Taboo Unchained

by C. M. Stunich

  I release Clarice's hair and step back, feeling rather than seeing Audra Holiday creep around me and pause questioningly by the armoire. I don't bother to acknowledge her. If she can't figure out that that's where the clothes are kept, she can go fuck herself. If I don't get some of this anger out, I'm never going to be able to fuck Audra. That, and I may very well just implode from the heat of my own rage. Too many memories are being stirred up right now, and I have no clue why. Robbie. Her face appears in my mind for a moment before I'm tearing around the bed and kneeling between Clarice's legs, plunging my erection into her heat before I can think better of it. The bullet vibrator inside her cunt teases the head of my cock with a gentle buzz completely at odds with my rapid thrusting.

  I hear a small intake of breath from behind me seconds before Mrs. Braxton's moan of pleasure cuts through the sound. I hate, hate, fucking hate how satisfied she sounds, but I don't stop. I don't know if I could, even if I wanted to. Make her bleed, the beast coos inside my head. Thank whatever non-existent God above that I don't currently have my knives – I have no idea what I'd do if I did.

  I focus on the headboard above Mrs. Braxton, taking great care to keep my eyes off of her smug face. She looks like the bird who just caught the worm. In a very rare instance, I feel like the prey instead of the predator and I don't like it, not one bit. I fuck her hard, coming inside of her relatively tight cunt. I don't give her much credit for it though; I'm one of only a handful of people in this world who know Clarice had vaginal rejuvenation surgery. Besides, she's not half as delicious as Audra Holiday.

  I purse my lips and pull out of Clarice, letting my eyelids flutter closed when she starts to scream at me again.

  “Lucas, you fucking whore! I'm paying triple what you're worth. You'll get your ass over here and fuck the shit out of me if you know what's good for you.”

  I spin away from the raging housewife and focus my attention on Audra, dressed in a black evening gown with off the shoulder straps and a fitted bodice. The silky elegance of the outfit blows me away. To be honest, I had no clue that Mrs. Braxton owned anything other than cheap, stretchy polyester dresses and overpriced furs. I lick my lips and let my eyes roam over Audra's small shoulders, her delicate arms, the gentle curve of her waist. Meanwhile, I do my best to block out Mrs. Braxton's voice. If I let her words penetrate my psyche, I'll end up slitting her throat with my fingernails.

  “You look lovely,” I say, keeping my voice low. It slithers from my throat like a noose, tightening around Audra's throat and making her catch her breath. She raises her long, luxurious pianist fingers to her neck, tracing the beating pulse under her pale skin.

  “Look at you, trying to flatter me while your dick's still wet with another woman.” Audra clucks her tongue, but not like she really cares. Her green eyes flick over my shoulder and narrow on Mrs. Braxton who's started thrashing again. The bleach blonde bitch is so far outside my general comfort zone at this moment that I'm disgusted with myself for not walking out. Dead body or no, I have more dignity than this. I clench my fists at my sides. It's not just my life on the line though; it's Audra Holiday's. If Mark were to be discovered, a little forensic work would easily reveal Audra's hands tangled up in his threads of fate. So here I stand, finding myself doing something incredibly generous for someone I don't even know. It might be a sick, twisted bit of generosity, but nonetheless, I'm not doing it for Lucas Carter. It's been years since I've done anything for anyone that didn't come with a price. “Can we gag her?” Audra asks, and I shrug. Clarice has never specifically asked for that, but I don't see that she'll mind. I imagine that her screaming has less to do with me actually putting my dick in her than it does with the fact that I'm not paying her any attention. My mouth twitches.

  “Please do.”

  Audra grabs Clarice's ugly fur stole from the floor and carries it over to the bed, thrusting it unceremoniously beneath Mrs. Braxton's head and jamming it into her mouth. I turn towards the scene, my expression schooled into a carefully bored expression. I refuse to let on how interested I really am. Instead, I head into the bathroom and retrieve Audra's discarded dress, walking back into the room with a smirk growing on my face. Mrs. Braxton looks equal parts pissed and pleased with the way things are going. Hmm.

  I move over to the bed and look down at her, letting all of the contempt I feel for the bitch show in my face.

  “I used to feel sorry for you,” I admit, pressing the dirty dress into her hand, making sure she can still grab onto it with her wrists attached to the bed. Clarice squeezes the fabric like it's done her wrong, the joints of her fingers straining against her orange skin. I lean down and press a mocking kiss to her forehead, feeling my lip wrinkle as I do so. It's a mocking goodbye, a farewell to Clarice as my client. She might not know that yet, but I have a small flicker of hope – a very small flicker – in my heart that she'll look back on this moment later and realize I was discarding her. “Married to that fat, galumphing oaf of a husband with a small brain and an even smaller dick.” I sigh and stand up straight, feeling a smile take over my face. Audra stays silent, but watches me with interest, keen eyes taking in details that I can only hope she forgets to bring up later. The tight clenching of my left fist, the smile that doesn't quite reach my eyes, the disgust lacing my every word. “But now I know,” I start to turn away and Clarice growls at me from beneath the gag, “that you're just as pathetic as he is. I hope you have a lovely marriage.” I hold up my finger. “And a long lasting one at that.”

  I move around the end of the bed, towards Audra and that irresistible pull she has over me, the one that I don't understand but that I intend to fuck away right here and now. She backs away from me as I come closer but not out of fear. Instead she pauses next to a lit candle, one that I assume Mrs. Braxton put out for 'romantic effect'. No matter how many times I tell her that romance is not part of our arrangement, she persists. I stop just inches from Audra, watching as she lifts the candle in question, and shrug. Like I said before, I don't care what she does to Clarice.

  “Mrs. Braxton, if you need us to stop for any reason whatsoever, please drop Audra's dress to the floor. As long as you're still holding onto it, I'll assume you're enjoying the morning's activities.” I give a subtle nod to Audra and she plucks the white pillar candle from the nightstand, climbing onto the bed and hitching her new dress up with her free hand. When her creamy ass flashes into my view, I feel myself swallow a painful lump and a growl. A growl. A fucking growl. I shake my head to clear it because there is no way in the icy depths of hell that I would make noise in front of Mrs. Braxton, and move closer, letting my knees bump into the scarlet red of the comforter while my eyes take in the scene before me. This is new territory that I'm treading here. I've allowed significant others to watch in the past, but that's all they've been able to do. Not once have I ever had another participant in one of my sessions, especially not someone who, at this moment, is not a client but another … instructor.

  I take a sudden step back as Audra straddles Clarice's waist and leans over to whisper something in her ear. Mrs. Braxton's blue eyes get wide, but she makes no attempt to drop the dress clutched tight in her hand. Audra sits up, a prize in black and white, the silk of the dress draping her slender thighs and highlighting the contrast of her pale flesh against Clarice's falsely tanned skin. I bite my tongue to keep still and watch the show.

  Audra tips the candle just so, letting a single drop of wax fall expertly to Clarice's right breast, scalding her nipple with an audible groan bursting through the gag. Clarice's back arches, but she doesn't stop the game, her eyelids fluttering with that delicate edge between pleasure and pain.

  “One might think you'd done this sort of thing before,” I echo, copying Audra's words from earlier. I cross my arms over my chest and make no move to hide the stiffness of my cock. Miss Holiday dribbles another bit of wax across Clarice's chest before glancing over at me, red ruby strands of hair dripping over her face. I like how dark it is when it's wet,
like blood, spilling down her scalp and over her shoulders. The bed creaks as she shifts her weight to stare at me.

  “I don't think we're the only ones, Lucas,” she says, reading far too deep into me for my own comfort. Audra looks back at Clarice, peeling away the gag from her mouth before I can stop the motion. “Isn't that right, Clarice?” Audra asks, staring down into the woman's wide eyes with slightly pinched brows and a pair of twitching lips. Audra Holiday is catching onto me and my secrets after one day? Dear God, if I believed in you I'd be praying right now.

  “Isn't what right?” Clarice sputters, sounding dumbfounded. Careful, Mrs. Braxton, your intellect is showing. “What are you talking about?” She casts her watery blue eyes over to me, but I refuse to give in, letting Audra take the reigns. I figure if she's getting paid, she may as well do half the work.

  Audra strikes out with a quick hand, like a snake going in for a bite, and snatches Clarice's chin in her hand, turning the woman's face back towards her. I watch as Miss Holiday sits up straight and drizzles a large puddle of wax onto Clarice's fake breasts. The screams that tear through the room echo against the hideous wallpaper and delve straight into my soul, feeding the beast, making him drool. My demons begin to howl so loud, I can barely keep up with the conversation.

  “Killed,” Audra says, the word loud, even with the roaring of my inner darkness.

  “Audra,” I warn, begging her not to give anything away. If she does, we'll be slaves to Mrs. Braxton for life. Well, I'll be her slave anyway. I'm not sure yet if she likes Audra or not. Her face says no, a scowl spreading over her thin lips, but her body says fuck yes. Clarice's nipples are hard under the thin layer of wax and the area between her thighs is glossy with juice. She wants this.

  “You've killed before, haven't you?” Audra asks, and Clarice goes perfectly still, silent as the night. The trashing stops, the screaming. Even another dose of wax fails to get a reaction out of her. Alarm bells go off in my head as my demons recognize their kin in the dull blue eyes of a client I thought was cured.

  “Audra,” I say, coming this fucking close to yanking her off the bed. If she were to get hurt because I wasn't vigilant, I'd feel like a failure, and Lucas Carter is anything but.

  “Don't be ridiculous,” Clarice whines, her voice strangely at odds with her face. I can hear the insecure, nescient teenager, but I can't see her. All I see on Clarice's face right now is cold, dark rage. “I mean, unless this is part of the game.” She tilts her head towards me, strands of overly processed blonde hair falling across her sculpted brows. “Are we role playing now?”

  A crack snaps through the room, sharp as a whip, as Audra Holiday backhands Mrs. Braxton across her thin face, drawing that empty blue gaze up to her face. The dress stays clutched in Clarice's hand as Audra leans forward and snarls with a rage I try not to show, letting out those animalistic sounds I'm so ashamed of. Wax dribbles down Clarice's throat in white tendrils, drying against her skin and cracking as she moves her head to look at me again. I stay stone still and keep my emotions in check. This is interesting, and I don't get much interesting these days.

  “Who was it?” Audra asks, her voice a gentle coo at odds with her violent stance. In the sudden quiet, the whir of the bullet vibe can be heard again, almost melodic in its steady, rhythmic buzzing. I lock my gaze on the spill of Audra's breasts, bulging heavy and throbbing against the scooped neckline of the gown, elegant and sophisticated even pushed up around her hips as it is. I reach a hand down and cup my balls, giving them a gentle squeeze before adjusting my grip to my cock. I start to stroke myself, eating up the tension in the room and letting it feed the monster inside me. When a second crack eats away the silence, turning Clarice's cheek pink with the sting, I feel a purr rumble in my chest. I refuse to let it out, but I nurture it, listening to it bounce around inside my own skull.

  Audra adjusts herself and the scarlet linens crinkle mischievously beneath her knees, folds of black silk slithering around against her thighs and calves. Mrs. Braxton looks like a bubble about to burst, like she wants to talk but also like she might slit somebody's throat if she does. I wait in tense anticipation for the moment. I suppose she's tied up, so Audra's safety shouldn't be in question, but I do wonder. If looks could kill, Miss Holiday would indeed be gutted and strung from the grotesquely elaborate chandelier by her intestines. Fortunately for her, life doesn't work that way.

  “I'll play your game,” Clarice whispers, her tone shifting abruptly from addled teenager to deranged psychopath. And I thought the darkness was gone? Silly me. Oh well. I'm still cutting her off. Nobody calls me a whore this many times and gets away with it. Unless you're Audra Holiday, I suppose. I squeeze my dick in a death grip and grind away the memories with the slide of flesh on flesh, my ears pricked for the faintest hint of Clarice's guilt. I've always known she had the darkness in her – I wouldn't have taken her on as a client if I didn't see it – but I've never heard any of her confessions. Some clients, like Lauren Houssard, don't mind letting me in on their secrets, but Clarice's actual deeds remain an enigma. “I'm a bad, bad little murderess and I deserve to punished.”

  Audra's entire face crumples into rage and she scoots back, sliding her naked lower body down Clarice's until she's sitting on the woman's knees and dribbling wax onto her swollen pussy. Clarice screams, but the sound ends in a maniacal laugh that makes me raise my eyebrows. I pump my dick harder.

  “Don't play fucking games with me,” Audra snarls, reaching her fingers into Clarice's pussy and yanking out the bullet vibe. The tiny silver vibrator goes flying, hitting the wall with a crack before tumbling to the floor in a mess of batteries. Clarice screeches at the top of her lungs, shouting obscenities that would make a sailor blush and kicking her legs like a child throwing a temper tantrum. I remove my grip from my cock, storming across the room in a brush of fury. One monster knows another, and I see two of them, right here in my view. It's too much.

  I come up on the bed behind Audra, knocking the candle from her hand and sending it to the floor in a whoosh of smoke as the flame goes out. I slide my hands up under that scrumptious silk and find her hips, pushing her forward so that I have easy access to the place I'm now craving to an embarrassing degree. Maybe Clarice shouldn't be the only one I cut off after this? Maybe I should get rid of Audra Holiday as well?

  I slam my hips into her ass, burying my dick as far as it'll go. Without meaning to, I let out a groan of pleasure that drives Clarice into yet another frenzy. Fuck the bitch; I'm far beyond over it when it comes to Mrs. Braxton.

  Audra tilts her head back, red hair draping against the gown and driving me beyond my own sanity, taking me to a place I haven't been with anyone since Isadora. And before that, Aliyah. Aliyah. Aliyah, who looks nothing at all like Robbie Carrell but who comes to mind anyway. Robbie. With a shout, I force the image from my head, focusing all of my attention on the other woman who makes me think strange things, do strange things, and fuck her hard on the body of a client who's paying handsomely for the privilege. To her credit, Mrs. Braxton never drops the dress, not even as I reach forward with questing fingers and find Audra's breasts, spilling them from the neckline of her new gown. I pinch and tug her nipples, grunting like an animal as I come inside her heat again and again and again.

  When I feel like I'm about to crack in two, I flip Audra over and cover her mouth with mine, tasting her like I'm not even present in my own body anymore. The Lucas Carter I know is gone, replaced with this raging animal who, well like the beast in its wild, untempered ways, is not near as malicious. This is a whole different side of me, a man who wants to bury his dick in a woman because she feels good, because she's beautiful, because he's interested in her and she in him. It's so base it makes me want to spit. But I don't stop. I kiss Audra and massage my cock until I'm hard and pushing inside of her again, enjoying the way she spreads her legs for me, lets her hair cover Clarice's body and moans like the Goddess of Sex herself. In a daze of hazy sex and heat, I notice that Mrs. Bra
xton's fingers are relaxing on Audra's dress, that she's about to drop it, and I panic. She hasn't said her safety word, but if that garment falls, pools on the floor in a splotch of black polyester, the small sliver of decent man inside of me will have to find out why. And I don't want to stop, don't know that I even can anymore, so I pause, reaching up to replace the gag inside her mouth when she spills her secret.

  “I murdered my sister,” Clarice says, voice husky with need and desperation. Even Audra stops moaning at the words, pausing with her hands on my chest and her head tilted back on Clarice's ribcage. “I held her head under the water until the bubbles stopped.” Clarice breathes out, exhaling like a weight's been lifted off her chest. “She was the devil, I swear it. I hated the way she walked, the way she ate her food, the way she hugged my mother. Just everything. So when she was eighteen, I asked her to the river and I ended it.” Clarice struggles to lift her head and look at me, eyes suddenly piercing. “Is that why you're here, Lucas? Because you know? Is that why you picked me out?”

  With my cock still wrapped in the warm folds of Audra Holiday, I'm finding it difficult to speak, but I manage. Pulling away is not an option, not even with Clarice's words hanging from the canopy bed like icicles.

  “You know that's why I'm here,” I say, wondering in that split second of time how the hell I ended up fucking murderers for a living. Pushing the thought aside, I slam my hips into Audra's again, enjoying the warm caress of her fingers on my back, my eyes taking in the sight of Clarice's confession, written across her face like a tattoo. Fingers of guilt claw at the sides of her face, and I know then and there that she's cured – at least for the time being. Demons don't feel guilty for what they do; they might question why, but they don't ever shed a tear.