by Jessica Rael
‘Fuck, I just love those Indian bitches,’ Shalyn shook her head.
‘I know, sweetie; why do you think I’m telling you this? Jenna has a job for you and she told me to make you this offer. You take out the pimp that’s treading on our toes and you get the Indian princess for keeps. Deal?’
‘What condition’s she in?’ Shalyn placed her glass on the table, careful to conceal her eagerness.
‘Near perfect,’ said Faith. ‘Jenna kept her as a rent out, but she was always a plaything – no sado type stuff.’
Shalyn had been standing by the curbside for only about five minutes when the car pulled up. Timing was everything in her profession. She was dressed in boots and split leather skirt. A black guy jumped out of the car screaming and waving his arms.
‘This is my turf, bitch! You ain’t gonna get much work without a face, huh?’
Shalyn watched him with a vaguely bored expression, and then shot him in the dick. Blood exploded across the front of his jeans and he fell to his knees, strangely silent.
‘No face,’ Shalyn said to no one in particular, then after a moment she simply added, ‘cool,’ and fired five shots into the pimps face, obliterating it.
Her Indian princess arrived twelve hours later, as agreed.
Shalyn slipped off her bathrobe and stood naked, feeling the luxurious, thick red carpet beneath her bare feet. She wandered into the large bedroom suite. The bed, in keeping with the room, was vast and alluring, and beneath it was a large drawer. Shalyn pulled it open and gazed down at her naked Indian princess, locked by her ankle and wrist cuffs to the corners of the padded drawer.
‘How ya doing, princess?’ she asked, a little drunk from the wine and still heady from the kill. The half-empty bottle of Chianti hung loosely from her hand. ‘What’s the matter? There’s probably more room in there than that fucking shit-hole you used to live in.’ Shalyn unclipped the girl’s hands and feet, turning her on her side while she locked her wrist cuffs behind her back. The assassin then attached the Indian girl’s ankles to a spreader-bar, set on a modest two-feet span. She then grabbed the girl’s leather collar, dragging her out of the drawer and throwing her onto the carpeted floor.
The assassin tugged the girl up to her knees by her thick black hair, then lay back on the huge bed and spread her legs so that the princess was staring directly at her owner’s sex. ‘Dance for me while you eat my cunt, bitch,’ Shalyn laughed.
The Indian girl swayed her hips, jiggling the little bells Shalyn had attached to her waist-belt and cuffs. Her face was buried deep in the middle-aged blonde’s pussy, her tongue working to some imagined rhythm. Shalyn lifted her legs, bringing her knees to her breasts, and the Indian girl pushed her tongue into her owner’s ass, and then began to fuck the assassin’s tight anus with deeply penetrating strokes, moving her whole face in and out in sequence.
‘Wow…’ murmured Shalyn. ‘Jenna’s people teach you that, or some fat bitch you were rented out to? It’s some move, whichever.’ Shalyn lowered her legs, locked the girl’s head between her thighs, and squeezed hard. ‘Climb up my cunt, slut, and fuck me with your head.’ The blonde laughed drunkenly, amused as much by her own need to talk dirty off-duty as the slave’s panicked attempts to drive her tongue deeper and deeper into her pussy. Shalyn reached to open the bedside cabinet and pulled out a length of black leather rope, the twisted fronds reminding her of the licorice strands she used to buy as a kid. She dropped it onto the bed, where it lay coiled like a dark viper.
The little princess could see nothing but her owner’s pussy and the thighs clamped to her head silenced her world, but she felt the older woman twist as she reached for the drawer, knew what was kept there, and began to cry.
Without releasing her grip on the slave’s head, Shalyn leaned forward, reached out and slipped the leather rope through the short chain that linked the slave’s ankle cuffs together, tying it off. The assassin then lay back and pulled hard, raising the girl’s feet up her back till her ankles passed her bound wrists, bending the little princess into a beautifully curved arc. The assassin grabbed the shapely ankles, clipping the short chain to the slave’s collar, pulling the girl’s face away from her pussy; and this was where the leather rope came in. Shalyn looped the free end of the whip-like rope through the sturdy brass rail at the head of the bed and pulled hard on the makeshift pulley. The princess rolled forward like a human wheel, until almost her entire weight was brought to bear on her face, again driving it deep into her owner’s pussy.
Shalyn’s body began to judder in ecstasy as the licking face squirmed in her wet slit. Orgasms pulsed through the older woman’s body, one after the other as she pulled harder on the rope, driving the little princess’ face deeper between her thighs.
Shalyn orgasmed countless times, then let go of the rope, allowing the exhausted Indian girl to flop back, her pretty princess face glistening with sexual juices. Shalyn got up and looked at the crumpled shape on the bed.
‘Mmm… didn’t really feel your heart was in it, slut,’ she grumbled. ‘If I didn’t know better I’d say you weren’t enjoying our little games.’ Shalyn pulled the leather rope from the brass frame, and then stood on the bed and stretched up to the ceiling, feeding the rope through a metal ring bolted there. The princess began to whimper as the older woman threaded the rope through the pulley mechanism behind the ring, then with the casual press of a button on the wall beside the bed the electric winch lifted the sobbing slave into the air. The beautiful young Indian woman hung above the bed, swinging gently to and fro by her ankles.
Shalyn switched off the lights and slipped between the smooth silk sheets and lay there, listening to her slave quietly sobbing in the dark. ‘Maybe by morning you’ll have regained your enthusiasm, bitch,’ the assassin slurred, swigging directly from the wine bottle. She then stretched out a shapely leg and gave the dangling princess a little shove with her foot, lounging back and watching the shadow of the intriguing puppet rocking gently on her string. ‘Perhaps by morning you’ll be in the mood to put a little effort into our games. Maybe then you can even find the enthusiasm to get that useless tongue of yours deep enough in my pussy and ass so I can have a decent orgasm.’
The phone bleeped gently in the darkness, and Shalyn reached sleepily out and picked up the receiver. ‘Yes?’
‘Good morning, sorry to disturb you so early,’ said a deceptively polite female voice, oozing false sincerity.
Shalyn ignored the introduction. It was formulaic. The phone line was not scrambled, though it could have been easily enough, but if you scramble a line then it draws FBI agents to it like flies to shit. ‘That’s okay, just about to make a start on the day, anyhow.’
‘This is Xansa Inc., San Diego, we have a virus problem,’ the voice continued. ‘Got into our machine here somehow, but we’re worried it’s infected our systems in New York. Do you have room in your schedule to help?’
‘Shouldn’t be a problem, just send me the details and I’ll take care of it,’ Shalyn said. ‘Just for my records, who am I speaking to?’ Now for the crucial part, Shalyn held the pen over the notepad.
‘Ms S. Dickinson,’ the woman said, then added, ‘thanks for your help.’ The phone went dead. It wasn’t a real name but an email account, and Shalyn already had the password.
Las Flores
Amber moved too quickly for the other girl to realize what was happening. The shouting match was still in progress when the eighteen-year-old redhead suddenly lurched forward and shoved the startled blonde through the door and into the girl’s bathroom. The bitch landed on her ass on the tiled floor, Amber kicked her in the face and she fell back moaning. The redhead was on the dazed girl so fast she had no time to think, and within seconds her arms were being painfully twisted behind her back.
‘Give me something!’ Amber shouted to the crowd of excited teenage girls gathering around the fight like a pack of hungry dogs. Some
one threw a pink plastic belt and Amber caught it in midair. ‘Hey, Jenny,’ Amber said into the pained face of the blonde as she twisted her arms further up her back, ‘this will look sooo cute on you, don’t you think?’ She laughed as she tied the blonde’s wrists behind her back with the belt, and then dragged her by the hair into a toilet cubicle. The pack of girls crammed into the narrow doorway, jeering.
Jenny fought back tears; no way was she going to let this crowd see her cry, but it felt like the redhead had broken her arms. Jenny was a year older than her assailant, but the bitch was strong and fast. Not that Jenny was any slouch; you didn’t survive long enough to make it into a shelter by being a wimp.
‘Get the fuck off me, you bitch!’ Jenny screamed, the pain increasing her fury.
Amber laughed at the girl’s bravado; Jenny was no match for her, and she knew it. Most of the girls in here had learned how to take a beating from a shit-drunk father, or one of their mother’s perverted boyfriends, until someone moved them to the supposed safe haven. But Amber’s dad, well, he used to be a policeman, so he knew a thing or two about not leaving marks. Most of them he’d used on Amber at one time or another, and that’s why it took so long for anyone to figure out what was going on. No one figured it out when she was a kid, and things hadn’t changed much since she’d grown up. He was still fast, even though he’d barely been sober for two days in the last five years, but Amber just got faster. She was a survivor. She’d see the fucker in his grave and she’d still be okay. She was always going to be okay.
Jenny struggled against the belt and the redhead’s strong grip, the pain in her arms making her woozy. Amber had pushed her opponent down onto the filthy toilet seat and was pinning her there, but Jenny could see her attacker wriggling. She tried to push back, but her strength gave out and she collapsed heavily onto the dirty black seat. Looking down she could see her attacker’s tennis shoes. A pair of off-white panties dropped to the redhead’s ankles, laying limply on her grubby shoes. Amber began to slip the panties from her feet, and it even took Jenny’s fairly sharp brain a few seconds to click in.
‘Don’t you fucking even—’
That was all Jenny got out before her assailant’s underwear was stuffed into her mouth. The crowd of baying girls howled with laughter as Amber then pulled a bandana from her backpack and tied it round the blonde’s head, covering her panty-stuffed mouth. The humiliated nineteen-year-old lay across the dirty toilet seat on her belly, hands tied painfully behind her back by the thrift-store plastic belt, her cheeks bulging as she sucked on the redhead’s underwear.
Jenny could feel her saliva soaking into the panties. Her mind reeled in disgust as she thought about the cotton rubbing against the little slut’s unwashed cunt. The bitch probably hadn’t changed them in a week. Jenny wanted to vomit as musky tastes filled her mouth, then something else, something salty, maybe piss. Jenny groaned and her stomach heaved, but she held it down.
A pair of hands slid around Jenny’s waist with a strange tenderness that made her want to retch again. She twisted her head and saw the redhead grinning at her. The hands reached the waist button of her jeans and popped the stud, then eased down the zipper. Amber pulled the blonde’s jeans and panties down to her ankles in one swift move. Then she placed the janitor’s mop against the cubicle wall and aimed a kick to the middle of the wooden shaft. It broke in two, and Amber held out the rounded tip of one segment of the wooden shaft to the gang of onlookers.
‘Don’t just stare at the fucking thing,’ she growled, ‘spit on it. C’mon, losers.’
The girls obeyed until the end glistened with saliva. Jenny tried to get up, but Amber just placed her foot on her neck, holding her in place. Most of the girl’s had been in and out of care homes when they were younger, not places that breed wimps, and now they were in a shelter, meaning someone had tried to do them serious harm. They’d seen a lot of stuff go down in their time, even though the eldest was only twenty-one, but now they were strangely silent as they watched Jenny Moyse getting ass-fucked in a toilet cubicle. Amber pressed the lubricated pole at the entrance to the girl’s anus and laughed as the blonde went frantic, writhing and twisting and yelling into her gag. Then, with her typically casual indifference to the suffering of others, she pressed the thing deep into her opponent’s ass. The nineteen-year-old went as stiff as the pole impaling her and stopped struggling, and didn’t move again the whole time the psychotic redhead buggered her with the length of wood.
Amber worked the improvised dildo in and out of the tight anus, plunging it deeper with every stroke. The other girls gasped and mumbled in fascination as Amber worked on her victim, long, slow strokes, penetrating at least six inches. The redhead began to work the pole in the tight ass with rapid movements, making the sound of someone having an orgasm, laughing as she did so.
Then the misfit just stopped, seemingly bored with the humiliation of the older girl. Jenny Moyse remained as still as she had throughout the ordeal, but several girls noticed the tears meandering down her face as Amber left the pole sticking out of her ass.
‘Show’s over,’ she said to the crowd, her tone menacing. ‘That means fuck off, for those with a less than average brain cell count.’ The girls drifted away, and the redhead pulled the cubicle door shut. ‘Hey thanks, Jenny, I really enjoyed that,’ she gloated. ‘How about you?’ She tore the duct tape from the blonde’s mouth and pulled out her soaked panties. She dangled them in front of her debased opponent’s face. ‘Wow, cleanest I’ve ever seen ’em; better than that fucked-up washer in the basement, anyway. Be cool if you could suck all my dirty underwear clean, wouldn’t it, huh?’ Amber laughed, then hitched her denim skirt over her slender, tanned thighs and squatted over the blonde girl’s shoulders. She relaxed her bladder with a relieved sigh and pissed on Jenny Moyse’s head.
The older girl could feel the warm liquid soaking her hair. It ran down her cheeks, dripping off the end of her nose, forming a puddle on the floor.
Miss Parrish sat uncomfortably in her worn chair, grateful for the distance the desk put between her and the girl’s cold stare.
‘Jenny left last night,’ the plump, middle-aged woman said. ‘Some of the girls said you attacked her, that you did something very bad to her. Did you?’ She tried to meet the girl’s icy gaze, and failed, so she fiddled with her spectacles instead. ‘Did you, Amber? Did you do something very bad to her? Something that would make her leave, even though she’s supposed to be here for her own protection. Do you know what will happen if her boyfriend finds her, Amber?’
‘Girls leave all the time, you stupid bitch,’ the girl sneered. ‘Facing down some macho prick with a knife is probably better than staying in this shit-hole. Be more fucking fun, anyways.’ Her tone was one of bored indifference. ‘You only stay cos they pay you.’
‘Amber, I don’t think you understand the seriousness of what has happened. If Jenny’s boyfriend hurts her again, or she gets involved with drugs again, the police are going to want to know why she wasn’t here. They’ll be looking at you, Amber, asking what you did.’
‘Fuck you.’ Amber folded her arms. ‘You just want something to write in that fucking book of yours, so you can go home and forget about it.’
‘Now you know that’s not—’
‘Okay,’ the hard-eyed girl interrupted, ‘you don’t have to worry about her getting hurt, or into trouble, because I killed the stupid slut. Cut her fucking throat and left her body in the dumpster by the kitchens. Oh, and it got emptied yesterday so she’s probably in a landfill by now.’
Miss Parrish stared, and swallowed slowly. Then Amber burst out laughing. ‘You think I’d waste that on her? If I ever kill someone it’s gonna be someone more worthwhile than a fucked-up little trailer slut. Maybe someone important like you, Miss Parrish.’ The redhead winked at the center’s chief administrator.
‘A-Amber, I think you’d b-better go now,’ the woman stumbled, and wi
thout another word the girl got up and left the office. Miss Parrish could hear her popping gum as she closed the office door.
The chief administrator poured herself a glass of tequila and sat it on the desk beside the phone – moral support of a very basic kind. She always knew she’d have to make this call someday. They had always paid her on time, and in cash. A small brown envelope with her name typed on the front lay on her desk the first Monday of every month. The locks had been changed a while back after a break in, but the envelope was there the following month, as usual. Miss Parrish had no idea how they got in, and she didn’t want to know. But she always knew she’d have to earn that money one day. They hadn’t asked much, but the woman sometimes felt like she was swimming in a tank of sharks, waiting for the day when the keeper forgot to feed them. She picked up the phone and dialed the number she’d been given.
‘Hello?’ said a calm voice.
‘It… it’s Miss Parish… from the Las Flores Young Women’s Shelter,’ she announced, falteringly.
‘Yes, Miss Parish, I know. You’re calling the number we gave you.’
‘Oh… um, well…’ The plump woman fiddled with the piece of card she had written the instructions upon. ‘I… I think the package you’ve been waiting for has arrived.’ There was a short pause, and then the voice spoke again, as emotionless as before.
‘What color is the wrapping, Miss Parrish?’
‘It’s red. That’s okay, isn’t it?’ The plump woman’s hands had begun to shake. Something in that polite voice was making her very nervous.