Eddie had chosen this particular garment and insisted that she wear it only for him. He further insisted that every time they meet, she should wear it. When she was fully made up, he would often refer to her as his kitten and encourage her to weave and move like a cat. This was not difficult for Candy, for she was lithe and already possessed the feline grace that pressed his buttons.
Eddie wanted everything to be just right, from her hair tied in a ponytail to her costume, not to mention the makeup and perfume that she had to wear. And finally, the dessert. This was the focal point of his evening. Yes, she was the dessert, but only in part . . . There was more to it than her alone.
Eddie had arrived right on time. Candy welcomed him in, and they shared the usual pleasantries of a hug and kiss, and one could be forgiven for thinking that they were close friends. She was wearing a nightgown over her outfit and suggested that he prepare himself in the games room, a room where, one might imagine because of its name, she would entertain her guests—and you would be correct. In there could be found all manner of sex toys, wardrobes, and generally things that guests would want to use during their evening’s entertainment. Eddie would not be using this room tonight. He had other plans—special plans—and a finale to surprise even Candy.
Eddie sat at the dining table feeling absolutely awesome dressed in his black mask, golden cape, red shirt, and green shorts. He loved this sense of power and wished with all his heart that he was the real Robin from the hit TV show. Candy was now robe-less, and as she served the salad, she would bend over a little to accentuate her curves just that little extra bit. Next she lent in and opened the bottle, making sure that Eddie was given some eye candy. Then, bringing the bottle’s lip to hers, she licked it in one fluid, slow motion and smiled at Eddie as she filled the two glasses halfway.
The meal was meant really as show for Eddie. Whether he ate or drank was never the point. He was drinking in the sight of Candy, taking in her smell and literally absorbing everything about her. This is what it was about. As the meal came to a close, his anticipation and expectations were almost boiling over. It was now a constant battle for him to control himself, and Candy recognized the signs he couldn’t help but display. She left the table and returned with a mug of hot chocolate that had been kept warm in the kitchen, then offered Eddie her hand. He took it, stood, and pulled her to the dining room door. He then produced a white necktie made from silk. This was the dessert that he had been anticipating all evening long. Placing the tie around her neck, he tied a perfect Windsor knot and slid it around so that it was on backwards. He then lowered his skin-colored tights and green shorts to his knees and exposed his fully aroused manhood. He was ready for her.
Candy now knelt with her back to the door, and Eddie brought himself near her lips. She was quick to catch on and played her part expertly. Taking a mouthful of hot chocolate and, without swallowing, she lent her head backwards so that a chocolate pond formed in her mouth, filling her almost to her lips. Eddie took hold of the hanging tie at her back and looped the long end around the door handle and pulled hard, causing her head to be drawn backward. It began to choke her, and as she began to choke he plunged himself into her hot, dark chocolate pond.
He wanted to explode. God, he needed to explode, to gush into her hot chocolate was all he desired as he began to lose himself. The chocolate was now spilling down over her chin and running into her cleavage and over her breasts. All the while he was pulling ever tighter on the necktie, choking her still more. And as he pulled on the tie, so her mouth would open further and further, allowing him to push himself deeper into her.
Eddie closed his eyes, because it was just too much for him. It seemed that all his life escaped from him at that very moment during several violent releases. As the orgasm engulfed his mind, nothing existed for him except the moment. Time and space ceased to exist completely as the sensations saturated his being.
Candy’s hands found his thighs and tried to push him away, but with each explosion he pulled even harder on the tie and pressed himself ever harder and deeper into her chocolate-filled mouth. The chocolate was spilling everywhere now as she tried to cough and gag, while her eyes bulged unnaturally in their sockets. Tears streamed from their ducts and the miniscule blood vessels on her corneas burst as she sucked on a deadly mixture of cock and vacuum. There was no air, she could not even swallow, and her hands were now slipping on his thighs, unable to get any grip whatsoever. Then, and only when he thought he would collapse to the floor, did he let slip his grip on the tie. And as he finally dropped to his knees, he opened his eyes and looked down at Candy’s collapsed form. Candy had fallen to her side and now looked back at him with tear-stained, puffy eyes. They resembled two swollen hard-boiled eggs. Her pupils had rolled back fully. Her once-beautiful eyes would never be seen again. The last of the sweet drink dribbled down her cheek from her gaping chocolate and cum-stained mouth.
As Eddie looked down at Candy, he could not help but smile. What a finale. It had been even better than he had imagined it would be, and as he pulled himself to his feet, he had one final thought before self-preservation kicked in and he made a run for it. He chuckled to himself, pulled his shorts up from his knees, placed his hands on his hips, and said out loud, “Even Batman could not have saved you. A kitten should know better than to try to swallow a full-size Robin!”
Later, after cleaning up and changing, Eddie stole into the night. He would never be charged for her murder, but unknown to Eddie, the universe had plans of its own and intended to balance the order of things.
And so it turned out that several states away that very same night, someone somehow identified Eddie as the Dynamic Duo sidekick who had robbed and killed an old retired couple while they slept in what they thought was a safe and secure home.
Chapter - 6
- Eddies Turn -
The facility was in lockdown, security was doubled, and the already ridiculously tight restrictions were tightened still further. The week had begun that way. Anytime an execution was planned, the prison would go into lockdown for the preceding week. Now, because two inmates would be executed not only on the same day but also within half an hour of each other, security was especially high. This was highly unusual, as normally the prison would go months between carrying out sentences.
The fact that two were being done was a message to all the would-be killers out there, which was that Florida is a no-bullshit state, its meaning directed and focused to make one point very clear—that if you kill, then we kill you! There were other rumors as to why the warden had given his go-ahead for this outrageous twin execution. One in particular was that he was in danger of losing his position as warden because he had been too soft on the inmates.
It’s a well-known fact, at least among the inmates, that conditions on the Row are bloody awful. When most people think of prison, they imagine pristine white cells, clean floors, and washing facilities that are manned and operated by both inmate and machine. The soap that people presume is used in fact does not even exist! If an inmate wants soap, he has to buy it himself. If he has no money, then he has no soap. It’s as simple as that.
It’s a similar problem when it comes to washing clothes and bedding. If an inmate has no money, then his sheets and clothes are merely rinsed. Many of the inmates prefer to wash their own linens themselves in the toilet with soap, and naturally they are kept in a pristine condition.
According to various sources and recently confirmed by investigative news reports seen on TV, to save yet more money on the executions there had been some serious research into the killer chemicals that are used in the injections. Not only was the research done because of cost, but also because the European suppliers had recently become unreliable and ceased supplying a key drug, claiming that the use of sodium thiopental was both barbaric and inhumane. The result was that an unnamed pharmaceutical company had developed a new cocktail of drugs that is 70 percent cheaper than the current death cocktail and promises clean and humane resul
ts, without any botch-ups. The supplier also promises that the prisoner will experience a sense of euphoria before falling gently to sleep, instead of experiencing excruciating agony, which has recently been the case.
The major advantage is that the cocktail is 100 percent homegrown and removes US reliance on foreign suppliers completely. One news channel in particular did not take this lying down. By all accounts they were apparently enraged and objected to the humane methods that this new combination drug promised, stating that it is “un-American to go soft on crime.”
Somehow Eddie managed to win the coin toss and was scheduled for a 5:30 p.m. execution, while Blaine had been scheduled for 6:00 p.m. Not only was he to be the first unlucky fucker to be executed with the new drugs, he was also going to star in his own live TV show, though ever so briefly.
The warden went to lengths to explain the plan to Eddie in the hope that he would be somewhat cooperative. At 10:00 a.m. on the day of the execution, the press would arrive and be given a full tour of Hotel Hell. Following this they would have lunch, then enjoy a fake presentation of the execution process given by the guards while dressed up as inmates. Before they arrived, though, the residents on the Row would be handcuffed to their beds, just to make sure they didn’t fling shit at them—or throw something perhaps even worse. When Eddie heard this last nugget of information, he couldn’t help but react out loud. “Ha! Now why would we do that, huh? Never even crossed my fucking mind!” Indeed, it hadn’t crossed his mind until that moment.
As far as Eddie’s personal schedule for the day was concerned, nothing would change. He’d have his last meal, then shower, and perhaps be given a little personal time to reflect on his life before being taken away to croak.
When eventually the press were all set up with their cameras, cables, and microphones, Eddie would be escorted into the execution room, strapped to the gurney, hooked up to an intravenous feed, then be given the option to make a final statement. All that being done, it’s guaranteed that the drugs will give him the ride of a lifetime before sending him to sleep—and that will be that! The whole process will be broadcast live for a TV documentary showing the modern and humane death penalty of the twenty-first century.
Eddie’s reaction to hearing the day’s itinerary from the warden was to interrupt by blurting out his innermost thoughts. “If you ask me, it all sounds like bullshit. I never did trust any of you bastards and never will, and I don’t plan on making it easy for you either. Fucking retards, all of you. I’m gonna give you a show that’ll make you piss yourself. Ha, ha, ha.”
Later in his cell, Eddie sat on the edge of his bunk. With his shoulders bent forward and with his head cradled in both hands, he began to face his inevitable demise.
“Fuck, this is too real. I can’t believe this is happening. There’s a damn good reason why a man has no idea when he’s gonna croak! Shit! It’s almost too much to take! I can’t fucking take this,” Eddie mumbled to himself.
Eddie had his last meal. He elected to have a T-bone steak, rare, and roasted potatoes with a side of salad. It was little more than about an hour later that his belly began to turn to jelly. Shortly after the overwhelming urge to take a dump hit him so quickly that he only narrowly escaped having an embarrassing accident. After passing what felt like rocks, Eddie stood, turned, and wiped himself as he inspected the contents of his toilet. Not believing his eyes, he bent closer still.
“I don’t fucking believe it!” he exclaimed as he recognized most of the undigested articles within his excrement as coming from his all-too-recent last meal. “And where the fuck did the sweetcorn come from?”
Eddie, true to his innermost twisted nature, saved some of his creation. It was with both true intent as well as aim that when the visitors passed his cell, with his free hand he flung his shit not only once but two times. The first projectile struck a grossly overweight guard and the second struck a very surprised cameraman.
Later, unbeknownst to Eddie, the number of heartbeats yet to beat within his chest dropped to less than ten thousand, and he lay on his bunk and lost himself in thought. I ain’t scared. I’m gonna face this thing head-on, and if I get the chance I’m gonna moon those fuckers right on TV—just they wait an’ see! Hell, they’re probably still recovering from the crazy shit I pulled when they walked past my cell. Wonder if they stink of steak and potatoes with shit on the side.
“Ha!” Eddie laughed out loud.
I got them good, even that fat-fuck guard who sits outside my cell. He ain’t never gonna forget me or my shit! Eddie thought to himself as he locked eyes with a very angry overweight guard.
Four large guards with riot shields and helmets rushed Eddie’s cell. The door slammed open, completely surprising Eddie as he lay on his bunk, busy with his right pinkie halfway up his right nostril, trying like hell to get that hard bit of mucus with the tip of his finger. He’d almost got to it when the guards interrupted him.
The guards pulled Eddie from his cell and dragged him backwards down the corridor. He wondered briefly if flinging shit at the press earlier was going to be repaid with a little prison “reeducation.” That sort of thing was no stranger to these walls. Eddie was wrong, though, and he realized this as he soon found himself stripped and literally thrown into the showers. Slipping and sliding a little, he managed to keep his balance and then stood upright. One of the guards, who was young and grossly overweight, shouted over the noise of the showers, “Get on with it. We ain’t got all day, and you’ve got an appointment with your maker!” The guard was pretty pleased with his last statement. Somewhere in his small mind this registered as smart and witty. This answered Eddie’s question as to why he’d been pulled from his cell. Fuck! It’s almost time, he thought.
Eddie turned toward the hot spray and soaked himself before reaching for the soap. Yes, real soap and, praise Jesus, shampoo too, he thought.
The shower was over—a little too early as far as Eddie was concerned, but he was feeling totally clean for what seemed the first time in ages. He had really missed being clean. After drying off, he was given a brand-new set of prison clothing. Damn, I’m gonna look damn good for the cameras, was the single thought that crossed his mind as he got dressed. And he did. The clothing was indeed new and had been expertly pressed, with razor-sharp creases. This certainly would give the documentary makers a Photoshop-like finish to their show, but without the actual need to do any Photoshopping whatsoever.
“It’s time,” one of the guards said.
Eddie turned around, looking for the guard that had made the statement. Unable to determine the source, he turned back. A moment later he was rewarded with a shove and soon found himself being persuaded in the direction he should walk. It wasn’t long before they reached his cell, but instead of pushing him back inside, they pushed him on toward the end of the corridor.
At the far end of the corridor, the execution chamber loomed menacingly. Along with the waiting press there were also members of his victims’ family. They were all waiting for him now. It was only about five yards from Eddie’s cell to the execution chamber. It was not that far at all, but with each step he took, his body tried to refuse the instructions coming from his brain to walk the short distance. Somewhere along that long path, the two guards either side of him took hold of his upper arms and helped Eddie forwards to the last room he would ever enter alive. Eddie’s legs turned to jelly and he started to collapse. His hands were shaking and his eyes were moist, and he now tried to resist going any further. The guards were used to these reactions and were quick to take Eddie’s weight as he lost the use of his legs completely.
The guards picked him up and carried him into the execution chamber. All the while Eddie remained silent. He wanted to say something, anything, but couldn’t. It was all so surreal. He really couldn’t accept that he was there, was going to die, was never going to see or do, or, or . . . anything ever again.
The guards continued with their well-practiced tasks, lifting Eddie high and placing him on t
he gurney. They then strapped him down. In the viewing gallery several journalists were sat in the front row, scribbling notes down on notepads. One was a little more up-to-date than the others. He had what appeared to be a tablet and stylus. Behind them in the second row, three cameramen were setting up their cameras and tripods. These were large, professional-looking cameras, not the sort that your buddy might use at your wedding, but something you would see on the news when the cameraman gets into the shot somehow. To their side was a pair of pensioners, obviously friends or perhaps relatives of Eddie’s victims. All except the pensioners were totally preoccupied with their own preparations. None apart from the old couple had paid the slightest attention to Eddie’s preparations in the execution chamber. Had the warden witnessed this, he would have been really annoyed. He had his guards practicing this routine for over a week and had even paid out overtime to them to ensure their cooperation. His other little investment was the Med-Tech. He had wanted a show, and a show was exactly what he would get.
The warden had many friends, most of them near the top of their profession, and so he contacted one who worked at a nearby medical school on the outskirts of Tallahassee, not so far from the famous prison. In exchange for some first-class ballgame tickets, he explained to his associate friend that he needed a student with certain outstanding female attributes. The deal was done, and he was soon able to access the school’s student profiles via their computer system. In one night he managed to sift through literally hundreds of med school student applications as he hunted for the perfect type, and something special for Eddie. He knew of Eddie’s little fantasies and how they would manifest themselves. Eddie’s execution would be a dramatic production in its own right!
It was through the Medical Assistant Certification program that he found Sandra Beach, his ideal candidate. She was both good looking and shapely. The bonus was the appealing quality most lecherous men adore. She needed money and would consider doing almost anything—well, within reason that is—for the good old dollar bill.
Death Row Apocalypse Page 5
