. Strapped to her broad shoulders were a set of light weight black carbon fiber shoulder holsters. Slotted in them, we’re two black, silenced 9 MM Berettas.
Her pulse was calm, and already finishing her work for the night, or at least she had thought so, she smiled at her reflection in the mirror. Black was the color of the night, and she loved it.
Turning on her boot heal, she moved to the bed of her suite, lifted a cut at the waist black leather motorcycle jacket, put it on, zipped the sleeves tight on her arms and then zipped it up tight along her long neck.
She lifted her black pack filled with the tools of death she had used earlier, slipped it on her back. The leather straps felt good to her on her muscled shoulders.
There had been a small dime sized hole in the wall earlier and she looked at where it had been. There was no sign of it any longer. She was gifted at so many things, and after she had spackled it and troweled it and now there was no rumor any longer that there had ever been a hole there.
Perusing the suite one last time, she nodded to herself that all was right. Lifting her black motor cycle helmet, she placed it on her head, lowered the domed black tinted face shield and sighed in delight hearing an Amadeus octave in her head.
She was very different kind of female indeed.
Who was this exotic female, only few really knew?
Walking to the door, she hesitated, felt her pulse beginning to rise. It was time to leave.
Opening the door, she moved out of it and in the hallway, she stepped from the room and closed the door behind her.
Looking down the hallway, she instantly saw the two dangerous men, both she knew of quite well, as they smoked cigarettes as they stood sentry in front of the room door next to her room.
She knew they would be there, yet they were not men that were scheduled to be on her list, not just yet that was. That perhaps would come later.
She began to long stride down the hall, and looking like some kind of exotic praying mantis dressed in tight black skins, she passed the men and was silent as she did.
The men, being lascivious men after all leered at her lithe and thin body in her skins and, then as she was half way down the hall heading for the exit stairs, they threw out hisses and sexist remarks.
“Hey baby. Hey sweet tits. Nice ass doll, etc.” They said laughing and sexually taunting her.
Instantly she stopped, turned sideways, planted her boot souls into a wide stance onto the floor. Her head turned, and she stared at the two men juking and jiving through her domed black tinted face plate.
One of the men puckered his lips and ‘tssst tssst tsssted” her.
His brother laughed as he then waggled his tongue at her. Both men laughed as the girl in black simply stared back at them.
Her agenda for the night already finished, and she being so thorough, she inhaled her breath, turned, took three steps and, then froze as one of the men spit out the words.
“FUCKING BIATCH...WHAT A CUNT.”
There was that word and probably only that word, that always sent her on tilt.
She was a BITCH, her own BITCH, and no man ever called her that.
Slowly she turned, and again in a wide stance, she stared at the giggling men as then she slowly began to unzip her leather jacket. Placing her leather gloved hands into her jacket as she then began to withdraw both black silenced Berettas.
Sometimes a girl with guns work night never seemed to end.
14 Hours Later
Manhattan
MANHATTAN, the good life, 5th Ave, fashion divas, money, lots of fucking money. Couture is everywhere, Dior, runways, bulimia and super models barfing in the toilets. Make up, anonymous sex, gay, straight, Bi, hook ups, let downs, one night stands and prowling Lincoln Town cars. Clubs, dinners, hang over’s, drug abuse, actors, musicians, celebrities, writers and so many cocaine blues. ‘E’ moments to forget, all of it, status, Oprah, Dr. Phil, fixer of sick minds, book signings, fucked up denial, privileged, Hampton weekends, that was her town.
Jane Braden’s town.
Jimmy Choo’s, 3 inch heels, tip tapping in the penthouse crib, sky scrapper with a view of The City, I- Pad-4 and Apple lap top on the mirror surface of her mahogany desk. The view, primo, East river wet, like her misused cunt. She’s so smart, parents of wealth, agents, publicists, no one says no to her, ever.
She is so blond, 29, jet set blue eyes with a hard-gym fit lithe tall bod and teenage hips, white eyebrows and alabaster skin. Once when she was younger she had an eating disorder which ran amok. She was an enigma for to the world it appeared she had everything. In reality she was miserable because she has every thing but sexed up luck.
She had a secret life no one knew of and it was filled with shadows and enigmas.
She’s frustrated, her electric vibrating dildo her lover, face cast like a diva of perfection, no Botox yet, still a real beauty.
FUCK that got her a one way ticket to no where.
Wanting it all, she had become cosmetic frustrated and had been dreamin’ of girls, a girl world. No more denial for her, for sense she could remember all she could ever dream of was another girls lips.
She hadn’t come out, yet and she felt ashamed about that little fact. She was done line dancing within a life time of lies and fucking the men she had pretended to like for so long in The City. Let’s just say she was sick of it all not to mention frustrated out of her hard wired mind.
A girl can only fool themselves for so long and the available options we’re the usual men, power brokers, Wall Street ghouls, twisted politicians, Actors, etc. Decent men, some of them at least she supposed but they just didn’t punch her ticket.
She didn’t hate them, but knew so many we’re on the continual prowl, always searching for some model piece of arm candy with air between their ears. Like everything else in Manhattan they we’re so jaded and she a long time ago had given up on them.
But what was she going to do? What? Maybe, breath some silver breath of a golden girl, a milk and honey, out of control totally insane girl girly girl, filled with smut, just like her? Maybe, probably, it’s on the top of her CEO list.
Almost since she could remember she has been fantasying about a little girl on girl action. But not now, not this moment for she has other things on her mind. As usual that thing was making a boat load of money off someone else’s talent.
It was her agency, she was CEO of Broust/Braden Talent LTD, and this was the most important day of her company’s life.
Jane Braden, graduated
from Harvard Business School at 24. It was a real killing ground of brains, turning out financial hit women and hit men who had learned to kill with heartless, homicidal computers.
You know, using Algorithms, Algos and Super Computers, lightening speeds, trades cut from the arteries of Modem Patterns.
It was of course all about the math, quantum mechanics, quarks and shadows margins in a technological arms race. It was all happening in milliseconds, murdering everything in their paths. That of course included other traders not as fortunate as to have three story banks of computers struck into concrete silos just across the river there, in New Jersey.
She could have gone Wall Street, but she had not. It just hadn’t matched her passions, they being mostly her love for raw talent.
At the time she had loved twisted writers, artists, athletes, moronic models, actors and celebrities. Celebrity, it was a word she hated within such vapid Snookie days.
She liked the glamour of it all, or at least she had at one time. Luck, always a good thing and her super wealthy and connected parents had given the boss there, Ben Broust a shout out. He hired her on the spot.
Hooked up the agency at twenty five, she had chewed her way through the blood soaked hallways there. Five years later Jane was at the top of the celebrity garbage heap. A full partner, she was CEO and not a very happy gal or a contented gal for that matter. Her world was just so limp, so empty, so Platinum plated, so radioactive sterile.
Nervous through the morning, it was something that usually didn’t happen to her. Her three inch stilettos seemed to be tapping the teak floor harder as she stared out at the fab view at the East River.
She had become jaded, of course who would not have become that in her world. In her world there were still some magic moments, perhaps within the nether world of rare talent. Her agency represented some gifted artists, writers, actors and sports girls and boys. They were the rarity in her celebrity life where more and more celebrity for celebrity sake seemed to be the norm.