Dead4u
Page 23
Yet here I was. Karma? Or plain bad luck?
“Nikita?” It was Griffin. He sounded nervous. “Are you okay there? Heart rate and blood pressure are up.” He paused. “I see the amphetamines in your system are raising your body temperature too. You’ll perspire a bit.”
“Thanks,” I mumbled. Talking with the open-mouth gag was a lot like talking to a dentist with his or her hands in your mouth. “I’ll file that under ‘good to know’. Any other tips?”
“Yeah. Don’t do drugs.”
I gave a bitter chuckle. “You getting an eyeful, Griff? These tits are practically hanging in my mouth.”
“This is work,” Griffin replied. His tone seemed oddly hostile. Because I’d caught him watching porn at the safe house? “I’m trying not to look. Okay?”
“U-huh. How’s that working out?”
“Not too good,” he admitted. “Can’t miss those hooters Nikita. They take up most of the screen. But they do cover your hoo-hah.”
“My what?” I laughed. “Did you just call my pussy a ‘hoo-hah’? Seriously? What the fuck? Are you a twelve-year-old boy?”
“Keep your voice down!” Griffin hissed. “You don’t want Sweet to think you’re wearing a wire.”
“Big deal. I’m not. Duh.”
“Yeah. But if they sweep you for bugs, they might find those nanoplants. Unless . . .”
“Unless I turn them off?”
“Yeah. That would reduce the odds of detection. It’s not foolproof of course, but . . .”
“I’d have no backup right? In case this went sideways.”
Griffin confirmed my suspicion. Damn. This was getting uglier by the minute.
“Oh,” he muttered. “Company’s coming.”
Company? That sounded ominously plural. “Are you sure?” I hissed back.
“We’ve got the club wired,” Griffin told me. “And Nikita? I’m under orders to keep your monitors active no matter what.”
Meaning Novak would learn about my newly-installed off-switch should I decide to use it.
“I’ll try not to look,” Griffin said. “Honest.”
◆◆◆
I heard the iris scanner’s double beep. The door opened. Next came the tramp of heavy feet on that cast-iron staircase. Sounded like more than one set of feet. I swallowed hard. Trying to put faces on whoever was coming up those stairs.
My brain was going a mile a minute. Ears attuned to the slightest sound. Every muscle in my body quivered and jumped. Anticipation combined with visual deprivation had me squirming.
Footsteps rang on the marble floor. Then shuffling. Shoes discarded. I counted them as they fell. One, two, three, four . . . I stopped counting after five. What was the point?
Next came a rustling of cloth against skin. Zippers. I pictured penises emerging into sunshine like bright purplish stems. Preparing to seed me with creamy white glue.
Clothing fell. Belt buckles rattled on the floor. Breathing. But no one spoke.
My armpits were damp. My pussy: a soggy mess. I was a swamp. And about to get wetter.
Griffin said, “If you want me to talk you through this, cough once for yes, twice for no.”
I coughed once.
◆◆◆
They took turns. First up: a pair of oversize hands grasped my hips. Then a penis—smaller than Sweet’s—wormed into my cunt and commenced a steady pounding. The penis wore a condom. Given McCord’s violent occupation, I found this safety measure slightly hilarious. Hmm. My unseen dance partner reeked of spicy food. Then I remembered Big Boy swilling noodles in the club. This had to be his dick.
So Sweet didn’t mind sharing McCord with the crew. Now I understood. Sweet hadn’t been jealous of Epstein. It was Epstein’s attempt to take me out of the game which Sweet had considered treasonous. Money: that’s what it was all about.
Big Boy grunted and withdrew. Another pair of hands replaced his. Smaller hands. A gloved finger poked its way up my butthole. Slid slowly in and out. Then two fingers prepared the way. Out came the fingers and in went Cock Number Two. Also wrapped in plastic. Larger than Big Boy’s, this one. Could’ve been Sweet except the hands felt different. Clammy. Eww.
Federov?
Weirdly, the idea of being sodomized by Feliks Federov proved more stimulating than the reality. The sensation of fullness satisfied an itch that definitely had to be scratched. Otherwise, the act itself wasn’t particularly remarkable, albeit slightly uncomfortable until he established a rhythm. What surprised me was that Federov took his time and seemed intent on pleasuring me. In fact I was just starting to get into the swing of things when our ex-Spetsnaz spasmed once, then twice, before rolling off the bed.
Typical right? Men.
Two holes down. One to go.
Hands grabbed me by the lower calves. Leather creaked and metal clanked. My legs were pulled down and re-cuffed to the posts at the foot of the bed. I pictured myself as a starfish tossed up on a beach. The image caused me attempt a smile, a facial expression which the open-mouth gag didn’t permit.
Without warning, a heavy set of haunches straddled my breasts. Knees pushed my shoulders down as cock filled my mouth.
No condom on this baby. Had to be Sweet.
Before I could ready myself for a second assault, he withdrew completely and slammed that meat right to the back of my throat. Testicles slapped against my chin. I choked and sputtered till he pulled out again. And paused. Hard to believe but stopping made it worse. Why? With the blindfold, I couldn’t see that dick coming. And there’s no greater fear than the anticipation of pain.
He did this a few times. Never repeating the depth or number of thrusts.
A few minutes of this intermittent thrusting had me on the edge of panic. But with the collar pinning my head down, all I could do was twist left or right. So I tried doing this to hold him off till I could catch my breath. He responded by wrapping his hands around my face and pumping like a machine. This allowed me to breathe through my nostrils, but it wasn’t easy with a swollen cock down my throat.
When I thought I’d reached the limits of endurance, a smooth wide tube entered my cunt. A second, thinner one corkscrewed up my ass. When these began to thrust and hum, their vibrations coursed through my body. Having a mouthful of dick to contend with as well, the combined sensation overwhelmed me. My mind went blank as my body thrashed and contorted, muscles straining against those padded cuffs. The experience was horrible—yet horribly good too.
As I teetered on the brink of the best orgasm ever, both vibrators were abruptly withdrawn. Sweet pulled out too. His final gift was a warm splash of cum onto my tongue. I swallowed semen to keep from choking.
Then, while I coughed and sputtered, he removed the collar and gag. Yet the blindfold remained. Oh-oh. This single omission told me the ordeal wasn’t over. Would there be second helpings? Of the sloppy variety?
Someone joined me on the bed. Fingertips brushed lightly over my breasts. Caressed the sides. Then two hands cupped McCord’s heavy boobs and squeezed. Hard. So hard I nearly screamed but didn’t, biting my lip instead.
I didn’t know who my new dance partner was, but those hands were female.
Okay. I knew McCord was bisexual. So did Sweet or he wouldn’t have brought a female to the party. Did that bother me? A little, maybe. Sure I’d experimented with a roommate at university. Why not? But academia hadn’t felt like real life. And doing this in front of an audience of men—even invisible ones—seemed grotesque. But I couldn’t let myself think about that now. This had to be some kind of messed up test.
One that I couldn’t afford to fail.
Nails teased the sensitive areola surrounding my nipples. Then stopped. I took a breath. A finger flicked the right nipple. Oh yes. Another tickled the left. Next came a vicious slap to both breasts. Again—this time backhanded. Fists grabbed and pulled. Twisted till I bit my lip even harder.
A tongue slid in my ear. Licked it clean. Whispered, “How you liking me now, bitch?”
Next thing I knew there was cunt in my mouth. Shaved. Labia rubbed over my lips thrusting against my teeth trying to force my jaws apart. When I refused to indulge her Darlene delivered a stinging slap to my pussy. The pain was intense but still I refused to cry out. That’s when she went to town paddling my vulva with the stiffened fingers of one hand. I managed to stifle the screams but there came a point where I’d had enough.
I stuck out my tongue and gave her cunt a tentative lick. Then another. Darlene pushed back with her twat forcing my tongue deeper into her vagina. Then she started humping my tongue and grinding those warm pussy lips over my chin and mouth. Juices rained down my throat. Bitch was really wet. Hopefully she wouldn’t get ideas and piss on me out of spite. Meanwhile all I could smell was cunt and ass.
I hoped ass wasn’t on the menu.
When Darlene came she said goodbye with a final whack on the pussy. Then wiped herself on my face. Making sure to smear cunt juice over my nostrils.
Afterward I listened to the group getting dressed. Everything happened in reverse. Zippers got zipped up. Shirts were buttoned. Feet went into shoes and those shoes walked across the marble floor, down the staircase and out the door.
When the blindfold came off, it was just Sweet in his bathrobe. He kissed me gently on the mouth. Then he went around the bed undoing the padded cuffs. I lay there as he went to the row of front-facing windows. When he drew the curtains, dawn light poked through. I blinked. Morning had come but I hadn’t been allowed to cum. Maybe there was a lesson in that. I couldn’t imagine what it might be.
Sweet sat on the bed and patted me on the hip.
“Now you’re ready to fight,” he told me. “Bitch like you is gonna to kill anything that moves. You hungry?”
I thought about it. Yet my mind clung to the image of Dobbs gurgling blood. Novak screaming, “You stupid bitch! Your buddy Dobbs is the fucking mole! She’s the one leaking intel to Sweet!” I told him no, I wasn’t hungry.
He nodded, got up and padded to the closet next to the bathroom. He returned with a bundle of neatly folded sheets. I stood and helped him change the bed. I tried not to look at the stains, but it was impossible not to see the dark spots marking the places where my crotch and mouth had recently been.
Afterward:
Cocooned in a nest of high thread-count white cotton we lay spooned like a normal couple after a hard night’s fun and frolics.
Normal. Was there such a thing?
Game Faces
Leaving the Scene
I woke screaming. That roused Sweet who hugged me and murmured the usual meaningless reassurances. You’re okay. Everything’s fine now baby. Once I’d calmed down we showered together. Without being asked Sweet washed my back and feet. He seemed to be making an effort so I accepted these attentions with the warmest smile I could muster. Still. Imagine reconciling this man—who squatted in a shower to soap my toes—with that anonymous meat tube spraying goo on my tongue. Which of these was the real Santiago Sweet? It made me see how twisted McCord’s world must’ve been. In fact I found myself sympathizing with the woman who’d murdered me in cold blood.
Later:
Sweet made a late breakfast in the mini-kitchen. I perched on one of the chrome barstools and watched him work. He wore a navy pinstriped suit, tie primly knotted, looking more banker than thug. Me: I’d slipped into Sweet’s blue silk robe. Eventually I’d have to put on yesterday’s clothes. But not now. For now I wanted the illusion of domesticity.
Sweet’s movements were smoothly economical. He scrambled eggs, buttered whole-wheat toast, poured orange juice and ground up coffee beans without missing a beat. I was impressed. Nikita Chen’s concept of breakfast: lukewarm coffee in cardboard cup and fastfood sandwich dripping grease from wrapper. Eaten while driving to work.
Still later:
As we chowed down, I asked (through a mouthful of toast) what he wanted to do today. Sweet said he had business to take care of. He suggested I keep to a light schedule and lay low. Go for a short run. Stretch. Rest up for tomorrow’s big event.
Glancing at his watch: “That’s twenty-four hours from now. Okay, babe?”
I said sure. Rising, I took my toast to the front windows where I could watch the street. The grey Mercedes was parked on the street in front of the club. For one weird moment, I thought I saw Epstein behind the wheel. Fuck. I blinked fiercely against the sunlight. Opening my eyes again, I saw it was Federov. My butthole clenched involuntarily.
“Your ride’s here,” I said.
Sweet shot me a frigid look. Maybe he’d been thinking about Epstein too. Then again, probably not. He pecked me on the cheek—the way an absent-minded husband busses the wife before running to the mistress—and left quickly. I watched Sweet exit the club and stroll to the Merc. He motioned to Federov who rolled down the driver’s window. Sweet said something to Federov and the ex-Spetsnaz glanced toward the window where I was standing.
Federov caught me watching and smiled. Not a nice smile. It made me wonder what expression he’d worn while sodomizing me. Hmm. When the time arrived for settling scores I’d have to do something special for dear Feliks.
◆◆◆
Alone at last. Not that being gang-raped was any big deal. Just another day at the office, right? Pouring a second mug of coffee, I pondered the time-wasting activities at my disposal.
Twenty-four hours to show time eh? Too late for heavy training then. My body—well, McCord’s body—had been in peak condition when I’d taken over. The woman was a remarkable specimen with a level of fitness and coordination that most elite athletes could never achieve.
I took a sip of coffee. It was lukewarm so I spat it back into the mug. Yuck. I could get fresh hot coffee when I went for a run. The idea provided sufficient motivation to toss the robe onto a barstool and gather my clothes from the rug beside the bed.
Memories from last night rushed into my mind. The blindfold had sharpened my other senses and the memories from those sensations with painful clarity. I recalled each zipper’s whisper. Felt again the agonizing burn of dick up my ass. On the plus side? Not seeing my tormentors’ faces had spared me considerable humiliation. Yet the heightened consciousness and perception of detail had intensified the entire experience to that strange twilight point where pain merged inextricably with pleasure.
And that thought led me to Darlene. She’d been an unexpected addition to the group. I’d guessed at her past connection with Sweet but hadn’t thought it was anything but sexual. Nothing in my investigation had linked her to Sweet’s crew. Novak hadn’t briefed me on her either.
So. Had her inclusion been a one-off (so to speak) or was Darlene part of the gang and not merely the pièce de résistance of my little gangbang?
Fuck it. I dressed and headed downstairs. I figured Darlene would be holed up elsewhere by now. Surely she didn’t live at Sweet Spot? Still, I was a bit nervous about opening the door to the club.
As I’d hoped the joint was empty. I slipped out the back way. A cloudless blue sky greeted me. The air was boiling hot already and seemed likely to get hotter. I envisioned tomorrow’s encounter. Fighting a couple ninja wannabes in an outdoor steam bath wasn’t a cheery prospect. There were better ways to spend my time. Like in bed.
Then I recalled Darlene’s shaved cunt rubbing against my mouth. Being historically hetero, the memory made me wince. Yet part of me had truly savoured the taste and texture of those soggy folds. That had been a complete mindfuck for me. As a woman who pees and bleeds out that hole, the idea of sticking my tongue there seemed counterintuitive. Corny yet true. My single gay experience had been a scissor fuck with lots of French kissing and nipple twisting. Schoolgirl stuff, right? Yet my body had reacted to Darlene with a passion completely alien to my normal mindset. And that loss of control had felt downright freaky.
McCord’s Jeep was parked behind where I’d left it. I opened it up got in and started it up. If the ignition had been wired to a bomb I’d have died right then and saved myself a lot of hurt further down the road. But chance or Fate or karma or whatever higher power watched over human stupidity decreed otherwise.
Just my luck.
◆◆◆
En route to McCord’s house, Wolseley checked into my head. His voice sounded raspy.
“Sitrep?”
I sighed. Asking what’s up was too challenging for this fucktard. He felt the need to spew military jargon at me. Like who doesn’t know sitrep is a situation report? Kids learn that crap from video games. Being overtired I chose to poke a few holes in his balloon. Just for kicks right?
“Perimeter secured,” I barked. “No hostiles in sight. Banjo Sixty Niner heading back to camp. Copy Blueball Leader?”
“Cut the shit Nikita. What’s going on with your boyfriend? Any idea where he and Federov might’ve gone?”
“Why don’t you tail them and find out?”
Wolseley snorted. “Not bloody likely. This Federov character trained for urban warfare. You try tailing that bastard he’ll hand you your head with an apple stuck in your mouth.”
“Sounds fairly explicit. Personal experience talking?”
“Shut up and tell me what you know or think you know.”
I said, “I’m fighting two people tomorrow at noon. The fight’s being staged outdoors. Surface will be mostly grass with uneven terrain. And it’s someplace hot. Thirty degrees hot. Chance of rain sixty percent. Oh and there may be one more crew member than we thought. Name’s Darlene. She’s one of the bartenders at Sweet Spot. There. You’re welcome. That’s the full sitrep in a nutshell.”
Wolseley took a moment to digest these nuggets of mostly old news. Maybe someone had handed him his head. Or he couldn’t talk coz of the apple in his mouth. But a hefty grunt told me the apple had left the building.
“Darlene. Copy that,” said Wolseley. “Keep your head on a swivel, detective. These people play for keeps. Talk later.”