Lustmord 1

by Kirk Alex

  She nodded, and proceeded to transcribe the note onto the card. He had her insert it into the envelope and seal it with her own saliva, affix the stamp in the same manner: always using her own DNA. He had her address the envelope: writing down Las Vegas, NV as the place where it was being sent from.

  CHAPTER 235

  Biggs left the Mattress Room briefly, and was back, sans latex gloves. He tore her blouse off, then the rest of her clothing. Wouldn’t have done her much good anyway. Torn and stained with blood and grime. Left her in bra and black panties. Un-cuffed her wrists to allow her freedom to wash the crud and whatnot off.

  He watched her run the sponge up and down one arm, then the other. She dipped it in the water in the bucket. Then Biggs got a better idea. Turned the hose on her. Sprayed her up and down. The cold water made her shake and shiver, but not for long—as it was summer and the water eventually turned lukewarm.

  He released the sprayer handle. Had her resume the rest of her sponge bath.

  “Get your face. You have stuff on your face.”

  She did that.

  “Get your legs. We don’t want to overlook those incredible legs.”

  She did as instructed, but was reluctant to go very high; in fact, refrained from cleaning her upper thighs. The false modesty was making a comeback. What bullshit. They spread that cunt at the drop of a fifty- or hundred-dollar bill, snort of toot, hit of crack, and here she was pretending to be a virgin who never had a cock in her hairy hole.

  “Get those inner thighs, Pearleen baby. Upper thighs. Don’t be bashful—because we know you’re not. Not only is false modesty a waste of time, but it truly rubs me the wrong way.”

  She did that.

  “I asked you once before: Did you ever appear in X-rated videos? Did you ever do hardcore?”

  “One time. I needed money to rent a place, buy food. I was on my own.”

  “We all have our reasons when it comes to money. What name were you using at the time? What was your nom de porn?”

  She washed herself down. Glanced up as she answered. “DeLyte.”

  “Afrodesia DeLyte? The name you used for the masturbation videos?”

  She nodded.

  “What happened to the video? Why is it impossible to find?”

  “It was banned, I believe. I was sixteen at the time. It got back to the DA’s office and the video was pulled from store shelves.”

  “What did you do in the video?” said Biggs, while gently rubbing his groin inside his trousers. Even though the erection wasn’t happening just yet, there was a tingle in his nutsack. Something was going on down there. Something.

  “Regular sex.”

  “What exactly was done? I want details.”

  “We did most of the usual positions.”

  “Yeah? What’s your favorite?”

  “On top. What they call cowgirl.”

  “You would. Like to be in control. Well, you relinquished all that once you stepped through my front door.” He asked her if they did it doggy style. She said that they did.

  “Show me. Get on the mattress . . . and show me.”

  The stripper was on hands and knees, her rear end stuck out, in the air.

  “Move it. Let me see you move it. . . .”

  She did some easy swaying of the hips, from side to side. Did some gentle thrusting. He continued to rub himself. Told her to get up, continue to clean her thighs and the rest of it. Pearleen rose.

  “What else happened?”

  “I gave him a blow job.”

  “Did he cum on your face?”

  “On my tits.”

  “On your tits? Why not in your mouth or on your face? Those are the best money shots.”

  “I didn’t want him to do it on my face . . . and said so.”

  “They were afraid of losing you, of having you walk out . . . so they capitulated. Yellow-livered chickenshits. Did you like it otherwise? You enjoy it? Did you like fucking on camera? In front of people?”

  She cleared her throat. Did it again.

  “I asked you . . .”

  “It wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be, once I got over my shyness. . . .”

  “Your shyness? That’s good. Was he black? White? What? What was he?”

  “White. . . .”

  “Was he hung?”

  “He was. Yes. That doesn’t always mean that they’re good or are able to perform.”

  “How big was he?”

  She lifted her hands to indicate a distance of about ten inches between them. “Like that.”

  “Eight? Ten inches?”

  “Yes.”

  “Which? Eight inches or ten inches?”

  “Ten, maybe. Possibly.”

  “How thick?”

  “Thick.”

  “Did they have a fluff girl there? Did the guy have trouble getting it up?”

  “Fluff girl? There was no fluff girl. He helped himself out. Used his own hand and baby oil. He was good to go after that.”

  “I don’t get it. Why would a guy have trouble getting it up with a hot cunt like you? Was he queer or something? A sissy?”

  “I don’t know. There was a rumor that he did gay porn before he did that video with me. I couldn’t say. He didn’t seem gay to me. I didn’t think about it. I did it for the money.”

  “I understand. We do a lot for money.” He rubbed himself. Things were going on, taking shape. “He was able to keep it up?”

  “Yes, he was.”

  “When he came, did he cum a lot? Was it a good pop shot?”

  “Yes; he came quite a bit. There was lots of it. I didn’t expect that much. It was a lot. There was a lot of it.”

  “What happened?”

  “He rubbed it all over my boobs. . . .”

  “And you had your face turned away. . . . Because you didn’t want any to get anywhere near your mouth. Is that right?”

  “Pretty much the way it happened.”

  “See how right I am? I know what I’m talking about. I know people, I know whores.” He stared at her in silence. “Did he go down on you at all? Lick your butt?”

  “He, ah, wouldn’t do it at first. The director made him do it. The director yelled at him to do it—and then he did it.”

  “He yelled at him to lick your ass?”

  “Yes. Because he wouldn’t do it.”

  “Did you want him to do it?”

  “I didn’t care. It didn’t matter to me. The whole thing was impersonal. There was no love involved, no emotion or feeling—on his part or mine. I wasn’t there; my mind wasn’t even there. My body was, but I wasn’t. I did it to be paid . . . and wanted it to be over with.”

  “Don’t talk to me about love. The bitch I was discarded by filed a restraining order against me. She’s killing me financially with her alimony demands and child support for a kid who isn’t even mine. So fuck love. Love is a lie. Love is a gold digger from the Philippines out to take me for all I’m worth. What I’d like to do is lure the slut and her little tyke . . . lure them to some isolated place, area, spot . . .” His features seemed to be turning a shade of crimson at this point. He paused. Pointed to his face. Was shaking his head. “See what the cunt does to me? Face is flushed. And it’s no good, no good for me, my health.” He collected himself. “Where were we?”

  “He was yelled at by the director . . .”

  “For not wanting to go south. Didn’t want to go downtown.”

  “Yes.”

  “Don’t tell me you didn’t enjoy it . . . when he finally got his tongue down there. . . .”

  “I wasn’t used to anyone licking my behind. . . . The other wasn’t bad.”

  “That’s all? Wasn’t bad?”

  “It was enjoyable. . . . Eventually. . . .”

  “Were you told to lick his ass? Did they make you do it?”

  “They told me to do it. I wouldn’t. I was inexperienced . . . and couldn’t. . . . I couldn’t. . . .”

  “What about lately?”

&
nbsp; “Some people don’t mind it. I’m old fashioned when it comes to sex. . . .”

  “Sure. Except when there’s toot in the mix. Then you and all the other whores will do anything. Isn’t that right? Toot, dust, weed, wicky sticks, crack. . . .”

  “Even then; it wasn’t for me. . . .”

  “It’s time to grow up. Time to get with it. . . . Messy money shots and ass reaming is part of it. Slurping spooge, ATM: Ass-To-Mouth. . . . All part of it. Golden Showers; bitches pissing on each other. They say, in fact, bitches are nastier, way nastier than men. . . . I believe it. Only you want to think otherwise, to believe that it isn’t true. Only we know that it is true. All of it.”

  She did a thing with her eyes: batted her lids. Seemed to be going along with it.

  “Why wouldn’t it be true? You leak every month. What could be more disgusting than that? Blood pours out of you the same way urine does: out of the same pee-hole. Blood and urine. And shit, huge big turds come out the other end. So it figures: you’d have to be far nastier than the male of the species. And on top of everything else: babies, newborn, are squeezed out of the same putrid hole. It’s repulsive; it’s sickening—and explains exactly why society, humans, are as fucked as we are. Why there was never any hope for us. We are all fucked—thoroughly fucked.”

  She said nothing. Was not certain what to say. It was all right by him. Didn’t need her to respond to it this time.

  “Of course, when it comes to ass-banging, you want to use enough lube. Lube matters. Lube makes it happen. And when you have a culo built like yours, it’s a crime not to fuck it. That’s some amazing ass . . . amazing brown-eye. Tight brown-eye. Shapely butt cheeks. It would be a crime not to do anal with a turd-cutter like yours.” His member down there seemed to be agreeing. “Of course, you’re aware of it. . . . Showcase it during your stage act every chance you get.”

  Pearleen Bell stayed quiet.

  “Why did you lie to me about doing the video that time? Why deny it?”

  “It wasn’t something I wanted to get around. I don’t like porn. Even most of the girls who do videos only do it for the money. The dancing is different. I’m not ashamed of it. A girl has to make a living. I always enjoyed dancing. . . . I don’t necessarily like working for someone like Fritz McCoy. That part isn’t fun.”

  “But he provided enough drugs to keep you from leaving.”

  CHAPTER 236

  Biggs propped the long, black Maglite against the first-aid kit on the coffee table so that it provided them with just the right amount of illumination: not too harsh in its brightness, but certainly adequate, and re-aimed the spray nozzle, spraying inside the bra and down there, over the panties. Stuck the hose inside them, and blasted her rectum. Released his grip, and tossed the nozzle aside.

  “What size is your bra?”

  “Thirty-eight EE.”

  “Unfasten it. Take it off.”

  She did, and her enormous ebony tits dropped out, hanging there: a sight for Cecil to marvel at and follow through on a need and desire to cup in his hands, squeeze and fondle them.

  He nibbled and licked without breaking skin and watched the woman’s thick nipples begin to harden. He knew her dimensions by heart.

  “What are your measurements?”

  “Forty-four, twenty-nine, thirty-eight.”

  Her nipples were fully erect now. Biggs liked the effect he was having on her, and could feel movement in his trousers. Cock desired her cunt and tight brown asshole.

  In the back of his mind there was no denying it: he wondered if he’d be able to make it all the way without the requisite choking and sundry forms of violence? He wanted to shake the idea of it. Wondered if he’d be able to? Couldn’t tell. Wondered if his cock would continue rising—or fail him?

  Biggs ached to fill her mouth with his groin, needing to spray cum in her mouth and cover that gorgeous face with it. Only for that to happen he had to be fully erect. The way it worked, the way nature had it set up. Nature had rules. No erection, no spraying of ball juice—and ultimately a waste of time and effort.

  He pushed the negative thought away. He’d get hard, no matter what he had to do. He’d get hard and he would climax. Spray hot cum. Spray the goo.

  He re-cuffed her wrists in front of her. Paused briefly to feel the soft, though wet, black silk panties, ran his hand across her buttocks, and then under, feeling the wet bush.

  He liked pubic hair; it turned him on, and was happy that although she shaved down there, she’d had sense to leave enough of a “landing strip.” Hair on the cunt drove him nuts, even some hair in and around the butt hole did things to him. It was all good.

  He tore the panties off, and was on his knees kissing the woman’s inner thighs, licking, moving inside and up, teasing her privates with his hard-working, eager tongue. He asked her to sing her trademark tune, or at least hum it. He’d heard the song so often by now he could recite it by heart, and did so.

  “Let me be your nasty little whore . . . It’s only you I do this for . . .” They sang in tandem. Biggs did his best to accompany her, while at the same time parting her cheeks with his fingers and burying his tongue inside her butt crack and kept it there for a while. If heaven at all existed, this was it. His tongue was way up inside her bunghole. It was the best. Almost. Came close. Maybe about as good as carving them up, about as good as shoving a butcher knife deep into some cunt’s neck and tits while he pumped the shitter or while cumming over the blood-drenched, squirming, screaming soon-to-be-dead whore.

  He fought off the images, did his best. Fought off the impulse to fetch a machete and chop her dirty slut’s skull off one bloody, bursting chunk at a time. Had to. Got to keep her around for a while. Not many twats built like her out there these days. Resist the impulse. Got to. The impulse was a beast and close to impossible to keep under control.

  Cecil’s busy tongue traveled south again, working toward the stripper’s moist bush. . . . Cunt was in fear for her life, and there it was, impossible to deny: pussy juices flowed and flowed plenty. She was being taken by an unpredictable psycho fuck who did as he pleased with her. Helpless bitch was at his mercy. Explained it. Never been in a situation like this before. Probably always in control, turned her lovers into pliable, pussy-whipped, sorry excuses of the male species. The American male was scared, sissified and spineless, and rendered this way by a nation of overbearing ballbusters like Pearleen Bell, Petunia Roscoe, the Duarte sisters, and their ilk.

  Cecil undid his pants. Let them drop. He parted the woman’s bush, seeing to it that the thick hair that made up the landing strip around it was out of the way, and then slid his groin inside and stroked.

  The intention was to take it easy at first, taking his good time with it. He had his mouth up and down the back of her neck, biting into her flesh and biting hard, leaving a series of pronounced, nearly blood-red hickeys all over it. Licked both ears, as the middle finger of his left hand found and slid down toward the center of the exotic dancer’s powerful ass cheeks. Continued to slide it all the way inside her ever-so-tight crapper hole. It was more than evident she’d never had a man’s hard cock in there. Too bad. Always a red flag you were dealing with one of them, the enemy: a just about worthless, man-hating, all-out controlling type of feminist wench. Those were about the best to carve up, best to torture and made to suffer, although for him, it felt pretty good to do any and all.

  He drove the finger hard up against her, as hard as it would go, then added a second finger. The bitch winced. New to it.

  “Around here, bitches get fucked in the shitter on a routine basis. I suggest you start getting used to it.”

  The wincing continued. He liked that. Wince, grunt, yelp, yowl, scream your head off even. It was all good, enhanced the thrill.

  He was still sliding his cock in and out of her moist cunt, and he stayed with it. Take your time, Cecil reminded himself repeatedly. Make it last. Patience is a virtue—and makes for a greater blast to come. He’d wanted this to last f
orever. Goddamn; he’d watched this bitch in that strip joint strut her stuff so many times over the months, he’d spent countless nights and even afternoons and all that cash on overpriced cream sodas and purified water and on tips watching her lasciviously parade her tits and pussy and those impossibly great buttocks in front of all those poor bastards who’d been desperate for it—and he knew she had enjoyed driving them insane with desire, enjoyed doing it to the men as well women. A born prick-teaser, that’s what Pearleen Bell was and all she could ever be. A true ball-buster with a body that just would not quit.

  That she was—and he had her.

  Ass-to-die for, tits that made your mouth water; beautifully-shaped perfect cunt and asshole that made your moose dick ache with desire. And he had her, to do with her as he wished, to fuck her any damn way that he pleased—and then, once he tired of her, which was bound to happen, it always did, he’d chop her up like all the others, like all the rest of that human garbage. But that would be later, much later, because this voluptuous fuck machine was just too good, way too goddamned good for him to even be thinking along those lines.

  “I want to fuck you until I drop.”

  Biggs pulled out of her cunt. He had her bend over in order to be able to slide the ever-sensitive head of his penis into her open mouth. She took his groin in and was smart enough not to show resistance this time. Biggs hadn’t even had to instruct her to wrap her handcuffed hands around his chubby as she began to work it like the natural-born cocksucker that all cunts were.

  She took him out long enough to add plenty of saliva to the swollen head, flicked at it readily with her tireless tongue and then proceeded on to the shaft, up and down both sides.

  He had her lick his balls. She sucked on each one, taking turns.

  “Lick my asshole. I want to feel your tongue deep in my asshole. Do for me what I did for you. Lick my sweat; lick it. Worthless fucking whore. Be gentle. The ’roids demand it.”

  It didn’t appear she was all that eager, but followed through just the same.