Posted by Kewpid on July 01, 2002 at 11:44:27:
Emma had an hour to live, but didn’t know it yet. Emma was too busy feeling smug about herself.
The slinky ballgown flattered her. It clung to every curve. She grinned into the mirror like a sexy Cheshire Cat. The neckline was just low enough to let her cleavage show. She placed her palms against her chest; the black mesh gloves went nicely with the gown. Flecks of glitter winked on her bare shoulders.
He’d given her a simple mask – black leather lined with velvet. She put it on and tied it into place. Her dark bobbed hair was knotted with a twist of scarlet cloth. She flicked her fringe and peered at her reflection.
Shit, she thought, amused: I look like Batgirl!
As she reached for her purse, a knock came at the door. Still smiling, Emma looked around.
“Come in …”
* * *
Her panic surged again and almost swamped her. She might have wet her panties – if she’d only had them on.
But Emma was quite naked now, apart from mask and gloves – a mortifying mockery of what she’d come here for. She’d never felt so frightened or so horribly exposed. The stillness round the house was full of menace. The humid air was sticking to her skin.
She strained her ears to hear above the thudding of her heart. No sound came from the world outside the grounds. No murmur of a road, however distant. Just treetops rustling faintly in the breeze.
The building loomed above her, steeped in silence. An antique wall lamp had come on, still weak against the pearly evening sky.
For God’s sake, Em, she urged herself: You have to get away!
Pouting against pent-up sobs, she inched along the wall. Instinct turned her body to the brickwork: he might be out here, watching her, right now. But no – he’d told her to stay put, believing she was scared enough to do so. He hadn’t even locked the door. So this’ll be your only chance, my girl!
The mask was like a clammy hand across her upper face. She didn’t have the nerve to pull it off. He’d made her wear it, after all – and if he caught her now …
You SHALL go to the ball, she heard him gloating in her head. And as she reached the corner, she heard music.
***
The Host sat back and watched her on his screen.
The golden light did wonders for her body. She’d come back bronzed and glowing from a fortnight on the beach. He’d thought her too demure to sunbathe nude, but he’d been wrong. Her bare skin had a flawless copper sheen.
Naughty Emma. Didn’t you feel daring?
Her well-developed figure had a sleek, athletic look, and now he could enjoy it to the full. The sports field and the swimming pool had firmed her muscles up. No co-ed had a nicer pair of tits.
The black mask was a pleasing touch: it made her look coquettish, almost coy. And wasn’t Emma quite the little tease?
As he stared, she crept up to the corner of the house. He glimpsed the sparks of glitter on her shoulders. The jewel in her navel caught the light.
Nothing like a spot of body-piercing, mused the Host. But Emma had no hint of what was coming.
She glanced across the terrace, but its flagstones were deserted. The lamps were lit, anticipating dusk. A flight of steps led down into the garden. A group of figures waited for her there.
Emma felt a jolt of fright, then realised they were dummies. Mannekins from some shop window, ranged around a chequerboard of tiles. Beyond, the lawn stretched out to meet a gloomy clump of trees. She only had to lose herself in there ...
The music was still playing on some unseen harpsichord. Biting her lip, she stole towards the steps. No-one else was moving in the garden. The dummies stood like dancers turned to stone. She padded down towards them on the balls of her bare feet.
Closer to, she saw that each was masked. Their costumes were a mix of style and period. The nearest female figure wore a frilled Victorian gown. Another wore a black tailcoat with stockings.
Discomfited, she made her way between them. The masked, impassive faces seemed to watch. She clasped her forearms to her breasts and felt her pussy tingling.
A striking snake hissed sharply in her ear.
Panic seared through Emma’s nerves; she flinched and squeezed her tits. Something had gone streaking past to punch into a dummy. The figure teetered backwards, and she gawped in disbelief. An arrow was sunk deep into its chest.
Oh my God …
Time ran down like treacle as the dummy found its balance. It settled, and gazed back at her – hands out, as if inviting her to dance.
The frantic itch between her shoulders registered at last. She swung round with a gasp, but there was no-one on the terrace. Her hand went to her mouth. Her stomach heaved.
The Host brought up his walkie-talkie handset. “And the next …”
A pause, while Emma panted – and a second wicked shaft came speeding in. Another figure shuddered with the impact. Emma sobbed and skittered round: the shot had come from quite a different angle. Her wide eyes searched the trees but glimpsed no movement. Behind, the house’s windows were a wall of empty eyes …
“Your target, number three …” the Host invited.
Oh God, this isn’t happening! Emma thought.
She turned in search of someone she could plead with. The garden and the terrace stayed deserted. She realised that the bastard had been watching all along. And now she’d tiptoed right into his trap.
He’d told her not to leave; she felt her stomach plunge with guilt. Instinct said to scurry back, to leave him in no doubt she’d learned her lesson. And yet the steps looked so exposed; the garden was wide open. She didn’t want to move beyond the shelter of the group.
Another vicious twang cut through the heedless harpsichord. Emma whirled, and whimpered through her gloves. This was all a horrid game – she knew it had to be - but the shafts were coming sickeningly close.
She cowered backwards like a cornered rabbit, every muscle quivering beneath her naked skin. The dummies stood protectively around her. One of the female figures had an arrow buried just below its breasts.
That was almost me, she thought. I can’t be found like this!
But no: it couldn’t happen. He was going to fuck her first …
Even as she clung to that despairing reassurance, the Host emerged onto his balcony. He gazed down at the helpless girl, recalling how self-satisfied she’d been. She wasn’t such a flirt without her clothes on. And now the time had come to make her squeal.
He thumbed the radio handset. “Finish her.”
He sensed his archers stir themselves, reluctant though they were to end the game. Emma was still peering round, not knowing where the next arrow would come from. Her shapely pair of tits were perfect targets, but leaving things to chance would add a frisson to the kill. They wouldn’t need to aim at her, just shoot towards the tableau. What happened next was down to fate and physics.
“Emma - shall we dance …?” he murmured dryly.
Emma ploughed her damp hair back, and heard the twang of bowstrings all around her. Galvanised, she looked and saw the arrows taking flight, like sewing needles scattered on the breeze. She stared at them with saucer eyes; the Host’s cold gaze grew narrow. The moment seemed to hold them mesmerised.
Then Emma’s stomach tumbled and her heart began to pound. The silver darts were speeding up and hurtling towards her. She clutched her breasts instinctively, then clasped her open mouth. “Oh Jesus no!” she sobbed, and dodged behind the nearest dummy. The whirr of arrows filled the air, and then the sullen whack-whack of their impacts. The waxen figures shivered in a parody of life, while Emma cringed and whimpered in their midst. One shaft struck a glancing blow and clattered to the tiles. A dummy toppled backwards with a thud.
Emma was down on one knee now. Her skin was slick with sweat, her fringe bedraggled. The red rag in her hair was coming loose. She realised that the fallen dummy left her flank exposed. Sobbing for breath, she scrambled up. The archers let another volley fly.
Emma raised her eyes and saw it coming. Her mouth became a helpless O of protest.
Oh no! Oh not again! It wasn’t fair!
The arrows seemed to float towards her, winking in the sun. She cast around herself in fright, not knowing where to turn. The dummies’ skewered bodies were a ghastly mockery. And suddenly the arrows were too fast to focus on. They came down on the terrace like a squall.
Emma’s trembling muscles surged. She ducked between the figures. It seemed that every one of them was taking hits for her. An urn was struck and split apart, cascading clods of earth. And still the shafts kept coming, like a nightmare with no end.
Emma squealed and tried to shield herself, but it was hopeless. An arrow struck her gym-toned stomach just above the navel, and sank into the softness of her flesh. She felt it as a solid punch, enough to make her groan and double forward. Nausea swilled inside her as she clasped her punctured belly. And then the throb of sickness turned to lacerating pain.
Emma wailed in anguish – and a second arrow hit her in the chest. The impact spun her half around, her gloved hands going vainly to her breasts. The deadpan mask could not disguise her horrified dismay. Her face was like a shocked Victorian lady’s, as if the thought of dying nude was somehow even worse. And yet she couldn’t help but stick her tits out, the dainty nipples swollen hard with shock.
She clutched herself despairingly. The Host just watched and smiled. He saw her features twist into a tearful grimace. “Oh Emma: does it hurt?” he crooned at her.
Of course it did – and he had time to savour every spasm. This pert, conceited teenager had thought that she could tease him, and then go back to giggle with her pals. You silly bitch, he thought. The joke’s on you!
Emma mewled in misery. The agony was more than she could bear. Then a shudder gripped her, as convulsive as a climax. Her mouth fell open with a gasp; her woeful eyes grew wide. She teetered for a moment as the orgasm spent itself; then slumped, collapsing limply to the tiles.
The Host let out his breath. The music stopped.
She came to rest face upward, drawing up one knee as if to guard her modesty. Her body wriggled feebly for a moment, her black-gloved hands still plucking at herself. Then she gagged on one last breath and let herself relax. Her fingers twitched and settled on her tummy and her tits. Her pretty head rolled sideways and was still.
The Host came slowly down the steps and crossed the chequered tiles. The evening sun was slanting through the trees. Birds were singing somewhere as the archers moved from cover. The dummies cast long shadows on the lawn.
He couldn’t take his eyes off Emma’s body. The arrows stuck up proudly from her tender teenage flesh. Beneath the mask, her face was slack and sullen. He’d wiped away her clever-schoolgirl smirk.
She’d come here playing hard to get, but now he had her body to himself. He waited while his archers straggled back towards the house, then stepped astride the sulky little minx. Emma lay in miserable silence. Smiling down, he rubbed himself, recalling her smug grin. She’d thought to be the centre of attention at the ball. And so it had turned out … although not quite the way she’d hoped …
He felt his passion rising to a peak, and then he came. The first spray pattered down on Emma’s breasts like gentle rain. A creamy geyser followed, spilling cum into her cleavage. Emma’s eyes stayed closed, her flesh submissive. He gasped and squirted her again, the semen oozing down into her navel. A last spurt found her pubic hair, and clung to it like gobs of cuckoo spit.
Drained at last, he stepped away, still gazing at the girl. Her gorgeous body glistened in the amber evening light. No more teasing for Miss Goody Two-Shoes. “Not your dream date, was it?” he said dryly.
Buttoning his pants, he turned away, towards the house. His victim lay discarded, warm and lax. As twilight filled the garden, so the mannekins drew closer.
Soon her naked body would be cool and waxen too.