Part 9

Posted by Barbanne on April 19, 2002 at 00:01:00:



She rings the door bell.
I open the door and say, "You?"
She says "Hi!"
"I say "Hi!"
She comes in and leans forward and kisses me. I kiss her back.
She says, "Are you ready?"
I nod and she says, "Take off your clothes."
I cross my arms over my body and grasp the hem of my shirt and tug it up and off, shaking it free of my arms. I unclip my skirt and drop it down and step out of it and put both it and my shirt in the plastic shopping bag she has bought with her. I kick off my shoes and put them in too. I pop my bra and slide it off my arms and put it in too.
"Panties," she says.
I slide them off and ball them in my hand and drop them in the bag.
I stand naked before her.
"Good," she says, "Now run the bath."
I walk into the bathroom and put the plug in the tub and start a mixture of hot and cold water running into the tub.We both stand there watching it fill.
When it is only ten centimetres from the top she says, "That's enough." I turn the taps off and she says, "Get in."
I get in.
"Lie back."
I lie back in the warm water.
She explains what I am to do next.
I say, "I can't do that."
She says, "Yes you can. Use your finger like this."
I use my finger like she says and it works first time. My face registers a second of realisation and panic and I slide down into the water and die.
My nude body lies in the rapidly cooling water.
My breasts emerge like two small wet cones.
My knees just break the surface.
My face is just under the water, eyes open and mouth agape, my hair floats like weed around my head.
She leans forward and makes one slight adjustment and then leaves.
She has committed the perfect murder.

I had been killed in my own small flat.
Alex did the photography using portable lights and flash and my rather ordinary and somewhat grotty bathroom became the setting for my demise.
Anne played the part of the perfect murderer and when Alex was happy with the shoot and my nude and dead body had been photographed lying in the tepid bathwater from every conceivable angle, we packed up and I dressed briefly for the trek back to the warehouse studio of Playdead dot com. There I quickly stripped naked again and hopped up onto our stainless steel table and got "dead" again, lying prone on my back.
After the ill starred shoot where I had played a mortuary customer while knocked out on rohypnol I had a really good feeling for how a "dead" body should look and respond and together with my natural urge to be naked, dead and submissive I was, if I say so myself, a pretty good corpse model.
So, having dampened my hair which had dried out as we walked back, I lay on the table, arms by my sides, and mouth open and tongue protruding and eyes unfocussed behind lowered eyelids. I tried posing with my hands in my lap, fingers lightly caressing the hot, wet, aroused lips of my vagina, but Alex soon moved those muttering that it was his shoot and he didn't want me posing as a horny stiff. I smiled at that and thought, "Keep studying dead Barb lover and you'll know all about horny stiffs."
Mandy played the mortician/pathologist who was trying to determine the cause of my death.
She peered at and probed all over my naked cadaver.
Eyes, mouth, underarms, pussy and every square centimetre of my skin. She rolled me sideways and then into a face down position, breasts squished against the cold steel table top. She investigated around and inside my bum and my back and every exposed bit of me and that was everything.
I was in Barbanne heaven but I was also doing my very best to mimic the totally slack limpness I had displayed when out cold.
Now came the time when Mandy in her neat green scrubs was going to carve me up to investigate inside. We had argued about this from the first and both Mandy and Alex wanted to use some stage blood to make me look ruined. I was adamant that they only suggest an autopsy, showing Mandy at work with me out of shot except for closeups of my face and feet and curled fingers and stuff.
We had the discussion again and the corpse, (me) sat up and had her pennethworth before they reluctantly agreed to do it my way and Alex finished off the shoot.
At the end of it all the mortician/pathologist lady (Mandy) found no visible cause of death and had to agree that the murderer had committed the perfect crime.
In future photo sets to be released at intervals over the coming weeks, Anne was going to knock off Judith and Jas and Laurise as well. Only when Laurise died were we going to reveal the secret which was.........
I suppose you'd like me to tell you?

I knew you would.
Well this is how Anne's murder of Laurise went.
I shot this set as I had Jas's and I used the camera to suggest mystery and secretiveness and finally revelation.
As I had in the first crime, Laurise welcomed her assassin into her house. (my flat) Meekly she submitted to stripping herself, running a bath, getting into it, lying back and then, apparently willingly, dying.
She was thoroughly studied in post mortem by Mandy who found no visible cause of death.
Once again the perfect murder!
We now went back to the beginning.
The story of these perfect murders unravelled skein by skein.
Anne's character in these sets was a psychologist and a highly skilled hypotherapist who was also a homicidal looney. We victims were all disturbed and nervous young women who had gone to her for therapy. During a session she had put us under searching for clues from our troubled pasts. (this was painfully close to the truth for me) What we didn't realise was that during this session she implanted command triggers deep inside our minds. Triggers that kicked in when she came to our homes. Triggers so powerful that we willingly and submissively stripped on her commands, ran baths on her commands, compliantly and obediently got into those baths and lay back and then came the clincher.
"Swallow your tongue," she demanded."
"I can't do that," I had said.
"Yes you can. Use your finger like this."
I had rolled my tongue back and now used my own finger to push it even further back so that it blocked off my windpipe.
All of us had.
It effectively sealed off our air intake and starved our brains of oxygen. Within seconds we lost consciousness and passed out. Within moments we were dead. Anne bent over our dead bodies as they lay in the bath and using her gloved fingers (she had been gloved since she entered our homes) she hooked our tongues back up and let them dangle from our slack mouths.
She took our clothes when she left.
She had left no fingerprints.
The murder weapon was hanging out, protruding from our own mouths. It was not suicide, the fact that four girls died in identical circumstances screamed serial killer to the cops.
But what did we die of? How can someone kill another with no struggle, no resistance?
An impossible situation.
The perfect murder!
Of course Anne didn't get caught nor ever would.
We could always revive the scenario when new girls arrived.
It was a hugely successful photo series.

Away from Playdead things were going a bit pear shaped in my life.
New owners had bought the Red Rocker cafe, a young couple hell bent on getting rich real quick, and they had started to institute changes they thought would make that happen.
First they made Thursday nights topless night and all of us waitresses had to sprint around bare from the waist up. I could live with that and it was by no means the worst thing I had ever done.
Then they bought in acts, comedians and musicians and one guy who was totally ribald and rude became so popular that when he asked for some back up girls, three of us were nominated to be his stooges and given costumes (if I can laughingly call them that) which consisted of a minute see through mesh bra and a g-string which was just a collection of strings with a tiny triangle of material covering our pudenda. Stitched to each cup of the bra and to the g-string triangle was a cluster of fake wattle blossoms so that we looked basically nude with a flush of florals covering our intimacies. This was all we wore except for nose bleed high stiletto heels. I thought it was gross. Doing pratfalls and copping abuse from Mister Comedian didn't help either. Then when we were expected to go amongst the audience and serve meals and drinks too, well, that was just plain tacky.
The customer base changed with couples diminishing and family groups shrinking altogether and lots of single guys and groups of single guys turning up instead. Most of them were the worse for drink and lots were just plain pissed.
I started having moves put on me and suggestions made and knocked them back or ignored them whenever I could.
Then some young stud must have complained and I was hauled into the office tottering on my heels and looking like a pornographic bush fairy.
The young guy was sitting at his desk watching me and the young woman started giving me the facts of life.
"You have gotta be nice to the customers Barbanne."
"Oh yeah."
"Yeah nice Miss Smartass. Just go along with what they want."
"Oh and what's that?"
"Whatever they want."
"Ma'am what they want is to fuck me."
"So I'm a bloody whore????"
"If we tell you to be."
"Well fuck you and fuck him, fuck both of you and you can stick your fuckin' job."
Like I told you I bluster and stuff but inside I am really soft and wimpy. I could feel the prickly heat of tears behind my eyes. But no matter what I was not going to let these two see me cry, no way!
"We'll pay you good Barb," said the guy.
"Jeezus," I said and spinning around clattered out on those ridiculous heels.
"That's our costume Missy," the sheila yelled at my retreating back.
I slammed the door and ran down to the change rooms. The other girls saw I was upset and a couple of them called out to me but I kept running. I grabbed my bag from my locker and pulled a coat on over the stupid costume and bolted.
I ran all the way to Alex's warehouse.

I hammered on the door.
After a bit he opened it and I threw myself into his astonished grasp and let go and bawled and howled like I hadn't done for years. Not since I was a kid.
Sweet, sweet Alex.
He caught on immediately and just held me tight while I vented in a torrent of blubbering.
I wallowed in weepiness and my story tumbled out between bouts of teariness and hiccupping. How a childhood riddled with abuse had left me with a fatally wounded ego and a total lack of self confidence and zero opinion of my own self worth. The painful years of building back a very fragile self respect and shaky confidence. Then the erosion of my carefully built id by increasing demands to cheapen myself as a woman by being asked to display myself in the hot glare of an uncaring public. The fears that I was nothing but a despised but desired sex object to the lustful eyes that lurked beyond the lights and then the coup de grace. Being told I was fully expected to whore myself for money.
Alex listened in silence and hugged me repeatedly.
Slowly my frantic horrors faded and I started to relax and hug him back.
But I couldn't stop crying.
Not full on bawling anymore but leaky weepies that wouldn't dry up no matter how much I wanted them to.
Alex held me and that was what I needed.
Alex listened to me and that was what I wanted.
He offered no cute pop psychology, no smart suggestions, he just listened and held me.
I loved him as I had never loved anyone before.
At last I was done.
My eyes were still red rimmed and lachrymose but I was over it for now.
I disentangled myself and got up.
"I've got to go, sorry for that."
He watched me.
"Alex what am I going to do?"
"Well you can't go back there."
"I know. I'll find something else."
I dabbed at my eyes with a sodden tissue.
"Can I come here? Can I..................??.............please"
"Full time Barb?"
"Yes, oh please say yes."
"There's not enough income for Mandy and me. I mean we're not doing badly but by the time we pay the girls and pay for the other costs there's no money for another person full time."
"I don't want to be paid. I'll give up my flat, that'll save me money. I'll sleep here in the studio, I'll collect the dole and you can pay me for when I model like before and if you buy the food I'll cook and clean and just do anything............."
"I don't know Barb. I have never thought of having a full time female partner."
"I won't bug you. You just do your thing. I'll be like a servant and I'll stay down here and not ever come up there unless you ask me to."
"That's the problem. It's not you, it's me. I'll ask you all the time. I'll never get anything done."
"Yes you will. I'll ration myself. Only once a week otherwise I'll stay put here. I read a lot you know and like watching SBS. "
"Do you really think we could live together and yet separately?"
He laughed, disbelievingly.
"OK, if its sex that's worrying you we'll screw each other mindless the first two days and then we'll not have the energy for that again, well, not for a while, well not for a few hours anyway."
We both laughed and then I started giggling uncontrollably and Alex laughed and laughed.
"Alright what the heck, let's give it a go."
My tears had dried up.
"Oh Alex you won't be sorry."
We folded together into a hugging embrace and then my lips found his in a long, slow kiss.........................

Later he found the hollow at the base of my throat, his breath caressed the side of my neck just below my ear and his strong fingers wandered ever so sensitively across my hardened and highly excited nipples.
He knew me, knew my body, knew what it responded to and knew what I needed now.
I surrendered myself to him and to his love.