“Tell me how to find his room,” said Sara. “I need to get close to Mr. Carlsbad.”
“It’s what every girl wants at these parties,” sighed Darvish. “You know, I’m actually richer than him. You should want to be with me.”
“We can be together,” said Sara. “Tell me how to find him. Secret panel? Behind a painting?”
“Uh-uh,” said Darvish. “I tell you and you’re out of here like greased lightning. No way. You want to know, you’ve got to do something for me first.”
She had rarely been less attracted to a man she intended to seduce, but she could see in his beady eyes that Darvish was not going to be lured into divulging the secret without a rather large carrot. She slipped a hand into his boxers. His cock was small and stiff, already slippery with his precum. She gave him a squeeze and leaned her lips close to his to ask, “What’s it going to take?”
“Mmmmm.” He stared hungrily into her eyes and thrust his hips, working his slimy cock through her fingers. “Your ass. I want your ass.”
She wasn’t disappointed with his choice. She knew she could wring him dry quickly with her bum.
“And you’ll tell me how to find Carlsbad?” She demanded, squeezing his little cock harder so he couldn’t thrust through her fingers.
“I’ll take you to him,” he gasped, squeezing Sara’s ass and trying to fuck her hand. “I’ll tell him what a good fuck you are and he’ll let you in.”
She turned her back on him so she didn’t have to look at his face. She moved with such grace and ease that she did not even let go of his cock. She straddled his lap, her back arched as she guided his hardness to the pink divot of her anus. He was so wet and slippery – not to mention modest in size – that all it took was a determined push of her hips and his entire cock pushed up her arse. She pressed her cheeks against his lap and he gasped as her tight ring massaged the base of his cock. She slid up to his tip, squeezing her arsehole the entire way, puckering it as she slipped him out and back in again.
“Ohhhhh, darling, the sight of that ass is more than I can stand,” he cried and shuddered beneath her. He squeezed and spread her bum and watched her little arsehole devour his cock.
“Fuck my arse,” she moaned over her shoulder. “Oh, yes, give me that big American cock.”
He thrust his hips and awkwardly tried to fuck Sara’s tight bum. She moaned, grunted, and cried out as if he was giving her rear a good rogering. Her rolling hips and deftly clenching divot did the real work. She smothered his lap with her bum on the down strokes and gave him a good view of her squeezing arsehole on the up strokes. Her back arched and her tits bounced free of her dress. The twins were watching her languidly, stroking each other as if mesmerized by the sight of Sara’s movements. She smiled at them as she rode Darvish’s cock, but they kept the same drugged expressions, turned to each other, and began making out.
Darvish’s hands tightened their grip on Sara’s bum.
“Ohhhhhh sugar, you’re going to make me explode,” cried Darvish, jerking his hips desperately.
“Please! Cum for me! Fill my little hole,” moaned Sara, seemingly overjoyed with the thought of the disgusting man ejaculating in her arse. She whined, “I neeeeed it!”
“AHHHHHH!” He gurgled as if choking and thrust his little cock all the way into her arse. She clenched against him as his cock throbbed again and again. Warmth spread inside her as he unleashed his load into the depths of her arse. She slowed her ride atop him, sitting down on his lap. He panted, “Holy shit. You’re a goddamn succubus, you are. I don’t want to give you up.”
Even juiced on Viagra and probably other drugs, Darvish’s cock began to wilt after his explosive orgasm. She felt him slip from her arsehole and she clenched tightly, pushing out most of his filthy cum onto his lap. She stood and fixed her dress.
“I believe you made a promise,” she said, turning to face him.
“Alright, alright,” he said, taking a sip from a glass of bourbon. “Hold your horses, darling.”
The twins crawled over to Darvish and cleaned his lap with little towels. He tucked his manhood away and pulled on a pair of track pants over his boxers.
“I’ll take you to him,” he said. “Come on, sweetheart.”
He walked through the party, pausing every so often to paw at a dancing girl, sample drugs arranged on a platter, or to whisper something to one of the male partygoers. Megan fell in behind Sara, but kept her distance so as to not alert Darvish to her presence. They reached a small closet and Darvish prodded a nearly catatonic girl out to make room for Sara to join him.
“A bit tight in here,” he said, breathing boozy breath in her face and groping her body. He reached past her and the door to the closet slid shut. The room shook and she felt motion. It was an elevator, she realized. Darvish kissed her, messily, trying to force his tongue into her mouth. She held him at bay with a hand on his chest. She realized he had taken down his track pants and was wanking his cock.
“You’re disgusting,” she said.
“And you’re not fooling me with that wig,” he laughed, grabbing her dress and yanking down to free one of her breasts. “I knew who you were the minute you walked in that room. I fucked the ass of the famous Sara Chambers. Savior of Europe, they call you. Just another slut craving my billionaire cock.”
She felt a cold prickle of fear. This man knew more than had been letting on. He was toying with her.
“Baxter,” she whispered. “Baxter can you hear me?”
She received a dull hum of interference in reply. Wherever they were going inside the building, it was shielded from wireless communications. Sara tried to push Darvish away from her. She realized he was no longer holding his cock and had drawn a tiny pistol from the pocket of his pants. The hammer clicked back.
“Nice and calm,” said Darvish. “No reason for you to get yourself killed. We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it.”
The door to the hidden elevator opened and they stepped out into a hallway lined with more erotic statues. These were different to the statues on the floor below. They were genuine artifacts and many seemed quite strange, with women embracing monstrous fish men, bodies squeezed by tentacles, and women locked in ecstasy with demonic entities.
“You like the art?” Darvish chuckled. “Jonathan and I have certain tastes that are not shared by most antiquarians.”
She bit back an insult as she felt a throb in the tattoo on the back of her hand. She turned her hand so that Darvish did not see the glow. Sara had the sense of a large room overlooking the city up ahead, huge windows, but mostly blocked by billowing curtains. There was an enormous bed and figures writhing atop it. Women moaned with pleasure and a man grunted in their midst.
“I will speak with him first,” said Darvish. “You will wait here.”
He directed her through a door off the hallway. It was a spacious, marble-finished bathroom. Darvish began to say something and Sara grabbed his wrist and twisted so hard that he released the gun. It clattered to the floor. She slammed him back into the counter.
“Stupid bitch,” he grunted. “You’ll grKrgkkrk!”
She wrapped a hand around his throat to shut him up. They grappled and fought the length of the bathroom. There was a large bath hidden by a curtain, but they battled everywhere else, on the floor and standing, kicking, kneeing, and punching. He was no skilled fighter, but he was surprisingly strong and much heavier than Sara. She had years of training, but was up against an ogre of a man. He dress tore open completely and her breasts flopped free. He squeezed them roughly and she tightened her grip on his throat and drove a knee into his groin.
“Oooooh,” he gasped and finally doubled up. She grabbed a statuette from the counter and thumped the back of his head hard enough to send him sprawling to the floor. He was unconscious and bleeding, but alive.
Sara retrieved his gun and was about to leave the bathroom when she heard the faint lapping of water from the other side of the curtain. Was someone hiding in t
he bathtub? She crept closer to the heavy curtain. She readied the pistol and drew the curtain aside.
Her eyes widened and she almost screamed.
Jonathan Carlsbad was floating in a bathtub full of blood. His heart had been stabbed several times and his throat had been cut. His eyes stared in frozen disbelief. The tattoo on Sara’s hand burned suddenly and she almost cried out and dropped the pistol.
“It is here,” said the voice of Red Wolf in her mind as clearly as if he were speaking through her radio. “The thief has used the magic of the Totem of Change. Be careful, Sara Chambers.”
“He has become the skinwalker,” whispered Sara.
“Yes,” answered Red Wolf. “His powers are far beyond human now. Beware.”
Sara emerged from the bathroom, leading with Darvish’s pistol. She wondered what Megan was doing and wished for a moment that her friend had somehow made her way up to this secret lair. No, Sara decided. Megan might get herself killed and Sara would never be able to live with herself.
The women had gone quiet in the bedroom. The movement had stopped except for the billowing curtains. In the darkness, Sara saw a single female figure hunched over on hands and knees on the bed. The curtains billowed wider in the desert breeze and the light of the city spilled across a scene of carnage.
Six women lay stabbed and bloodied on the tangled sheets of the bed. Stabbed and with their throats cut. Sara’s stomach tied into a knot. One woman was on her hands and knees, her lips and chin dripping with blood as she hunched over a body. Her own body, realized Sara.
“Put your hands up, Tex,” said Sara, aiming the pistol at the woman. “If there’s any of you left in there.”
“Sara Chambers,” said the woman, baring blood-stained teeth. “You have come all this way just to die.”
She pulled the trigger and the little .25 caliber pistol popped in her grasp. She fired several times, emptying its small magazine and striking the kneeling woman several times. She moved backwards with impossible speed, disappearing over the side of the bed.
“The totem,” said Red Wolf. “Get the totem. It is beneath the sky.”
Sara realized Red Wolf meant the balcony. She tossed aside the empty pistol and leaped over the bed, dancing over the bodies of the poor girls that the skinwalker had murdered. She vaulted off the bed and towards one of the open windows.
The thing that had been Tex Love caught her in mid-leap. Hands like iron snapped shut around her ankles and she was slammed to the floor with such force that the wind was knocked out of her and she nearly lost consciousness. She managed to roll over on her back as the skinwalker rose above her. It was no longer human at all, but a hideous, bipedal conglomerate of human limbs and features.
The face of the thing shifted through the faces of the women it had just killed, became Jonathan Carlsbad for a moment, and then transformed into Tex Love. She realized in that moment that the totem had consumed him as surely as it had consumed these other women. He was completely in its evil thrall.
“I’m glad you showed up,” it drawled in his voice. “I’d rather be you than this Carlsbad creep. Much more fun. Sorry you gotta die for me to do that.”
Tex’s friendly expression shifted to demonic hunger in an instant and he leapt at Sara. She rolled out of his way and used a Brazilian jiu-jitsu kick to return to her feet. She was ready when he rounded on her and delivered a precise side kick that landed her heel on his jaw with bone-breaking force.
His head jerked sideways and he stumbled back a step. He turned to her, his smile momentarily broken, but his teeth sliding back into place and his jaw returning to its squared perfection. His teeth clicked back onto his smile and she wanted to scream.
The suppressed snap of a 9mm pistol sounded behind Tex. Bullet holes blossomed in his bare chest and abdomen and he jerked forward, falling off-balance. Megan stood behind him, grasping a pistol she must have stolen from one of the security men. Smoke curled from the large, rectangular suppressor on its barrel.
The skinwalker fell and sprouted new legs as it dropped. Its momentum became a running crawl on hands and feet as it became a bizarre mixture of Tex and one of the women he had just killed. He scrambled out through the balcony door and Megan followed, firing again and again and clipping him several more times.
The skinwalker was not merely trying to escape, it was running for the totem, which floated just above the railing of the balcony.
“Keep it away from the totem!” Sara cried, running through the open doors after the creature.
Megan snapped off three more shots, causing the running mixture of Tex and one of the prostitutes to slew sideways and hit the rail of the balcony. Sara was right behind it, running past it, her dress torn nearly to ribbons clinging to her toned body. She leaped at the totem without hesitation. She caught it and the tattoo on her hand blazed bright red. She hauled the loathsome totem against her breasts, squeezing it to her mounds as she sailed over the balcony, pivoted, and caught the railing with one hand.
The skinwalker was right behind her, screaming with rage and leaping over the balcony. It grabbed hold of Sara’s body, stripping off the last of her dress and leaving bloody scratches on her hips and side. It reached for the totem with a hand with too many long-nailed fingers.
Red Wolf burst from the back of Sara’s hand, his luminous red body reaching over her shoulder and his jaws snapping on the skinwalker’s throat.
Sara felt a hot welter of blood. The claws dug into her sides as the creature tried to cling to her body. But it was no use. The life ebbed from its limbs as Red Wolf tore at the skinwalker’s throat. Its grip failed and the body of the creature that was once Tex Love plummeted from 30 floors above the Las Vegas Strip.
Red Wolf faded back into the tattoo and Sara pulled herself up onto the balcony with a little help from Megan. She collapsed, gasping and bloodied.
“It’s done,” she croaked.
“We need to get out of here,” said Megan, pulling Sara to her feet. “Security is going to be going nuts when they find the guy I knocked out. We don’t want to be around when they come up here.”
Sara limped alongside Megan back down the hallway towards the secret elevator. As they passed the bathroom, Sara glanced inside. The bloodied corpse of Jonathan Carlsbad was still floating in the bathtub.
Royce Darvish was gone.
Chambers Manor
North of London
The climate-controlled case sealed shut and there was a soft hiss as it filled with inert argon gas. The totem was held in place with titanium clamps that kept it from hovering off the floor of the case. Sara activated the security system and an invisible mesh of laser sensors went live around the armored glass case. She stepped back from the pedestal.
Red Wolf gazed at the case with fascination. His red-furred body had stopped glowing, as had the tattoo on Sara’s hand, but it was still strange looking at the bipedal wolf spirit. She tried not to think too much about what she had done to win his trust. Not because it brought her shame, but because the memory excited her. She smiled nervously as he met her gaze.
“Your cave is far nicer than mine,” he said. “But it is made by men and will crumble. I will stand guardian here until I must return the totem to the mountains.”
“I will come and visit you,” said Sara. “To bring you food and keep you, ah, company.”
Her cheeks colored and Red Wolf’s lupine mouth seemed to open in a smile.
“This is good, Sara Chambers,” said Red Wolf. “My mark will remain on your hand. If I am needed, call me and I will come.”
“Hopefully I will not be knocking about with any more skinwalkers,” said Sara.
She bid Red Wolf farewell, lowered the lighting to a faint red reminiscent of his lair in the mountains, and stepped out of the vault. She tried to put her brief encounter with the wolf spirit out of her mind as she climbed the ladder out of the vault shaft.
Sara changed clothes before visiting Baxter Honeycutt. She had shed her trousers and blou
se and put on a sheer crimson robe she wore loosely belted around her waist. Sara wore lingerie she had bought to impress Baxter during a recent trip to Paris. A balconette bra of dark blue lace cradled her creamy mounds and a matching thong that scarcely covered her freshly shaved quim and disappeared between her firm, round bum. Her garter framed her mound and held up her dark silk stockings.
Baxter was waiting for her in her bed. He held his hard cock in one hand and had a smirk on his rather handsome face. The Ring of Brahmacharya, turned into a tattooed band on Baxter’s cock, pulsed faintly with magical energy.
“Oh, standing to attention, I see,” she laughed, crawling onto the bed to join him. “Eager to use its power, are we?”
“I wouldn’t need the ring,” said Baxter. “Not tonight. Not after what I’ve heard on your radio. You want a beast.”
“How are you going to-AH!” She cried out as Baxter growled and grabbed her in his arms. He rolled her onto her back and she burst out laughing as her favorite naughty boffin pretended to have a beastly face. He growled at her, although it was rather unconvincing and only made her laugh harder.
“Stop laughing,” he laughed with her. “I can’t keep a bloody straight face with you doing that!”
“I’m sorry,” said Sara, suppressing her laughter to giggles. “It’s just… oh, Baxter, my sweet, you are as far from a beast as I know. All you are good at is reading books and using computers.”
“There are other things I am good at,” he growled, a look of genuine hurt on his face.
“Oh, are there?” Sara raised an eyebrow. “I guess you’ll have to prove that to me because I don’t believe it.”
Baxter surprised her by forcefully parting her legs and pushing between them. He pinned her hands above her head and smashed a hot kiss to her lips. She laughed for a moment, but the sensation of his hard cock rubbing against her pussy through her panties quieted her laughter. She moaned and yielded to his kiss and Baxter took her forcefully with his lips. It was as if he had been possessed by the spirit of the Ring of Brahmacharya. Or maybe Red Wolf.
The Skinwalker Totem Page 6