Unearthed, p.3
Unearthed, page 3
part #4 of Southern Watch Series
“I’m leaving tomorrow for Tennessee,” she said in a conversational tone. “Bright and early. I should have been there tonight, but my flight got canceled. Probably making sure there’s still an airport down there.” She laughed to herself as though this were really funny. “I was so sad, because I sent my butler down already, and I didn’t have any plans, so I was just sitting here without anything to do, no reservations—not that I’d go out alone, anyway—no one to eat me,” she slid the panties down nonchalantly, no big deal, and they puddled on the floor like they were ready to be picked up and thrown in a laundry basket, “and then you boys show up and solve my problems for me.”
She sat back in the padded chair, letting her feet dangle right in the middle. “Have you ever gone down on a woman, Tony? You can nod your head, you know, my little toy’s made so you can—” He nodded, and she paused. “Oh, good. Did you go down on the girl you raped, Tony?” He felt a rush of agonized discomfort, and she laughed again, a squawking, hissing noise. “I am slapping you on the balls with that one, Tony, I fucking know you didn’t. You’re the kind of guy that thinks foreplay is the number of quarters in a football game, am I right? You wouldn’t eat pussy for more than five minutes if it was a Tootsie Pop with a gold center and you had to lick your way down, would you?”
He just stared, not sure what to say, eyes wide.
“Don’t fucking answer that, Tony!” She slapped him on the shoulder and it was like someone had hit him with a baseball bat. She laughed again. “You’re going to be a lively one, I can tell. I started with your boys over there, but they were … mmm … boring. See, I had a feeling about you after I heard you pissing in my bed.” She tugged on the chain in her hand and something sharp ran against the top of his dick. “By the way, that’s like a guillotine for your danglies, so … anyway, where was I?” Anthony shut his eyes tight.
“Oh, yes. I’ve got you by the dick and balls. Got ’em on the chopping block. So what you’re going to do for me … is go down, Tony. You’re going to go down like you’ve never gone down before. You’re going to eat my pussy like it’s your last meal, you’re going to lick my clit like it’s got the secret of life hidden somewhere inside, you’re going to do that until I tell you that I cannot possibly have one more single orgasm.” He felt something poke him on the crown of the head and opened his eyes to see her clutching an ornamental dagger with a golden handle. “You’re going to do this,” she said, “or … have you ever heard the phrase, ‘bleeding like a stuck pig,’ Tony? Because I will fucking bleed you like that. I will poke a hole in your carotid artery and jill off in front of you as you spurt blood on my taint while you die, okay?” She jabbed him with the knife and then tugged on the chain in her other hand. “And then I’ll haul your little boyfriends over here one at a time and see if their tongues are loosened up and ready to perform by then.”
She twirled the dagger so that the hilt was down, and she clubbed him across the forehead hard enough to draw blood. “And so help me, if you so much as dip the tip of your pinky inside me, I will take your dick and balls a quarter inch at a time, cut them like I’m slicing a loaf of bread.” Her eyes were dark now, furious. “You simply do not fucking do that to me, got it?” She clubbed him again. “Indicate that you understand me, Anthony, or I’ll rape your anus with the sharp end of this dagger until you pass out from blood loss—thrice.”
“I …” Anthony felt his voice quaver, “… I … understand.” He didn’t even sound like himself.
“Okay, good,” she said, back to business, and he felt the splash of water hitting him in the face like a fire hydrant had been turned loose on his mouth and cheeks. She had an empty cup in her hand. He shut his lips, gagging, and it stopped after a moment, leaving him sputtering, spitting. “I don’t need any of your nasty puke on me,” she said as he coughed. He opened his eyes and heard the whirl of a motor as she slipped her feet into the stirrups and the chair scooted closer to his face. He could see her now, the split in between her legs, her—he swallowed hard.
Her.
“Now, if you do a very good job,” she said as the ratchet and clank of gears moved him closer, inexorably closer to her genitals, “I may get loud. And I may … accidentally stab you a few times—”
“Wha—” He felt a sharp stabbing pain in his forehead as the dagger landed in a poke, drawing blood.
“Shut the fuck up, Tony,” she said crossly, “you’re ruining the mood for me. As I was saying, I may accidentally stab you a few times. That just means you’re doing a good job and you should keep doing it, or the stabbing will get a lot—a lot—a whole lot worse. I can’t emphasize this enough. It will get so much worse, because I’ll start tugging on the chain that will amputate your manhood if you fuck up. And I will make sure you live long enough to deep throat your own cock at least a hundred times before I let you cross over, okay? Don’t fuck up. Seriously. Unless you want to die giving your amputated dick a blowjob … Don’t. Fuck up.”
The machinery whirred, slow, and that flowery smell of perfume started to give way to another aroma. Deep, heavy, like … sulfur?
“Hold your breath if you have to, Tony,” she said, “but not too long. You’ve got work to do … bitch.” She laughed out loud, sending a subtle vibration through her whole body, her thighs touching his cheeks. “I’m sorry, I just can’t get down with tossing that word. I love it too much. Same with cock, and dick, and cunt. I just … love them all. Fuck, I love them all, all these gender-specific insults. And I know calling a big, strong guy like you a cunt would just send you into a rage-spiral if you weren’t completely cowed right now.” She rattled the chain. “I mean, I might as well have already yanked this and cut them off, because they belong to me at this point, right? I own you. You are a fucking item I possess. Your ass is a commodity I could trade to a Gungeneera for a pack of cigarettes if I wanted a smoke, and they’d just turn you inside out having fun with you.”
He couldn’t even see her at this point, he was buried between her thighs and the machinery stopped clanking. The smell of brimstone was overwhelming. He gagged but nothing came out.
“You fucking pussy,” she muttered and did not sound amused. “I’d call you dickless, but it’s still there—for the moment.” She leaned in, abdomen tensing against his forehead, pushed his nose into her. “What’s the matter? You don’t like the way a demon smells down there?”
He gagged.
“You’re a prissy little fuck, aren’t you?” She sighed. “Fine.” He heard a whir of the machinery separate them just slightly, enough that he could breathe, and she stood abruptly. “I can tell I’m not going to get any good out of you unless I make some accommodations, then.” She stepped out of his view, but he could hear her to his left, over near the wall by Mike. “You men. You humans. So fucking squeamish. Your life is on the line, Tony, and you’re not man enough to suck it up and start licking me because it smells a little funny down there. You’d think,” her voice went muffled for a second, “that the stakes would have impressed upon you that this is some serious shit you’re in, that it would be enough to convince you to take it seriously, to swallow your pride, hold your damned nose, and do what I ask you to do. But no, you men are all the same. It’s like you don’t have the brains given to a goat when it comes to self-preservation. Is it pride? Is it a weak stomach? Is it a lack of desire to debase yourself before what you think is an inferior form of life, you fucking misogynist pig-ass? Because I have a feeling in prison, you’d be sucking ten cocks before noon if you got threatened by even half of what I’ve already vowed for you.”
She was laboring with something, he knew from the slight strain in her voice. Don’t come back, he thought silently to himself. Please don’t come back.
She came back.
She was covered from neck to thigh in blood.
Mike’s blood.
It ran down her skin in big droplets, beading as it went. Her bra was soaked with it, her belly drenched, and it ran down to either side of her pubic mound and dripped down the lips. She settled back into the chair as though it were nothing, inches from his face, and clicked a button on the armrest. It whirred closer, shoving his lips straight onto her pussy, and he felt the tip of the knife pinch him on the crown of his head.
“Well,” she said, “that should have taken care of the smell and the fear in some measure, so … start fucking eating.” The menace dripped thicker than the blood, and Anthony started tentatively.
The smell of blood was pungent, but it did not cover up the sulfuric reek of her skin. It seemed to come from her very pores, like she sweated it. Anthony had never smelled anything like it, nothing, but he breathed through his mouth and went to it, his tongue working feverishly as his mind whirled, pungent smell invading his tongue. He ignored it.
To save his life, he would do this thing.
To save his life, he would do whatever he had to.
She prodded him, alternating between tugging the chain gently and pressing the knife into his skull. The sharp pain of the blade’s edge on his dick made him want to cry in a way he hadn’t since he was a kid. He could feel the steady drip of blood running down to his tip, but he kept going. Her breathing grew heavier as he went, his tongue feeling weary but him urging it on, writing the alphabet on her clitoris, feeling the rough bump of the thing in the smooth, wet skin, tasting his friend’s blood as it dribbled down into his area of work.
She traced the blade across his scalp slowly. He felt the stinging line it left as she teased out a soft moan, and he wanted to bite his lip. Instead he forced his tongue hard against her clit, shoving his face against her to muffle his desire to cry out. He slowed his pace and she ran the knife across his skull faster, causing him to jerk and stop. He felt the dig of the blade easing a half-centimeter into the shaft of his penis and he swiftly plunged his tongue down again, without thought or plan, seeking the little nub that would grant him reprieve.
It lasted an hour, a month, a year. He dragged his tongue around and around until he lost all feeling, until all that remained was the stench of blood and sweat and sulfur. A drop of one of those ran down to the tip of his nose, and he felt his eyes burn from the sweat and the smell. Still he went on, drawing moan after moan from her in a steadily increasing fervor.
She had her head back now, the hand with the chain gripping the armrest of her seat, the one with the dagger vibrating against the top of his skull. She rested the tip against the crown of his head, lightly, as with each increasingly insensate lick, he drew her closer to her breaking point.
He felt it when she reached her climax. Her legs squeezed him tight between her thighs, she ground her pelvis harder into his face, rubbed her clitoris harder against his tongue. She let out a scream that started life as a breath, her head cocked back and—
He felt the knife drive into his skull as her entire body drew into a tensed state and then grew slack. He heard the crack of bone breaking, of steel entering his brain. Felt the dribble of blood run down over his eyes, saw the darkness roll in.
The taste of sulfur died on his tongue—that curiously strong scent—as his head lurched forward, his neck going slack as Anthony’s muscles gave up with the rest of him. He plunged into darkness and the last sensation his dying nerves felt was the pain as the blade below dug hard into his cock and cut him off from his manhood just as certainly as he’d been cut off from life.
*
Katlin “Kitty” Elizabeth had enjoyed the fuck out of that one. He may have been a criminal and a rapist, but when properly motivated, he muff-dived her pussy with the best of them. Fear was the secret, of course. That was the best part for her as well. The staggering sense of power as she forced them to slave their fucking tongues to her clit. She lay there, slack in her chair, blood and demon-sweat sticking her ass to the leather.
“Oh, fuck yes,” she muttered to the corpse between her legs. He was dead, empty eyes staring right at her taint. The fucker on the right side of the door was dead, too. Which left the skinny little peckerwood hanging to her left as the sole inheritor of her words. “Is there anything better than a full-body orgasm? I ask you.” She felt limp, like a rag all wrung out. Her legs were still quivering. Hell, almost everything was quivering at least a little bit. She shoved the corpse’s dead head off her lips; no point in keeping him down there now that he was gone, after all.
Kitty sat there for a long time like that. She didn’t like to sleep the night before a flight. Hell, she didn’t really need to sleep anyway. She sat there and let the smell of sex and blood waft up to her. It was a good smell, she thought. She actually just enjoyed the smell of herself, even after a couple days not showering. It was potent, which was another word for powerful.
She was all about power. Whatever kind she could get her hands on.
She fingered her clitoris lazily, purposelessly, the sticky blood from the guy whose throat she’d slit kind of gumming up the works. She liked blood play, but preferred to keep it above the waist. A money shot of blood was a fun thing to watch—hot, too. It got her started. But this one caked her bra to her skin, which was kinda gross. She discarded it, forgetting there was still another man in the room. She had no problem showing her fucking vulva and clit to a man, especially when she was about to force herself on his mouth, but she didn’t like to feel exposed in any other way.
“It doesn’t matter,” she decided lazily, because it didn’t. She looked at the wide eyes of the skinny bitch hanging from the chains next to the door. “You’re not going to last the night, after all.” She tugged on the chain and tilted her head sideways to watch Tony’s manhood fall free of his carcass. She kicked it out from underneath the corpse—it wasn’t more than a few square inches of flesh, like a greasy sausage from a grocer’s freezer. She watched the skinny bitch’s eyes fall on it, then meet her own. “You want some breakfast before you go?” And she laughed her ass off watching those eyes get wide, wide with fear.
Then she cooked it up and made him eat it before she slit his throat. She wouldn’t have touched the thing herself, after all, much less put it in her mouth.
She showered afterward. When she came out of her bathroom she found her bed disturbed where Tony had done his little class warfare act. She sniffed, caught the hard stink of his pee, and rolled her eyes. She threw a leg up on the side of the bed and reclaimed her territory, watching her own stream of urine turn the sheets black as they hit. The specialty maid service would clean it up later anyway, along with the corpses. The beautiful thing about New York was that you could get anything you wanted in this town, even discretion, so long as you were rich and well connected.
Kitty dressed afterward, did her hair—back in the bun—and put on a suit. Grey, grey, grey. She had more colorful things to wear, but not just yet. Not until she got to this place in Tennessee and took its temperature. With a rectal thermometer. Made it turn its head and cough while she squeezed it by the balls. She’d had enough men by the balls to know it hurt. She loved the look in their eyes, agony framed in the flesh around the whites. It was just about her favorite thing to do other than forcible knifepoint cunnilingus with a little blood play thrown in.
Oh, good times. So many good times.
She’d made her arrangements, and when Gary from the front desk called up to let her know that her cab was here, she was almost ready to go. She schlepped her own shoulder bag to the door and waited. She wouldn’t carry it any farther. She didn’t do any more than she had to.
She sat and waited, leafing through a magazine, until the elevators dinged and Gary stepped out, picking up her bag for him. She favored him with an indifferent expression and passed him a crisp hundred as they stepped into the elevator. What was the name of the doorman that Anthony had gotten her information from? Jack? No, Jake. What a little shit he was. Too bad she couldn’t thank him properly for her evening’s entertainment. That was a minor regret at this point, though.
She would miss this place. She’d miss the chair most of all, she figured. It certainly made things easier when she wanted to get her lick on. But she was strong and men were weak, and this town she was going to was bound to have its own supply of Tonys, waiting with their tongues doing nothing of use, waiting just for her to come along and give them a reason to have the damned things.
“Where you heading, miss?” Gary asked. He had a New York accent. She wondered how strong his tongue was.
“Tennessee,” she said, sniffing a little. It wouldn’t have been her first choice for a vacation destination, but it was what it was.
“Oh, really?” He looked vaguely impressed. He fell into silence for a moment, and she studied the thin line of facial hair that he’d trimmed across his jaw. It looked like he’d drawn it on with a marker. “Why Tennessee?”
“I’m going down there to acquire something,” she said, staring at the counter as it dipped from two to one. It was an old-fashioned one, a concession to the building’s age. “An antique,” she added. “Something … one of kind, shall we say.”
“Oh, that’s nice,” Gary said politely, nodding, her bag clenched in his hand. “Like at a store down there?”
Kitty felt her eyes flash with pleasure. “Not quite. More like … an archaeological dig.”
“That’s cool. Like Indiana Jones?”
“Not quite,” she said, “but close enough.”
“So, will you be back in a few weeks?” he asked as they passed through the lobby. The whole place was done up right, class lingered in the air around here, and Kitty liked it that way. Velvety carpeting crushed beneath the soles of her shoes.
Kitty pondered that question. “The truth is,” she said, actually speaking it in this case, “if things go well … I just may not be back at all.” She gave him a regretful smile that bore no resemblance to the truth, though. It was a consolation. She didn’t give a fuck about Gary or his wanker, drawn-on beard. He could lick her asshole for all she cared.
