Hell In High Heels --- A Jane Delacroix erotic novel: Sex, Sin, and Slaughter in Southern California

by Wade, Vixen

  HELL IN HIGH HEELS

  A story of reluctant consent and kinky sex in the seamy world of 1960’s espionage.

  (A Jane Delacroix Novel)

  By Vixen Wade

  This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination, or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, evens or locals is entirely coincidental.

  Published by Park Place

  Publishing (3P Ventures)

  Copyright 2015 by Vixen Wade and 3P

  Ventures.

  All rights Reserved.

  Bel Air, 1968. Caught up in the sexual revolution, flower children and Hollywood elite throw themselves into LSD and free love. In Vietnam, soldiers fight an increasingly vicious counter-insurgency. Into a cesspool of kinky sex, drugs, media glamour, and brutal violence, enters a private escort and mercenary both coolly lethal, and stunningly sultry.

  On the nation's West Coast an unlikely triumvirate of the LAPD's newly formed Special Investigations Section, rouge operatives of the Defense Intelligence Agency, and a perverted Opium Warlord in command of strategically vital Cambodia terrain, are all about to clash with a call girl who could pass for a modern Mata Hari or a Sunset Strip burlesque dancer.

  Jane Delacroix likes her job as a high end call girl to the Hollywood rich and famous. She’s not afraid to get her hands dirty, and she’s down for whatever the client wants. But now the LAPD and US Government want her to use her talents for her country. She thought celebrities engaged in some twisted swinging, but she’s about to get an education in debauchery.

  Before the bullets start flying, she’s going to have to put out every way imaginable, and in the dungeon of a sadistic criminal kingpin, she’ll experience both her greatest challenge, and greatest release.

  Things quickly started going to hell.

  The sleek black Rolls Royce limousine was a rental. It pulled up outside the wrought iron gates of the secluded Bel Air mansion like a discrete note from a married woman to one of her lovers; looking expensive and filled with sensual promise.

  In the back Jane Delacroix sipped a tall, thin flute of champagne and did her best to look like a high priced Hollywood call girl. It wasn't much of a stretch; she had a body built for a dirty dream and an experienced glint in her eye that could make a priest give up thinking about choir boys.

  She was an hour glass figure in a tight silk sheath of startling emerald and white-blonde hair worn up like a countess on her way to the Vienna opera. Nails, long and murder-red, grasped the stem of the champagne flute with delicate precision.

  She was a startling portrait of femininity. She also really was a high priced call girl, which helped.

  Across from her the Cambodian warlord watched the rise and fall of her generous breasts, his tongue flicking out to wet his lips in greedy swipes. His palms itched as he thought about getting his hands on the beautiful woman's hips and rounded ass. He made no attempt to cover the bulge growing in the crotch of his tuxedo pants.

  He gulped the rest of his own champagne as his other hand dropped to his lap. Jane eyed him through cobalt blue eyes hooded by long lashes. All night long, as General Kou Hun Sen clumsily pawed her breasts or pinched her buttocks Jane giggled and laughed. She let him rub himself against the curve of her long legs and tell her all of the filthy things he was going to make her do in his ridiculously accented English.

  "There's no need to wait," Hun Sen grinned. "I'm ready now."

  In case she somehow didn't understand, he took one of her hands and pressed it hard against his erection. Smiling like a pro, she diligently squeezed the stiff cock. It filled her palm in a respectable manner, she thought.

  "No baby, not yet." She licked bee-stung lips and the opium lord actually whined, like a dog in heat. "You told me so much about that big bed of yours and the little Asian honey you keep there, I've just got to see it for myself."

  "It is so refreshing to meet a westerner not hung up on their sexuality, who is able to enjoy partners of both genders equally well. In my palace at home I enjoy the village boys just as much their sisters." Again he grinned. "Sometimes even more."

  Jane kept her face frozen in a smiling mask as she swallowed hard against the knot of vomit that threatened to come up. She removed her hand from where it pressed against the man's crotch and reached carefully for the bottle of Dom Perignon.

  Hun Sen grinned. "But, yes, Chau Kim is a good pet to me. I purchased her from a Vietnamese nunnery on the border between our countries for a ridiculously low price." Again his smile flashed. "I will instructor her to please you while I watch."

  "That, uh, sounds great," her mask slipped and it was only the fact that the opium warlord was already so drunk on $200 dollar a bottle French libation that kept him from noticing.

  He reached out with an authoritative hand and stopped the glass from reaching her lips. She looked up in surprise and met his intense, black eyes. She was suddenly reminded that this was no pampered actor she was with, no effeminate and egomaniacally rock star.

  He was a warlord. At his word men died. He commanded soldiers, led men in battle, murdered his enemies. When he wanted something, he got it. When he gave an order, it was followed.

  She shivered at the raw display of power revealed by his naked gaze. Adrenaline made her tremble, and her heart beat faster. Slowly, she lowered the bottle back into the bucket.

  “I said,” he repeated. “I am ready now.”

  Blushing at the naked hunger in his gaze, she nodded in submission. She felt fluttering butterflies come alive in her stomach, and something lower in her belly stirred as well. She was so good at her job, because, deep down where it counted, she loved it.

  She loved the freedom of the sex with clients, the surrendering to anything they wanted. The unpredictability of how her pleasure came, the look in their eyes when she was done, like they’d been hit with a cyclone.

  The man before her commanded armies, it was his turn to discover what she commanded. Then she would betray him.

  With smooth, practiced dexterity, Jane lowered herself before the warlord. Her ass slid across the smooth leather seat and her knees came to rest on the ground until she knelt before him, subject to his every whim.

  He smiled, and it was a cold, hard line. But he swallowed too, and she knew she had him. He desired her badly. She looked down, demure, and asked shyly.

  “What pleases you, general?”

  “Your tits,” he said. “Take them out.”

  Slowly, she reached up and slid the strap off her shoulder, loosening the sheath-like grip of the dress on her large breasts. One side went down, then the other. Sen’s eyes bored into her and the bulge in his trousers became a tent.

  She paused, arms crossed in an X over her chest. Then, slowly, she peeled down the edge of her dress and freed one double D cup. Sen hissed sharply, and Jane stifled the smile of triumphant that threatened to slide across her face.

  She reversed her motions and the second breast popped free. Rising slightly on her knees, she leaned forward and her tits spilled out to hang low, soft pillows with hardening nipples.

  Carefully, she leaned in and let their weight rest on Sen’s knees. She licked her lips and looked up.

  “Like this?” she whispered.

  He nodded. The movement sharp. His nostrils flared as he inhaled sharply, gaining control of himself. He looked at Jane, then looked at his lap where his erection
strained against the material of his pants.

  “Take it out,” he said. “Take out my cock.”

  She reached up, unhurried, and slowly undid his belt. As the buckle came loose she bit her lip lightly. He reached down and massaged her tits, pinching the stiff points of her nipples, squeezing them hard.

  She moaned and paused, leaning into his grasp. Her breasts were extremely sensitive and she sometimes felt as if an express highway of nerve endings traveled straight from her tits to her vagina.

  She loved them touched. Licked, bit. Gentle touches, hard grabs. It didn’t matter. Caressed or mauled, as long they got plenty of action, she could orgasm like a machinegun going off.

  “Take it out,” he said again. This time his voice was more urgent, less authoritative.

  Her hands wandered across his encased cock, found the zipper, and drew it down carefully. She reached in and took hold of the thing, it lay like a steel bar, pointed up by his belly. He relaxed into the limo seat as she pulled his dick out through his fly, exposing it.

  The penis stood like a piece of petrified wood. Dark blue veins climbed up to a purple head in thick vines. Curved like a scimitar, it seemed solid enough to bruise her. Unconsciously, he scooted himself forward, pushing more of it out of his pants and toward her face.

  “Do it,” he ordered. “Put in your mouth, suck it, woman.”

  She leaned forward, letting her hair fall around her face in curtains. Her breath played in a breeze across his hot skin and the hard-on twitched. This close up she smelled him in a heady mix of aromas.

  His cologne, strong but tasteful and very expensive. The scent of male under that, coupled with just the faintest tang of urine. Her lips parted and she reached up to grasp the shaft.

  His hands shot out and locked onto hers. She looked up, eyes shining, and met his look. His eyes shone bright as hers. He lifted his lip in a facsimile of a smile, and she noticed the hard plane of his cheekbones, surely a gift from that French father they’d told her about.

  “No hands,” he said. “Use only your mouth.”

  She locked her hands behind her back, pushing the mountains of her breasts forward across his legs. Awkwardly, mouth open, she nuzzled up to his crotch, groping for the head of his cock with her mouth.

  She put her cheek against the erection. The thing was warm, and so tense it seemed to vibrate with the intensity of its need. She realized having such a diamond dense length inside her already moist pussy was sure to leave her bruised, well fucked, and…satisfied.

  She snuggled up to the full glans of the cockhead and turned her face down, taking it in her mouth. She heard Sen’s sharp intake of breath and felt a surge of affirmation, of power, course through her.

  The savory taste filled her mouth as her lips sealed around the erection. Saliva filled her mouth in a sloppy rush as her tongue began swirling around the sensitive ridges of the corona, finding the deep seam and licking up to the pee slit of the meatus.

  She tongued the opening and Sen groaned out loud. Languidly, she began bobbing her head, sucking inward as she moved up and down, coating it in cords of her spit. She rocked her body slightly with the motion, rubbing her tits into his legs, getting herself off.

  One of her hands slipped under her dress and found the junction of her thighs. Her underwear, boutique expensive and tastefully slutty, was already damp from her leaking pussy. Her finger pushed in through the thin, silky material and rubbed her engorged lips. She shuttered.

  Sen groaned. His hands, strong and calloused, came down on the back of her head, gripping her firmly. He drew her down along his length, forcing her to take him deeper. She gagged as he reached her throat and slid into it.

  Her nose buried in his black pubic hair, and the drool leaking out around her lips dripped onto his balls. Keeping her face pinned in his lap, Sen lifted his ass off the seat and thrust upward, the sound of her gagging seeming to drive him on.

  The head of his dick battered at the back of her throat, pushing her to her limits. She retched, coughed around the invading shaft, and then opened her throat, until finally, she successful took him all in.

  It went on for several long moments. Sen throat-fucking her on her knees, while she masturbated, sliding a finger past her panties and inside herself. The feeling of being dominated, of focusing only on the now of this experience, this moment, was liberating. Fears and responsibilities fell away.

  She was here to service this cock any way it wanted.

  She let her neck relax and his grip tightened down hard. He began forcing her mouth up and down along his length, shoving as deep as he could manage, back arcing off the seat. His breath came fast and hard, and she thought he was close to cumming. Her fingers worked in and out of her pussy.

  Abruptly, he pulled her off his dick and pushed her roughly to the limo floor. She sprawled out, tits swinging free, hair falling across her eyes. Her knees spread as her tight dress hiked up around her thighs.

  She gasped at the sudden violence and her nipples tightened so unexpectedly they throbbed with ache. Subjugated, her eyes went immediately to the symbol of his manhood. His cock jutted up, glistening with her spit.

  She felt the dampness of her own drool on her face and subconsciously ran the back of her wrist across her mouth. Face dark with passion, the face of a man who commanded death squads, Sen snarled at her.

  “I want that blonde American pussy.”

  She smiled, slinky and seductive. She went onto all fours, tits dangling openly, and crawled leisurely toward him across the short distance separating them. He watched her, cock hard, eyes hooded. He looked like a barbarian king appraising his harem.

  The feel of the ridiculously thick carpet under her, and smell of the plush, leather interior, enveloped her. The back of the limo was its own world, a separate universe of opulence. There was nothing else. Just comfort, and her, and the cock.

  At his feet, she looked up, voice husky. “You want this pussy?”

  “Give it to me.”

  “You want American pussy?” She rose, straddling his legs, dressed bunched around her hips. “Want to don’t you get it cowgirl?” she asked.

  His hands, greedy and strong, found her, and pulled her forward. She laughed at the urgency, but came easily to his command, sliding up his lap. Her full breasts pushed into his face and he leaned his head eagerly forward, taking a nipple in his mouth.

  She moaned as his tongue slid across her hypersensitive nipple. She wrapped one arm around his head and ran her fingers through his short, military cut hair. With her other hand, she reached down and shifted her panties to one side.

  His cock protruded between them and she guided it toward the damp slit between her legs. Still sucking her tits, Sen growled as the head of his dick rubbed against her opening.

  She squatted, poised with him at her entrance. She sank, slowly engulfing him until just the tip penetrated her. Sen’s growl trailed off into a sound almost like a whimper and his head fell back on the seat, eyes closed. She felt his fingers tighten in steel bands around her waist.

  Sure she was aligned, she plunged down his shaft. The sensation of being split, of being filled rolled into her body as he slid into the sheath of her vagina. Both her hands went to the sides of his face and she rolled her belly downward, rubbing her swollen and tender clitoris against his pelvis as she took him, balls deep.

  This was the feeling, the one she craved. And in her secret heart the sleaziness of the situation aroused her in a way she never found anywhere else except with a client. Yes, she was an elite escort to a millionaire class, courtesan to the jet set. But at her base, inside where the animal who drove her hunger coiled like a dark snake, she was what she was; a whore.

  She was a whore putting out for money. She rolled her hips again, grinding her clit hard, fucking the stiff dick between her legs. She was taking cock for pay, an activity that dated back through the millenniums.

  She found her balance on her knees now, shifted her weight, and began bouncing up
and down. She pressed her tits into Sen, smearing them across his face. They were both full into it now, fucking hard, Sen snorting like a stallion, her crying out with each hard stroke.

  She ground down with her hips, changing the angle of entry, and the head of his dick skimmed across G-spot, making her shout.

  “Fuck, yes,” she yelled.

  Sen’s hands, the brutal hands of a killer and soldier, grabbed the full, soft globes of her cheeks and squeezed hard, and she panted in response. Her body burned with feeling, surging with pleasure signals like electricity through copper wire. Their groins made a wet, slopping sound as they fucked and that familiar burning pressure of an impending orgasm began building.

  “Come on, baby,” she begged as they fucked, head back, eyes closed. “Come on, baby. Put it to me.”

  Sen responded by pulling her down into his thrust as his hips slammed upward. It was too much, all of it, too much. Her clit mashed into his lower abdomen just above the root of his cock, while the dick itself scrapped over her G-spot in a fevered rhythm. Hot, wet lips clamped onto her tits, sucking her nipples. Strong hands massaged her ass cheeks.

  It didn’t matter who she was with, which dick was inside her, it was this bright, intense moment she lived for. The Spanish had a saying for that instant when the Matador stepped into the bull’s charge and slid his sword home; they called it, The Moment of Truth.

  Teeth clenched, her moment of truth, hit her like a train and she shrieked her pleasure. Inside her Sen shot, and she felt hot ejaculate splash up inside her, squirting in a convulsive rhythm so the feeling of his cum pushed her further over the cliff.

  Her body shook as she lulled forward and sagged into his embrace. They sat for a long moment, neither moving. Inside her, she felt his dick begin to soften and she moaned at the sudden sense of loss.

  Faces pressed tight, cheek to cheek, Jane felt herself smiling. Sen slumped, clearly spent. Slowly, his penis slipped out of her and she felt some of his sperm leak onto her thigh. Her grin of triumphant made a hard mask of her beautiful face.