Posted by Kewpid on October 26, 2006 at 11:23:05:
BLADE DANCERS
Gemma let her Audi roll sedately to a halt beside the steps of the imposing country house.
The car was a convertible with soft white leather seats; it was her lawyer boyfriend’s, but she’d borrowed it. Gemma’s prime concern was making sure that she looked good, because good looks could get her anything she wanted. She was confident and pretty, with bobbed hair as blonde as corn and eyes as archly artless as a naughty schoolgirl’s. As ever, she was dressed like a sophisticated tart, her stylish clothes revealing plenty of bronzed skin.
A servant in black tie and tails was waiting by the door. She smirked at him and switched the engine off. Getting out, she let her short skirt slide back from her thigh. She was a flirt by nature, and she liked to tease. The man came down the steps, his face impassive. Gemma widened her blue eyes. “Are you going to park my car for me?” she said.
“Of course, Miss,” he said gravely and she handed him the keys. His eyes flicked to the scoop neck of her top. “I’ll bring your case in after you,” he added. Gemma smiled graciously and sashayed up the steps to the front door.
The grand house lay in splendid isolation, surrounded by its landscaped private grounds. The summer evening light was spreading over it like syrup. She paused, admiring the ornate façade. Her shameless sexiness had opened yet another door – she’d got an invite to this posh, exclusive ball.
The foyer was deserted when she entered. She’d got here in good time, just like the invitation said. Plenty of time to freshen up and put on her best perfume. The guy at work had mentioned masks, which might mean there’d be sex available.
Gemma felt a pleasurable flush course through her body. Then she heard a titter from a room across the hall. Curious, she went to look and found two more girls waiting, sipping at champagne flutes as they made polite small talk.
They looked around as she came in, their conversation fading. “Hi, I’m Lara,” said the first. She had a rather smug, disdainful smile. Her long black hair was tied back in a ponytail, and she had a poise that matched her well-schooled voice.
The other girl was more petite and impishly attractive. She had bobbed dark hair and chocolate-button eyes. “Lisa,” she said. “I guess that you got cherry-picked as well?” The three of them shared a conceited grin. Gemma introduced herself as a maid gave her a glass before retreating to the corner of the room.
“So how many guests will there be tonight?” asked Lisa. There was a sly gleam in her eyes. No doubt she was determined to get laid. Her accent was as unrefined as Gemma’s, which just proved that they’d been chosen for their looks.
“It’s quality that counts,” said Lara dryly. “The reason they want us to wear masks is because there’ll be some famous people here.” She gave the others a superior smile. “We might get lucky. When midnight strikes, we could find we’ve been dancing with a star.”
Still smirking at the thought, she took another sip of bubbly. She didn’t doubt that she would get first choice. Lisa was quite obviously a preening little chav, and Gemma looked like she was heading for a club. Most likely they’d been binge-drinking in miniskirts last week. They’d soon find that this was a different league.
Lara’s sense of breeding made her glow with confidence. She was a beauty, and she knew it all too well. She worked in publishing and had a crowd of would-be boyfriends, but was single at the moment and quite fancying a fling with someone rich. Her tight black sweater hugged her shapely figure. Her boobs were on the heavy side, but men were always quick to ogle them.
Lisa’s breasts were large as well, with a deep, enticing cleavage. She wore a leather jacket over a revealing top. A part of her was worried she looked common; the dangling gypsy earrings didn’t help. But Lisa was a junior manager in M&S. She’d worked her arse off getting there, and nobody was going to judge her now. Least of all this posh bitch with her nose stuck in the air. She gave Lara a sweet, false smile. The champagne bubbles fizzled in her head.
The young maid coughed discreetly in the background. “Begging your pardon, Ladies … If you’d like to go upstairs, your rooms are ready.”
The three girls finished their champagne. Gemma felt a little giddy, like she was always did when she guzzled it too fast. They left the room and climbed the wide oak staircase. There were two twin bedrooms open at the top.
Their gowns had been unpacked and spread out ready on each bedspread. A fourth girl was in Gemma’s room, already sitting at the dressing table. “Hi,” she beamed, “I’m Sarah. Hope you don’t mind that we’re sharing.” She was an elfin-looking blonde with a gamine haircut and a perky smile.
Gemma shrugged. “No worries.” She was feeling queasy now. She sat down carefully on the edge of her bed. Sarah was in her bra and knickers, painting her wide mouth. “Did you have some of that champagne downstairs?” asked Gemma.
Sarah shook her head. “I didn’t want to get too squiffy. Or not this early, anyway!” She pinched and licked her lips. She was a sporty type who didn’t often get dolled up, but it had been too good an offer to refuse. Sarah was the physiotherapist for a rugby team. Despite her small frame and high voice, she could bawl them out as well as anyone. She enjoyed getting sweaty with them (Sometimes one on one, in bed). But she wished she was more glamorous, and had jumped at this chance to dress up to the nines.
Gemma ran a hand into her fringe. Her head was throbbing. She glanced towards the en suite bathroom, started to get up – and then collapsed.
It felt as if her legs had turned to jelly underneath her. She heard a roaring in her ears, like a giant whirlpool swallowing her thoughts. Sarah’s piping voice was spun away into the distance. Gemma hit the carpet with a thud, and all was dark.
Sarah stared with wide blue eyes, one hand against her mouth, then scrambled up and scurried round the bed. “What’s wrong?” she bleated anxiously, but Gemma stayed inert. Sarah fumbled with her wrist until she found a pulse. That was a relief, although her roommate’s breaths were shallow. Sarah darted to the door, forgetting she was in her underwear.
One of the tuxedo men was standing right outside. Sarah flinched back with a gasp, then gestured urgently. “Quick – she just collapsed while we were talking ...” The man stepped forward calmly and she turned back to the bed. Next moment, something soft was clamped across her mouth and nostrils: a wad of cloth that reeked of chemicals. Sarah gave a snort of shock and felt his strong arms seize her. The suffocating gag began to turn her thoughts to glue. She squirmed with panic, and he squeezed her tighter. The chloroform took full effect. Her eyelids fluttered closed; her blonde head drooped.
The servant lowered her gently to the bed, then glanced at Gemma. Like Sarah, she lay quiet and lax. He moved to the next room. A tap on the door brought no response. He paused, then pushed it open. Lisa lay face-down on the bed, and Lara was slumped across the dressing table. He looked from one girl to the next and smiled chillingly. Four Cinderellas, fast asleep – and as promised, they would all go to the ball.
* * *
Lisa murmured something, and then woke up with a start. She was lying naked on the bed. The room was almost dark. Outside, the glow of evening had turned ashen. Her bare skin prickled with the growing chill.
Her pendulous breasts joggled as she sat up on the bedspread, and a surge of nausea bathed her in cold sweat. The feeling was the same as when she’d drunk too many vodkas. She pressed her hand against her mouth – and realised she was wearing fishnet gloves.
Lisa’s brown eyes widened like dark saucers. Her gaze flicked nervously around the room. There was no one else in here with her; no sign of snooty Lara. The other bed was undisturbed. Her party clothes had vanished without trace. Lisa sensed an emptiness that seemed to fill the building. The queasiness was fading, but she kept her fingers pressed against her lips.
There was something tied around her neck, so tight it almost choked her. She groped for it, then dropped her gaze. A black bow tie was knotted at her throat. Lisa’s mouth fell open in dismay and disbelief. She plucked at the thing but couldn’t loosen it.
The house’s hollow silence made her skin crawl. She didn’t know how long she had been out. But someone had undressed her, sexy underwear and all.
His fingers would have touched her flesh. She felt her heart start thudding in her chest.
Shuddering, she clambered up. There was no sign of her ball gown. But her high-heeled pumps were by the bed. She slipped them on and crept towards the door. Had the others suffered the same fate, or was she on her own? She closed her fingers round the handle, sure it would be locked. But the door clicked open smoothly as she teetered on her heels. There was a gloomy panelled corridor outside.
Lisa hesitated as a draught caressed her tits. The cold air made her nipples swell; her heartbeat seemed to cram into her throat. But nobody was lurking in the shadows to accost her. The corridor was empty. Lisa swallowed nervously and ventured out.
The air seemed full of dense grey dust as the evening light receded. Her stomach clenched as she realised that the house would soon be dark. The thought of groping through it made her shudder. Whoever had done this to her might be waiting in the murk.
But if she cowered in her room, he might come up and get her. Her nudity unnerved her, but she had to get away.
She tiptoed past closed doors, not wondering what lay behind them. And Gemma woke up blearily, but didn’t hear her heels go squeaking by. The blonde girl squinted through her fringe and tried to get her bearings. A clock ticked on the mantelpiece. Apart from that, the house felt like a tomb.
She realised she was nude and sat bolt upright. There was something clamped across her upper face. She clawed it off in fright, and found it was a gilded ball mask. Baffled and alarmed, she left it hanging round her neck.
This wasn’t how things were supposed to happen. Like Lisa, she had come here to get laid. Her boyfriend was away too much to keep her satisfied, so she took what opportunities arose. For a flirty minx like Gemma, they arose incessantly. She had looked forward to being fucked by someone posh.
Instead, there was this horrid, creepy stillness. She felt the fine hairs tingling on her nape. Climbing to her feet, she ventured over to the window. The grounds had faded in the dusk. She heard the lonely calling of a bird.
Gemma bit her lip to stop it trembling. She felt a rush of petulance. This whole thing had to be some laddish prank. She could almost hear them sniggering, and blushed despite herself. But what if it was something worse? The notion sent a quiver through her flesh.
She moved to the door and listened. There was silence from the passage. Her breasts rose tautly as she took a breath. She wasn’t going to sit on her bare arse and be their plaything. The key was here, still in the lock. She could shut them out – or make a run for it.
Still holding her breath, she tried the door. It opened soundlessly. The passageway was empty, and she felt her breasts subsiding with relief. Then the hinges squealed: the sound was piercing in the stillness. Gemma cringed and froze, her curves suffused with instant sweat. “Fuck,” she whimpered to herself, and wavered for a moment – then lost her nerve and closed the door again.
Lisa hesitated with her gloved hand to her mouth. She was halfway down the staircase, but the eerie creak had sounded very close. Fearfully she glanced behind herself, then kept on going. The lobby was awash with dusk. It felt like wading down into a swamp.
The front door of the house was locked and bolted. She felt her heartbeat quicken in her chest. Somebody else was in the building with her. Her large breasts rose and fell beneath the black silk butterfly of her bow tie. Impulsively, she scurried down the facing passageway to where a pair of doors stood open at its end. The room beyond looked cavernous, still tinged with ghostly twilight. She came to the threshold and stopped short. The ballroom opened out in front of her.
“Oh my God …” she breathed between her fingers. The floor was full of mannequins, as if the dance had frozen in mid step. The figures were all masked, and dressed in ball gowns and tuxedos. The grey light clung to them like dusty fog.
She hesitated wretchedly and looked over her shoulder. There was silence from the foyer – but who knew what might be creeping down the stairs? Yet something about the faceless dummies filled her with revulsion. She could see the dust that coated them, and cobwebs strung between the rigid shapes.
The ashy light was fading on the far side of the ballroom. There were French doors there, beyond the silent crowd. Lisa could see the dark mass of the garden. The sky above it was still pearly pale. Swallowing her fear, she started forward. The stillness of the masked shapes made her cringe. It felt like trying to tiptoe through a cellar full of spiders. A ghostly breath of air caressed her butt.
Lisa twisted round, her bare back prickling – but nobody had crept in after her. The dummies loomed like spectres in the dimness. She could have sworn they’d started crowding in. Her pout began to tremble as she listened to the silence, a sniff away from bursting into tears. She’d come here with her heart set on seducing someone famous. Right now she should be turning heads, not cringing in the nude.
Wiping her cheek, she moved towards the daylight.
The nearest dummy turned its head to look.
A man’s eyes gleamed behind the mask. His rigid posture loosened. A long stiletto slid into his hand from up his sleeve. The nude brunette had slowed to pick her way between the dummies. He caught her in a single, lunging stride.
Lisa’s nerves lit up, but she had no time to react before he clamped his hand over her nose and mouth. She made a muffled snorting sound, eyes widening with horror. The masked man bent her backwards, leaning over to deliver three hard stabs.
The sharp blade punctured her left breast, then pierced her right one too, before he drove it deep into her abdomen. Lisa’s body bucked in shock: each blow felt like a wallop. She grimaced underneath his hand, and vainly tried to wriggle from his grasp. Suddenly her chest was filled with suffocating pain. She gave a wail but it was stifled by his glove. Her lacerated organs made her squirm with agony, but there was no escaping from the man’s embrace. Her own gloved fingers plucked at his, then clawed her punctured bosom as her pretty features twisted tearfully. He choked her squeals of anguish to a woeful grizzling, until she gurgled in her throat and then grew quiet.
Her muscles loosened as her heart stopped beating, and he felt the of sag her deflating lungs. He dragged her back behind a velvet curtain, her high heels scraping on the ballroom floor. None of the guests upstairs had heard the scuffle, and they’d get their own comeuppance soon enough. He hoisted the dead girl over his shoulder. She dangled silently, head bowed, and he felt her oozing breasts against his back. The nipples were erect and hard as pebbles. Her blood soaked hot and sticky through his tux.
He carried her down the passageway towards the servants’ quarters. By the time he reached the kitchen, he could feel his passion coming to the boil. He rested the girl’s firm buttocks on the edge of the long table, then let her fall back onto it and pushed her thighs apart. Lisa’s rose-pink pussy opened moistly. He grasped her shapely haunches and thrust deep into her sex.
Her breasts began to quiver like blancmanges, the swollen nipples begging to be sucked. He eyed them as he pumped at Lisa’s pelvis; her slick vagina fitted like a glove. The girl’s head was thrown back, her shocked mouth gaping, her winsome face a death mask of dismay. He fucked her with a hard, remorseless rhythm till he came and filled her pussy with hot cum.
“Lisa …?” whispered Lara nervously. There was no answer. She gave the open door a push. The bedroom beyond was empty and unlit. Lara bit her lip to keep from moaning. She’d never felt so frightened in her life. The other girls had disappeared, and so had all her clothes. The mansion had become a labyrinth. The past hour was a blur, but she had somehow been stripped naked, and a white bow tie was knotted at her throat.
Her breasts pulsated with her jerky breathing. She strained her ears above her pounding heart. But she didn’t the muffled grunting from the servant’s quarters as the “mannequin” squeezed out his final spurts. Lisa bucked inertly, a voluptuous young corpse. Her killer tweaked her tits and sighed. One pussy down; three pussies still to go.
Lara hesitated, then crept on along the passage. She was a vain young lady and felt mortified as well as miserable. Her poised and graceful figure had a slimness she was proud of, but she dreaded being caught without her clothes. Whoever had abducted her – she shuddered at the thought – he would be up here once he thought she was awake. Lara knew he didn’t want her for her brains or breeding. He’d look no further than her boobs, and the tingling cleft she squeezed between her thighs ...
It was almost dusk; the air was turning grainy as she watched. She felt a spasm of panic take her by the throat. It was like being on a sinking ship, with black sea pouring in. She had to get away before this horrid house was swallowed by the dark.
At the far end of the corridor, two dim shapes faced each other. Lara’s heart leaped up, and then she realised they were empty suits of armour. She rubbed her hand across her mouth, her plump lip quivering. Her bare breasts panted nervously, the areolas pimpling in the cold. She would have welcomed being encased in all that polished metal. Grimacing, she walked between them.
Somewhere up ahead, a floorboard creaked.
Lara stiffened like an anxious schoolgirl. Her well-bred haughtiness had fled; her smug smile had become a wretched pout. She backed away uncertainly, her dark eyes widening – and the silent knight behind her came to life. Lara heard a creak and then its metal gauntlet grabbed her, clamping her jaw shut like a vice and muffling her squeal. She writhed and wriggled fiercely as the figure pulled her backwards, her fingers scrabbling at its iron hand. Her bosom heaved in terror as she fought to free herself – so desperate that she didn’t see the other knight begin to stir as well.
The muffled sobs and squeaks of metal carried down the passage. Sarah heard them faintly through the furthest bedroom door. But her thoughts were still half-clotted from the dose of chloroform. She curled up on the counterpane, and didn’t register the sounds outside.
The second armoured figure had a halberd in its gauntlets. It swung the pole-arm round and down to point it at the squirming, pinioned girl. The grim, impassive visor stared at Lara for a moment. Her naked body twisted helplessly. The halberd hovered in the air, then jabbed towards her belly and the long spike pierced her honey-coloured skin. It drove through gym-toned muscle like a carving knife through butter, slicing deep into the viscera beneath. Lara’s squawk of agony was stifled by the gauntlet, but her breasts grew taut, the nipples hard as buds. The knight impaled her harder, and then gave the spike a twist. Lara mewed behind the glove. An arc of urine squirted from her bush.
The first knight let her spasm for a few seconds, then raised a gleaming knife in its right fist. It plunged the blade down hard into the posh girl’s yielding breast, and Lara bucked and arched her back against the pain. The two knights kept her pinned between them, piercing her soft body till she whimpered plaintively and then went limp.
Sarah’s blue eyes opened blearily. The house was silent. She lay quite still, convinced that she’d be sick if she sat up. Belatedly she realised she was naked, and some kind of mask was tied across her face. Then she remembered being grabbed, and the gag that had almost choked her. Its reek still filled her nostrils, and her mouth was dry and sour.
A clammy wash of fear engulfed her as she lay unmoving. She thought she heard a faint, metallic sound. Then silence from beyond the door, where the passage now lay empty. There were just some stains of blood and pee to mark the spot where Lara had been snatched.
The posh girl had been right about what her abductors wanted, but now she was a corpse and didn’t care. One of the knights had carried her into another bedroom and dumped her on the big four-poster bed. In death, her sex had opened like a foxglove. The armoured killer spread her thighs and drove his cock into the moist pink hole. He’d only taken off his metal codpiece; the rest of him was still encased in steel. The contrast with her nudity aroused him even further. His armour creaked with every thrust. Her bosom quivered under her bow tie.
Her pussy was a sheath as soft as velvet. It filled with semen as he shot his wad. Lara heaved submissively and made a wheezing sound. Her eyelids had half-opened, to reveal the blind whites of her upturned eyes.
Sarah sat up cautiously and peered around the bedroom. Her wide-lipped mouth curled downward with dismay. Her body still felt cold and slick, and her heart thumped like a hammer. But like her fellow guests, she couldn’t bear to sit and wait.
She pushed the gilded mask onto her forehead, like a pair of shades above her matted fringe. Her breasts pulsated as her breathing quickened. The nipples were like roundels, broad and pink. She’d been looking forward to a gleeful evening, but this was a nightmare drawn from her worst fears. Scrambling off the bed, she tiptoed over to the window. The grounds outside were almost dark, with no trace of a light for miles around.
Sarah grizzled fretfully. Her bare breasts rubbed the glass. She was stuck in the middle of nowhere here, and something horrible was going on. She didn’t hear the muffled creaks from two doors down the passage, as the knight forced out a final gob of cum.
Gemma, meanwhile, was fretting in the silence of her room. She nibbled at her painted nails, still wretchedly unsure what she should do. The twilight had almost faded from the window, but she didn’t dare switch on the bedside lamp. The fact that her room had been left unlocked was hardly reassuring. The house felt like the London dungeon. Maybe she was safer where she was.
The decision spared her Lisa’s fate, and Lara’s. She never heard their stifled squeals, nor sensed the death traps that had snuffed them out. Now that both brunettes were dead, the blondes had all to play for. But neither she nor Sarah grasped the nature of the game.
The clock on the mantelpiece kept ticking slowly. She had an urge to smash the thing. It made her feel like time was running out ...
The room was panelled with dark wood. The shadows clung to it. The big four-poster bed loomed like a ghost ship in the murk. An antique wardrobe brooded, full of menace. The fireplace seemed to gape like a black mouth.
Then she heard the footsteps in the distance: a slow, remorseless, disembodied tread. Gemma went completely still and tried to quell her breathing. A ghost might make a noise like that – or an old man on his way to murder her. The fine hairs prickled on her skin as the feet came pacing closer. A part of her was desperate to believe it was a ghost.
She darted to the door and turned the key. The lock clicked sharply. The feet came on unhurriedly. They seemed to echo in the empty house. Gemma backed away, her muscles trembling. She heard the creak of floorboards as the unseen presence stopped outside her door.
A horrid pause – then the doorknob turned and rattled. The sudden noise was terrifying. She cowered back, her hand across her mouth. The rattling stopped, and she heard his heavy breathing. Gemma grimaced, close to tears. Oh God, she couldn’t stand much more of this …
She didn’t hear the faint creak from the wardrobe. Its mirrored door reflected her bare back. Then the image slid aside as the door swung slowly open. The space beyond was cavernous. She eased towards it, staring the wrong way.
A hand reached out and grasped a fistful of her golden hair. Gemma squealed and arched her spine, then tried to claw the clutching fingers loose. She squirmed as her assailant hauled her backwards; the wardrobe was hung with musty furs which brushed her naked skin. Her captor jerked her head back, choking off her panicked whimpers. Gemma wriggled vainly, till he slit her tender throat with a sharp knife.
Gemma gagged, then goggled as a squirt of vivid scarlet hit the bedroom ceiling right before her eyes. It felt as if a hard karate chop had crushed her voicebox. Her mouth gaped as she tried to breathe. Her breasts heaved, but she couldn’t fill her lungs. Another spurt of crimson flew halfway across the bedroom, but the blockage in her windpipe wouldn’t budge.
She made a squeaky piping sound, her blue eyes huge with horror. The sense of pressure on her larynx turned to searing pain. She tried to wail, but it came out as a gurgle. Her trachea was full of blood, as if a scalding drink had gone down the wrong way. The quick arterial spurts became a crimson cataract that filled the ballroom mask still slung around her neck. It streamed out through the eyeholes, spilling over her plump bosom. The doomed girl writhed and stuck her tongue out, straining hopelessly for one last breath.
The killer let her choke until her body started drooping – then yanked her head back once again and gave her two hard stabs in the left breast. Gemma reared against the brisk thwack-thuk and grunted hoarsely, then yielded to the choking dark, collapsing back into his waiting arms.
The blood from her cut throat had soaked her cleavage. The masked assassin nuzzled her, caressing her firm tits, then sucking them. They had a pert plasticity that thrilled him. He fumbled with her corpse amid the coats. Gemma’s head lolled back, her slit throat gaping. More blood spilled onto her breasts. He gorged on it with eager slurping sounds. Her nipples were erect enough to roll around his tongue. His hand reached down instinctively to masturbate the saucy little minx. He found her sticky, puckered cleft and poked his fingers up her. But Gemma’s body stayed inert, for all his teasing and seductive skill.
Sarah didn’t hear her being murdered and molested, nor realise that she was the last girl left. There was silence now from Lara’s room along the corridor. The posh girl lay spread-eagled in the dimness, thighs still wide. Her milky eyes stared blindly at the ceiling, and her swollen nipples pointed at it too. Downstairs, Lisa’s body was being dragged along a passageway, her bare arse sliding on the polished boards. Her slim arms were extended in surrender, her hands curled limply in their black lace gloves. There were splashes of red on both her breasts and underneath her ribcage, and her pinched face wore an almost sulky look.
Three dollies down and one to go. One pussy left to ravish. And the second man in armour felt he’d waited long enough. It was he who’d greeted Sarah when the cute blonde had arrived. He’d worn a tuxedo then, of course, and she was in a suit. A pale suit with a short, tight skirt which emphasised her figure. She’d simpered at him winningly and flirted in a cheeky sort of way.
The urge to make her scream and die would be denied no longer. His breathing rasped behind the visor as he made his way towards her room. The halberd was still gripped in his steel gauntlets, the long spike glistening with Lara’s blood. Reaching her door, he listened for a moment – then gripped the knob and shoved his way inside. He raised the spear to thrust at her nude body. But the bedroom was deserted. The presumptuous little bitch had slipped away.
In fact, she’d barely turned the nearest corner. The spooky clank of armour made her stiffen, petrified. She listened, bosom panting, as the metal thing moved closer. Then it stopped. There was a pause. She waited with her finger in her mouth. The door of the bedroom she’d just left was suddenly thrown open. Sarah grimaced in dismay and scurried from the sound.
It was difficult to run in white stilettos, but her shoes were all they’d left her with and she hated walking barefoot in the dark. She still could not believe that this was happening – but a queasy instinct told her she was lucky not to still be in that room.
She reached the dark gulf of an unlit staircase. Glancing back, she listened, but the house was hushed again. She chewed her lip and squirmed against a sudden urge to pee. But every instinct urged her on. She started creeping downwards, step by step.
Her nipples had grown bullet-hard by the time she reached the bottom, reacting to the cold and to her dread. She reckoned this must be the servants’ staircase, a back way to the kitchen. Everything was sunk in gloom. Sarah sniffed, then sidled down the narrow corridor, tottering on her high heels. Each scrape of the stilettos made her wince.
The dimness hid the smears of blood which Lisa’s corpse had left along the floor.
The sooty air grew more dilute as she reached the scullery. She felt her heartbeat quicken in her breast. It was dark beyond the windows, but she had to get outside. She groped her way across to the back door
It wasn’t locked. Her heartbeat surged as she eased it slowly open. The night was dank and overcast. The door gave onto a deserted yard. She leaned her head and shoulders out and felt a prickly drizzle. Grimacing, she wavered, then slipped out into the gloom.
The house towered upward like a cliff. The windows were all dark. As if the place was empty, and the noise had been a ghost. Miserably she wondered what had happened to the others. They’d been as eager as herself. She recalled their carefree smiles …
Her short fair hair was growing damp. Rain trickled off the mask that was still pushed into her fringe, forgotten now. The drizzle flecked her skin and made her shiver. She had an urge to huddle up and snivel helplessly. But fear still pounded in her chest, enough to keep her moving. There was a path beside the wall, and that seemed safer than the boundless murk. She crept along it, poised on her stilettos. A patch of misty light spilled round the corner of the house.
As she approached, she heard the sudden crunch of boots on gravel. Sarah froze and bit her lip. A muffled sound – and then a car door slammed. A man spoke, sounding gleefully contemptuous. “That cute little blonde’s gone AWOL, but she won’t get very far ...”
Sarah gasped against her hand. She heard him climb the front steps of the house. Part of her said run for it, but if she panicked now, they’d only hunt her down and catch her. And what then?
She plucked up the courage to peep around the corner. Her scared eyes opened wider as she saw a Rolls Royce parked by the front steps.
There was no sign of the man she’d heard. He must have gone inside. Sarah nibbled at her lip and wondered sickly who had come to gloat. The drive receded in the drizzly darkness, but the car sat gleaming in a pool of light. The driver’s seat was empty, she could see that much from here. But somebody was in the back. She squinted through the drizzle at the Rolls.
That cute little blonde’s gone AWOL, but she won’t get very far . The scornful words kept looping through her head. She eased a little further out, still peering at the car – and then her stomach turned a somersault.
Gemma was sitting in the back. She wore a mask like Sarah’s, but her bob of golden hair was quite distinct. Her head was propped against the car’s closed window, as if she’d nodded off on a long drive. Sarah stared at her, then cowered closer to the corner. She felt her cold, damp skin begin to crawl. Cleary the blonde girl was still unconscious. What other explanation could there be? And that was Lara in the car beside her, her head tipped back, as if she’d dozed off too ...
Sarah heard herself begin to snivel, as if she were a twelve-year-old again. But she didn’t hear the silent feet come stalking up behind her, nor feel the hostile gaze on her bare back.
Then her sixth sense kicked in and she swung round with a gasp, to find a faceless figure standing over her. Her small frame made him loom up even larger. He wore a dinner jacket and a mask. Sarah whooped with fright, her eyes like saucers. She jumped back, but the wall was in the way. Belatedly her gaze was drawn towards his upraised arm: she glimpsed the glitter of a blade – and then it plunged.
The sharp stiletto pierced the pear-drop bulge of her right breast and she whinnied shrilly with the sudden pain. She clutched herself, her face contorting as the knife jerked free. Flecks of crimson daubed her tits. She whimpered vainly, and he struck again. This blow caught the cute young physio squarely in the chest, and Sarah grunted in surprise as much as pain. The impact arched her spine and thrust her perky tits towards him, but her face was now a mask of disbelief. Then the blade pierced her chest wall and carved into her heart: the sudden agony was unendurable. She tried to scream, but it felt as if her lungs had been crushed flat. She threw her head back in a quick, convulsive spasm.
He ripped the long blade loose and plunged it back into her body. Her tits heaved as if taunting him, the rosy nipples swollen hard with shock. The third blow bore her downward and she slumped beneath its impact, like a girl collapsing after she’s just come. She landed on her back and lay unmoving. The masked man straightened, breathing hard. The drizzle spattered Sarah’s upturned face.
He took hold of her shapely calves and dragged her to the Roller. Her body slithered languidly, arms trailing after her. Her head rolled sideways, nudging at her biceps. Her punctured bosom quivered fitfully.
The other girls were waiting on the back seat of the car. The three of them looked heartbroken, like teenagers who’d cried themselves to sleep. They all wore gilded masks, as if to hide their misery. Gemma drooped against her window. Lara lolled beside her, head thrown back. Lisa slumped with her head on Lara’s shoulder. Their lax postures were almost intimate. Their breasts had been licked clean of blood, and bow ties straightened neatly. Their vulvas were agape and oozing cum.
The masked man hoisted Sarah up and draped her on the bonnet, like a pouting model in a motor mag. Spreading her thighs to part her juicy pussy, he drove his swollen penis into her. Sarah made a throaty sound as he humped her pelvis upward, but it was just the air being forced out of her lungs. He fucked her slowly, rhythmically, then felt his climax building and thrust into her until she bucked, breasts glistening as they jiggled in the rain. The white shoes dangled from her feet, and one of them slipped off, revealing toenails she had painted specially.
Finished, he eased the mask down from her forehead and settled it over her sullen face. He carried her round and propped her in the front seat of the Rolls. Her thighs were still splayed wantonly, and semen leaked onto the leatherwork. He guzzled at her breasts till they stopped bleeding. Her head lolled forward drunkenly, uncaring as he sucked her nipples dry.
All four Cinderellas fucked before the stroke of midnight. He walked around the limousine and got behind the wheel. His naked passengers waited in silence. He gave Sarah’s breasts a sidelong glance, then started the car and steered it down the drive into the welcoming wet night.