Posted by Shoot2Kill and critmk on December 20, 2000 at 08:00:10:
Leather and Fur, Beauty and Blood
Part 6: Fashion Show Massacre
by Shoot2Kill
David and Dominika took the Allenson's front-row seats, halfway down the runway extending far into the hotel's conference room. The audience was a bustling mass of moneyed figures, some of whom David recognised as the city's B-list celebrities who had sensed a chance to get a mention in the press. He smiled to himself, thinking that they didn't realise how they were going to get their wish. The cocktail waitress who offered him a drink as he sat there, for example, smiled without knowing that she'd end the day on a morgue slab, naked, having bullets removed from her stomach.
A slender soap actress took her place next to David, her body squeezed into a sky-blue halter-necked dress, her boobs brimming into her cleavage with a perfectly judged neckline which drew stares from everyone she passed. As she was sitting down, Caprice emerged from behind the scenes, half-staggering under the weight of a long travel bag.
'Mr Allenson?' she asked, seeming not to know her partners-in-crime.
'Yes?'
'Security have passed your camera equipment, sir. They're sorry about the delay.' David nodded, and gestured to underneath his seat. The model put the bag in place, and sauntered backstage.
The soap actress leant over, deepening that cleavage even further. 'Camera stuff, huh?' she asked. 'Are you going to take a few shots?'
David laughed, imagining taking one of those silenced Uzis in the bag, and putting it between the woman's delicious breasts, and letting her have it. 'Yes, you could say that!'
'My name's Nicolette,' she introduced herself, 'from A Mother Never Weeps? - you must have seen it? Please make sure you do me before you leave.'
Dominika looked around David. 'Count on it, honey,' she said warmly.
****
Susan hurried from her office, pushing through the chaotic scenes that were increasing in pitch every minute. Undressed models were checking through racks of clothes, confirming the order of each garment with the stressed designers, while make-up girls and hairdressers tried to get the women ready. Kay caught her eye as she stood topless in a G-string while a seamstress took frantic measurements. They winked at each other.
The guard had a name badge which told Susan his name was Stan. Susan stood beside him, watching down the approach roads. 'Hi Stan. Keeping you busy?'
He looked at her, and Susan didn't miss the appreciative glance that lingered too long over her cleavage.
'Naw,' he drawled. 'The press conference this morning's kept all the pests out. And it's a charity gig, y'know, so even those paparazzi guys have some respect.'
'So you don't have anything to do?' she asked, tracing a hand along her neckline. Inwardly she laughed as he stammered over his next words.
'W-Well got to keep an eye out for any threats.'
'Why don't you come into my office and fuck me?'
Stan's eyes widened. 'Wh-What?'
'You heard me.'
'Wh-What?'
'Well, neither of us have anything to do. And all those naked women out there, it must be getting you warmed up, too, huh? Hey, I'm straight, and they've got me horny.'
Stan reached to his radio, and switched it off. 'Good boy,' Susan smiled.
She lead the way through the bustle, and into the office. Caprice caught her eye this time, nodding as if this checked something on her list. With Stan inside, Susan locked the door. 'Stand over there near the desk, honey,' she said.
He looked dumbly at her and complied. Susan shed her clothes in an instant, standing near the door in her bra and panties. As Stan began to move towards her, Susan shook an admonishing finger. 'Uh uh, loverboy, that's far enough.'
From the coat hung on the back of the door, she pulled out a silenced pistol. Stan ran for her with a snarl of fear and rage. PHUTT! PHUTT! PHUTT! PHUTT! She shot him four times in the chest, closely grouped bullets which shredded his heart. Momentum carried him into her, staring up at her as he slid down her luscious body, gurgling blood out the corner of his slack-jawed mouth with a single gasp of 'bitch'. He pitched backwards, legs folded under him, crimson beginning to pool out from his corpse.
Susan looked down at her body, at the red trail slick on her bra and stomach, and at the soaked damp patch in the centre of her panties. She shuddered delightfully, and touched the warm silencer to her crotch. 'Oh. Oh yesssss...' Slowly rubbing the metal against the satin, she brought herself to yet another climax. The silencer barrel gleamed with her juices.
Quickly, senses still tingling, she dragged Stan's body behind the desk, and covered the pool of blood with a rug. Removing the stains from her skin became a sensual process of stroking with napkins soaked in a bottle of mineral water. She shed her ruined underwear, and pulled on her white business suit again. She felt more alive than ever.
Pity Stan didn't.
****
David and Dominika gave appreciative applause as the first of the models took to the catwalk, sweeping out from behind the curtains which divided the conference room in two. Music pounded. Flashguns brought lightning into the room. A skinny blonde wore a red fur jacket, leather mini skirt, pointed shoes, and nothing else, storming with impossible confidence to the front of the stage, snapping around and walking back again. As she was halfway, the next girl emerged, a brunette in what looked like a mink bikini. They high-fived each other as they passed.
Dominika's face betrayed her true feelings. 'Those poor animals,' she sighed, 'to die for this abomination! It's heart-breaking.'
'Just think of the cause,' David soothed. 'Look at Kay: she's an inspiration to us all.'
For Kay had emerged from the curtains in a skin-tight black leather catsuit, unzipped to her navel. She stormed to the front of the stage in time to the music, energetically pouting at the audience, enjoying herself immensely. Once there, she mimed shooting everyone with her fingers. David and Dominika laughed loudest of all.
The brunette turned back and sauntered away, as the model conveyor belt continued to roll. Although the girls all had the same basic shape, their stances, clothes, hair and skin-colouring made the parade a variety of permutations. Moving in time to the music beats and the audience applause, the models went through more costume changes than seemed possible. They looked fantastic, lit from a thousand angles by camera flashes and spotlights picking them out like prison escapees in a war film. David and Dominika continued to watch, maintaining an illusion of enjoying themselves even when such crass animal slaughter was displayed as the fox stole one red-head had slung over her bare top, its dead, glassy-eyed head limply banging against the swell of her breast.
Time and again the audience of celebrities and rich folk burst into applause as one daring costume after another was shown off. Fur coats worn over nothing but the tiniest of panties. Leather trousers with the models' hands clasped over their breasts to protect their modesty. Calf-skin elbow-length gloves with daring evening dresses. Nightwear with a mink muffler. Swimwear with short jackets of a variety of rare (now getting ever rarer) animals. Waistcoats of the finest leather, worn with hot pants or bikini bottoms. Dominika clapped with everyone else, but felt sick to her stomach. At David's feet remained a closed, heavy bag.
****
Susan watched as the very last model returned from behind the curtains. The audience had sensed the end of the show, and were giving a standing ovation outside. The girls were standing around in various states of undress, basking in the admiration, waiting to be allowed to go out to greet their fans, exchanging sycophantic praises with the four designers. The make-up and hair people milled around, waiting for the show to finish so that they could wrap up and leave.
A model looked to Susan. 'Shall we go out now?'
She nodded. 'One sec'.' Susan brought out a rolled-up banner and gave it to two of the girls. 'Roll this out at the front as you're taking your bows,' she said. The girl gave a quick smile, and the group of models disappeared through the curtains. Which just left the behind-the-scenes crew. Susan watched their bored faces change as she brought out her silenced Uzi and opened up on full automatic mode.
The gun made a sound like a garden sprinkler, soon accompanied by the chime of empty shells hitting the hard floor and smoking as they rolled away. Susan was aiming high as she cut down these men and women, determined that no one would make a sound. The trembling of the gun was buzzing through her body, making her sex tingle, as blood flowers began to bloom across the chests and heads of the redundant staff. A cute Spanish-looking girl with a white T-shirt span around as her top changed colour in a moment. One of the electricians had his back unzipped up the spine. He reached out towards a punky, pink-haired hairstylist as he fell, but she was already falling too with a hole between her eyes. One of the clothes stylists juddered as shots ripped through her silver top, spritzing blood across the racks of designer-wear she'd protected throughout the day. A buxom college girl, only there as a favour, reached dumbly to the ragged holes where her nipples had bulged in the leopard-skin Lycra top she wore. Blood pumped feebly once from them, and then she dropped. Two girls who'd been embracing in celebration at the end of the day were killed by the same three bullets which sped through shoulder blades, ribs and hearts, before burying themselves in tubs of make-up on a table. They peeled apart, their blood-stained chests looking like some sort of psychologist's Rohrshach test.
Susan let go of the trigger and slotted a fresh clip. She stalked over to the body pile. There were groans coming from it, but the music was loud on the other side of the curtain, and they went unheard. Hilary, the forty-something blonde head of the make-up group, lay under two of her colleagues' staring corpses, clutching at her ruined stomach. Blood bubbled on the edge of her lips and through her fingers. 'Please...'
Pulling her silenced pistol from where it had been tucked into the back of her skirt, Susan shot her in the deep cleavage. Her body jerked once, and relaxed. The other electrician was trying to crawl away across the field of ruined bodies. Susan put a bullet into the back of his head, and dropped him across Sylvia's corpse: a black make-up artist who stared to the left with her tongue half-out and lifeless hands clutched to where her throat had been.
Susan stepped back, satisfied that her mission was complete, and readied her Uzi, She was aiming at the curtain.
****
David and Dominika applauded as the models and designers took the stage. There were more gleaming smiles than at a dentists' convention. The audience were standing up to clap. Two models came to the front of the stage, and began to unfurl a banner.
The words, when revealed, caused a faltering in the clapping. Uncertainty, and some laughter.
'Fur is murder.'
The models looked at their sign, and frowned at each other.
Caprice and Kay had moved to the part of the stage nearest to David and Dominika. David upzipped the bag, and threw two silenced Uzis up to his colleagues, then one to the woman beside him. The screams were starting then, even as fingers tightened on triggers, and white fire sprang from the gun muzzles. The three women poured their fire onto the catwalk, as David turned with his own gun to audience around him. Soap star Nicollette was the very first to die as he shot the people trying to run away.
'Ungh-gh-gh!' she grunted, as her dress kicked open in six places and her body was thrown backwards through the air to sprawl across the chairs two rows back. The slit skirt peeled aside to show off her black thong. A girl in a strappy cocktail dress, and her upper-class mother in a lacy blouse, were both cut down with bullets across their breasts, falling into a little family-reunion of a heap.
On the runaway, the two models who had held the banner were both stretched out dead, their skimpy leather catsuits no protection to the brutal shots Kay put into their backs. Both of them had a leg and arm hanging over the side of the stage, the loose limbs swinging in slowing movement. Blood trickled from fingers. A brunette in a one piece swimsuit flailed at the holes suddenly stamped into her deep cleavage. Caprice kicked her down even as she fell, and shot the screaming black girl behind her clean through the head. A red mist leapt into the air from behind her skull and her slender lingerie-clad form span away.
The redheaded model who still wore the fox fur and hi-cut panties, leapt off the stage, not realising that the stampeding audience had effectively sealed every exit for her escape. David grasped her by the hair, pulling her left tit onto the hot muzzle of his Uzi. They stared at each for a moment. He kissed her. Then he pulled the trigger and held onto her as she violently trembled and her back became a glistening red mass. He dropped her face down when she was dead, admiring the cut of her panties across a firm ass.
Dominika had dropped into a firing stance as the deputy mayor and his four escort girls tried to get away. The bullets sped through tuxedo and dress straps, causing five people to make exactly the same final movement: a screaming stretch upright, arms reaching backwards, blood to fly out of the mouth, and then a tumbling forwards to sprawl across a chair. They looked like fallen dominos.
The designer Lena Brocco was reaching out in appeal to Caprice. No mercy. The killer shot the 45-year old woman in the chest, spinning her around, and then in the back too. Two of the other designers were already slumped down in pools of their own blood, middle-aged women who weren't going to get any older. The bullets in their temples, tits and stomachs had made sure of that. The fourth designer, unaware that her flight to the curtain had only been made possible by three models all getting it in the back behind her, tumbling to the catwalk with sticky holes across their clothing, breathed a sigh of relief as she got to the back of the room. 'Get out!' she screamed when she thought she was safe. 'They're killing everyone!'
And then she saw the crumpled shapes of the show's assistants. And then she saw Susan with an Uzi. And then that gun fired and she saw nothing more as bullets sped through her eyes, her chest, her belly, and drew a bloody sketch up the curtain behind her. Her body crunched heavily down the steps, rolling over, leaving a scarlet trail behind her.
Out front, another model span around, shot from both sides, the wounds beneath her boobs spurting out blood on the girls sprawled around her. Dominika put bursts into the crowds who continued to fall over each other as they scrambled for escape. There was something about causing the flat stomachs, the tanned backs, the bulging breasts of these guests to explode out in hungry red mouths that was making her to pant hungrily.
'Please! I have money!' The woman was kneeling beside her dead husband as David stepped up to her. His gun was hot, the muzzle smoking. The woman had a white strapless dress, its neckline plunging far below her breasts. David fired and turned away, leaving a woman in a dress with four scarlet buttons to drop across another dead body.
Caprice was pacing the catwalk, eliminating survivors with a shot here, a bullet there. A stick-thin model, her stomach shredded, reached up to the blonde killer with red hands. 'Help me-' she appealed.
'Sure,' Caprice replied. She fired. The model snapped back with her pale forehead marked with a black little hole and a red tear.
Kay was doing a similar job with the guests who hadn't been killed outright, the long-legged celebs who struggled amidst the shredded remains of expensive dresses, and scattered temporary seating. A girl with a blue-haired wig flinched as the gun came up. It explosively fired, and her left breast seemed to turn itself inside out. Her legs stretched out, revealing the pink girly panties at her crotch. Kay put a shot into those, too.
The four killers moved together, and emptied their guns into the panicking people trying to push out of the door. More gowns, tuxedo jackets, curvaceous bodies and muscular forms, all struck with splashing red shots. Then David's team leapt onto the stage, picking their way through scattered dead models, pools of blood, and astonished, shocked faces.
Susan was waiting for them in the Limo. The attack had begun only a minute before. When their car pulled into the traffic, the city still seemed quiet. It was some time before flashing red and blue chaos reached the hotel frontage. Far, far too late.
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