by Emmie Combs
She stood on her toes to kiss him, pressed her naked breasts against his chest and ground her crotch into him. She felt him grow hard against her, and she dropped to her knees to unzip him.
When he sprang free, she saw that Brenda Sullivan, the one that had gotten away before he could bring her to this place, had not been exaggerating. He was easily ten inches long.
She took the tip, as big as a golf ball, into her mouth and sucked it like a lollipop, swirling her tongue around it before impaling her head on as much of the shaft as she could take in. He grabbed her hair and began to move his hips, pumping into her eager mouth as he clenched her head tightly against his crotch. She fondled his balls with her hand, rotating them, feeling them contract as he was about to come.
But then he abruptly pulled out of her mouth, leaving it feeling empty and deserted, the only memory of that magnificent cock the taste of the pre-come on her tongue.
"Not like that," he said. "I want to see you. Take off your clothes."
She quickly tossed off her shoes and peeled her hot pants and black lace panties down her firm tanned legs. She stood up, naked before him, conscious of his eyes roaming over her breasts, the dark triangle of her crotch.
"Put these on," he told her, handing her two sets of handcuffs. "One on each wrist."
"B & D will cost you extra," she said. "A thousand for the night."
"No problem,' he said, retrieving a wrinkled envelope from the mantel. He pulled our three crisp thousand dollar bills. "These are all yours if you do what I tell you."
"You're the customer," she said, snapping the bracelets over her wrists.
"Now get on the bed, " he told her.
She climbed up on the four poster and turned over on her back. She knew what he wanted.
He cuffed her hands to the eyehooks that had been screwed into the headboard. Then he used leather straps to tie her ankles to the hooks at the other end of the bed. She was now spread eagled and helpless, her sex open to his wanton stare.
He took off his shirt and she could see the ribbed muscles in his abdomen. He kicked off his shoes, stepped out of his pants. His cock was magnificently erect. The largest she had ever seen. Her lips longed to be wrapped around it once again. Forever.
He reached into the drawer of nightstand and brought out a large carving knife.
Her eyes opened wide at that. "What's this?" she asked.
He drew the razor sharp steel blade across her taut abdomen, drawing a thin red line of blood. "Fucking the dying is so much better than fucking the living," he told her. "The living are always thinking ahead to the next shopping trip, to Monday night alone with their pimp. For the dying, there is only you. They know this moment will be their last. They want to make it perfect. For them. For you. I will make it perfect for you, Beatrice."
"My name is not Beatrice."
"Oh, but it is. And will be for the rest of your life. Have you not read Dante? Beatrice is the guide to the other world. To heaven and hell. Will you show me heaven, Beatrice? I have seen quite enough of hell," he whispered, drawing the dull edge of the blade across her throat.
He stared up at the mirrors on the ceiling. "Do you see our eyes, Beatrice?" She looked up to see a thousand eyes staring at her, seeking out their one true self. "They are the eyes of the dead," he told her. "We are already dead, you and I."
"I should tell you something," she said. "I am not what I seem to be. I am a policewoman."
"Oh and do I have the right to remain silent, Beatrice?" he snickered. "How naive do you think I am? They are looking for me very intensely. Where is your backup, Beatrice? No policewoman knowing who I am would allow herself to be cuffed as you did."
"Let's just say I'm doing this on my spare time," she told him, watching his dead eyes for any sign of a reaction.
He chuckled at that. "Nice try, Beatrice, but I am afraid you are nothing but a common whore. Let me show you your predecessors, Beatrice, my former guides who were so good as to accompany me partway into the afterlife."
He walked to the large freezer that was busily humming away in the corner of the room and opened the top. Looking at the ceiling mirror, she could see the frozen heads nestled within. Piles of them. He pulled one out and carried it over to the bed. Despite the pallor of the skin, the frost over the eyes and cheek, she recognized it as that of Renata Santiago, the whore that had gone missing back in May, before her body parts were discovered in a dumpster off Graylock Street. All that is but the head that now stared at her through spectacles of white ice. The eighth victim.
'This is Athena, Beatrice. The goddess of wisdom. One of the best. It is very cold where she has gone. Could you perhaps provide her some comfort?" He placed Santiago's frozen lips over her breast, the frost burning her nipple, which became instantly erect. She felt a thrill go through her whole body as he pressed the head more tightly against her breast before removing it and replacing it gently in the icebox.
"You could give yourself up," she said softly. "You don't have to do this."
"Oh but I do, don't you see. I very much have to do this," he said.
"Soon you will be joining my other guides to heaven," he said, indicating the icebox with his black eyes, "but first you must show me the way."
He ran his tongue up her leg, over her knee, up her inner thigh to the aching crack between her legs. His arm muscles were steel pistons, flexing as he lapped her. The touch of his tongue was electric, and she opened herself to him, overcome by wave after wave of the greatest pleasure she had ever known. She arched into him, cramming her mound against his face as he sucked her, and then he was climbing up her, his muscles rock hard against her soft breasts and his tongue found her other mouth and she sucked it as he thrust into her, six inches at first, then eight, then the full ten as he reached depths within her that no man ever had and she sucked him into her, her whole body a mouth seeking to engulf him, to keep him within her forever.
Her tongue swirled around his earlobe as he pumped faster and faster into her. "I am death come to receive you," she whispered to him as he exploded inside her, the warmth of his seed spraying her womb, suffusing her body with a glow she had not thought possible.
"You are the best of them, Beatrice," he whispered later as they lay there together, his legs wrapped around her, his hand softly cupping her breast. "You will be the one to show me the way where the others failed. You are death itself. I will return to you, Beatrice, and you will show me the way to heaven. Sleep well, my angel." He got off the bed and shuffled into the next room, leaving her in the darkness.
When she woke, she could hear him breathing softly in the next room. It was best not to press her luck, she thought. While the coroner said there had been multiple attacks on each victim, he could not say how many. The second could be the last. Reluctantly, her body still basking in the pleasure of his touch, she reached for the hairpin and began working the lock on the cuffs. She knew the gun still sat unmolested in her purse.
The man's eyes opened when he felt the cold of the steel barrel pressing against her temple. "You should have believed me," she said, raising her badge to his face. "I'm detective Veronica Hughes of the L.A.P.D., and you're just the man we have been looking for. That I've been looking for.
"Take those off," she said, indicating his pajamas. He looked at her strangely as if wondering at her nakedness, but complied, pulling off his shirt, then standing and dropping his pants to the floor.
"I thought you were special, Beatrice. I thought you were the one. You don't know how disappointed I am," he said, his eyes never leaving her huge breasts.
"Now put these on," she said, tossing him the handcuffs.
He shut the clasps over both wrists and looked at her expectantly.
"Now get in there." she said, indicating the first bedroom. He got up and walked into the room across the hall.
"Now get on that," she said, indicating the four-poster. He looked at her strangely then, but climbed on the bed.
"Now lie down," she
said.
He lay down on his back, and she could see that he was becoming erect, already eight inches at least. She took the other pair of cuffs and closed the bracelet around his right wrist and cuffed him to the eyehook. She unlocked the other cuff from his right hand and climbed over him, her cunt on his nose, to cuff his left hand to the other eyehook.
She held the gun against his temple. "Don't even think about moving," she told him, and she slid down his body to tie his legs with the leather straps. Now Mr. Death was himself tied to the bed, naked, spread eagled and helpless.
She climbed up him, her moist cunt tracing its way up his hard chest. "Oh, but I am the one," she told him. "I am Kali, the bringer of death. I have tasted its pleasures a thousand times. I will take you places you have never been before.
She sat on his face, her cunt engulfing his mouth and nose. "Come to me," she told him. "Taste your death." She began to rock on his face as his tongue found her, swirling around her clitoris, probing her vagina, running along the inner lining of her labia. She grabbed his hair and pressed into him, rocking more violently, feeling his crushed nose sliding up and down her cunt, as he lapped her harder and harder until she finally spent, releasing her fluids all over his face, her juices running down his cheeks, staining the perfect black satin of the sheet beneath him.
She kissed him violently and then slid down the sheets until his magnificent cock was finally resting against her cheek. She fingered the base as she took it inside her mouth, feeling his whole body shiver as she took it deeply within her, cramming it down her throat while she fondled his swelling balls, filled with the juices of life. She took each ball in her mouth and sucked it as she slid her hand up and down his cock, touching it gently at first, then more violently, squeezing it to hold back the flow. She lapped underneath the head, then took the helmet in her mouth as she gave his balls a final squeeze before climbing up him to impale herself on him, his ten inches sliding into her secret depths, and she reached across him, her nipples brushing briefly across his chest as she retrieved the carving knife from the nightstand.
She traced its sharp point down his chest, drawing a thin line of blood as she began to rock on him, and she could feel him becoming even harder and longer as she played the cold steel of the blade over his chest and took him deeper insider her, thrusting herself violently down upon him.
He looked at her with love in his eyes as he arched his body into her. She felt his muscles tighten as he prepared to come and she drew the blade quickly across his abdomen, watching the surprise in his eyes as his gigantic prick grew even longer within her and she pumped him harder and faster, feeling the glow within her body building to a crescendo she had not thought possible. Her whole body shuddered as he came in a violent, rushing torrent inside her, his last seeds of life desperately seeking a new home as she felt the warmth inside her mixing with the hot fluid from his entrails as they spilled from his ruined stomach.
She leaned over to kiss him and brushed his hair out of his eyes. "You're so right, darling. Fucking the dying is much better than fucking the living. So much better." She saw the recognition in his eyes before the light faded. And the slight smile at the corners of his lips.
In the mirror she could see the icebox, filled with teachers waiting to be reunited with their star pupil.
The End.
Just Ask
I first met "Wolf" three years ago at small downtown nightclub, where up-and-coming Rockabilly sensation, "Hee-Haw Hunnies", was playing. That's not his real name, of course. His driver's license says "Keith Hendricks", but all of his friends call him by his very descriptive nickname. Rick, a mutual friend, introduced us.
I smiled at him, when he kissed my hand, and offered to buy me a RootBeer. My hand looked like a child's next to his, and he nearly melted me with his piercing blue eyes. Dressed all in blue; jeans, tee-shirt, denim jacket, and even his sneakers, he loomed over me like a giant. But not threatening. Not at all. He's a real Teddy-bear; big, hairy, and gentle. Sipping our RootBeers, we talked and laughed together, and got to know each other. I knew that we would be great friends.
The "Hunnies" went into a slow-dance number, and Wolf guided me out to the dance-floor. He held me close, as we swayed to the music. He ran his fingers through my long blonde hair, and I felt a tingle down below. His hands caressed my back through my white cotton blouse, and came teasingly close to my black spandex-clad butt. I didn't discourage him, but he kept his hands respectfully above my waist. That is, until I kissed him. It took some effort, but I managed to reach his lips. Our tongues did their own little dance, and I moaned into his mouth, as he finally put a hand on my ass. Now, I felt more than just a tingle down below, and I pressed myself against him like a slut in heat.
But he never made me feel cheap. He was still the model of a gentleman, as he walked me to my car after the show. I wanted to take him home and fuck him that night, but I was too shy to just invite him. I'm no Mae West. We did exchange phone numbers, and he asked if I was free for dinner the next night. Which I was.
Dinner was great, though service was slow, and afterwards Wolf took me to a local art gallery, where a local photographer's work was being shown. It was all very "arty" of course, but more so, it was sexy. Full of very erotic nudes, in very erotic situations. As a result, our conversation was charged with sexual energy. Wolf invited me to his apartment to see some of his own work. 'Yeah, right!' you might be thinking, and that thought crossed my mind, too. But Wolf really was an artist, and he showed me his photography, his drawings, and a couple of paintings. It was really nice stuff, but I thought he'd never get around to fucking me!
While he put away his portfolio, I took a seat on his bed. He came over to me, and took my hand. Sitting down next to me, he put his arm around me, and pulled me in close for a soft kiss on my lips. And I kissed him back. Passionately!
I don't really know how people decide, mutually, that they are going to fuck, but that is what we had done, apparently. Without his saying a word, I knew he wanted to fuck me. And he knew I wanted to fuck him, though I'd never said so. At least not with words. Maybe one of us is psychic, or we're both just good at guessing, but together we began undressing each other.
Soon, his black tee-shirt and jeans were piled on the floor, with my red slacks and blue crop-top shirt, leaving us both in our undies. Wolf wore red plaid boxers, and I wore a pair of high-cut silk burgundy panties, with a delicate lace border, and a matching brazier. We explored each other's bodies with hands, and mouths; kissing, caressing, licking, nibbling. My body came to life under his amorous attentions, and soon I was panting. Sighing. A low growl escaped from his throat, as he gently nipped at my neck with his teeth, and I soaked my panties.
Feeling his hardness against my thigh, I wrapped my arms around him, trying to get closer, and he unhooked my bra with a flick of his fingers. He sat up in the bed, and pulled me up onto his lap. My legs snaked around his waist of their own accord, and I pressed the moistened front of my silk panties against the steely hardness under his boxers. My eyes closed, I felt his mouth on my ultra-sensitive breasts, and an electric shock rushed to my loins, creating a tingle in my clit. I hugged his head to my bosom, when he began chewing on my nipples, and then raked my nails down his back. Moans filled the room. Mine. His. Ours.
Pushing him onto his back, I kissed him hard on the mouth, grinding my panty-clad pussy over his boxer-covered rod. I climbed off of him, and grabbed the waistband of his shorts. Tugging and pulling, nearly ripping them, I got them off, and tossed them onto the floor with the rest of our clothes. His cock twitched as I kissed it, and he ran his fingers through my hair. Lowering my head, I slowly enveloped his manhood into my mouth, and sucked hard. I pulled my head back, and flicked my tongue along the length of his shaft, while Wolf tugged gently on my blonde tresses.
Wolf praised my cocksucking aptitude with moans and groans of ecstasy, and I ground my crotch into his knee. Reaching for me, he gently pulled my hips towards his head. He meant to
reciprocate, and I had no intention of stopping him. As I swung one leg over his head, he pulled my saturated panties aside, and kissed my pussy. He kissed it just like he had kissed my mouth, earlier. Tiny pecks, first, and then longer kisses. Then his tongue slipped between my cunt-lips, and he deepened the kiss. Mmm, it felt delightful!
He moaned into my pussy, and thrust his thick, hard penis in and out of my mouth. I felt his tongue flick over my clit, and between my nether-lips. His hands were all over my buttocks; he rubbed them gently, kneaded them roughly, and spanked them playfully. Slipping a hand between my buttocks, he tickled the outer edge of my asshole with one finger. No one had ever done that to me before, and it felt nice. Then he did something else that no one had ever done to me before: he ran his tongue from my hard clit, slowly down my wet slit, and to my asshole! He flicked his tongue over the outer rim for mere moments, and then went back to eating my cunt. I couldn't believe that someone would do that! It was harder still, to believe how much I enjoyed it! God, I wanted him to do it again!
Soon, his body was tensing, and I tasted his salty pre-cum. I thought he'd climax, but instead he pulled out of my mouth. He kept licking my cunt, though, and a second or two later, he guided my head back to his cock. He repeated this two more times before I washed his face with my love-honey, as my first orgasm of the evening ripped through my body.
Tasting my own juices on his lips and beard, as I kissed and licked his face, I exclaimed, "Wow! How do you do that?"
"Do what?" he asked innocently.
"I thought you were going to cum, but you just... stopped!"
"Oh, that," he smiled. "When I get close, I just sit still for a minute. I can last a lot longer that way, and it's as close as I'll ever come to being multi-orgasmic." With that, he pulled me close again. He helped me out of my panties, and slipped his fingers into the delicate folds of flesh of my vulva. I was still wet, and ready for more! Would he lick my asshole again? I certainly hoped so!