Posted by Extranjero on January 10, 2003 at 10:42:31:
EMPIRE DOWN
She felt the passion brewing, like the sticky promise of a summer storm.
The evening air was humid. She could feel the beads of sweat on her bare back. But the real heat was coming from the women round the pool. Even as they drank and talked, she saw them shift their eyes and lick their lips.
Wendy felt her sweet face flush, and took a gulp of wine. A real convincing call-girl she must make! She had the body for it, and the breezy confidence; how else could she have charmed her way in here? But now that things were building to a climax, her heart had started throbbing anxiously.
They were lounging round the pool behind the senator’s big mansion, their glossy bodies gleaming in the sun. The light was like a golden bath, as soothing as warm syrup on her skin. Beyond the landscaped gardens there were miles of empty country. This party was as private as it got.
Wendy looked around for Angela and caught her eye. Her friend smiled back and sauntered round the pool. She wore a filmy, flowing skirt, slit right up to the waist. Like Wendy and the others she was topless, her 34D breasts like ripened fruit. The senator was paying for an orgy, Roman style, and all the girls were undressed for the part.
“Okay?” murmured Angela. The light was dancing in her clear blue eyes. Her dark hair framed her lovely face and spilled around her shoulders.
Wendy gave a nervous grin. “I guess so.” At least she wasn’t shy about her body, pert and shapely from long hours in the gym. She wore a wrap-around beach skirt, as flimsy as a loincloth, and nothing else except her earrings. Angela had bigger tits, but hers were nicely toned. She had chestnut hair and freckles and a sweetly dimpled smile. And right now she was squirming with unease.
“Don’t worry, girl, you’re doing fine,” said Angela serenely. Wendy shrugged and stared into her wine. They’d been best friends since school, as close as sisters. Now they were both 20 and lived very different lives. Angela, the prom queen, had become a classy call-girl, while Wendy was a trainee journalist. The least important person on the local newspaper … but that was going to change after tonight.
The other girls were giggling in the background, already getting tipsy on the wine. Wendy had talked casually with them to get some background. Danni was a fresh-faced blonde with mischievous green eyes, while Lisa was a toffee-nosed brunette. Sam had sculpted cheekbones and a supercilious look, and Debra was a flame-haired little minx. Jodie had a rose tattoo an inch above her loincloth. Gail had stripped completely and was swimming lazily around the pool.
There was no sign of the senator, nor any murmur of his male guests.
It was Angela who’d tipped her off and helped her slip in here among the pros. This scoop would be the champagne bottle launching her career. None the less, she didn’t feel like screwing anybody. “What happens when the guys turn up?” she whispered.
“Why not slip upstairs, right now?” was Angela’s advice. “Pretend that you’re just going for a pee. You’ve brought a camera, haven’t you?”
“Uh, yeah, it’s in my room ...”
“Just stay up there, take pictures from the window. No-one will be counting bodies once the screwing starts. Just make sure you look tousled when he pays you afterwards!”
Wendy drained her goblet, and the wine sang in her head. Relief and expectation lit her face. “I’ll see you later then,” she beamed, and slipped into the house. It closed around her, cool and dim, a contrast to the sultry light outside. The tiles in the lobby felt like marble underfoot. Silence seeped from every room – she guessed the servants had been sent away. Cautiously she tiptoed up the staircase, but it seemed she had the whole place to herself. Roman busts and vases had been placed in every nook. The senator was clearly an aficionado of the period.
New decade, new decadence, she thought. It sounded good. The headline of the piece she’d write, perhaps. She stepped into the sunlit room and padded to the window. It looked down through the ivy to the pool. The other girls were getting frisky, frolicking down there. The action would be starting soon: she felt her heartbeat quicken at the thought. She turned away, towards the bed. Her clothes were folded neatly on the quilt. She took her purse and rummaged for her camera. As she checked the settings, there was a murmur of excitement from below.
The guys were here at last, and coming up towards the terrace. The girls began to preen themselves, already wearing practised, pretty smiles. All apart from Lisa, who was playing hard to get; she sniffed and popped a grape into her mouth. Gail turned in the water and stood upright, sleeking her wet hair back with both hands. Above them, Wendy watched, dry-mouthed. A warm glow filled her groin. The men wore only loincloths and they gleamed like Chippendales.
Debra simpered coyly and nudged Danni in the ribs, while Jodie simply stood and licked her lips. They hadn’t banked on hunks like this. The evening’s business looked like being a pleasure. Angela smiled archly and adjusted her bead necklace. The senator was not among the serious-faced young men. She guessed he would be watching from the house, like Wendy was.
Some people preferred to look, and some preferred to touch. Their host was probably the former type. Angela loved sex, and knew that Wendy liked it too. Her friend’s eyes must be green with envy now ...
The men had reached the bushes round the terrace. Sam was closest to them and stood pouting patiently. Her mane of honey-coloured hair was piled up on her head, and her brown eyes were like buttons: bright and hard. She’d only just been swimming, and her high-leg loincloth clung to her wet skin. She thrust her breasts towards the first arrival.
“Hiya honey … how are you?” she cooed. He closed with her. Wendy saw what followed, but her mind took several seconds to accept it. The guy’s hand was behind his back, and then he brought it forward. A tongue of polished metal caught the light.
Sam saw the stiletto and just stared in disbelief. The blade was long; the point looked needle sharp. The man moved almost casually. Her breasts heaved as she gasped. Before she had a chance to scream, the knife was plunging hard into her belly.
She doubled forward with a sob and felt the blade slide deeper. His free hand caught her shoulder, as if steadying a woman who’d just stumbled. Sam began to grizzle like a child through gritted teeth. The blow had numbed her like a punch, but now a throbbing ache had gripped her gut.
Then he gave the knife a twist, and her insides caught fire. Her wail of anguish galvanised the girls. Expressionless, he dragged the slim blade clear, and thrust again. This time Sam just whimpered and collapsed against his chest. Her firm breasts rubbed his stomach as she slithered down and flopped onto the flagstones.
A dreadful silence settled on the terrace. The other girls stood frozen with dismay. Then Jodie’s goblet slipped from nerveless fingers and shattered on the tiles beside the pool. At once the other men came striding forward, their sharp stilettos glinting in the sun. One man held a stabbing sword. Their eyes were pitiless. The girls began to scream, but they were trapped.
Jodie was nearest to the house: she ducked towards the welcoming French doors. No-one had been lurking there when Wendy slipped inside, but now a guy emerged into her path. His muscled body oozed with sweat. He held a Roman javelin in both hands. The slender point was levelled at her stomach. Jodie squealed and came up short, her blue eyes huge with dread. Before she could recoil, he lunged and drove it into her.
Jodie screwed her face up with an “Uhg” of agony. Her breasts swelled as she doubled up, the rosy nipples stiffening like stalks. She clutched the wooden shaft, but it kept sliding through her fingers; the killer put his weight behind the thrust. Jodie felt herself transfixed, a slick and searing motion through her body. Her voice broke as she tried to scream, a gurgle in her throat as she collapsed.
Wendy stared down, horrified. Her heart was thumping now. She gripped the drapes so tightly that they almost came adrift. The air was full of sobs and squeals of panic. The cornered beauties cast around in search of a way out.
Another man shoved through the bushes, carrying a trident in one hand. His other held a weighted net, like something a Greek fisherman might use. He flung it at the pool and it unfolded in the air, as full of menace as a manta ray. Gail was standing frozen in the water, saucer-eyed. She cringed beneath its shadow, tried in vain to ward it off. Next moment she was tangled in the finely-woven web. The burden of the lead weights dragged her under.
As she threshed and kicked below the surface, the men closed in on the remaining girls. Blonde-haired Danni backed away, still pleading tearfully. She wore a makeshift loincloth of white cotton, a string of gems slung round it like a belt. A seashell pendant quivered in between her panting breasts. A cold-eyed man bore down on her, his knife-hand poised and swaying like a snake. “Oh, Jesus, no …” sobbed Danni, still retreating – and then a guy behind her thrust his blade into her back. She stiffened with a squeaky gasp, her green eyes wide with shock. Helplessly she arched her spine, as if to flaunt her breasts at the first man. He took the invitation up and jabbed his knife into her tender flesh. Danni shrieked and snivelled as she fell beneath their blades.
In the pool, Gail struggled to the surface. She coughed up water, quivering, her wet hair in her eyes. The weighted net was clinging like a waterlogged old coat, still threatening to drag her down again. She fought with it - then realised someone else was in the water. Blinking through her soaking fringe, she saw what was to come and squealed aloud
The fisher thrust the trident down at her, his biceps bulging. The prongs struck just above her breasts and sank into her chest. Her scream became a gurgle as the points impaled her lungs; her pretty features twisted up with pain. Her plump tits strained against the mesh, as if it was a fishnet bodysuit. The killer forced her down beneath the surface, and watched her wriggle feebly through a growing haze of red.
Angela felt someone’s gaze lock onto her large breasts. It happened all the time, of course – but this guy had a Roman stabbing sword. She shrank away in horror. There was nowhere she could go. As the man stalked forward, her mind fled into the past. She pictured all her boyfriends, saw herself being crowned prom queen. So popular and pretty; so much life ahead of her …
The gladius cut through her thoughts and pierced her muscled midriff. It slid into her body like a steak knife through a peach. Her breath erupted in a croak, and then she screamed like all the other girls. The swordsman drove his weapon deep; her big tits brushed his chest. Angela mewled tearfully and swooned into his arms.
Wendy saw her slump, and clamped the drapes against her mouth to keep from squealing. She was shaking with reaction now, her body cold and slick. As she watched with bulging eyes, the last two girls went down. Debra – still a teenager – was cowering, in tears. The sunlight set her foxy hair aflame. She wore a long, slit gypsy skirt. Her tits were fabulous. She stuck them out in anguish as a sharp stiletto plunged into her chest.
Lisa wailed despairingly behind her. She’d been the most conceited of the call-girls, too precious for the present company. But all her airs and graces couldn’t save her from the fisher. He’d clambered, dripping, from the pool and now he had her trapped.
The wicked trident thrust again and pinned the pouting beauty to the wall. The prongs sank in like skewers through a well-cooked chicken breast. Lisa shrieked in agony, and Wendy pressed her hands against her ears. She watched the girl writhe helplessly and double up around the piercing tines.
Silence fell again as Lisa slithered to the ground. The six girls on the terrace lay unmoving. Spatters of bright scarlet merged with spills of crimson wine. The pool was fogged and murky, like a stormy evening sky. Gail’s naked corpse had settled on the bottom, indistinct.
Wendy felt herself turn faint. Her forehead was as clammy as moist cheese. She stumbled back into the room, her camera forgotten. She’d just watched seven murders, but the story was the last thing on her mind. She didn’t even pause to put her clothes on. The only thing that mattered was to get away from here.
No-one would be counting bodies, Angela had said. But down below, the killers were already groping them. The senator had paid for eight. They’d come after the missing one in moments. Stifling a whimper, Wendy darted out and scurried down the stairs.
As she reached the bottom, she heard footfalls in the lobby. Terrified, she squirmed into an alcove, half hidden by a bust and pedestal. One of the men came prowling from the terrace. The very sight of him made Wendy cringe. He padded past, a bloody knife held lightly in his hand. She bit down on her trembling lip, convinced that he would hear her thudding heart. He glanced around himself, then started slowly up the stairs, like a predator unleashed upon the house.
He reached the top and disappeared. She eased out of her hiding place at once. But where to next? She wavered, undecided. Two men were speaking quietly on the threshold of the terrace. If she tried to cross the lobby they would see her. Then the voices started coming closer. Wendy’s stomach tightened and she slipped into the nearest open room.
It gave onto the terrace, and the golden evening light was flooding in. She squinted through it, raised her arm – and realised there was someone else in here. A tall man in a dark silk robe was staring through the window. He turned his greying head to look at her.
She recognised the senator and gasped against her hand. Her panic sparked but failed to ignite. Instead a desperate calmness overcame her. She wasn’t meant to be here; he would surely understand ...
“Wendy, isn’t it?” he asked. “I wondered where you’d got to.”
“Senator, I’m with the press,” she blurted nervously. “I came here by mistake … so if you’ll let me go, I’ll never say a word …”
He peered towards her gravely, but she guessed he’d been distracted by her breasts. Wendy started squirming, like a little girl who needs to leave the room. “My office knows I’m here,” she said, not hearing someone creep across the threshold.
“Aren’t you going to join your friends?” the senator asked calmly.
They’re not my friends, she almost said - but then she thought of Angela’s sweet smile. She felt a sob start rising like a bubble from her chest. It bulged into her throat, and made her wide eyes brim with tears. She sniffed, and sensed the presence right behind her.
Whimpering, she swung around. The cold stiletto punched into her stomach. Wendy gave a startled bleat and thought that she was going to throw up. Her belly had gone numb, but she could sense the blade move deeper. He’d struck her just above the navel, digging through her tender abdomen. Then the knifepoint sliced a nerve, and Wendy wailed aloud. She clutched at her assassin – drew one knee up to caress him with her thigh. The blade kept up its probing and her wail increased in pitch. Her pretty earrings – jewelled hearts – contrasted with the horror on her face.
Then he drew the knife out with a muffled sucking sound. Wendy choked and slumped against his chest. She felt his right arm flexing - then the knifepoint pricked the skin below her breast. She sobbed in helpless protest, and he pushed the blade in deep.
Wendy clenched her teeth against a scream. She squirmed with pain. The killer kept on thrusting hard, until her body bucked. A startled look came over her – eyes wide and mouth agape. Satisfied, he jerked the knife back out, and Wendy drooped. The pain dissolved … her panic fizzled out … Her mind went dark. The knifeman kissed her on the cheek, and let her slither loosely to the floor.
“Good work,” said the senator. His cultured voice was hoarse. “Now put her with the rest, and take your pick.”
He watched the knifeman wipe his bloody blade on Wendy’s skirt. Then the killer took her by the ankles and dragged her lifeless body from the room.
The other girls lay on the terrace, sensually entwined. With Wendy laid among them and Gail dredged out of the pool, the sweaty men began to choose their partners. They fondled the warm bodies, as if testing fruit for ripeness at the market. Wendy waited, snuggled next to Jodie. She would have been quite piqued to find she wasn’t the first choice. The guy who’d stabbed her went off with a ditzy blonde instead, retiring to the house with Danni slung over his shoulder. Two men almost came to blows over who was taking Angela to bed. But Wendy was still sweeter-faced than any of the call-girls. The fisher hauled her body up, and carried her head-down into the house.
Wendy had no sense of being taken back upstairs. Her body dangled limply as they came into the bedroom she’d just left. The sunlight at the window was a dusky amber now: it plastered their bare skin like marmalade. The fisher peeled her skirt off as she hung across his shoulder, then nudged an easy chair around to face the mirror on the closet door. Sitting carefully down in it, he pulled her body round and let her pussy slide onto his cock.
Wendy lolled against him, warm and boneless in his lap. He felt her snug vagina stretch to fit. His penis poked her G-spot but her pinched face didn’t change. Reaching round, he fondled her firm breasts. Her eyes stayed closed. The eager young reporter had already left the building. An empty-headed sex doll had been left to take her place.
He gazed at their reflection and began to work at her. The dead girl shifted rhythmically against him. Her mouth hung slack, and air seeped from her lungs in little squeaks. Her earrings glittered in the dying light. The pressure on his cock-head made the man begin to pant. He squeezed her tits and came so hard, he thought she would be lifted off his lap. But Wendy only shuddered, and her head fell to one side. The fisher bit her shoulder, and was spent.
Wendy never felt his semen spurt into her womb. Her tender breasts were numb beneath his grasp. For a while he just caressed her as she slumped in his embrace. He stroked her tits and teased her clitty, murmuring sweet nothings in her ear. From down the passageway there came the steady squeak of bedsprings, as someone else pumped Angela or Danni full of cum.
At length the fisher sighed and pushed her forward. She slid off his erection and pitched face-down to the floor. Getting up, he wiped himself on her discarded skirt, then dropped it by her body and walked out.
Wendy lay unmoving in the last gasp of the light. Her subterfuge had worked too well: she could have passed for any of the call-girls. The scoop of her life had passed her by - because it was the scoop of her own death.