Posted by Cruella on February 09, 2000 at 14:00:20:
In Reply to: The PB presents... Cruella's First Story! posted by Sam (of Sam's Place) on February 09, 2000 at 13:51:38:
Cruella's Revenge - Part I
The hand that put the Scotch-and-soda down on Orio's table wasn't the hand Orio expected it to be. He'd anticipated a small feminine hand, the hand of the delicately beautiful little waitress who'd taken his order. The hand that put his drink down wasn't small and it wasn't feminine.
He looked up, and he grinned, although the grin was forced. "Hi, Sam," he said. "I was expecting..."
"You were expecting Julie," Sam finished for him. "Julie didn't want to serve you, Orio. She don't trust you. Fact is, I don't either."
"Well, I'm sorry to hear that, Sam."
"It ain't news." Sam lit a cigarette, blew smoke. "What brings you over here, Orio? Usually you hang out over at SK's. Did King get tired of you and throw you out?"
Orio laughed. "No. He's just like you, Sam. Equal opportunity for everybody." He shrugged. "Hell, I just wanted a change of scenery. You know how it is."
Sam grunted. "Yeah. Well, like you say, equal for everybody. Have your drink, enjoy the show. Leave the girls alone unless they give you an ok. You know the rules around here."
"I sure do, Sam. You don't have to worry about me."
"Good," Sam said. "'Cause if you don't follow the rules, you have to worry about me." He turned away, leaving Orio alone at his table.
Watching the bearded man go, Orio drummed his fingertips on the table. Sam's threat could not, he knew, be taken lightly. He'd have to be careful.
But that didn't mean he had to change his plans. Sam's Place was a good hunting ground, and he was sure he could find what he wanted here tonight.
Orio was a man who loved power, power over women especially. As far as he was concerned, a woman's only function was to please men. Their emotions, their thoughts, even their lives, were of no consequence to him whatsoever. If a woman did not please you, he believed, you simply got rid of her--dumped her or, preferably, killed her. Orio liked killing them, but he only liked killing them if they struggled and fought and begged and died with terror in their eyes. He liked to toy with them; he thought of himself as a well-fed cat, and of the women as mice. It made him feel powerful, in control. For him, the effect was like a narcotic, terribly pleasurable and just as addictive.
But--most importantly--women were not allowed to treat him like shit, and in his eyes, merely refusing him, or, worse, ignoring him, constituted 'treating him like shit.' He grinned, remembering how he'd avenged himself on some of the women who'd treated him like that. There had been many of them, but they were all the same to him. Useless except for one thing... to satisfy his urges. Forgetting about Sam and the waitress--who had been his first target--he started scanning the crowded barroom.
An hour later, he'd begun to feel that tonight was his lucky night. Without being noticed by Sam or any of the regulars at the bar, he'd managed to strike up a conversation with three young women who were sitting at a table by themselves. At first, he'd wondered why they were alone, but, as soon as he'd introduced himself, they'd explained that they were at Sam's to watch only, they were not interested in participating. That, Orio knew, was in itself enough to send most of the regulars off searching for more likely candidates.
But that didn't matter to Orio. He sat down with the girls, chatted with them a little. One in particular attracted him; she told him her name was Helga. Helga was a tall girl, large and very voluptuous, just the type of woman Orio liked best; he always said he liked a woman to have some "meat on her bones." On Helga, it was in all the right places; her breasts strained against the fabric of her top and her hips curved nicely away from her waist. Her eyes were especially striking, almond-shaped and brownish-green in color. The other two were hardly less appealing. One, Linda, was also tall; she had long blond hair and steel-blue eyes that matched Orio's own. The other, Angel, was much smaller than the other two, a finely-built woman with large dark brown eyes and long, wavy, golden-brown hair.
The line Orio used on them was an old one, that he was a film producer, and that he was in Sam's looking for pretty girls to play bit parts in a film he was shooting. Naturally, they doubted this; Angel in particular was almost contemptuous, which caused Orio's rage to flare a little. This was not, however, something that Orio had not expected. Patiently, buying them fresh drinks whenever theirs got low, he waited--until, at last, Angel mentioned a need to go visit the ladies room. Orio had expected them to all go, but, as it happened, only Helga accompanied Angel, leaving Orio and Linda alone at the table.
It didn't matter. At that point it was just a matter of waiting until the blond was looking away. It only took a fraction of a second for him to slip a small amount of rohypnol into each of the partially-consumed drinks on the table. Half an hour later, the girls were foggy enough to accept his suggestion that he take them out to his car, one at a time, to show them publicity photos from his film, to prove he was what he said he was, and they were too foggy to wonder why he twice came back alone. Once he had them outside and out of sight of the front door of Sam's, a chloroform-soaked handkerchief held over their face finished what the rohypnol had started, and soon enough he'd loaded all of them into his pickup truck, their silent forms concealed by the camper top over the back.
'So easy," he told himself as he slid into the driver's seat. "They are so easy." He looked back at them, and remembered that he'd forgotten his camera. Mentally, he cursed; he had friends who loved pictures of tortured, raped, and dying women. Figuring that they were going to sleep for a while--chloroform does not wear off quickly--he decided he had the time to go to his townhouse and pick it up. Soon enough he'd gotten the camera and he was off again, headed for his house in the forest. His face was red from excitement. He had it all planned out, he knew what he wanted to do with them. And it would be special, oh yes...
While Orio was picking up the camera, Cruella arrived at Sam's. As always, heads turned when she came in; she wore a skin-tight black velvet dress, extreme high heels, and a black overcoat that streamed behind her like a cape. Ignoring the other customers who were staring at her black-and-white hair, she walked straight to the bar and half sat on, half leaned against, one of the stools. Looking up, Sam grinned at her and then placed a Margarita cocktail, specially prepared, on the bar in front of her.
She grinned back; her brilliant green eyes sparkled. "You know what I like, Sam," she said.
"I'd hope so," he replied.
She looked around the bar. "It's quiet tonight, Sam," she commented.
He nodded. "Yeah, it is--now. It was crowded earlier tonight. Guess everybody wanted to get home before midnight, huh?" Cruella laughed; Sam joined her.
"Sam, I was wondering," she said, running her finger around the edge of the glass, "Has that big European girl been in tonight? The cute one, the one with the almond eyes..."
He smiled. "You mean Helga? Not sure if I did..." He paused, snapped his fingers. "Oh, yeah, now I remember, she was here earlier, with two of her friends. I noticed because this guy Orio was in here tonight, and he was sitting at their table for a while, and he's one I kinda keep an eye on..." He paused and looked a little concerned. "Y'know, now that you mention it, I didn't see them leave." Looking out across the barroom, he pursed his lips. "But they did disappear at about the same time..." Then he turned back to Cruella. "Anyway. Why?"
"Orio?" Cruella asked. "Here?" You're sure?"
"Yeah," Sam replied. "I'm sure. I talked to him myself. You know him?"
"No, but I know about his bad habits. I don't like it one bit."
"You think Orio took them?"
"Think so? I know so. Do you know where I can find him, Sam?
The bearded man nodded. "Yeah. He lives downtown, but he also had an old house out in the country. I can draw you a map if you want."
"Thanks," Crue said. "I had my eye on that big woman to be my new playmate. I hope I'm not too late."
Sam nodded. "You need backup," he said, "you know who to call."
She nodded as well. Then, without finishing her drink, she got up and walked out of Sam's. Moments later she was in her car, following the map Sam had given her, and headed into the woods south of the city. If Orio had the women--and she was quite sure he did--he would not take them to his townhouse, not for what he had surely planned, he'd need privacy for that. Leaving the city behind, she drove on through the fog and shadows, taking her eyes off the road only to assure herself that her bag of toys was in its usual place. The road seemed to go on forever, and after a while she found herself tiring a bit; driving this narrow road in dense fog required intense concentration.
Finally, just when she was beginning to wonder if Sam's map was accurate--it showed that Orio's country home was the only house along here for miles, and she'd seen no houses at all--she saw a faint shimmering light up ahead. "That," she whispered to herself, "must be it." Slowly, turning off her lights as she entered the driveway, she drove up to the house. In the dark, in the fog, it looked creepy, menacing.
Even so, she smiled as she got out of the car. There weren't very many things in the night, she told herself, that were as menacing as she could be.
Moving silently and gracefully in spite of the high heels, staying out of the pools of light spilling from the windows, she moved up to the house. The first two windows she peered into showed her nothing of any interest. One was a study, books lining the shelves, the works of the Marquis de Sade prominently displayed. The other was a dining room, elegant chairs around a fine Victorian table backed by a huge hutch containing fine porcelain. Hardly seeing it, Cruella moved on to another window.
This one was much more interesting. It was a bedroom, small but well-appointed; in front of a vanity to her left, a nude man stood looking into a mirror, his backside to her. Making sure she remained out of the light and was not reflected in the mirror, she studied him for a moment. He was a large man, well over six feet tall, and very muscular. In his hands he held a six-foot black bullwhip, which he was caressing--he was almost petting it, as if it were a living thing, the way one might pet a cat. He was, she noticed, holding his buttocks very tight, as if he were tense about something. For several seconds she waited for him to turn around and show her his face, but he did not.
Finally, leaving him for the moment, she walked on. The next window was dark, but a soft red light, candlelight or firelight, poured from the one just beyond it. As silent as ever, she walked up to it and, unseen, looked in. It was another bedroom, a much larger one. Here, there was a very large bed, an unusual one, circular in shape and adequate for several people--in fact, there were three people on the bed already, and there was plenty of room for more. Cruella's eyes narrowed; all three were young women, all were naked, and all had their hands handcuffed behind their backs. One was lying on her belly; the other two were on their backs. These latter two were talking to each other, urgently. Although Cruella cannot hear their words through the glass, their expressions convey their terror quite clearly. Their skin reddened from the numerous black candles that light the room, they repeatedly looked toward the door with every evidence of dread.
Taking a moment, Cruella studied them. The two lying on their backs she'd not seen before, but the one lying on her belly looked familiar. She was a large woman, tall and very voluptuous, her large breasts both spreading under her chest a little and indenting the bed with their firmness. She turned her head toward the window, showing Cruella striking greenish-brown, almond-shaped eyes. Cruella's breath left her with a soft, almost snakelike, hiss. Helga.
With a quick light step, Cruella returned to the first window. The man was now dressed--in a way. He'd donned black leather boots and a leather body harness that crisscrossed his chest and back with wide black straps--although it left his genitals exposed. As she watched, he picked up a black leather mask from the vanity and slipped it over his head. He turned toward the window for a moment; confident that she could not be seen, Cruella did not move. She gazed at his eyes, visible through a slit in the mask; brilliant, stone-cold, blue eyes. Eyes she'd seen before; Orio's eyes. Eyes not easy to forget, eyes that might have been, to anyone else, compelling, even terrifying.
Cruella, though, merely grinned.
Abruptly, the big man picked up the whip from the vanity where he'd laid it--and something else, she could not see what it was--walked to the door, and left the room. Knowing where he was going, Cruella ran back to the other window, arriving just in time to see him enter. The candlelight flickering on his leathers, making them look wet, he stood in the doorway for a few seconds, obviously aware of the effect his intimidating appearance was having on the three women on the bed. The two lying on their backs began twisting and turning, fighting against the handcuffs, trying to get away, but escape was not possible. In contrast, Helga merely looked up at the man for a moment before turning her face away and lying quite still on the bed, as if to escape his attention.
That, however, was futile. Almost ignoring the other two girls, Orio walked around the bed to where Helga was lying. Bending over her, he laid the whip down on the bed and started stroking her smooth back, very gently, his fingertips gliding along her soft smooth skin, down over the generous curve of her buttocks. She squirmed slightly and made a small sobbing sound, but otherwise did not protest. Even from this distance, Cruella could see the goosebumps on her legs. Orio, stroking her body with his left hand, fondled the item he was holding in his right--and Cruella could see, at last, what it was: a small, black, .38 revolver.
Roughly, Orio pulled her up from the bed, rolling her to the side and forcing her to a sitting position, then waving the gun around where she could see it. "Yes, we're gonna have some fun tonight," he told her, grinning through the mask. "Come on."
Still threatening her with the gun, Orio pulled her to her feet, then immediately pushed her down on her knees in front of him. With one hand on her shoulder, he pressed the muzzle of the gun against her head. "Now, it's time to play," he grunted. "Suck my dick, suck it good." Helga, glancing at the gun with obvious terror, leaned forward and took a small part of the head of his dick into her mouth, sucking and licking it tentatively.
"All of it," Orio commanded. Helga glanced up at him, then at the gun, and moved her head forward until she'd taken his whole dick into her mouth. "Mmm, yes.. that's it, that's it," he sighed. After a moment, his knees began trembling--just a bit, but visibly. It had been a long time for him, Helga told herself.
It didn't take long before he came. "Swallow, you bitch!" he yelled as his body shook. "Taste what great stuff I have for your cute little mouth!" As his come sprayed into her mouth, tears ran down Helga's cheeks, and her stomach heaved as she fought not to throw up. She swallowed quickly, but it filled her mouth, some of it dripping from the corner, running down over her lower lip and chin.
Orio smiled down at her. "Yes, yes..." he murmured. "Oh, my dear, what a pleasure it's been for me to watch you drink my divine sperm."
Cruella had seen enough. It would be a little while, she told herself, before Orio was ready to play again, and she meant to put that time to good use. Leaving the window, she glided silently around the building, searching for a way in; an unlocked door, an open window, anything. As he walked she let her hand slide along the wall, her long hard fingernails grazing the brick, making a soft scraping sound. Instinctively, without noticing or even realizing she was doing it, she was letting the rough brick act as a whetstone, putting an even keener edge on those already razor-sharp nails. Feeling her adrenaline pumping, she licked her lips. Tonight this man, she told herself with a dark smile, is mine. The night is mine, I can make it happen, I will make it happen...
Walking along, smiling, she wasn't aware of what was happening back in the room with the circular bed. She wasn't aware that she'd misjudged Orio a little; just a little, but enough to be costly. His orgasm over, Orio had stepped back from Helga a little, and now stood looking down at the helpless woman, who remained as she was, her head hanging. This had gone too fast, he told himself, too fast. He glared at the woman kneeling before him. It was her fault, he thought, all her fault. She was too seductive, too good. He'd not used the whip at all, and he'd not used the gun except to force her to suck him off. He'd not seen that look of blind terror, she'd taken that away, and he needed that, he had to have it...
Grinning, he dropped to one knee in front of her and grabbed her by her shoulder. She raised her head, and when she did he held the gun up, very deliberately pulled the hammer back, and then touched the muzzle to the side of her head, very lightly, almost gently. Her eyes widened; the fear in them rose rapidly.
"Oh, please," she whispered. "Please don't, please..."
Orio's grin broadened. Yes, he told himself, yes, this was good, this was right. He let the fear and anticipation rise for a moment, let her beg for a moment more. She could not, he knew, imagine that he was already dreaming about how much higher her terror would rise when the bullet was in her, when her blood was spurting out, about how much raw fear she'd experience in the few fractions of a second it would take her to die...
Meanwhile, outside the house, Cruella's search had taken her more than halfway around the building's perimeter. In the darkness she could see the shape of a door; she tried it and found it locked, but the latch seemed loose to her. Rolling her left hand over, she pressed a hidden catch under the large silver ring she wore on the middle finger of that hand, and a small slender blade, glinting in the faint light, snapped out of the top of it. Pulling the door toward her, she slipped the blade into the space next to the latch and used the point to push the latch back slightly. Holding it in place by pulling hard on the door, she found new purchase for the knife's point and slipped it back a little more. One more time and the door came open in her hands. Her eyes brightened with excitement as she folded the little blade back in to the ring, walked into the house, and closed the door behind herself.