You and me, Mistress Elizabeth and her Slut, like film stars in dark glasses, dyed hair, make-up, trench coats. We walk a random walk in town, a busy Saturday, arms linked, jostling for space with shoppers eager to spend their weekly disposable, whose futile lives interest us little. The day is damp, the clouds hover low and threatening, not quite raining, a hint of drizzle, cold enough to wear coats. The belt of yours nips tight at your waist, exaggerating your figure, making it spectacularly hour-glass, your high-heels thrusting your buttocks out, sexy, wiggling – you are attracting looks, appreciative from the men, disapproving from the women: both know you are dangerous. We are buttoned up, concealed by the enveloping rainwear. Beneath yours, you sport a choke-necklace, a red, black-trimmed close-fitting bodice, stockings, fish-net and seamed and, deliciously, your tight-fitting ‘style’ panties, plastic and colour-matched to your basque. Beneath mine, I wear a charcoal-coloured Armani suit, stylish and subtly pin-striped, a cobalt-blue shirt and alpha-male red tie; like you, I am also wearing ‘style’ panties…
We do not speak for we do not need to speak: our minds are one, I hear your thoughts and you hear mine. Our unspoken language is Pervish, a telepathic short-hand that enables us to communicate an intimacy too foul to be spoken aloud. We are two facets of a single being, reflecting Lucifer as a diamond splits and reflects light. We are the Dark Lord’s jewel on this benighted earth, we are his gift to the world. Somewhere, a church bell rings out its displeasure at our presence but strangely, a stiff breeze springs up and its sound is lost on the wind: it becomes fainter and then is heard no more.
We are guided unbidden, Ouija-like, to the Savoy, and bee-line to the bar. You order vodka, a bottle and two shot-glasses, in a voice so deep it could be mine. It frightens the barmaid, I see the hair on the nape of her neck rise… Whilst I part with too much money for the Savoy-priced booze, you open the bottle and splash Beelzebub’s nectar into the two glasses. Before the change arrives, we’ve downed it and you are pouring the next shot. Down again before the change has finished rattling on the bar-top. You pour a third shot, again straight down it goes, half a bottle between us in less than a minute. We pause and wait for its warmth, its emboldening properties, to begin to take effect. Other customers look at our silent ritual, perhaps expecting trouble; the barmaid is aghast. Your eyes lock hers and pierce her very soul, then your dark brown voice again, barking a single word: “What?” She has neither the wit nor the courage to answer, simply shakes her head and pretends to be invisible; she trembles under your imperious gaze. I read your mind and nod – yes, we shall defile this innocent before the day’s end, educate her in the ways of the Dark One. You fill your glass, the rim of which is bright with the impression of your gorgeous lips in thick, scarlet lipstick, and command her: “Drink!” Initially, she shrinks from you. “DRINK!” you bellow in a voice that shakes the glasses behind the bar. A man approaches to intervene but shrinks in terror as your head snaps round to throttle his folly with a withering glare. He knows it is not his business… With this, you establish command of the bar-room. Onlookers are cowed, the barmaid is terrified but under your spell and every living soul in that place feels the presence of evil... The barmaid, who is labelled with the name ‘Jenny’, sips the fiery spirit timidly, not wanting to drink, not daring not to. You lean over to her and in rising crescendo spit the words: “Down it, now, now, NOW!” The drink was gone before you had uttered the third ‘now’. You pour another and fix her with your gaze; the smell of her fear suffuses the air. She drinks as you extract her soul through her eyes and devour her. “Jenny” you cajole, “You are coming with us.”
The three of us exit into the bustling outside and disappear into the crowd, leaving the bar untended and the patrons bewildered. You and me, we communicate in silence and I know to go on ahead and book a room in the Leicester Square Radisson Blu in anticipation of the great corruption. You have a firm grip on Jenny’s arm and guide her towards our chosen altar.
I pay in cash, in advance and tip the receptionist well. Further cash will be needed for other staff later but no harm in making friends at the outset. The girl, a buxom blonde from somewhere in the old eastern bloc, smiled charmingly and gratefully accepted the money – it was the equivalent of a day’s work on the minimum wage and would supplement her meagre income nicely. I tell her my wife and daughter will be arriving soon and to send them up. I communicate telepathically and you know to ask for the keys to room 66 on the 6th floor, where I will be waiting. I take the elevator to the sixth, my cock growing fat in anticipation of the sport in store.
The magnetic card opens the door and I cast a critical glance around the room: the bed is a decent size, big enough to take three comfortably. It is pristine, beautifully made up with ‘his’ and ‘hers’ dressing gowns draped tastefully across the goose-down duvet and I wonder casually what it will look like after we have finished with it. I undress hurriedly, down to my style panties, my by now massive cock pressing hard against the plastic, straining for release. I stand Narcissus-like before the full-length mirror and masturbate, enjoying the writhing image that cavorts before me.
By the time you and Jenny arrive, I am pressing myself against the mirror and rubbing my penis hard against the cold glass, licking my image in mock-French kiss. You walk straight up to me, pull my style panties from my ass and jam three fingers of your right hand brutally into my anus. My cock jerks and spits. My ass clenches, trapping your fingers. I turn to face the bewildered Jenny, whose clothes I spatter with my semen, pouring powerfully in thick ropes from my spurting cock. You curl your fingers and rip them sharply from my anus, making me squeal in pain even as I spray more rope upon the unfortunate Jenny, and with your clean hand you grab Jenny by the hair and yank her head sharply backwards so that her mouth gapes, and shove in the fingers that have been up my anus. Jenny recoils in disgust, the taste of shit makes her retch, but lust swirls in the air, and it is leeching her resistance from her.
My cock remains rigidly erect, spurred by my obscenity and the sight of my own semen dripping from the clothes of our ‘guest’. Power is a potent aphrodisiac and with the control we now exercise over this innocent, I feel I can remain in a state of priapic magnificence for ever. You slip your coat to the floor, revealing your glory to Jenny for the first time. Jenny’s eyes feast, yes, feast upon your beauty and her resistance diminishes another notch, and then evaporates as you strip her of her semen-soaked blouse and skirt, exposing underwear that is much raunchier than might have been guessed. You circle her, admiring her pneumatic young body, and cackle as a jackal when you imagine the ravages that will be wrought upon it over the next few hours. Unclipping her brassiere frees her breasts which, although large, defy gravity on acquiring their freedom, tip-tilting upwards: they are capped with pink, puffy nipples centred on large areolas. Jenny stands silently as you remove her panties, exposing an almost complete absence of pubic hair, little more than a line a quarter-of-an-inch wide that elides into her cunny-lips, creating the appearance of a crack that begins at the base of her spine, splits her butt before running deep between her legs, parting a little to accommodate her bulbous clitoris and extends half-way to her naval. Her buttocks are pert and match the rest of her pneumatic frame well; although not tall, her legs are long enough to create the appearance of someone taller. I watch the erotic scene unfold from the bed and my lust becomes unbearable: I lie on my back and gesture to you to join me. You straddle my torso, ass towards my face and, calculating, lower your body over my face and plant your plastic-panty-covered cunt on my lips. You slide back and forth, over nose and chin, and talking is no longer an option for me. My tongue, pink, wide and flat, entertains your cunt and asshole through the soft, clinging plastic. You moan with pleasure, now yourself lusting for Jenny: “Get here! Now!” Jenny climbed onto the bed, and facing you straddles me, impaling herself on my huge cock. She shudders, and something explodes deep in her eyes: I feel her pussy ripple, her body tensing and then releasing. You caress her breasts and lean forward to kiss her: intense arousal lances through Jenny’s belly and she clenches her pussy tight around my cock. Your hot, red lips suckle hers, and your tongue becomes a small cock darting in and out of Jenny’s mouth. She is poised at the threshold, staring into your dark eyes and she knows you are somehow keeping her from her climax. She makes animal noises, cresting into carnal howls. Her orgasmic energy slams into me, and my cock stretches her cunt walls. I slam my vast tumescence deep, retreating only slightly to rub against that special place inside her, and then slam inward again. My balls slap loudly against her bouncing ass and you help shove her body up and down with strong arms. You release her from your spell and let her climax: Jenny’s orgasm rips through her like lightning, and precipitates my climactic roar. Hot seed jets into her inflamed cunt and a wanton wail flees thrilling from her lips, leaving her writhing, impaled through her very soul.
To Be Cuntinued