"Victoria's Deadly Dalliance".
Story by Michael; Art by Felspar.
Using the forged pass key provided by a supporting agent, I slip into the
apartment. I head for the computer by the desk, rifling through the disks
on the desk in the hope that I can uncover something quickly. I try the
computer; several levels of password protection tell me that it isn't worth
the time given the mission constraints. I grab several likely disks from
the desk and throw them into a small case over my shoulder.
A notebook, one page partially removed hastily. A remaining fragment
contains part of an address downtown. I rip the page from the book and slip
it into my pocket. I continue searching the desk and file drawers quickly,
stopping only when something captures my interest. There's not much time
before I have to finish the search and get into position. The meeting
convened at 10pm, but she could leave at any time.
I finish the file cabinet. Echoing in the distance, from the end of the
hall, the clicking of heels, sharp and brisk with clean, short steps. The
heels grow louder. I throw the bag over my shoulder, pull the Glock from my
shoulder holster and duck into the kitchen, slipping behind a pair of small
louvered doors from where I can see the front door.
The heels come to a slow crescendo before falling silent at the door. Quiet
shuffling, the rustling of a purse, the jingling of keys. The slipping of a
key into the lock, and the door opens slowly, a thin column of light
slicing the darkness of the living room. I watch, intent, tense and silent
as a slender, well-proportioned silhouette glides into the light of the
doorway and is gone into the dark as the door slips shut. Several quiet
footsteps of the heels, and a light comes on by the bookcase...
Through the gap between the doors of the darkened kitchen, I glimpse her at
last. She's neatly turned out in a dark grey suit with a form-fitting cut,
a short, waist-length jacket buttoned tightly across the front. Beneath, a
silvery silk blouse is buttoned snugly, open an extra notch or two to
accent the smooth, deep cleavage of what had to be at least a 35-inch
breast. Her skirt, perhaps two inches shorter than what's considered
"acceptable", hugs her waist and great, swelling upper thighs, fastened
tightly at the waist to accentuate the gentle, sensuous swelling of her
lower abdomen and the prominence of her pert, firm buttocks. Her plain,
black four-inch pumps arch her slender ankles and display curving, graceful
calves. Her raven hair, cut short off the shoulder, is parted to a mod-ish,
sharpened forward curl that accents her dramatic cheekbones and wide-set,
intense hazel eyes.
She eyes the room for a moment, then goes to the desk, her graceful, plump
breasts quivering tightly with each brisk step. She casts a few glances at
the desk, the cabinet, the computer, and knows I've been there. But, she
doesn't see me. She may not even be looking. She knows I don't have what
I'm after -- and what I know she's got -- yet, and she can't waste time
closing up shop and getting out to spend time worrying about someone who's
been in her apartment. As far as she's concerned, she's done; there's
nothing left but the copying of the master disks, throwing together the
overnight case, grabbing the passes and bolting for the airport and safety.
She turns on one heel and heads for the hallway and her bedroom. I watch
with a perverse arousal as she rounds the corner, her tight, hard,
worked-out ass shaking tautly with every stride.
I wait until she's in the bedroom packing before I take a tremendous
gamble, slipping down the hallway and into the open door of the bathroom
halfway down. I step into the shadow of the door and watch her as she
prepares for what she believes will be a quick, clean wrap-up and
She pauses for a moment at the dresser and looks up as if she's forgotten
something. Her dark hair glistens and her graceful cheekbones cast subtle
shadows across her face in the pale light of the bedroom. She strides
slowly into the dimly-lit hall. She approaches the bathroom door; I hit the
light and step out into her path, the Glock leveled at her smooth belly.
"That'll be fine, right there, Miss Talbot! Miss... Victoria Talbot, isn't it?"
She glares back with quiet rage and slight surprise. She almost can't
believe she was followed here. "You ought to know. I can guess who sent you
I prod her with the muzzle of the gun and back her to the wall. "Hands
where I can see them please, Miss Talbot..." I bury the muzzle in her belly
and look her in the eye. "I suppose that if you know who sent me, then you
know what business I have."
"Do I?" she shoots back, holding her chin in the air defiantly.
"I think you do," I reply, pressing the muzzle deeper into the softness of
her belly, just below the ribs. "I think you know why I'm here and what I'm
after, and if you're as sensible as I think you are, you'll make things
easier on both of us and hand it over to me now."
"What makes you think I'd have it? You've already looked for it; I can see
that." she retorts sharply.
"Well, Miss Talbot," I continue calmly, raising the Glock and nestling the
muzzle against her breastbone, "for one thing, I haven't searched the
bedroom -- and I haven't searched _you_. Let's start with the bedroom,
shall we?" I lower the gun to her abdomen, grab her by one arm and push her
down the hall, towards the bedroom. "Let's go..._now_."
As we approach the bedroom, Victoria stops and turns to confront me in the
doorway. I raise the gun towards her. "Inside. INSIDE!"
Victoria lunges, a knee aimed at my groin, one arm sweeping up towards my
gun hand. I twist to avoid the knee as her arm knocks my hand in the air in
an effort to knock the gun free. In my effort to hang onto the Glock, I
squeeze off a couple of rounds into the ceiling. The effort of avoiding
Victoria's knee throws me to the floor, momentarily disoriented as I hear
her frantic, short, high-heeled steps rushing down the hall. Quickly, I
recover my wits, jump from the floor into a low crouch, raise the Glock and
lay down a short burst in Victoria's direction as she approaches to within
ten or twelve feet from the door. Victoria yelps sharply in pain and
surprise, the yelps turning to grunts and a stifled moan as the slugs catch
meat, her lean, sleek torso twisting and jerking as the bullets pepper her
back with tiny crimson geysers, stitching a clean, regular arc from above
the left buttock up to just below the right shoulder blade.
Delirious in pain and horror, Victoria reaches vainly for the door as she
stumbles forward, her weakening legs losing control over the wobbling
pumps. Her great, muscular thighs manage one last trembling stride before
she topples forward, striking the floor with a sickening muffled thud,
bouncing once, quivering and rocking gently before finally coming to rest
just steps from the door.
I approach Victoria's body quickly, stealthily, the Glock still trained on
her shapely midsection.
Victoria's fresh corpse sprawls crazily, awkwardly, yet somehow gracefully;
one shapely leg is stretched out almost straight, and the other is cocked
forward slightly, throwing one sleek high-heeled shoe askew. Her right arm
trails lazily alongside her torso, while the left lies thrown forward,
forever reaching for the door, but never finding it. She stretches at my
feet, appearing almost as if bounding or leaping, her lithe, athletic body
caught in mid-stride and frozen by the Glock's delicate spray. Victoria's
lustrous raven hair, once smartly styled, is thrown in crazy patterns of
black lace across her lolling head. Her elegant features, now relaxed, fall
into a dark and ghastly repose, a look of aloofness, indifference, a
horrifying calm; her deep, hazel eyes stare through the closed door into an
unseen distance, the lids hanging heavily, seemingly entranced, dreaming.
I step towards the body, shove one foot under her groin, and nudge,
half-kicking, once, twice. No response. Victoria's smooth flanks, taut,
prominent buttocks and sleek, round hips rock and quiver gently from the
nudging, the flaccid flesh slowly undulating and coming to rest. I kneel
over Victoria's body and, grabbing the waistband of her skirt, jerk the
carcass up onto its side, her left arm flopping heavily across her belly,
her head rolling over her right arm and coming to the floor with a soft,
muffled clunk. A thin strand of saliva and blood begins to flow from
Victoria's mouth and into a spreading pool beneath her head. Blood dribbles
quickly to the floor, spattering lightly, as it finds its way out through
the five or six new openings in her lower torso.
I snatch up the left arm and feel for a pulse. Nothing. I drop her arm; it
bounces off her hip and slips to the floor, falling at a crazy angle from
the elbow. I reach forward, pressing my hand to her throat, feeling for a
pulse, again; also nothing. Shifting my grip on her skirt, I slide the
corpse away from me a few inches and then, with a flip of my arm, throw it
back over onto its face, the soft, limp body rocking and undulating
deliciously before once again coming to rest.
I stand up and step over Victoria's body as I cross the room, slip the
Glock back into my shoulder holster, take off my jacket and throw it over a
chair. I'm sure now that Victoria is dead; there'll be no more struggle and
I can proceed at a more leisurely pace. I walk slowly back towards
Victoria's body and kneel over it. Her left leg, still cocked slightly
forward, stretches the fabric of the skirt tightly and provocatively across
her well-muscled thighs and proud, firm ass. (Magnificent! There'll be
enough time for that later.)
Quickly, thoroughly, roughly, I frisk her corpse up and down, finding
nothing. Again grabbing the waistband of her skirt, I jerk her body on its
side and, with a quick pull, jerk her jacket free from the buttons and drop
Victoria back onto her face. Yanking the jacket sharply up from her waist
to feel for hidden pockets, I notice that its thick fabric has hidden the
true extent of Victoria's bleeding. The bullet holes in the sheer silk
blouse are ripped, jagged punctures, the shredded cloth and strands of
fabric at the edges punched downward into the five entry wounds in
Victoria's back. Her blouse glistens with fresh blood from separate wounds
soaking together to form a single massive deep crimson pool, leaking
through to deeply stain the liner of Victoria's jacket. I feel and search
Victoria's bullet-ravished torso and feel nothing but firm, toned flesh and
muscle beneath the bloodied silk.
Moving down to her feet, I pick up the one black pump that has already
fallen free and feel inside for hidden spaces. Inadvertantly, I catch a
whiff of the shoe. Perfume!? I drink in the aroma, momentarily, in spite of
myself. I gather myself, lower the shoe from my face and throw it aside. I
lift the now-bare foot and notice a thin, lightly sparkling ankle bracelet
fastened a few inches up from her ankle. I slip a finger under the anklet
and jerk it free; I drop the heavy, limp leg to the floor, it bounces
lightly once as it flops to the floor, the momentum setting Victoria's
soft, limp, lifeless flanks and hips to quaking slightly for a moment.
Grabbing the other leg and pulling it towards me, I remove the other pump
and examine it the same way. This shoe is perfumed as well. It's becoming
difficult concentrating on business first before moving on to the "perk" of
I rise to my feet, kicking Victoria's shoes aside and pausing for a moment
to gaze down at the sleek, athletic, tight-assed young corpse crumpled on
the carpet at my feet. Good shooting, I notice; five crisp punctures
through the fine wool jacket, into Victoria's muscular back and out through
the mid-abdomen in a tight, even line between her navel and the second or
I shove one foot under Victoria's soft, flaccid midsection and, kicking up
sharply, throw her limp, heavy carcass over onto its back, her left arm
flopping across her chest and bouncing to rest at her side, partly bent,
slightly extended from the shoulder. Her great thighs tumble and rock, her
hips shimmy provocatively; her head rolls and lolls sloppily back and forth
as her corpse comes to rest. Her body rolls over softly and heavily, the
momentum setting it to shimmying and quaking gently, like a freshly-killed
I grab Victoria's jacket from the front and begin rummaging through the
inside pockets and feeling the lining. Still nothing! The bitch. What if
she has it hidden in a locker at the airport? Damn; I should've tried to
knock that information out of her before I pumped her. As I finish
searching the jacket and throw it open, my eyes wander to Victoria's
lifeless face, still exotic and fetching. The soft light from down the hall
highlights her high, round, elegant cheekbones in a soft, warm glow, her
eyes, still moist, sparkle slightly still in a seemingly indifferent,
careless gaze. A small but steady trickle of blood purges from her mouth,
across her cheek. It's shockingly fashionable. It matches her lip gloss.
I begin frisking Victoria's soft dead torso from the front, starting at the
waist and working slowly up to the armpits, grabbing her arms by the wrists
and throwing them up past her head; the limbs bounce and twist as they
fall, coming to rest at awkward, haphazard angles. I take care to avoid
bloodying my hands uneccessarily as I feel the blood-soaked blouse.
Victoria's limp torso quivers ever so slightly, her head rocks from side to
side gently as I grab the blouse and yank the buttons free, one at a time,
exposing her smooth, taut belly. I pause for a moment to examine my work on
Victoria's bullet-pocked torso. The exit wounds pucker out in little
craters, little volcanoes welling up slightly with fresh blood, forming a
grisly connect-the-dots puzzle between her navel and breast.
I reach up towards Victoria's chest and grab her thin, sheer bra by the
cups and slip it up over her still-firm and plump breasts. I pause, nearly
startled somehow at the sight of Victoria's breasts quivering gently as I
pulled the bra away. My breath is short, my pulse quick, if for only a
moment before I compose myself and being feeling for hidden spaces in the
bra cups and straps. I reach around to search the straps from the back,
lifting the lifeless torso slightly towards me. I gasp quietly in arousal
and anticipation as my hand accidentally brushes Victoria's left breast
while searching the straps. There's a smear of blood on my hand afterward;
where did that come from?...
...I glance down. One of the rounds has grazed the underside of Victoria's
left breast, leaving a delicate bloody line as it exited between the third
and fourth ribs. The left cup of the bra is slit open roughly, a thin
diluted stain of blood and milk spreading in the fabric. A tiny rivulet of
blood has found its way down into the smooth enfolding where the underside
of Victoria's breast joins the main part of her chest, tracing the
underside of the bountiful swelling in a sparkling crimson line.
Nothing in the bra. I'm going to have to search _everything_ now. I can't
do it all here. Quickly, haphazardly, I slip Victoria's bra back into
position, button her blouse two or three buttons up and fasten her jacket.
Kicking the discarded heels aside, I pause for a moment to drink in
Victoria's ghastly elegance. Even now, lifeless, bloodied, bullet-ravaged,
she's still hauntingly beautiful. Her snug, stylish clothes are disarrayed
shockingly, loosely thrown about her corpse in that horrid dishevelment of
death. Her expression seems uncaring of the way her rumpled, bullet-ripped
blouse and jacket ride up her torso, bunched up around her shoulders, the
snugness of the jacket pressing and squeezing her ample breasts together
and upward, the half-open blouse exposing a horrifyingly stunning cleavage.
I step back from the corpse for a moment to remove my shoulder holster and
lay it over a chair, and to take off my shirt. I then return to my work; I
bend over Victoria's body, slipping one arm around her back, grabbing her
left arm at the elbow, and pulling her torso onto my shoulder. I put my arm
down quickly under her thighs and, grasping the muscular limbs tightly,
stand to my feet.
Victoria's corpse slides heavily over my shoulder; as I grab her waist to
stop the fall, her lifeless arms flail and thrash the air wildly, and her
head bobs crazily, half-twisting at awkward angles as it dangles at the end
of her spine. Her hair swishes along with its movements in a dark, lustrous
wave, like a horse's tail. I pause for a moment to get my footing, shifting
my grip around Victoria's full, sleek thighs; I'm momentarily lost in a
macabre reverie as I savor the feel of her luscious, well-muscled flesh in
my arms and over my shoulder. Her torso sways lazily from the hip; her arms
swing along in kind, and her head now gently bobs to and fro, a beautiful
broken puppet of flesh and blood.
I begin walking down the hall towards the bedroom. I'm momentarily startled
as I feel Victoria's limp hands brushing my buttocks as her arms swing
loosely in time with my steps. I smile to myself, darkly amused. This bitch
is _spanking_ me, I muse to myself. I mockingly whisper her imaginary words
to me: bad boy! you killed me, you cold bastard. bad boy...
I arrive at the bedroom door and survey the space. I realize I can't afford
to dirty the sheets with Victoria's vaginal juices, urine and the blood
from her still-warm wounds as I'll need them to wrap the body for transport
back to HQ. I look around the bedroom for a place to lay the corpse while I
clear the bedsheets. There's nothing; no sofa, no easy chair. I yank hard
on Victoria's flaccid legs; her torso slides up over my shoulder. With a
soft flip, Victoria's corpse swings out over my shoulder; I let go of her
legs and her body drops to the floor with a deep, loud, sickening thump,
bouncing hard, her limbs flapping on the carpet, her torso and hips quaking
as she comes to rest.
I walk to the bed, gather the bedclothes, fold them hurriedly and toss them
into a corner. Returning to Victoria's body, I grab her now-bare feet by
the ankles and drag her towards the bed, her arms flopping back behind her
head, her head lolling and rocking slightly with each pull on her ankles.
Her clothes become even more sickeningly disarrayed; her skirt bunches up
around her ample hips, her blouse and jacket pull up around the top of her
torso and press her breasts up into an even more obscene prominence. I
smile slightly, wickedly, at this ghastly salaciousness. I bend over and
snatch Victoria's corpse into my arms, one hand under her knees, one hand
around the midsection, and throw it over onto the bed. It bounces wildly
two or three times, rolling over onto its face, quivering in time with the
I cross to the other side of the bed and pull Victoria's jacket and blouse
up to her shoulders, exposing the bra fastenings across her back. With a
rough yank, the strap snaps and springs free. Down to the waistband of her
skirt, now, I unzip the back and begin to feel carefully in the flaps of
the zipper, and in the waistband. Still nothing. I slip my hands under
Victoria's flank and shoulder and flip her corpse over onto its back. I
reach over and continue to pull on her skirt until it's around her ankles,
where I can feel it more comfortably. No luck here, either. I put the skirt
aside and reach up to Victoria's full, sleek, lifeless thighs and begin
sliding the sheer black stockings down from her shapely legs. As I pull the
stocking free from her right leg, I pause for a moment to admire her
well-muscled calf, her slender, graceful ankle and elegant, smooth foot. I
gently let the foot slip free from my grasp and drop to the bed.
With Victoria's body now bare-legged, I begin to examine the black
French-cut panties wrapped around her smooth, firm, proudly jutting
buttocks. For a moment, I think I've found a small compartment, but I'm
mistaken. I reach up towards her arms, pull the still-limp and pliant limbs
down to her sides, and begin yanking the jacket free, her arms flopping and
dropping sloppily to the bed as the sleeves slide from around them. I pause
again to admire. Victoria's corpse is down to panties, bra and a
sloppily-buttoned and fitted blouse soaked in blood. I grab and twist the
side of the panties and jerk sharply, ripping the panties loose and, in a
quick motion, slip them from around Victoria's curvaceous, full hips. Her
inside thighs glisten down to the knees in a torrid mixture of urine and
vaginal juices. Her elegantly-trimmed pussy fur sparkles with tiny droplets
of fluid. The mixture of odors, the heavy musk of blood, urine, and vaginal
fluid, I find shocking but somehow highly arousing.
I undo the three hastily-fastened buttons on the blouse and throw it aside.
Grabbing the bra by the front, I pull sharply and it slips from around her
shoulders, exposing her wonderful, plump breasts. I feel frantically along
the straps of the bra, around the edges of the cups and -- _there_ it is.
Thirty-seven microfilmed pages wrapped in a small, tight tube and stitched
into the strap on the cups of Victoria's black bra. I stand up from the bed
and place the rolled film in a safe place near the nightstand. The search
is over, the target out of commission, the job all but done. Now, to
confirm the kill.
I allow myself a moment or two to savor the triumph, and drink in
Victoria's still-radiant beauty as she reposes among scattered bloody
clothes and underthings on the bare mattress. I reach under Victoria's
flaccid, limp torso and flip her onto her face, pulling her arms straight
down to her sides once again to allow the blouse to slip free. I grab the
sleeves and pull sharply; one quick, smooth motion, and Victoria's corpse
I slowly reach down and gently fondle Victoria's lifeless but still-firm
and supple buttocks, my hand wandering down across her hip and flank to
stroke and caress her sleek thigh. I squeeze the smoothness lightly, my
strokes wandering steadily downward to her elegant, muscular calf. Up and
down, I caress and fondle Victoria's shapely calf, moving down now to her
graceful ankles. I almost hated taking her shoes off when I searched them,
because as she stood before me, just before dying, I so enjoyed the way
those four-inch pumps showed off those elegant, exquisite ankles, a
delicate arch from the top of her foot down to the toe. I hold her foot for
a moment in this position, bent up from the knee, as Victoria's body still
lay face-down on the blood-stained bed. Such stylish, elegant feet she has,
strong and carefully pedicured, burnished and filed nails in a rich, glossy
red that matches her fingernails, lip gloss and the blood that still
trickles from her mouth and the wounds in her midsection. Gently, almost
lovingly, I press the sole to my face, kissing and lightly biting the toes.
I let the foot slip from my hand and fall back to the mattress.
Grabbing Victoria by her ankles, I jerk and twist her legs around. Her hips
follow, and the momentum throws the lean, worked-out young corpse over onto
its back, arms flapping crazily and head rolling sharply from side to side
as the body comes to rest. I pause, sliding onto the bed, kneeling at the
feet of the lifeless but still-enticing beauty. She's magnificent; a
voluptuous, athletic, worked-out goddess of a corpse. Reason leaves me
quickly, I gladly do nothing to bid it stay. I wrap my arms around
Victoria's beautiful dead thighs and bury my face in the musky, sopping,
lifeless pussy. I feel almost drugged by the smell of this bewitching
carcass, the odors of blood, urine, pussy juice, cordite blend in a thick,
sickening aphrodisiac. I rise, my face glistening with pussy honey and
piss, streaked with fine diliuted rivulets of blood. I don't care. I glory
in it, now, as my crazed, hungry gaze turns towards the exit wounds in
Victoria's smooth, firm abdomen.
I rise quickly, and step briskly to the bathroom where I find a washcloth
and a small bottle of baby oil. I dampen the washcloth and return to the
bed where Victoria's body lay. I slide onto the bed, on my knees and begin
mopping the blood from around the five wounds in her midsection. The wiping
away of blood reveals a series of crisply-punched, clean and elegant
punctures in a short row stitching Victoria's smooth and well-toned
abdomen, slightly puckered outward, like tiny bumps with little wells of sti
ll-fresh blood. I pause to again savor the feel of Victoria's gorgeous
buttocks before flipping her the rest of the way over, onto her face in
order to wipe clean the entry wounds. As the last of the blood is wiped
away, I pause to admire. The wounds are small, but stretch far enough to
admit my middle finger as it slips in with a faint squishing sound. It's
still warm inside. It's like fingering her pussy, a warm, wet, arousing
place. I turn the corpse over onto its back again, grabbing her thighs and
separating them quickly and casually to allow easy entry into her dead
I take the baby oil and being dribbing it generously over Victoria's
lifeless but still-soft and pliant skin, rubbing it in slowly, sensuously,
taking time to touch, caress and feel every square inch of this magnificent
corpse. Soon the entire body has been rubbed down with the baby oil.
Victoria's dead flesh glistens in the light of the nightstand, the most
exquisite highlights gleaming off the swellings and curves of her thighs,
belly and breasts.
I slip my legs between hers and lower myself gently onto this beautiful
dead goddess. My heart leaps at the sensation of Victoria's soft, smooth
dead flesh against mine. I rise momentarily up onto my elbows to look at
her frozen gaze. How perfectly smart and glamourous she must have looked,
on all her other missions, where she survived to bring back information for
the lucrative payment both in money and in a piece of her spymaster's cock.
My cock is hardened to the point of pain. It quivers and shakes as it
stands straight out from my groin, 7 inches, rock-hard, shaking like a
miniature club from between my legs. I smear it heavily in baby oil. Then,
I slide my thighs under Victoria's buttocks and, wrapping my arms around
her thighs, pull sharply. Victoria's flaccid, dead hips slide up my legs.
Victoria's pussy bumps into my cock, but isn't penetrated instantly. I pull
back on the great, muscular thighs again, and this time her lifeless hips
slide all the way, impaling Victoria's proud, exciting, sensuous,
worked-out body on my cock up to the hilt.
Slowly at first, but soon more quickly, I begin rocking my hips in and out,
coaxing the last warm honey out of Victoria's lifeless pussy. Mmmm, baby.
She tightened up quite a lot when those slugs caught meat; she's almost so
tight I can't stay in. Ohh... mmm, a perfect fit. I become mesmerized by
the motion of my own body, hypnotized by the steady, smooth grinding
in...and out. In... and out. Victoria's corpse undulates loosely in time
with my thrusts, her torso twisting, her head lolling, her whole body
rocking in a dark, grisly rhythm.
I feel the first load building to the breaking point in my balls. I've been
holding it since I pulled the trigger on this big-league bitch. I begin
losing what control I have left. I pound harder on Victoria's loose, dead
hips. Her corpse begins to slide towards one side of the bed; her arm
sliding over the edge, flopping up and down, waving as if to beckon me for
more. Her head rolls to one side, jerking up and down on the end of her
limp spine as if nodding "yes, yes..oh, yes". She's nodding to me, that
nasty dead bitch. Do you want to? Do you, you nasty, scheming, worked-out
big-time bitch? You even want it now, don't you. Five of my bullets can't
stop you from asking for it. Well, here it is.
Another tremendous thrust, and the top of Victoria's torso slides over the
edge of the bed. I hang on tight to her limp, rocking hips to keep her from
sliding off my cock. I see her body over the edge of the bed, jerking up
and down, her arms flailing crazily, her sweet breasts quivering and
bouncing, out of control, and her head... her pretty head, nodding,
nodding, "yes, I want to!", mocking me, bobbing up and down furiously in
rhythm with my ever more-frenzied thrusting and pounding.
The load is full. I can't hang onto it. I lose all remaining reason. I
become not a man, but something different, something almost frightening, a
creature of pure passion. I rear back on my haunches, arching my back as my
hips and thighs buck out of control and the jism thunders from my cock in a
hard, pulsing torrent, blasting the inside of Victoria's precious, dead
pussy, coating it from end to end, warming it anew.
I regain at least a bit of composure, enough to tighten my grip on
Victoria's hips and thighs and pull the rest of her corpse back onto the
bed. Don't go away, my bitch; I'm not finished with you yet.
I relax for a moment, catching my breath as I casually stroke and caress
Victoria's limp, flaccid thighs and flanks, still on my knees, leaning
over, my hair dripping sweat all over the sleek, glistening corpse. I slide
my hands up and Victoria's sides, squeezing, fondling, caressing the soft,
pliant waist and belly, stopping her and there to slip my fingers in and
out of her wounds.
I throw Victoria's legs aside me, grab her knees and throw her over onto
her face. Spreading her lifeless thighs once again, I slide forward and
reach out for the still-firm and perfect buttocks, kneading and fondling
them madly for a few seconds before pulling them apart and sliding her hips
up to meet mine once more, only this time with a fresh target in mind.
This takes more effort, but it's worth it; my cock instantly becomes even
harder than I thought possible as I jerk upward, wrapping Victoria's tight,
gripping asshole around my hardness. Once, twice, I lunge, and again and
again, Victoria's permanently-contracted anus shoves me back. I reach for
the baby oil again, soaking my hands and fingertips and cramming them into
Victoria's sweet, dead ass, stretching and spreading her anus to make way
for my painfully hardening meat.
I wrap my hands around Victoria's hips again, leaving tiny thin smears of
shit where my fingers held her, and jerk her back one more time. This time,
her ass spreads and my cock slides home. This is almost too much to bear,
the way her ass squeezes me. My balls become engorged in only a few
strokes. My groin aches from the passion as I drive my cock into Victoria's
sweet, tight asshole again, again, again, again, falling on top of her
wonderful, exquisite corpse, slipping my hands around the gleaming torso
and wrapping my hands around her still-firm and voluptuous breasts. Ohhh,
god, Victoria.. her nipples are also rock-hard, jutting into my skin,
reflexively contracted and hardened -- just as her ass and pussy -- at the
instant she was shot.
My hips, flanks and cock take total control, bucking, thrusting, exploding,
over and over and over again; I bury my teeth in the back of Victoria's
neck in order to muffle my howling and moaning as my second orgasm rolls
over me, coating Victoria's anal canal in a surging wave of hot cream.
Obscene squishing sounds begin to come from Victoria's asshole as my jism
begins to leak out, coating my cock and lubricating Victoria's tight, dead
I push myself up and away from Victoria's corpse and stand up from the bed,
the blood from her still-bleeding entry wounds leaving a perfect imprint on
my midsection -- exactly between my lower abdomen and my third rib. Five
glistening little red spots, rapidly diluting in the baby oil and semen,
spread slowly down on my lower torso. Thank you, my darling bitch, for
leaving me something to remember you by.
I grab Victoria's corpse roughly by the flank and shoulder and pull
sharply, throwing her onto her back and sliding her upper torso once again
over the edge of the bed, her arms gently waving, her head dangling and
nodding as she seems to look up at me, as if begging for more as I stand
over her, my still-massive and rigid cock pointing straight at her face.
Taking Victoria's head by the hair, I jerk sharply upwards, grabbing her
lower jaw with my other hand and pulling the mouth open. My hands behind
her head, now, I gingerly slip my still-engorged member slowly into
Victoria's vacant mouth and wrap my thighs around her head. Victoria's limp
jaw, dead and slack, provides just enough pressure to stimulate my cock as
I slowly and methodically fuck Victoria's staring, lifeless face.
I turn as I fuck Victoria's head, to glance behind me and enjoy the sight
of her still-open eyes gazing vacantly up my ass as I slowly pump my shaft
in and out of her dead, slack-jawed mouth. Her relaxed lower jaw swings up
and down in time with my thrusts and strokes as I work up yet another fresh
load in my aching balls. My groin is becoming an ecstatic mass of passion
cramps as I feel Victoria's thickening, damp, cold tongue pressing against
my cock. My thighs quiver now, my hips quake uncontrollably as I feel the
next orgasm building in my already nearly-exhausted loins.
I can't stop bucking. My mind loses touch with my thundering flanks as the
orgasm plows through me. It's as if my lower half has detached itself and
seized control; my thighs are unable to hold onto Victoria's head as my
balls roar yet a third time, my cock bursting with fat, heavy wads that
splatter over Victoria's face. The first burst catches her squarely in the
mouth, droplets of semen splattering back off her palate. Again I explode,
and again, the second, third and fourth wads soaking her nose and cheeks.
The slow-flowing pearls creep across her elegant cheekbones and across her
temples, pooling in her ears, soaking into her hair.
Now, it's time to finish the kill.
I cross to the opposite side of the bed and pull Victoria's body back onto
it, once again rolling it sloppily over onto its face. I pause for a
wonderful moment, breathing deeply, ecstatically, madly aroused and
blissfully drugged by smells that would sicken others -- Victoria's blood,
urine and honey, the cordite from the Glock, pools and pools of my
still-warm semen, slightly tinged with the tiny amount of shit left in
Victoria's lifeless ass which rubbed off onto my cock. This
almost-aphrodisiac mixture of odors hangs in a thick pall in the room, over
I grab Victoria's beautiful, delicate feet and press them against my still
painfully-hard cock, stroking it lightly, coaxing my balls to offer up one
more load, one more pearlescent shower for my dead goddess. I throw the
lifeless limbs to either side of me as I kneel on the bed and slide up
towards Victoria's enchanting ass. I hunch over rhythmically, more like an
animal than a man, my biceps and shoulders flexing and undulating as I wrap
my hands tightly around my rock-hard shaft and begin to stroke, squeeze and
pound -- slowly at first, but building speed and intensity along with the
one last, great load accumulating slowly in my happily-aching balls.
My cock becomes more pliant and slippery now, coated in a sweet lubricant
of Victoria's pussy juices and my own semen. I throw my head forward and
back in time with my pounding strokes, thrashing the air with my
sweat-soaked hair, splattering the walls with my warm perspiration. Ohhhh,
OH! Oh, god, Victoria. Here it comes, baby. One more time... mmmmm. Oh,
come on, give it to me. Oh, my balls. My strong balls, one more. MMMM, oh!
My biggest, most spectacular load of the night breaks loose like a
cannonball from the tip of my cock; I can almost feel the opening of my
cock stretching to allow the huge, fat wads to burst into the air. It
almost scares me. I feel like I can't stop coming. Each blast is bigger
than the last. Beautiful wad after wad of jism arcs through the air,
splattering across Victoria's smooth, graceful back, landing in spectacular
splashes next to and on top of the entry wounds punched by my Glock just an
hour earlier. The sight of my come splattering on top of the bullet wounds
makes me even crazier, bringing on another thundering wave on the heels of
the first. Again and again, I score hits on the little sparkling crimson
bull's-eyes on Victoria's back, the thick pools of semen dribbling slowly
into the darkening entry wounds.
Finally, the storm in my loins subsides as I lean forward, pressing my
chest against Victoria's sweet, pert, lifeless ass and running my tongue
through the great pool of semen collecting in the small of Victoria's back.
My tongue darts around and into the wounds. I gasp out loud at the tastes
mixing in my mouth, thick aromas of blood and semen as I French-kiss the cri
sp, neat, bloody punctures. Oh, darling! Oh, my wonderful bitch, Victoria.
I've shot her once, now I shoot her again with my own "gun", my seed
falling through the holes I've dug in her beautiful flesh.
Through a haze of blood and lust, I see the bedclothes stacked in the
corner, and Victoria's bloody suit scattered about the floor. Slowly,
imperceptibly, my mind returns to human rationality, to comprehend the task
of cleaning up and delivering the kill to HQ for final confirmation and
documentation. The sheets. The clothes. The camera. The body. The elevator.
The van. Yes, now I remember. Concluding phase. Transport. Confirmation. My
god, this bitch. This wonderful, bad, dead bitch.
I turn Victoria's corpse gently over onto its back. Her head rolls upright,
her sensuous mouth freely dribbling blood and semen. I pull her shapely,
limp legs together, lower myself to her and wrap myself around her sweet,
gleaming, moist corpse one last time, laying my mouth across hers in a
gloriously depraved deep tongue kiss. My heart jumps, I become flushed with
desire as my tongue slips into Victoria's now-cooling mouth and I taste the
mixed tastes of Victoria's congealing blood and my own fresh semen as they
flow together in her mouth.
My lovely, this was your best night of all. I'll always remember your last
mission. What a beautiful ending it found, here in my arms with my hot
bullets inside you. After a kill like this, I can retire from the Agency
right now. Happily.
Goodnight, my sweet bad bitch.