by marat
Chapter
Ten
Lynn
knew that Crimson Flare would be returning shortly from what would no doubt be
exhausting efforts at the mansion. While she waited for the police scanner to
announce that the Mitropoulos Police were on their way to break up the
disturbance at the MacLeod-Slaughter Mansion, she put on some water for tea.
Thus it
was with no small distress that she waited in vain for the police call. As
minute piled upon minute with no evidence of actions by the police, anguish
once again gripped the blonde girl as she began to pace the empty apartment.
Why were the police not taking action? She had sent the warning to Crimson
Flare that the police had been notified, and no doubt the masked Maiden was
already preparing to wrap things up at Gouyannou’s nerve centre.
Everything
depended on everyone playing his or her part. Crimson Flare couldn’t leave
Maria in the control of criminals, and she wouldn’t abandon the mansion without
knowing that the police were in fact on the scene. If these circumstances
didn’t change soon, both the heroine and the policewoman would find themselves
in great danger.
*****
Commissioner
Warren walked briskly from the City Centre to her car, this early morning
parked on the street rather than in her reserved space in the underground
city’s parking garage. As she did so, she smiled to herself.
It was a
good thing that she had come by following her awakening by Gouyannou’s phone
call. She had a feeling that the neighbours might complain about what was going
on at the mansion, that the capture and ultimate disposal of Crimson Flare
might be so raucous as to upset those living nearby. Though truth be told, she
wondered about who might have made the complaint: the neighbourhood was
something less than it had been in the heyday of the MacLeods and the
Slaughters, when the large, ostentatious residence had been built back in the
1920s. Most of the nearby buildings were abandoned and those that were still in
use were no longer private homes, but rather apartments and institutional
settings for the retired, the elderly, and the indigent.
As she
started the engine, Commissioner Jeri Warren sank back into her seat. At last,
Crimson Flare would cease to be a humiliation to her force. In a matter of
hours, perhaps even less, Fareed Gouyannou would have removed that vigilante as
a thorn in her side. At that point, she would order the police to the scene,
well after the events had transpired, and the lifeless body of America’s
Darling would be recovered from the scene of her final confrontation with the
city’s criminal element.
As she
pulled away from the curb, she headed north along New Street, driving toward
the MacLeod-Slaughter mansion. She wanted to witness the event.
*****
Policewoman
Maria Blakeman sobbed quietly as she stared across the ballroom. During the
Gouyannou mob’s victory over Crimson Flare, she had wept and shouted, all to no
avail. Now she had no tears left. Desperation gripped the bound captive as she
tugged violently and vainly at the ropes that secured her wrists and arms to
the chair. Neither could she move her legs, secured to that same seat, as she
tried to free herself. And so she now merely sat, frustrated and furious, all
of Maria’s consciousness focused on a single thought: ‘No. This can’t happen. I
can’t let this happen.’
Ten
meters in front of her, the unmoving form of the Champion of Women lay bound
and gagged. The high gloss of the black mask and cowl covering her head, hair,
and face glistened in the bright lights around the room. Behind her mask, even
at a distance of many meters, Maria could see that the heroine’s eyes were
closed. She lay on her right side, her chin sunk down into her chest. A rope
was looped twice around her body, above and below her breasts, securing her
upper arms to her torso. Behind her back, Maria had watched as a similar length
of rope was used to bind her wrists. Two more pieces of rope were lashed around
her legs, one at her thighs and the second around her ankles. A final
indignity, a crimson-coloured ball-gag had been forced into her mouth and tied
behind her head. Even at this distance, the avenger’s ragged breathing was
audible.
Her
boots lay one on top of the other, left over right, lashed together around the
ankles. The glistening polished leather flashed their reflection of the room’s
lights. They stretched across her calves like a second skin, so that the
definition of the girl’s muscles was evident. Above the shiny blackness, the colourless
tights that were so much a part of her heroine persona, also glistened, albeit
dully, in the room’s brilliant lighting.
The
crimson-and-gold sequined costume clung tightly to her body, moving minutely as
the unconscious Maiden breathed. The glorious form of the Defender of
Mitropoulos was now on display for the city’s underworld. And Fareed Gouyannou
seemed to have determined that this would be the end of his enemy. None of
those present yet knew that they would be party to the cementing of the legend
of Crimson Flare into the annals of Mitropoulos crimefighting.
Gouyannou
strode haughtily from a small throng of figures near the far door. His voice
was soft but clear and the intense quiet in the room ensured that all who were
there did not miss the accented words and phrases.
‘So.
There she is,’ Gouyannou said slowly. ‘The great Crimson Flare. Terror of
criminals across Mitropoulos.’ He chuckled, and it served as signal to all his
minions to do likewise. ‘Freed from my power, she returned for her… friends.’
He looked across at the two captives. ‘She was free and she could have remained
free. But she is a woman, and, like any woman, she was subject to the failures
of her sex: sentiment; rashness; and stupidity. She returned here thinking that
her strength would be enough to allow her to save her friends. And she stupidly
fell into my trap, just like a woman.’
The
laughter this time was much larger and went on longer. Before it died down, the
gangland chieftain gave a small signal to one of his underlings, who approached
his boss and the prisoner, carrying a bucket of water.
‘This
Crimson Flare… this Champion of Women… has made her last mistake. She used her
feminine wiles to lure many men who were friends of us here…’ There was here a
muffled chorus agreement among the crowd in the ballroom.
‘…men
who were friends of us here to their deaths…’ The throaty acknowledgement grew
louder…
‘…and to
prison…’ …and louder…
‘…and,
like Ape Greystook, to a permanent place in a hospital bed!’ …and louder, until
the anger seemed tangible.
‘She has
used the physical strength that was given to her to overcome her female
weakness and stupidity and to establish her current reputation. But is this
reputation deserved?
‘She has
sought to place herself in the position of a man. This… heroine… seeks to play
the role that has rightfully belonged to men. This… Crimson… Flare… supplants
the police… replaces the head of the family and the head of the household to
protect that which is his by right.
‘While
she is doing this she flaunts herself—her body—before her victims and before
society. She displays her sensuality, enticing our friends and companions down
the path to their destruction and moral degradation. All the while, she acts
the role of the virginal angel defending both society and her virtue.
‘But we
know different, don’t we?’ The crowd laughed again.
‘We’ve
seen her for the whore that she is, haven’t we? This time the crowd’s agreement
was vociferous and ferocious.
‘And
now, we have her.’ He walked slowly around the unmoving figure on the floor.
‘And we know what to do with women who don’t know their place… women who try to
be like men… don’t we?’
The
shout shook the walls and terrified Maria Blakeman.
‘She
will regret the day she undertook to become a… heroine.’ As he said the word,
malice dripped from his lips. ‘She will regret her successes, brief as they
were. She will regret the day she put on that revealing and immoral costume, a
costume that should shame its wearer.
‘And she
will assuredly regret coming back here.
‘We have
pictures of our earlier victories over this slut, pictures revealing her true
nature. Some we have taken ourselves. Here. This evening. Some, capturing
earlier obscene, smutty escapades in her career, were provided to us by our
friends in and out of the law enforcement community. With these as evidence, we
can correct the public image of the virtuous, virginal, saviour of
Mitropoulos. And with the evidence about to be provided by the Crimson Whore
herself, we will provide a fuller, accurate picture for this city of its late
heroine.’
The
young thug patiently held the full bucket of water while Gouyannou finished his
talk. The man who was master of Mitropoulos’ criminal underworld, however, was
not going to so quickly surrender his control of his empire’s attentions. He
gave another small gesture and the all of the contents of the vessel were
thrown savagely into the face of the avenger, an action designed to only
further degrade her condition.
*****
The
masked Maiden gasped and coughed as she sputtered back to consciousness. As her
eyes cleared, she saw, vaguely, the rows of laughing criminals who stood in
front of her, and the arrogant form of Fareed Gouyannou standing over her,
contemptuously gazing down at her.
She
tried to move.
Gods!
she thought, suddenly terrified. My wrists are bound! My strength is gone!
A
hollowness chasmed in the pit of her stomach, as the heroine realised that she
could barely lift her head. She was too weak!
She
heard Gouyannou’s accented voice speaking to his assembled thugs…
*****
‘…this slut
will pay. Here! Now! Today! And she will suffer at the hands of the very people
she sought to destroy. Her defeat and humiliation will serve as a lesson to any
who might follow her example. Her dead body will serve as an object lesson to
the city… the city that is ours, that should be ours, and will remain ours.
‘How
could we have allowed a mere woman to challenge us?’ Gouyannou asked. ‘How
could she even be permitted to harbour such a thought that she might even do
so? We will, today, make the penalty to anyone for thinking such things
so clear that our position henceforth will be more than secure, even more than
assured. We will be unassailable! And, as is appropriate, it will begin with
the destruction of our enemy. Before there was a Crimson Flare, our enemies
cowered before us. Now, with the destruction and humiliation of Crimson Flare… Crimson
Cunt… we will reassert our supremacy.
‘Now, we
will begin our auction.’ The gangland chieftain smiled down at his powerless
captive. ‘Who wants to be the first to purchase a half-hour with America’s
Darling?’
The
shout that went up from the assembled mob was deafening. The roar that rose
from dozens of throats seemed to rattle the floorboards beneath the heroine.
*****
I must
get free! Crimson Flare thought, panic beginning to creep over and through her
being. My claw! I must free myself with my claw!
Through
weakened limbs, the avenger of Mitropoulos sought the device that had rescued
her so many times before. She could feel it in her glove, and as she pressed
her hand and wrist against the metal blade secreted in her crimson-coloured
gauntlet, she felt it give way only slightly.
Gods!
she thought again, now desperate. I’m too weak to expose the claw! No. I won’t
let them defeat me in this way.
As she
redoubled her efforts to unsheathe Stacy’s most important creation, the most
valuable instrument in her arsenal, the bids began to fly thick and fast above
her. The masked heroine was unaware of the numbers that were being tendered for
a brief half-hour with the captive. Her focus remained entirely on pushing a mere
half-inch of the blade forth, a scant fraction of its full length, but enough
to expose the ropes that bound her to the claw’s tough metal teeth.
*****
‘$8000!’
screamed one scarred thug in the centre of the throng.
‘$9000!’
shouted another, a small man hidden by much taller hoodlums surrounding him.
‘’$10,000!’
came from still another, closer to Gouyannou.
‘$20,000!’
came a loud and shocking offer, from the back of the hall. From Bruce Sealing.
The
furor disappeared. The silence in the ballroom was, almost a cliché, deafening.
‘Any
more bids?’ asked the criminal boss of bosses. There was only silence.
Gouyannou
thought to himself, Very impressive. He’s mastered the room. And he knows that
it’s a good thing to return some of what I have given him. Maybe I will
have a role for him. ‘Let’s see the colour of your money.’
Sealing
came forward, walking quickly. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the
same cash that Gouyannou had given him earlier, for his complicity in trapping
the vigilante. He peeled off the correct amount, pocketing the remainder.
There
was a sprinkling of applause as Sealing walked into the centre of the floor to
collect his prize.
*****
The
Champion of Women strained the muscles in her hand and wrist, frantically
seeking to release the claw. All her effort had thus far only bared scant
millimeters of the blade. She could tell that it had yet to even touch on the
loops of rope that bound her wrists.
Again and again she pressed against the sheathed metal and each time
there was only a little response—too small to be effective.
I must—
I— must, she thought, when suddenly her concentration was shattered by someone
grabbing her boots and upending the crimefighter, raising the polished leather
high off the floor.
‘What—what?’
she gasped.
Bruce
Sealing deftly sliced through the cords securing her ankles, and, almost
disdainfully, tossed the rope aside. He did the same with the loops around her
perfectly formed thighs. Then he dropped her boots to the floor again, the
sound of the leather soles and heels against the wooden floor echoing
throughout the ballroom. Using the toe of his shoe, he casually turned the
powerless girl so that she stared up at him. ‘Get up, bitch!’
Freed
from the severe hogtie, Crimson Flare breathed deeply, trying to relax. But the
gag in her mouth and the taut ropes around her chest made even that usually
small effort difficult.
Bruce
Sealing demonstrated his impatience by sharply kicking the bound superheroine
in the back of her knee. The muffled grunt that issued from the petite Champion
generated still more laughter from the gathering in the ballroom.
‘GET
UP, YOU SLUT!!’ Sealing
shouted.
The
release of tension from the hogtie offered the possibility of progress with the
claw. Crimson Flare strained yet again, hoping to find at least some measure of
gain in the metal implement that she saw as her saviour. But a second kick,
this time in the small of her back, gave rise to the painful realisation that
her weakness was not without its dangers.
She
cried out in pain, and then struggled to get her legs under her. The heroine
who had feared no man now feared another kick from Bruce Sealing. But the
overarching weakness brought on by her bondage would not allow Crimson Flare to
rise. Her body slumped on the floor, still lying on her right side, knees drawn
up, arms drawn tightly behind her back, looking like to an unhinged number
‘2’. Sealing stood over her, smiling,
laughing heartily. ‘What’s wrong, Crimson Flare? Do you want more?’ So
saying, he kicked her a third time, and a fourth, striking any area of her
no-longer-powerful body that was before him. The gangland convention assembled
there collectively smiled, watching quietly and approvingly as their nemesis
was brought down.
A
throaty screech pierced the focused silence of the ballroom. It came from a
deep reservoir of anguish and pain, as Maria Blakeman could no longer bear the
continued torture of the Champion of Women.
The room
was hushed, except for the ragged breathing and groans of America’s Darling,
who was still struggling, and failing, to get to her feet. Maria Blakeman, her
body shaking, had seen all that she could stand. At a small nod of the head
from Gouyannou, the thug who had been placed behind her stepped up to the
policewoman and roughly pulled the gag from her mouth. ‘Stop it…’ she said, her
throat dry, ‘…please.’
Sealing
stared at the bound figure in the skintight black catsuit. An idea formed in
his mind, an idea that he hoped would solidify his position with his new
employer.
Despite
his façade of self-assurance and newly found bravado, Sealing clearly understood
that he was a novice with Gouyannou’s organisation. He was under suspicion by
the capos, officers in the underworld army controlled from the mind of
Gouyannou. He knew that they would take the first opportunity to undermine his
position, to remove him from his newly won rank that was so close to the chief.
He knew that giving back some of his money would elevate him in the eyes of his
chief. Now he would give back more. That, he believed, would also raise his
status with the capos.
‘So, how
much more for her?’
Gouyannou
smiled the smile of someone who had found a vein of gold amidst a field of
dross. Surely, there must be a place for this Sealing! he mused. Sealing
understands what he needs to do in order to survive in a bureaucracy of
enemies. There was no such thing as personal advancement in the zero-sum game
that was the criminal hierarchy. If he gained, then someone else must lose. A
very large personal profit meant many others had lost much. Perhaps too much
for Sealing to survive. Sealing understood he had to lose something. What
better to lose than the money he had just won?
‘The
rest of what you earned earlier.’ There was no emotion in Gouyannou’s response.
Sealing
broadened his face with a smile, reciprocating Gouyannou’s. There seemed to be
a genuine understanding between the former policeman and the criminal. The
handsome cop quickly walked across the short distance to the well-dressed
mobster, pulling more money from his billfold. He grandly turned over his gains
from the capture of Crimson Flare to the man who had earlier equally grandly
paid it to him.
‘Take
your prizes,’ Gouyannou said, with a flourish of his arm.
Sealing
walked quickly to where Maria Blakeman was tied to the chair. Taking the blade
again from his pocket, he swiftly cut the lengths of rope securing her arms and
legs to the heavy seat. He grabbed her by her dark hair and lifted her to her
feet.
As the
full effect of the catsuit became evident to the gathered gangland minions,
cheers and whistles echoed around the large bare hall. Surely Maria’s attire
left nothing to the imagination. Her boots, with three-inch heels, shaped her
calves nicely, and her thighs, the product of police force physical training,
were round and shapely. The black spandex glimmered sensually, reinforcing her
curves and crevices in the brilliant lights surrounding her. Best of all, her
hips, defined by the clinging, glistening material, and the exciting shapes and
shadows associated with them, gave many of those hardened thugs present some
reasons to reconsider their vocational choice. As she moved slowly before
Sealing, the sway of those hips excited the gangland figures surrounding them.
Those straining to see Maria from the front watched with glee as the taut
spandex crept up between her legs, concealing very little of her sexuality.
Maria’s slim waist accentuated the curves below, and her small but well-shaped
breasts jutted proudly forth. The
captive had succeeded in captivating the throng of men present.
‘Wait!’
Sealing ordered the policewoman. ‘Help your friend, the… superheroine.’
The remark was intended to serve as a crushing public humiliation of Crimson
Flare, who had arrived at the mansion with the intention of rescuing Maria and
Tim. Now, too weak to even stand, the Defender of Mitropoulos would have to be
herself rescued. As Maria bent down to help raise the heroine, cheers rose from
the mob surrounding her. It was not simply the degradation of Crimson Flare
that gave rise to the ovation, but also the way in which Maria’s anatomy, the
catsuit concealing nothing, was well-served by the movement.
‘Please,
Crimson Flare,’ Maria begged. ‘Please, get up.’
The
heroine struggled weakly to her feet, still bound with the maze of ropes that
secured her wrists, arms and chest, with a loop still encircling her neck and
hanging ignominiously toward the floor behind her. Maria strained to support
the now-powerless masked beauty, all the while consoling and whispering
encouragement to her personal champion.
At the
same time, mocking laughter grew in the ballroom.
‘Look at
her. The Champion of Women!’ Gouyannou shouted. As Crimson Flare stumbled to
her feet, he continued, ‘She doesn’t look like so much now! Sold to the highest
bidder for his pleasure! When all who are willing to pay for the… pleasure… are
done having our way with her, her slutty costume will be placed up for auction
as well, she will be unmasked to all of us here, as well as to those who are
willing to see our prize on the web, and her dead body will be left in front of
City Hall for the rest of the media and for the public.’
As
Sealing followed the two women toward the door at the rear of the room, the
same door that led to the cells below, he spoke softly to his boss. ‘Do you
want a filmed record of everything that happens?’
He was
surprised by the answer. ‘We will have that in any case.’ The cells had cameras
in place and operating.
The
gangland chieftain continued his degradation of his captive. ‘The slut, Crimson
Flare, gentlemen! Look at her! Would anyone other than a slut dress like that?
For what purpose? Why would a woman publicly expose herself in that way? Parade
herself in public like a common tramp, seeking to arouse desire in any man who
sees her! We already know of her unnatural sexual desire. We know that women
are the cause of the downfall of great men, leading them to only vile things
while destroying themselves! This… Crimson Flare has done this time and again!
We have even seen her debase herself already this evening. Her defeat and death
will be marked by the revelation of the true nature of this depraved woman to
all of the citizens of Mitropoulos. They will at last know what we here in the
underworld have known for a long time. That Crimson Flare—their Champion, their
Defender, their virginal heroine—is nothing more than a common slut, who will
service any man in any way.’
The trio
made their way through the door as Gouyannou was completing his diatribe.
Crimson Flare, as she weakly shambled across the floor, leaned heavily against
Maria, who now protected her friend from the degradation and disgrace that
continued to be heaped upon her by Mitropoulos’ criminal element.
The pair
stopped at the top of the stairwell leading to the basement, where they had all
been held earlier. Maria led her charge slowly down the first step. For Crimson
Flare it was exhausting, her new weakness wringing all the power from her body.
‘Let her
go!’ Sealing ordered.
‘What?
No!’ Maria whispered sharply.
Sealing
kicked the crimson-and-gold-clad Defender of Mitropoulos squarely in the small
of the back, tearing her from the arms of her protector. The Champion of Women,
America’s Darling, was torn from the tender security of Maria’s grip and
smashed against the wall before collapsing and then tumbling noisily to the
foot of the staircase. She moaned in agony as her body came to a halt, splayed
across the bottom two stairs and the floor beneath.
‘NO!!!’ Maria screamed, and raced to the
bottom of the stairs. ‘N-No!’ she cried softly as tears burst forth and rolled
down her face.
As she
stooped over the fallen avenger, Sealing walked flamboyantly down the steps and
grabbed Maria’s hair and yanked her away from the dazed figure lying on the
floor. Pushing his face into hers, the rogue cop sneered, ‘Take the heroine
into that first cell on the left!’
Maria
struggled, alternately leading and pulling the helpless Crimson Flare to the
tiny chamber Sealing had indicated. Once there, he issued another order.
‘Make
sure she’s conscious!’ he spat at his captives. ‘Then set her up so that she
can watch! I want her to watch, to see what I do with you! Let her be a witness
to exactly how great is her failure! HA! Champion of Women! Not any more!
Tonight she’s just another cunt who’s going to be part of a three-way!’
Maria
patted the cheek of her friend and Champion, desperately hoping to revive her
sufficiently. But not because of the order given her by the man who had just
moments earlier purchased these women. Rather, at the same time she was
pressing into Crimson Flare’s gloved hand a small piece of broken glass,
probably left over from earlier in the evening when it was part of a larger
goblet filled with whiskey. She had found the fragment under Crimson Flare’s
sprawled body at the foot of the stairs. The shard was only slightly smaller
than the girl’s palm and was sharp enough to draw blood from Maria’s own hand
as she hid it from observation.
The
policewoman felt Crimson Flare’s hand fold around the fragment of glass. She
saw the heroine’s eyes reflexively stare into her own, the understanding
evident. There was even a small smile of thanks edging up a corner of the
masked beauty’s mouth. With this reassurance, Maria Blakeman now undertook to
distract Sealing long enough to allow Crimson Flare to free herself.
She rose
and immediately adopted a vastly different attitude with her captor. Maria
suggestively swayed her body in front of Sealing, placing her hands on her hips
as they rocked back and forth, then cupping her hands around her breasts as she
slowly approached him.
Sealing,
for his part, appreciated the change in tone. But he wasn’t forgetting his
goal: the humiliation of Crimson Flare. He turned toward the prone body of the
avenger, propped up against the wall; her arms secured behind her back, with
two more ropes tautly drawn around her chest, one looping above her breasts, a
second below them. ‘Watch, Crimson Flare, as I rape this woman… your friend!
Watch helplessly as I show you—and her—the only thing women are good for! Your
helplessness has doomed you, superslut! And she’s going to be the first to pay
the price for what you have done! And you can’t do anything about it!
You’re helpless! Powerless! Watch as I bring down the curtain on the career of
the… Champion of Women!’ He dropped his pants and smoothly stepped out of them,
pulling his already engorged prick from beneath his dark briefs.
He
pushed his eight inches into the heroine’s face. He pressed it toward her
mouth, which, even though it was still filled with the ball gag, she turned
aside as the pre-cum trickled out and glowed dimly along her upper lip in the
harsh light from above. Her disgust almost caused her to drop the vital glass
fragment she held in her hand. She dared not, for she already knew that, having
failed to bring her claw into play, this was her—and Maria’s—only chance in the
face of the mob of vicious criminals who now held them.
‘Look at
this, superbitch!’ he shouted pressing his prick against her mouth and cheek.
‘This is what’s waiting for you, Crimson Flare! When I’m finished with her,
I’ll have enough left for you to enjoy! Tell me you won’t enjoy this!’ He
laughed as he left a premonition of his manhood smeared across her mouth and
cheek. ‘This is the beginning of the end of Crimson Flare’ He smiled.
Maria,
fearing that Sealing might attack Crimson Flare while she was still bound,
wrapped her arms around his torso. ‘Rape? Did you say “rape”?’ she almost
whispered directly into his ear, her tongue playing around the orifice. ‘It’s
only rape if it’s uninvited and met with resistance.’ She smiled as she kissed
his ear lightly. ‘This is something I’ve been looking forward to for a long
time.’
Sealing’s
erection hardened even more, flying to even firmer attention as Maria’s
seductive hands and pursing lips played across his face and body. Expertly
using her lips and tongue, Maria worked across Sealing’s face, from ear to ear,
forcing him to turn his attention to her. She tenderly placed one hand around
his hard organ, and she fingered the instrument itself like a tiny woodwind.
‘Don’t you like what you see?’ she asked breathily, as she pulled her face away
from his. She lifted her other hand to the side of his head, sensually pressing
her fingers along the lines of his face.
Releasing
him from her seductive grip, Maria turned her back to the cop, her eyes asking
him to lower the neatly concealed zipper that ran down her spine. Sealing
reached out and, pushing aside the raven hair of his one-time colleague, he
tugged the small metal tongue down the short distance to reveal her tanned,
muscular back.
As soon
as the zipper had stopped moving, Maria spun to face Sealing. Her tongue played
along her teeth and lips as she smiled at him. She pulled the taut spandex from
first one shoulder and then the other. The light in the cell glimmered off of
her bronzed, smooth flesh. A little lower, and the small, perfectly formed
hemispheres of her breasts were revealed. The large dark nipples begged Sealing
to place his mouth over them.
He did
not disappoint.
He leapt
at Maria, knocking her to the hard, cold floor, sucking and kissing at her
teat, which itself hardened under his ministrations. The stimulation
embarrassed Maria, who cast a glance across the room at Crimson Flare. She
observed that her arms were sawing steadily, but slowly, indicating that the
glass was even now making its way through the ropes that had taken her strength.
Crimson
Flare felt the strands of rope give way under the sharp edge of the glass. But
progress was slow; too slow for the helpless heroine, as she watched Maria lure
Sealing’s attention away from what she was doing only a few feet from him. She
must free herself before he… before he fulfilled his intentions.
Sealing’s
large hands pulled at the catsuit, yanking it down, revealing both the shapely
torso and lithe arms of its owner. As the triangular tuft of deep black hair
that marked her sex came into view, Sealing’s free hand clamped down on his
reward, plunging underneath of the fabric, his middle finger eagerly seeking
entrance into her.
As that
digit began its searching, swirling motions inside of Maria, alternately
stretching and curving back on itself, Sealing began to feel dampness form
around it. He pressed a second digit into her, using them to broaden the way
for his engorged manhood.
Surprisingly,
unwillingly, only a few moments after this began, Maria began to breathe
raggedly, gasping for air. She swallowed hard and closed her eyes as her
partner pushed her toward an undesired rapture. Fear, combined with the
stimulation that Sealing offered, the stimulation he pressed on her, led Maria
closer to her explosion.
Soon he
withdrew his hand, and as he did so he pulled the spandex away from his goal.
Almost gently, but with remarkable speed and finesse, he drew the clinging
black spandex from her legs, wrapping the shimmering material around the girl’s
black leather boots. He pressed his face into the angle, his tongue now
penetrating her, tasting the sweet-salty dew that was collecting at her
entrance. He audibly sighed as he felt himself nearing the conquest of the
first woman. He used his lips and tongue expertly, and, as he drew her into his
mouth, even his teeth came into play.
Maria
gasped loudly. She didn’t want to enjoy the ravishing that was about to take
place, but she couldn’t control herself. The release of tension, the
overwhelming fear that still dominated her mind, the expectation and exultation
that at any moment Crimson Flare would put an end to her torture—her
pleasure—all these things combined to release the climax raging inside her.
Sealing’s tongue swept around inside her, poking and lapping at the exposed
organ. In response, Maria arched her back, her whole body taut, and suddenly
cried out.
In his
mind, Sealing smiled at the squeal that he had elicited from the policewoman.
It was, he thought, only what was expected. He had never been with a woman who
could resist the agility of his particular talents.
And,
having prepared the way, he pushed himself away from her sweet-smelling crotch,
her honeydew glistening on his jaw. He smiled at her, but she couldn’t see him.
She was, St.-Theresa-like, adrift in her own ecstasy. Knowing that Maria
Blakeman was now fully his, he peeled his briefs from his hips, and settled
himself on his knees so that her wonderfully glorious legs encircled them, her
booted calves still encumbered with the catsuit lying behind him. Then Sealing
plunged energetically into her.
She
didn’t scream, but rather filled the cell with what could only be described as
a harsh screech. As he thrust himself deep into her, she reciprocated and threw
herself upward at him, on to him, wrapping her now-bare arms around him, her
lips seeking his, her tongue eagerly searching inside his mouth.
The
touch of her sweating body against his, for a long moment, sent Sealing
swirling into his own reverie. His engorged prick became painful as his orgasm
crested and swept him up in its pure sensuality. He moaned in a blissful agony,
and before he had completed his rapturous wail, Maria Blakeman’s soulful cry
joined him in an ecstatic harmony.
Each
pair of arms tightened around the body of the other. The scent of their sweat
mingled and drove them higher together than they had ever been. They came
simultaneously, each body thrusting into the other in a ballet of emotions and
physical bliss.
Sealing
sank back, pulling Maria with him. Her lips held tight to his, their tongues
wrapped about one another. He noticed how dry his mouth was, despite the
presence of her thrusting tongue.
Maria’s
ecstasy was real, but she was aware of the need to keep Sealing’s attention on
her. How much time had she won for Crimson Flare? Was the heroine nearly freed?
Was she even now stepping across the tiny cell to rescue her?
*****
Police
Commissioner Jeri Warren stopped her car across the street from the
McLeod-Slaughter mansion. All seemed quiet. A few guards patrolled in front on
the main entrance, brightly lit by the newly installed lighting. Most of the
windows were dark, the exceptions being the entrance hallway behind the front
door and the ballroom, barely visible from where she had stopped, which threw
brilliant illumination onto the patio and lawn at the side of the large house.
Through
the rolled-down window on her SUV she heard only the morning sounds of a big
city. Blood-red streaks crossed the sky reaching from the east and just now
touching the purple heavens behind the mansion.
If I
didn’t know better, she thought, someone is going to die.
She
smiled and laughed at her little joke. ‘Oh… yeah, that’s right. Someone is,’
she said to herself.
She
closed the window and got out of the car. Pressing her remote control, she
heard the satisfying bloop! that signaled the arming of the car’s
security system. Crossing the street and coming out of the shadows of the
trees, she approached the main gate.
*****
Lynn
Simms was in an absolute panic. It was an hour since she had called in the
report that should have sent the police to the McLeod-Slaughter mansion. Yet
there had not been a word on the police scanner. Something was going
desperately wrong.
She had
to go to the mansion herself. If Crimson Flare needed any help that she could
offer, she had to be there to provide it.
End of
Chapter Ten
Comments, questions, suggestions
welcome: contact the author at marat1793@comcast.net
PREVIOUS
CHAPTER