Posted by Barbanne on February 22, 1999 at 14:51:32:
Here's a story that's never seen the light of cyber day before. A first for Necrobabes Public Message Board.
The world of "spooks", spies to you, is one that fascinates me and lots of you too, I reckon. Here is a tale from the world of spooks and it's written from a man's point of view. I love to imagine how a man is turned on by the agressive side of what is to me, (my turn on) a submissive act.
I mean, what more submissive act is there for a woman than to die and become totally helpless.
Let me know if you like it.................
As he put out his hand to ring the doorbell, DCI Tristan Cobb realised the door was open. Just barely cracked open, but open none the less. He pushed it right open and let himself in. The two story house on the outskirts of Brighton was a far more palatial palace than his own little batchelor flat in Grinstead.
He could hear water running, gurgling down pipes.
Someone was showering.
He looked around quickly and then walked upstairs. A light was coming from a half open door. He went to it. A bedroom. He took it in at a glance. Double bed, mirrors on walls and ceilings, black and red curtains and bed spread. Black velvet sheets. Not a family bedroom. The shower had stopped running. He looked at a pile of photos, twenty five centimetres by twenty centimeters, lying on a dressing table amongst powder, perfumes, a hairbrush and hand mirror and other feminine stuff. He turned them over. Full colour, a woman bending forward, face hidden, genitals in perfect focus. Next, same woman, bent backwards over a chair, genitals once again the centre of interest. Next, more of the same.
He sensed someone in the room.
It was her. The woman in the photos. She looked to be about twenty five and she was about a hundred and sixty five centimetres tall. She was wearing a towel and pointing a gun at him. The gun was a small bore, easily concealed, hand gun. A woman's weapon. The towel was wrapped around her hair. His erotic delight at seeing her almost perfect, nude body, was offset by the sight of the barrel of the gun pointing at his chest.
"You read too many cheap detective novels," he said, "always have a man enter carrying a gun when stuck for anything else."
"If you think I'm a man you need glasses real bad, buddy."
"OK. I'll grant you're not a man."
"But you are. What man, man."
He used his middle finger and thumb to withdraw his warrant card. "It's my ID, please don't shoot."
"Toss it here."
He flicked it onto the bed. She stooped and picked it up without taking her eyes off him. She flickered long lashed, soft brown eyes over the card. Holding it in the same hand as the gun, she used her free hand to pull the towel free from her head. Wet, curly chestnut hair cascaded down past her shoulders. Bloody nice shoulders, he thought. She wrapped the towel around herself quite dexterously, tucking the ends together so that it hung suspended from the swell of her breasts. She tucked his card into the top of the towel, as a stripper tucks notes into her costume.
"So Mister Policeman, why here?"
"Could you maybe put down the gun?"
She tossed it to him. He scrabbled and caught it. Looked at it.
"Is it loaded?"
"It's got bullets, but not in the chamber. Might go off and hurt someone."
She sat on the bed, crossed her legs and looked at him. The towel fell open and he could see her creamy, upper thighs and the darkness of the place where they joined. He tore his gaze away but not before she had seen where he was looking. She grinned.
"I wondered when you'd be here."
"How do you mean?"
"Police. After Danny died, him knowing what he did, I knew it would only be a matter of time before his fancy woman came in for police scrutiny."
"Is that what you are. A fancy woman?"
She waved a hand at the room, pointed toward the photos.
"What does it look like? I mean you're the detective."
"Right. You can take me to dinner."
"You want to ask questions. Lets do it somewhere nice."
"Here's your warrant card."
She leaned back on her hands offered up her breasts and the card tucked into them. He removed it as carefully as he could, but couldn't help touching her warm, freshly showered flesh. He felt a stirring at his groin.
She emerged dressed in a red dress that was backless and, hanging from spaghetti straps and a plunging vee neck covered her front, but only just. It was very apparent from the lack of a pantyline and the out-thrust of her nipples that she was not wearing underwear.
His groin stirred again.
"Alright Policeman...hey have you got a name?"
"Tristan? You're putting me on?..........no?..........Tristan."
"And you are?"
"Samantha. Samantha Bond, but you can call me Sammy."
She led him to a restaurant in the town and they sat way back. Back where they could see the other diners but not be seen themselves. They ordered and she asked for a bottle of white wine. She drank a half glass and then finished the rest and poured herself another.
"I could've done that for you."
"Ah Tristan. I don't wait for any man."
He smiled and she placed her fingers over his and carried his hand down and under the table. She placed it on her soft, creamy, inner thigh and, using her fingers to guide his, slid his hand up until he found his fingers entwined in spiky, curly pubic hair. She guided his finger into her hot, engorged, pussy and leaning very close whispered, "Finger fuck me."
"You heard me."
"Get on with it."
He did and she closed her eyes and went very red in the face and started breathing fast and ragged and then he felt a rush of wetness on his fingers and she moaned out loud. He looked up embarrassed. She smiled at him angellically.
"Wipe your hand, or will I lick it clean?"
He wiped his hand.
Dinner came and she ate single mindedly. How could she be so slim he wondered if she ate like this at every meal.
"Order dessert." she said.
He looked up as a waitress came over and then turned to her. She was gone.
"Will you wait for the lady?" The waitress enquired, hips cocked and pad in hand.
"No." A voice from under the table hissed quietly so only he could hear it.
"I'll order for her." He said.
He felt his zipper coming undone and then he found his cock was out under the table and Sammy had swallowed it whole. Trying to maintain his composure he ordered while she sucked him off. The waitress looked at him as if he was very strange.
He blew and moments later she slid back up into her seat, licking her lips.
She grinned, took one last huge lick, tongue circling her painted lips and swallowed noisily.
"My fav." She glugged down another half glass of wine.
"Well are you going to tell me about him?"
"That's the man."
"Sure. But before I do, we gotta go to London."
"There's stuff there will make it all obvious. When I show you. If I tell you anything before that, you won't understand."
"Sorry. London or nothing."
They came back to the house. She was tiddly and hung onto his arm, her breasts crushed against him, his hand on her ass where she had put it. She led him inside and straight up to the bedroom. He followed concerned as to how close he should allow himself to get to a witness. When they reached the bedroom, she sat him in a chair and standing in front of him, burped quietly and then pirouetted a trifle unsteadily. She flipped the spaghetti straps off of her shoulders and let them hang down on her upper arms, then she shimmied her whole body, like the sexiest jelly he had ever seen. Her dress slithered down and ended up in a pool of red satin around her ankles. She kicked it away and stood there in stockings which stayed up by will power alone, or so it seemed to him, and red high heels. She kicked off the high heels.
She put out her arms and came to him.
Taking his tie, she pulled him to his feet. It was a while since Tristan Cobb had felt unbridled lust, but he felt it now. He put his arms around Sammy and kissed her, but she pushed him away and started undoing his buttons. His tie, jacket, shirt and pants came off and his vest, shoes and shorts followed. Naked except for the amazing stockings, they gripped each other and fell gracefully onto the bed. She was all over him, her hands and her lips found parts of him that had long forgotten what a determined woman could do to a man. He realised his cock was fully extended, so erect that it seemed to be straining at the skin containing it and it hurt. She licked up under it, her fleshy pink tongue sliding wetly over the soft sensitive skin on the underside of his penis. She licked again, including his full scrotum this time, and bathing his balls in wet spit.
She pulled him onto her and guided his proudly upright cock into her wet sheath. He started to come immediately, but she beat him to it, coming hard and fast and noisily. He was only seconds behind and they lay there breathing noisily and glued together with his cum and her love essence.
After a while she stirred and her hand worked its way down between his legs, looking for any signs that someone was home. Someone was and her invitation was greeted by growing and rising interest.
They fucked again.
In the morning he woke to find her wrapped around him, one leg draped over his, and a hairy little pussy jammed against his thigh.
He extricated himself.
She mumbled and rolled over and snored.
He sat watching her after he had dressed. He had made coffee and had a cup in front of him. She stretched hugely and got out of bed, shook herself like a dog and crossed to where he was, stark naked. She took a big suck of his coffee and disappeared into the bathroom. He listened to the water running. She walked out, pinkly nude, fresh from her shower and totally unselfconsciously began dressing. She popped on a bra, performing contortions to fasten it behind her back. She pulled a pair of panties up, stopping to scratch one side of her ass. She pulled on the anti gravity stockings and settled a red skirt on her hips, zipping it fast. She put on a red jacket that made it a suit. Red, colour of the scarlet woman he thought, she sure went all the way. She brushed her hair into a semblance of style and taking his hand rushed him to the station.
They climbed aboard and settled into a first class compartment. She had insisted on first class. She sat by the window and smiled at him. The train pulled off. She pushed back against the seat lifting her ass off the leather. Her hands ducked under her skirt and she wriggled her backside and her hands appeared clutching her panties. She worked them down and off over her shoes. She held them out and then deftly folded them and slipped them into her handbag. He stared fascinated.
"Coffee. I'd kill for coffee."
"I don't know where. Find it."
He walked the length of the train and found two coffees. He carried it back, slopping some from time to time as the train wobbled and jerked. He entered the compartment.
Sammy was sitting in the corner still.
Her head lolled toward the window, bobbing on her left shoulder as the train twisted and turned. He had seen broken necks before and had no doubt she was dead. He put his fingers to the side of her neck. There was no pulse. Her eyes were closed, her hair hung down shrouding her face, and her hands rested in her lap. Her handbag was gone. Her legs were apart and her skirt had fallen open where its pleats met, probably as she struggled vainly for life. Her crotch just showed and he saw her dark curly pubic hair. He flicked her skirt closed, preserving her modesty. For an instant he succumbed to the shock of finding her dead, the stillness of the moment and the absurd trick of nature that had left her looking so absolutely beautiful in death.
He took out his phone and called ahead.
The doctor came aboard at the next stop, together with two constables. A hasty examination confirmed that her neck was broken and she was indeed dead.
When the train reached London they waited until everyone had departed before carrying her draped corpse to a waiting ambulance.
He sat in the morgue.
She lay covered by a sheet on a steel table. More like a sink and draining board than anything else. Big drains and plenty of water to sluice away blood and body fluids and other less savoury things. Under the sheet, she appeared unmarked. Still very beautiful and very nude.
The pathologist came in with his assistant.
The assistant pulled off the sheet.
Sammy, somehow looking indecent in her total nudity, very white and in repose as though asleep. She was gorgeous.
"Sure you want to watch this?"
For the next two hours they examined her in minute detail and cut her wide open and gutted her and sewed her crudely together again.
It made him very sad.
Even stitched with big crude stitches she was very lovely.
He rose, stretched sighed, and stooping over her, kissed her formalin scented lips lightly, just brushed them really, and then he left.