by Amy Cross
"Elly?" he says, not looking up at me. "Are you -"
With no warning, I turn for a moment and then bring the whip crashing down against his body. To my horror, there's a slashing sound and I see a long red line open up in his flesh, stretching diagonally from the center of his back to the edge of his right shoulder. He tenses his body, but he doesn't let out a scream. Dropping the whip, I kneel by the side of the bed and stare in shocked horror at the wound I've made. Glistening redness peers out from between the two edges of skin, and the line runs for thirty or forty centimeters through his flesh.
"I'm so sorry!" I blurt out, watching as a thin trickle of blood seeps from the wound. "I swear to God -"
Suddenly Mark turns and puts his hands around my face, pulling me closer and kissing me passionately on the lips. Before I can react, he climbs off the bed and pushes me down to the floor, parting my legs and mounting me. I feel his hard cock slip into my vagina and this time there's no slow build-up. He immediately starts thrusting into me like an animal, and all I can do is put my arms around his waist and feel the awesome force of his strength as he fucks me. He's desperately out of breath as he stares into my eyes, and I finally witness a kind of fury I've never before seen face to face in another human being. I stare mesmerized at him, trying to withstand the relentless jolts as he pounds away at my body. I reach up and slowly brush the side of his face with my hand, willing him to finish inside me, and finally I see that he's tensing like never before, his neck muscles firm and strong.
"Cum," I say as I feel him increase his speed and force. He fixes me with a hard, determined stare, and finally he lets out the loudest grunt I've ever heard, almost like a snarl, as he reaches orgasm. I feel his hard penis ejaculating a thick, sticky load deep inside my vagina, and I wrap my legs around him and pull him as tight as possible into my body.
Jonathan Pope
1896
Turning the key in the lock, I push the door open and step into my building. I pause for a moment, listening out for any sign that I'm being followed. While I'm quite certain that D'Oyly and his associates have got their eyes on me, I've not detected any sign that they're on my trail at this particular moment. Still, I know that they're around somewhere; in fact, my plan depends on at least one of them being nearby.
"In here!" a voice calls out suddenly.
I freeze, shocked that an intruder should identify himself so willingly. I recognized the voice immediately: Vincent D'Oyly is in my home, but I have to be careful. He clearly doesn't mind letting me know that he's here, which means he feels supremely confident. It's entirely possible that he has brought company; perhaps he aims to engage me in conversation, in order to distract me while Harrison Blake slips up behind me and cuts my throat. Taking a deep breath, I cautiously walk through to the front room, where I find D'Oyly sitting in the darkness by the window.
"I'm sorry," I say, "you must think I'm a terrible host. If I'm absolutely honest, I don't even remember inviting you into my home."
"There's no need to apologize," he replies casually. "I helped myself to a glass of wine from your cabinet, Mr. Pope." He pauses to take a sip. "Interesting choice. You must have a very tolerant palate."
Glancing back into the hallway, I listen out for any sign that someone else is nearby. It's hard to believe that a weedy little thing like D'Oyly would come alone, especially since I have something of a reputation around London. Then again, perhaps the little wretch has some tricks up his sleeve. I've learned over the years to never under-estimate anyone. Even a wiry-looking piece of shit can have some dangers.
"Relax," D'Oyly continues. "We're quite alone, Mr. Pope. I didn't feel the need to bring any back-up."
"Forgive me if I don't believe you," I reply.
"Please," he replies, "stop apologizing for things. I completely understand your reluctance to let your guard down."
I wander over to the window and take a look out at the deserted street. It's late at night, and the only people who are out and about at a time like this are the ones who are up to no good.
"You're quite right to be cautious," D'Oyly continues. "After all, the recent death of your associate Mr. Matthews must surely have caused you some concern. Unfortunately, he had become a serious liability, and we had no choice but to end his life. I hope a man of your experience will be able to understand the need for secrecy."
I take a deep breath. When's he going to make his move?
"I have been asked to tell you that Lady Red is very impressed by your abilities," he continues after a moment. "She has noted the way you uncovered certain details about our activities, and she believes you are by far the most capable private investigator she has ever encountered. You certainly put the amateurism of Inspector Matthews to shame, Mr. Pope. In fact, we have subsequently done some digging into your abilities, and you have proven to be a very resilient fellow. It seems half of London's criminal underworld would like to get hold of you, and yet you elude them all. You must be a man of very particular skills."
"I get by," I reply, still trying to assess the situation.
He laughs. "How easy you make it sound! Why, in this day and age, it is so hard for a man to live a truly private life. There are always those around who wish to poke into one's business. I sometimes feel that it is impossible to keep anything hidden." He stares at me. "Some things need to remain hidden, Mr. Pope. If they come out into the cold light of day, they will wither and die. When something is worth preserving, one must go to extraordinary lengths to ensure that it is not destroyed. I hope you understand."
"I do," I reply, starting to feel as if D'Oyly's aim with this conversation is to slowly build a rationale for sticking a knife between my ribs.
"What about a drink?" he says. "I see you have a rather fine taste in spirits."
Shrugging, I walk over to the little bar cabinet in the corner of the room. "What do you want? Whiskey?" I grab a bottle and turn to him. "It's all I have left."
"I'm sure it will be most acceptable," he replies.
After pouring a couple of glasses, I put the bottle back and set his whiskey in front of him. "You know something, Mr. D'Oyly... Or do you prefer to be called Mr. Blue?"
"The former will be fine," he says, picking up his whiskey but not yet taking a sip.
"I'm starting to think you were telling the truth when you said you came alone," I tell him. "Believe me, if someone comes within ten feet of me, I know about it. Where's your associate Mr. White? I thought he usually did the dirty jobs?"
"Not at all," he replies. "It rather depends upon the qualities of Mr. Blue. The previous Mr. Blue was by all accounts a somewhat cautious man, whereas I have an appetite for adventure."
I smile. "Is that why you came here and poisoned my whiskey?" Seeing a flicker of recognition in his eyes, I set my glass back down. "You know, Mr. D'Oyly, some might consider that to be a very un-gentlemanly thing to do. Frankly, I think it reflects rather badly on you. It makes you seem weak and scared."
"On the contrary," he says, "I think it shows that I am a man of mercy. I wanted to spare you a painful death, so I was willing to let you just slip into sleep. Consider the gesture to be a sign of my esteem for your abilities, Mr. Pope. Whereas killing Inspector Matthews was a rather easy and boring process, I am finding you to be far more interesting." He gets up from the chair and takes a step toward me. "Still, if you refuse to go quietly, I suppose we shall have to do this in a more unpleasant manner."
"You seem very confident," I say.
He says nothing. He just smiles, taking another step toward me.
"No knife?" I ask.
"I find knifes to be ungainly," he says. "Knives and guns are the work of cowards. A real gentleman uses nothing more than his bare hands, whether he is attacking or defending."
"Very honorable," I say. "Perhaps - " Suddenly I lunge at him, with the intention of knocking him to the ground. To my surprise, he proves to be much sturdier that I had imagined, and he remains entirely upright while throwing me again
st the wall. I crash down to the floor, stunned by the force I just experienced. For a thin and wiry man, he possesses immense strength. Looking over at the desk in the corner, I realize my best chance now is to get to the gun I keep hidden in a panel at the back, but as I try to get to my feet, I feel D'Oyly grab my collar and haul me back toward him.
"I'll make this quick," he says, turning and slamming my head against the side of the drinks cabinet before shoving me to the floor. For a moment, I feel like I'm about to pass out, but I quickly gather my wits and roll out of the way just as D'Oyly brings his boot smashing down toward my head. He misses me by barely an inch or two, but I'm able to grab a small statue from a nearby table and swing it at his head. I clip the side of his cheek and he steps back, giving me time to get to the desk and reach around to the back. I manage to get the panel open but, as I grab the gun, D'Oyly pulls me back and slams my head against the wall. I drop to the ground, barely able to see, and I feel him drag my body across the room. Although I struggle to get back up onto my feet, a sharp pain shoots through my left leg as D'Oyly stamps down on the bone, snapping it just above the knee. I cry out in pain, but D'Oyly has already started to roll me over so he can look down into my face.
"You put up a good fight," he says, a little out of breath and looking rather disheveled, with a gash on his cheek from where I managed to strike him with the statue. "Not good enough, though," he adds, raising his boot above my face.
Realizing I'm out of time, I decide to try one last, desperate move. As he slams his foot down, I move my head out of the way and use the moment of uncertainty to knock his other leg from under him. He falls forward, banging his face against the window, and I haul myself up, ignoring the searing pain in my leg as I grab the back of his head and slam it into the glass. Thankfully, the glass shatters, giving me the chance to pull D'Oyly's head back a little and then force his neck down onto the jagged shards. He splutters and struggles, but I slice his neck along the ragged edge. Blood erupts from the wound, squirting against the wall and flowing down to the floor. He continues to fight back, but I keep slicing his neck until I feel that I've got through to the bone, at which point I push down one final time, and his body falls still.
Falling back, I see that a veritable sea of blood has flowed out of his body. I try to get to my feet, but my leg gives out and I drop to the floor. The pain is immense, but I drag myself toward the door. D'Oyly's clearly dead, but I have no doubt that his friend will be along shortly if they don't hear from him. Fighting the agony, and still feeling a little dazed, I manage to crawl to the hallway and through to the kitchen. Eventually I make it out into the alley that runs behind my home. I roll onto my back and stare up at the stars, and I realize I have nowhere to go. I can't go for medical treatment, and I can't go to the police; whatever I do, Mr. White and Lady Red will find me. I have no friends and no family in the world. All I have is pain. I try again to get up, but the agony in my leg overpowers me. As I drop down to the dark, dirty ground, I look up at the night sky and scream in frustration.
Elly
Today
"A blindfold?" I say, shocked. "Seriously?"
Instead of replying, Mark pushes me back down onto the bed. I take a deep breath. Having assumed that we were kind of done after Mark came, I'm surprised to find that he seems to want to continue. With my eyes wide open, I stare into the darkness of the blindfold and listen as Mark moves around the room. I have no idea what he's planning next, but I figure there's nothing that can be more over the top that the whip. I was kind of worried he was going to get out a leather gimp costume, or maybe some hooks or knives. Compared to that kind of thing, a little light messing around with a blindfold is nothing.
"So what's this about?" I ask.
Silence.
"Okay," I say under my breath, as I hear the bedroom door open; moments later, I realize Mark has left the room. I figure the only thing to do right now is to wait, but after a few more minutes I start to wonder if he's ever coming back. Sighing, I sit up on the bed and listen for any sign that he might be nearby. I feel as if every nerve in my body is tingling, in anticipation of his return.
"Don't get up," Mark says suddenly, and I realize he's already back in the room. Maybe I'm imagining things, but there's suddenly something kind of different about his tone of voice. It's as if something fundamental has changed in his heart.
"Sorry," I say, settling back down onto the bed. I listen to Mark's footsteps as he moves around me, and finally I feel his hands on my feet. Just the thought of him looking at my bare body is enough to send a shiver through my chest. He slowly parts my legs, and I take a deep breath as I feel him climbing onto the bed. Soon he's right next to me, running his hand over my naked body, cupping my right breast and gently twisting the nipple. A pulse of excitement runs through my body and I take a deep breath, determined to stay calm. I force a smile as his hand moves down to my waist, and it feels as if he's examining every inch of my skin. Even though Mark and I have spent the past few hours making love, I feel more exposed than ever before.
Slowly, he pushes his fingers into my crotch. I bite my lower lip as I feel his fingertips inching closer and closer to my clitoris, and finally he applies just enough pressure to send a light thrill racing up my spine. I want to turn to him, take off the blindfold and examine his body in return, but I know he wants me to just stay like this. As his finger tip starts to gently circle the area around my clitoris, I take a slow, steady breath. After the whipping and the blood and the blindfold, this seems strangely tender and tentative, but I figure I should just relax and enjoy myself. I open my legs a little wider and let out a quiet moan of pleasure as he continues to massage the area around my clitoris, and moments later he leans closer to my face and kisses me directly on the lips. Smiling, I open my mouth and accept the kiss.
"Tell me how it feels," he whispers after a few minutes.
I pause, feeling a rush of sexual energy. "I don't know," I say, smiling in an embarrassed kind of way. I've never been good at dirty talk. "It feels good."
"But in what way," he continues. "Talk to me."
I bite my lower lip for a moment; I can already feel myself starting to blush. "It feels like you know what you're doing," I say, carefully avoiding any dirty words. For some strange reason, the thought of talking dirty is making me feel really embarrassed. "It feels like you're in just the right spot," I continue, "and I really like that you're not pressing on my clit directly."
"What else do you want me to do?" he asks.
I pause for a moment. "I don't know," I say eventually, feeling as if I'm doing pretty badly at this whole thing. "Is there anything you want to do?"
"What about this?" he asks, and I feel him slip a finger into my vagina, sliding it all the way until he's knuckle-deep. "Is that nice?"
"Yeah," I reply, although to be honest the finger doesn't really make much difference and I'm more interested in the way he's continuing to manipulate my clitoris. "You know what I'd really like?" I ask after a moment. "Can I take the blindfold off? I want to be able to see your hot body."
"Not yet," he says, "but you can feel me." With that, he moves his body closer and I feel his hard penis against my thigh. "What about this?" he asks, continuing to massage my clitoris while he uses his other hand to stroke my breasts.
"That's nice," I say.
"And this?" Suddenly he takes one of my nipples in his mouth and gives it a gentle suck. I've never felt that my nipples are particularly sensitive, but feeling Mark's tongue against the skin sends a shiver of excitement through my body. He sucks a little harder, stretching the nipple as he draws it into his mouth, and then finally he carefully places his teeth around it and gives me a little bite.
"Yeah," I say, getting short of breath. I reach out and run my hand over his shoulder, and I position myself a little differently, so he can get a better view of my breasts.
"You like it when I play with your tits?" he asks.
"Yeah," I say again. He's started to incre
ase the pressure with his finger in my crotch, and I can feel the pleasure beginning to build.
"What about when I do this?" he asks. After a moment, I feel the tip of his penis pressing against my clitoris; second later, the head of my clitoris slips into the hole in the end of his penis. I've never felt anything so soft and exciting before, and I let out a gasp as he gently manipulates us. My clitoris slips in and out of the small hole, sending unparalleled waves of pleasure through my body. I've never experienced anything so amazing in my life, and with every stroke I can feel myself getting closer and closer to the most powerful orgasm of my life. I have to hold my breath after a while, as my whole body tenses and the orgasm begins to build. After what feels like an eternity of pure please, I feel my clitoris dip a little deeper into the hole in the tip of his cock and finally I cum so loudly and so powerfully that I have to press my crotch as hard as possible against his hardness. Each wave of pleasure is like an electric shock, ripping through my entire body, until finally I do something I've never, ever done before: I let out a long, loud cry of pure ecstasy.
I don't know how much time passes as I recover from the orgasm. Every time I reach up to remove the blindfold, Mark silently pushes my hand away, but I'm happy to just stay here, still breathless and still bathing in the full-body glow of the most powerful sensation I've ever felt.
"I need to cum again," Mark says eventually.
