Posted by Extranjero on November 12, 2003 at 10:58:37:
GAMEBIRDS
Fran heard a car approaching and the crunch of tyres on gravel. She wandered out onto the terrace, languid in the sticky evening heat. A polished Audi pulled up at the bottom of the steps. The driver peered at her through Gucci shades.
Fran decided that this must be Leah. She gave the girl an impish smile, her own sunglasses tucked into her hair. The turquoise summer dress she wore was clinging to her skin; she tugged it off her breasts and fanned herself. Fran was slender, pixieish, with wide green eyes and collar-length dark hair. She watched the newcomer get out, and felt her smile grow wry.
Leah wore a business suit, despite the August heat. The skirt was well above the knee; she’d flashed her stockinged thighs as she got out. Her bearing, though, was prim and posh, her pale face humourless. She turned her sunglasses on Fran and smoothed her bobbed brown hair.
The mellow mansion suited her, as if she owned the place. Fran was easygoing, but the girl’s poise made her feel a little prickly. She leaned against the balustrade, her cleavage deepening, and watched as Leah trip-trapped up the steps.
Susie sauntered out to look, still crunching on an apple. She was petite and sporty, with a perky, blue-eyed grin and short fair hair. Like Fran, she’d dressed down for the heat, and wore a polo shirt and denim shorts. The pair of them made Leah look distinctly over-dressed. She stopped and eyed them both through her smoked shades.
“So this is it,” she said.
“Uh-huh,” Fran drawled, still savouring the heat. There were five of them on the selection course. A residential weekend in this rambling country house. Whatever chance she had, she was determined to enjoy it to the full.
“Hi, I’m Frannie,” she went on, and gestured. “This is Suze.” Susie simpered winningly and took another bite.
“Afternoon. I’m Leah.” She swished through into the house. There was no air-conditioning, and the girls inside were wearing even less. A pert brunette came down the stairs in a sleeveless tee-shirt and bikini briefs. She had a pointed, feline face and a halo of permed hair. “Hi,” she lilted in a bright Welsh accent. “I’m Meryl, and they’ve got a pool out back!”
Leah watched her padding down the passage, then looked around for somebody to take her suitcase up. “I think you’re in room six,” another girl called from the lounge. “It looks like they’re a bit short-staffed today.”
Leah sniffed and turned her head. The girl sprawled on the sofa in her swimsuit. Her freshly blow-dried hair was short but stylish. The narrowed eyes and pouting mouth gave her a haughty look.
“My name’s Karen, by the way.” She sipped her gin & tonic. Leah nodded to her, and went briskly up the stairs.
* * *
The rooms were bright and airy, like a luxury hotel’s. She wondered who else might be staying here. Putting her suitcase on the bed, she slipped out of her jacket. Her white silk blouse was pasted to her back.
As she reached behind herself, a knock came at the door. Leah frowned and took her shades off. “Yes?” she answered crisply.
“Present for you, Miss,” a woman’s voice said timidly. Leah raised an eyebrow and went over to the door. A young girl in a French maid’s dress was standing on the threshold. She produced a can of air-freshener and sprayed it into Leah’s startled face.
Leah lurched back with a grunt. Her eyes stung fiercely and her mouth went numb. Then her head began to swim. She stumbled like a foal. A moment’s panic seized her, but her thoughts dissolved before she could react. Blacking out, she crumpled to the carpet, her short skirt riding up her stockinged thighs.
Susie and Fran were still out on the terrace, leaning against the balustrade as they gazed across the grounds. They heard one of the maids emerge behind them, and turned in expectation of more drinks. Instead the girl just sprayed a gust of aerosol across their faces. The two guests whinnied, rearing back – then sighed and slithered loosely to the ground. The flimsy dress hugged Fran’s trim curves as she rolled onto the flagstones. Susie was frowning through her fringe, like someone trying to figure out a sum.
The maid shook the can and turned away, clicking back into the house on her high heels. She glanced into the lounge, where Karen sprawled on the big sofa, a sulky look on her unconscious face. Her legs were splayed wide open, and the Lycra swimsuit bulged with her plump sex. The maid just stared, and licked her lips, then went on past the staircase. Meryl lay where she’d collapsed. Another maid was standing over her.
The two girls giggled naughtily and scurried down the passage. Their victims were still breathing, but which ones would live to see another dawn?
* * *
Fran stirred woozily and muttered something. Then she kicked, and sat up with a gasp. Her head began to spin, as if the sudden movement had dislodged her brain. A cold flush chilled her sweaty skin. She thought that she was going to throw up.
It felt as if she’d drunk too many vodkas. God, that’s fucked my chances up, she thought. But as she wavered, head still bowed, she realised she was naked. She looked up queasily and peered around.
She recognised the bedroom. It was softly lit; the world was dark outside. She frowned and rubbed her aching head, still looking for her clothes. But there were no knickers on the carpet, no dress on the chair. The closet was ajar. Her case was missing. She remembered the maid spraying her, and wondered what the little bitch had done. Sliding carefully off the bed, she padded to the door.
The corridor was dimly lit. The house was full of silence. She listened to it nervously, then turned back to the room. An antique clockface caught her eye. The hands said two a.m. Fran crossed her arms against her small, plump breasts and hugged herself. Her heart was throbbing steadily. Her mouth was ashen dry.
She heard a stealthy creaking overhead.
Fran’s wide eyes grew rounder as she looked up at the ceiling. There was a long, unnerving pause, and then the muffled movement came again. She thought it must be someone in the attic, but who was creeping round up there at this ungodly hour? Gooseflesh stippled her pale skin. Her fine hairs tingled sharply. Never mind that she was nude, she knew she had to get away from here. She chewed her pouting lower lip, then slipped out of the bedroom and tiptoed slowly down the corridor.
Susie heard her padding past and looked up muzzily. She was sitting on the bedside, trying to rub coherence back into her head. She’d just woken up as well, and found her clothes were missing too. Getting stiffly to her feet, she ventured to the door.
When she put her head outside, the passageway was empty. The house was baking with trapped heat, but Susie felt a shiver grip her flesh. Her big pink nipples hardened and she blushed despite herself. Part of her just wanted to curl up under the duvet and see if things made more sense in the morning. But her mouth was as dry as naked bone. She had to get some water. Swallowing unhappily, she stole along the passage in Fran’s wake.
Fran had reached the foyer now. There were dusky oil lamps lit throughout the house. And lurking figures in the shadows, making her shrink back each time she saw one. All of them were mannequins – wax dummies kitted out in period grab. The place was like the London Dungeon in a stately home. A hooded monk was on the stairs. She gave it a wide berth. Corpse-faced men in hose and doublets waited in the sallow light below.
She realised that her breaths were getting shorter, her breasts pulsating as she glanced around. A hank of hair was plastered to her forehead. She flicked it clear and wriggled nervously. By nature she was mischievous and cheerful, but this horrid, spooky place was stifling her. And liking sex was one thing, but being stranded in the nude was quite another …
The front entrance was firmly locked. She bit her lip, discouraged. Somewhere in the silent house, a clock began to strike the quarter hour. Fran went creeping down the nearest passage, her bare feet small and noiseless on the carpet. A heavy door stood just ajar. She peered through the crack. The room beyond was broad and high. It had to be the great hall of the house.
Her heart leaped as she glimpsed the crowd; but these were dummies too. She let her breath sigh out and licked her lips. The figures were dressed like medieval nobles. They sat in high-backed chairs around a full-length dining table. Others were standing on the flagstones, frozen in a dance. Candles glowed around the room and a fire was burning in the open hearth.
A banquet had been laid out on the table. There were plates of chicken pieces, bowls of fruit and jugs of wine. Fran stared at it hungrily and heard her stomach gurgle. She hadn’t eaten anything since lunchtime yesterday.
She glanced behind herself, then padded over to the feast. Her wide eyes darted left and right, then up towards the minstrels’ gallery. Another shape was crouching there, dressed up like Robin Hood. His bow was drawn and aimed towards the dancers.
She hesitated, wiped her mouth. Her nudity embarrassed her somehow. Then her stomach griped again, and she grasped a piece of chicken. Spots of cold grease flecked her breasts as she bit into the meat.
Chewing, she looked round again. The waxen faces quivered in the firelight. Fran grimaced, and poured herself a goblet of red wine. It tasted thick and velvet-smooth. She gulped it nervously. The Sheriff (if that was who it was) sat rooted to his chair. The chair beside him, next to Fran, was empty.
Maybe that was Marion’s chair, and Robin had just spirited her off. Fran smiled tremulously and took another sip of wine. She glanced up at the gallery, and could have sworn the figure there had moved. Now the bow was aiming at the table. As she stared in bafflement, a sudden twang and whooshing made her jump.
The arrow streaked across the hall, too fast to focus on. It struck her just above one breast, and bit into her body with a thunk. The impact took her breath away; she gave a wheezy bleat and arched her spine. The goblet spun out of her hand and clattered to the table; the wine splashed in the candlelight like blood. The arrow jutted stiffly as she fumbled with her tits. Its barb was buried in a lung, and ripped it open as she tried to breathe.
The burst of pain made Fran wail like a schoolgirl. She reared and squirmed in agony, her frantic fingers clutching at her breasts. The archer watched her mouth gape wide; the squeal became a strangulated sob. She flopped into the empty chair and bucked convulsively. Her spasms of anguish weakened as she choked on the sharp point. Her fingers lost their grip on her taut breasts. The stricken pixie closed her eyes and slumped against the chairback. Her bosom sank and didn’t rise again.
Susie heard the barking cry from halfway up the staircase. She stiffened like a frightened rabbit, clutching at her mouth. The dimness was disorienting. She couldn’t work out where the sound had come from. The waxworks in the foyer seemed to wait expectantly. She’d edged around the cloaked shape of the monk.
Minutes passed. Her heartbeat throbbed. She heard no further sound. Nervously she carried on descending, the house’s silence hissing in her ears. Reaching the ground floor, she hugged her breasts and glanced around. The air seemed fresher, chillier down here.
Perhaps that meant a door was open somewhere. Not the front door, locked and barred. She sidled down another passageway. That stifled cry still niggled, and she felt her fine hairs prickling. Had it sounded like Fran’s voice? Her queasy stomach tightened at the thought.
Susie was a lively girl who rather liked a dare; her chirpiness belied her boyish looks. But all the bubbly energy had drained out of her body. She wavered, looking whey-faced and forlorn.
An amber flicker seeped into the passageway ahead. It was coming from an open door, and Susie crept towards it. Peeping through into the hall, she saw the dummies clustered round the table.
She glimpsed a girl’s bare shoulder round the high back of a chair.
“Frannie …?” Susie whispered hoarsely.
Frannie’s sullen eyelids didn’t twitch.
Susie swallowed, glanced around and slipped into the room. Its fuggy heat engulfed her as she moved towards the chair. She saw something protruding from it – feathers and a shaft – but the horror didn’t grip her till she came around and saw Fran’s drooping body. Her friend was sprawled with thighs apart, a hurt expression on her pasty face. A rose had bloomed around the arrow, dribbling across her pert left breast.
Susie gave a sobbing gasp, unable to believe what she was seeing. The stifling hall went freezing cold. She swayed and realised she was going to faint. As she grasped the chair, she glimpsed a flicker in the dimness; a whirr cut through the roaring in her ears. Her consciousness was too slow to desert her. A second arrow whacked into her chest.
The punch-bag sound was just the same. Her saucer eyes were just as disbelieving. She stumbled back beneath the blow, and grunted stupidly. Then, like Fran, she felt the bite of steel in her soft flesh. Another anguished wail round the hall.
The archer smiled as Susie writhed and clawed her perky tits. That would teach the little slut to creep round in the buff. The barbed point made her squeal with pain, her sweet face screwing up. Her rosy nipples went as stiff as stalks.
Then she made a choking sound and sagged against the chair. Her breasts heaved as she pawed herself. She grizzled through her teeth. Down she slithered, till her arse was resting on the rug. Then her last breath gurgled out, and she let her blonde head slump against Fran’s thigh.
Her cry bled into Meryl’s dream and woke the Welsh girl up. She raised her head from the soft pillow, dark curls hanging in her startled eyes. Her heart was thumping hotly as she listened to the hush. She caught no echoes of a real scream. Warily she sat up on her comfy king-sized bed, while Susie’s pert corpse slithered to the floor.
Meryl shook her tangled ringlets back and glanced around. The room looked claustrophobic in the night-light. She still wore frilly panties but was naked otherwise. She nibbled at her lip with small white teeth.
As she hesitated with a growing sense of dread, another of the house-guests made her move. Karen had already woken up when Susie screamed. The guttural cry had bathed her in cold sweat. Long after it faded, she stayed cringing in the shadows. Then she heard a creak upstairs, and took off like a deer.
Karen was a well-built girl, and compactly attractive. Her tits bobbed like blancmanges as she scurried down the dusky passageway. She reached the central L-shaped staircase, where she came up short. A black shape waited on the stairs, and sallow faces stared up from below.
Karen squeaked against her hand, her blue eyes narrowing. She was too vain to wear glasses, and was always squinting like a sullen child. It took a frantic moment to discern the shapes below her, and realise they were only mannequins.
Her large breasts sank as she breathed out. She pouted miserably. The gloomy house was quiet again. She couldn’t hear the slightest breath of movement.
Downstairs in the hall, a silent figure crossed the floor. The two dead girls lay sulking where they’d slumped. The archer paused to ogle them. He notched another arrow to his bow. Karen didn’t hear the footsteps stealthily resume, nor guess that she had moments left to live.
Sniffing, she began to cat-foot down the wide, plush staircase. The hooded figure loomed at her. She sidled past, her bum against the rail. She hated being nude like this, convinced that eyes were watching from the darkness. She reached the landing at the turn and wavered once again. Her tongue licked out to wet her lips. The hooded figure swung around behind her.
Karen peered into the gloomy foyer. She never sensed the arrow being aimed towards her back. Her first, belated warning was a whisper of black cloth – and then a twang which blended with the blow.
The arrow struck between her shoulder blades and skewered her, embedding in the gristle of her sternum. The punch threw Karen forward and her bosom swelled with shock. Her belly hit the banister. She arched her back and grunted like a sow. The pain began between her tits and she clasped them frantically, grimacing as she squeezed at her own flesh.
Something was sticking in her back. She wriggled to get free. One hand groped behind herself; the effort burst a lung. Searing anguish filled her chest. She gagged and spat a dribble of bright red. Karen whimpered miserably and flopped across the polished banister.
The antique woodwork took her weight. Her body sagged, arms dangling and head bowed. After a pause, a fart came purring out between her buttocks, as if to mock the archer on the stairs.
Leah didn’t hear her die, or smell the pungent odour. She was too busy worrying about her missing clothes.
That had been her smartest suit; her favourite pair of shoes. She moped around the bedroom restlessly. Her mouth still tasted bitter and her pouting lips were numb. Her fury with the bitch who’d sprayed her blended with a nauseous unease.
Leah was a graduate and keen to get ahead. A well-bred girl, but snooty, with ambition in her button-hard brown eyes. She’d swanned up looking cool and poised, convinced she’d get the job, and now the world had tumbled upside-down. Her pampered flesh had been laid bare, apart from her black knickers – the thong she liked to wear beneath her suit.
Frannie’s wail of agony had fallen on deaf ears. She’d still been too befuddled to hear Susie’s final scream. But the stillness of the house was sending tremors through her nerves. She chewed her lip and padded to the window.
The countryside was just a gulf of darkness: no lights, no other houses to be seen. Leah pulled a fretful face and turned back to the bedroom. The ornate dressing table caught her eye.
A sheet of paper lay on it, with something written down. She crossed the room and picked it up. Her mind strained to absorb the flowing script. It was a story of some kind. She saw the names Diana and Niobe. A myth of ancient Greece or Rome. Such things had never interested her much. But the legend was of someone’s daughters being stalked and killed. Two sentences resounded in her head.
In vain the poor girls tried to escape the flying arrows.
One by one they fell, never to rise again.
Her heart had started slogging now. She swayed, and eased herself onto the chair. A nervous glance towards the bedroom door, but it was shut. The paper rustled faintly in her grasp.
Silently, behind her back, the closet door inched open. The back panel had been removed, revealing the dark void between the walls. Leah felt a breath of draught but was too dismayed to wonder where it came from. She stared down at her trembling hands, then slapped the paper down.
Her eyes flicked up towards her own reflection. The dressing table mirror showed a wide-eyed, frightened girl. And behind the girl, the closet gaping open. Something moved in the interior. Leah’s mouth fell open with a gasp.
Before she could begin to turn, the archer aimed and loosed, the bowstring thrumming like a double bass. At that close range the arrow punched right through her, the point emerging through her pallid chest. She saw the mirror spattered with a scarlet constellation, her shocked reflection blotted out with blood. Leah reared convulsively and felt her big tits bounce. A crushing pressure filled her chest. She threw her head back as her heart was squashed.
The anguish grew unbearable. She bit her lip till blood dripped from her pout. Then the agony burned out to leave her dark and empty. Her muscles loosened and her body drooped. She let herself flop forward and the arrow scraped the table. Her breasts were squeezed beneath her, but the sharp point dug into the polished wood.
She slumped there, balanced on the barb. Her arms slipped to her sides; her dark head lolled. Her bladder drained into her thong, but Leah never felt the soaking gush.
Meryl tapped the door and pushed. “Are you all right?” she whispered. Her heart had swollen in her chest. But Susie’s room was empty.
She looked around unhappily. The perky blonde had vanished without trace. Meryl slid her arms around her breasts and cuddled them. She was a wilful girl herself – conceited, kittenish – but the silent house was getting on her nerves.
She padded on along the passage, heading for the stairs. She’d hoped to get the job, of course – but not by dint of being the last girl left. Maybe playing hide-and-seek was part of the selection. If so, she wanted no part of this place.
Her rivals waited, lifeless in the shadows of the house. She never sensed their stillness in the hush. Leah, Karen, Susie, Fran – the names meant nothing now. To the archers, they were just four pussies waiting to be fucked, with eight plump breasts to chew on while they did so.
She came to Leah’s door and knocked. The room beyond was silent. Meryl hesitated, then reached down and turned the handle. Something seemed to block her throat. Blood thundered in her ears. Her bosom tightened as she pushed the door.
“Leah …” she said huskily, then saw the body at the dressing table. An arrow was buried in its back, and crimson blots were dripping down the mirror. She sucked her breath in squeakily. Her pale blue eyes grew huge. Her nostrils caught the tang of pee, a smell she hadn’t registered since childhood.
Sobbing, Meryl stumbled back, and glimpsed a figure in the passageway. It wore the black cloak of a monk, and held a bow and arrow in its hands. The face was shrouded by a hood, but she saw the ugly rictus of its jaw.
The archer hauled his bowstring taut, and Meryl snivelled helplessly, retreating. She knew she had to turn and run, but her muscles felt like toffee. Her breasts heaved as she sobbed for breath. Her nipples tingled like a pair of bull’s-eyes. The monk began to raise his bow, and now at last she squealed and fled from him.
She reached the stairs and started panting down them. Then she noticed Karen’s upturned arse and mewed with fright. The naked girl hung silently, her suffering now over. Meryl whimpered in dismay as she realised that her own was yet to come.
She saw the figures standing in the foyer, their waxy faces raised to welcome her. One was dressed like Robin Hood, with a black mask and a beard like Errol Flynn’s. As she stumbled down the stairs, he aimed at her bare midriff. A whoosh cut through her tearful pleas. The streaking arrow tore into her flesh.
She doubled forward with a squawk, hands grasping at her stomach. A red trail dribbled down across the tan. The Welsh girl pulled a face as if the blow had gutted her. She whimpered at the sudden belly ache.
Then a second speeding arrow chewed into her chest. The impact arched her back again, her plump tits sticking out invitingly. Meryl’s mewl became a wail, and then she clenched her teeth against a scream. The man below her watched her writhe, tormented by the pair of buried barbs. One hand clutched her stomach while the other clawed her breasts – and then she sobbed despairingly and slumped.
The monk had reached the staircase now. He started to descend. Meryl grizzled miserably, half-sitting with her shoulder to the wall. She sensed the looming figure and looked up with teary eyes. The archer knelt and gently stroked her breasts.
Then he grasped the arrow in her gut and twisted it.
Meryl’s dark, permed head snapped back. She bucked like an orgasmic teenager. Her ripe tits heaved and joggled and the nipples stood up stiff. “Gaahhhhh!” she screamed in agony. Her cry rang through the house. He kept on pushing at the point and something burst inside her. She flailed at him and then fell back. Her head lolled to one shoulder. He smelled an acrid odour as she peed into her panties. They turned transparent, clinging to her dark, bedraggled bush.
He let her last breath whimper out, and kissed her bloodless cheek. Her scream still echoed round the empty rooms. It lingered in the central hall, where Fran and Susie still sprawled miserably. It drifted into Leah’s room, but couldn’t get inside her empty head. Karen’s corpse was nearest, with its pert arse in the air, but her dangling body didn’t even twitch.
The pair of maids had heard it, though. They giggled in the attic. The men had done as they’d been told, and now the lifeless flesh was theirs to play with. The girls had watched it on the screens, recording every detail, They could relive the slaughter endlessly.
They snuggled up on the big bed. The tape finished rewinding. The blonde maid pointed the remote, and the victims down below were dressed again. They watched as Leah climbed the steps, her sunglasses impassive. She looked around her snootily.
“So this is it,” she said.