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Liquid Bullets

By: kromen



Chris struggled to breathe, each pocket of air less than the last, the burlap sack over his head robbing him of vital oxygen. He was in panic mode. Maximum overdrive. A pair of headphones, clamped tight over his ears, drowned out all conversation and ambient noise, replaced with lyrics from a Nicki Minaj song. His hands were bound, his own handcuffs, metal pinching into his flesh.

"Not built for comfort, Buddy." That line played over and over in his head, spoken multiple times on reruns of Cops.

This was no ordinary Monday at the bank. Not an hour ago, he was bored to tears, slightly amused as a little old lady retrieve her SSC from a hidden pocket inside her bra. It was business as usual, tellers explaining to irate customers that overdraft protection was for their benefit, even though the customer was close to a negative 300 dollar balance. He kept tugging at the stiff collar on the security uniform, trying to stop it from punching him in his Adam's apple every time he swallowed, resisting the urge to rip if off his neck.

One customer after the other, shuttled into the wrap around line, the velvet rope borders guiding the sheep to the sacrificial window of currency. More people were giving money than taking these days. Doing what they had to do to keep the lights on, food on the table, and the debt wolves at bay. At least he had a job, Chris thought to himself as he fought the collar as non-conspicuously as possible. Every time the door opened, He was greeted with freezing spit from Mother nature. Not yet sleet, but far from a light drizzle, the Atlanta area was hit with a slow moving weather system that picked and chose where to let the rain fall. 

Some customers planned ahead, equipped with umbrellas, shaking them out a few feet from him, little drops of water landing on the patent shine of his shoes. He began to make bets on which drop would hit the floor first. He was that bored.

One woman who clearly didn't get the memo about the rain, raced through the double doors, t-shirt soaked to the bone, muttering to herself. A small thrill ran up his spine as he watched her stiffened nipples peeking though the pink bra. She was too busy trying to wipe the moisture from her iPhone to notice. She shook more water from her face and her hair, a crazy anti-rain dance that disturbed the people in close proximity.

Chris took a long hard look at her ass as she did her little dance and didn't realize that Hell was next in line.

He felt it before anything else. A hard piece of steel, placed right below the base of his skull. It fit in nicely, too nicely. Then the godawful sound of a round being chambered made his asshole pucker.

"You know what this is, don't you?" asked the romantic accent. He barely moved his head in an affirmative direction, not wanting the gun to answer back, out of spite. He thought about the trajectory of the bullet, creasing a ragged swath up the middle of both lobes and exiting out through his left eye. A closed casket funeral.

He was quickly relieved of his own pistol, a nice heft on his right hip, replaced by lonely want. The barrel pushed against his skull and he obliged taking baby steps away from the front door, back towards his desk, where he wasn't even allowed to sit unless on break.

Three figures raced past him, all wearing dresses, low heeled pumps and their lower faces covered with ski masks. The other difference between them and the rest of the morning patrons were the deadly pieces of iron they removed from beneath their rain coats. 

"Showtime!" screamed the largest of the trio, jacking a round in the Mossberg shotgun, sawed off on both ends. The clacking sound echoed through the large waiting room, freezing everyone in place. The bark was worse than the bite and people complied without fuss as she screamed orders to the dozen on so patrons. Chris watched the old woman with the SSC try to stuff it back in her bra, shrinking against the fake mahogany panel of the teller window. The other two women ran to each end of the counter, outflanking the petrified crowd.

"Hit the ground!" screamed the one on the left, her yellow slicker trailing behind her as she slid butt first over the counter, heel of her shoe planted firmly in the chest of the skinny effeminate teller. He gave her no resistance, hitting the ground with a feeble shriek and crumbling under a desk. 

The barrel pressed against Chris's skull didn't budge and his own commandeered Glock aided in the robbery. Out the corner of his eye, he saw the gun pointed over his right shoulder and into the crowd.

"Ninety seconds!" screamed the voice behind him. Two of the robbers were behind the counter, moving steadily from drawer to drawer, shoving bundles of cash into plastic bags. The large one in the middle kept the shotgun trained on the splayed out crowd, eyes darting left while the shotgun went right. Nobody moved, barely a peep was heard, except for Tweets, Facebook updates, and missed calls from the countless cell phones.

Chris felt the nudge of the gun again and moved to the middle of the room. The shotgun wielding crook removed a plastic bag from her coat pocket and shoved it in his direction.

"Get the phones." she barked at him, barrel pointed at his gut. "You leave one behind, you'll wish you had one last chance to jack off this morning." The shotgun dropped three inches lower. Chris nodded and took the bag. He began moving from person to person, bag opened so they could dump their electronic lifelines. He gathered them all, praying that no one was holding back. God forbid a ringtone went off at the wrong time. The look in her grays eyes said that she meant to keep the promise. The girl in the soaked t-shirt looked at if she was going to object to parting with her phone, but the nod Chris gave her in the direction of the waving shotgun changed her mind.

Grabbing his own phone last and dumping it in, Chris went back to the front where the first robber was standing. He could see in her eyes that she was smiling, pleased with his obedience.

"Why don't you hold onto that, Carino?" She turned him away from her twinkling hazel eyes, replacing the barrel of her gun right back where it fit and yelled, "Two and a half, move yo ass!"

The two behind the counter were done, bags stuffed with as much as they could gather. The one with the shotgun began to walk backwards, still scanning the crowd for trouble. Chris felt his hands placed behind his back and his own handcuffs cinch tight against his wrists. 

"Wanna go for a ride?" The last thing he heard before he was jerked backwards through the double doors by two pairs of arms and into the driving rain. The back of his legs bumped against a door sill and he fell into the empty cavern of a cargo van. He tried to gather as much information that he could in as little time but everything was moving too fast. His hands were bent at a miserable angle and he cried out when the pressure of his whole body fell upon them.

"Shut the fuck up," growled the large one as she threw a headband over his eyes, and someone presented his ears with a pair of massive headphones. Then came a large sack and he was promptly rolled onto his stomach against one side of the van. He still held onto the plastic bag of phones, but someone snatched them out of his hands.

He did his best to keep time, but the songs that were being pumped into his ears were constantly changing, some played out in their entirety, while others only lasted 16 bars. The genre changed from rap, to country, to classical. He attempted to count the songs, but lost it around 23. Chris tried to think, play back everything that happened. He feared the worst because he knew who he was dealing with.. 

There was a notorious group that has been moving up and down the East coast, as far West as Louisiana, hitting banks every few months. Their MO was the same; a quartet of females, dressed very casually, with their faces covered. Sometimes they wore wigs, sometimes dyed hair. They always took a hostage, a man. He would be found days, sometimes weeks later, naked with two bullet holes. One in the head and the other, a little more personal. The Succubus Crew became their Nom de plume, granted by media pundits that loved to sell the fear.

He did everything they asked of him, but they still took him. He could imagine the look on the faces of those cops who find him, naked in a ditch, trying to explain to his mother what became of her son, his face plastered on the news as the latest victim. Chris tried to move his legs, but someone was sitting on them. The familiar potholed streets played havoc on his kneecaps as the van bumped and swerved through the city. 

The bumps and rattles slowed after some time and Chris felt the pressure on his legs lighten. He had no comprehension of where he was, or how long it took him to get there. The headphones kept blaring. Willie Nelsonwas replaced by Lady Gaga, cut short by Gnarls Barkley. The bag shifted on his head, but no light was granted. He was pulled by his feet to the edge of the van and forced upright. He could only go along with the program as a gun was shoved in his ribcage and a hand grabbed him by the wrists.

He stumbled a few times, but shuffled along at a steady clip. His mind raced faster than his feet, trying to think of a way to get out his impending doom. Left, left, right, long straight, right, stumble down the steps, quick right, and he was thrown down. Thankful that he landed on something soft, he gave a quick prayer of gratitude. The way his body bounced, he figured it to be an air mattress. 

Hands were on him again, working on his wrists. He felt something very hard pressed against his head and he froze in place.

Somebody worked quickly with his cuffs, freeing one of his hands. He was flipped onto his back and his arms placed above his head. He felt a new pair of cuffs placed on his newly freed wrist and inwardly groaned as he was re shackled to something very large and unforgiving. He was bound in a reclining position, his arms were pulled above his head and attached to a chain that was connected to a part of the room his couldn't see. His back rested against rusty metal, flakes of it fell on his arms when he tried to move. The bag was yanked off his head and he was released of the excruciating mix tape. For the first time, he began to understand why silence is golden.

He could breathe easier since the sack was removed, but the sweatband remained, his vision blocked. He wasn't sure if he was alone, the reverberations of songs past in his ear. He gulped many times, the constricting collar on his shirt was back again, tap dancing on his esophagus. After what felt like hours, probably minutes, they were back.

The bind was removed from him eyes and he blinked at the lone light bulb that swung above his head. The concrete room he ended up in was windowless, smelled moldy and unused for years. He kept blinking at the hazy figures standing before him until he began to make out more than shapes and shadows.

The Succubus Crew, live and in living color. He remembered how he use to laugh that the stupidity of the moniker whenever the anchorman would repeat it. Now, he was petrified. Their bite was worse than the bark.

"Well, well, well." spoke the largest one. She was built like a linebacker, hair braided back into cornrows, and could pass for a guy, with the right attire. "Never thought this would happen to you, did you?"

Chris didn't know if he could even get his voice to work so he kept quiet.

"I'm sure, you've heard of us," she continued. "Probably ranked up there with Bigfoot and Hogzilla, the creature under your bed; designed to make you be a good boy, say your prayers and eat your veggies." She scratched at the one of the tracks on her head. "But, we're real. Oh, so real." She let out a throaty guffaw, laughing at her dry humor. No reply from the others. The ski masks stayed put, a neoprene half- mask favored by snowboarders and hp skiers, but he could see enough to deem her Caucasian.

"Here are the rules," said the smallest of the four. She had Asian features, but Chris couldn't tell Japanese from Korean.

"We work hard, and," gesturing to the rest of the crew, "play just as hard." She removed her rain coat, revealing a short black dress and a shoulder holster with two nickel-plated 1911 Colts snug against her torso.

The others removed their outerwear as well. There was a Black woman, tall in stature with wide hips who had two Glocks under her arms. She took her hat off and shook her frizzy Afro free, running a hand through the thick mane. On any other day, Chris would have bought her a drink or try to friend her on Facebook, but he all had was the urge to piss his pants right now.

The last robber approached him. She was the one who kindly kept him company with a gun at his head. Her weapon of choice was a Desert Eagle . 50 cal. She had long black hair, thick figure and a massive set of breasts that made anyone do a double take. From her accent alone, Chris knew she was of Hispanic descent. All big guns, too much firepower for the average gun enthusiast, but these women were far from average.

"We," said the Asian with the .45's, "don't have time for relationships, drama, and emotional baggage. Sometimes, we want a little more than a vibrator." She stared at him lustily. "That's where you come in."

"Speak for yourself," said the large one, cradling the shotgun like a newborn.

The petite woman continued. "All you have to do is get through the four of us; one at a time mind you, we want to give you a sporting chance."

The mannish female crouched down in front of him, licking her lips. "If you don't hold out, neither does my friend here." She patted the top of the Mossberg. "You look like you've been around the track a few times, but, looks can be deceiving.

The Black chick giggled as Chris squirmed in his shackles. "Don't scare him girl, I'm horny."

"Okay then, said the voluptuous Latin. "Let's draw." The quartet gathered in the middle of the room and reached into their pockets. Drawing out some coins, they began to flip. Chris watched as they kept flipping. He couldn't believe that they were going to run a train on him. On a normal day, this could be every man's greatest fantasy. He always thought about having sex with more than one woman at a time, in a day, back to back. Hell, a foursome was paradise, but this was a life or death situation. If he couldn't perform to their standards, he was a dead man. He wondered if they would shoot him in the head or the dick first? He thought about all the times he may have left a woman unsatisfied. Was this Karma? 

He figured he still had a chance. These were professionals; they haven't given away their names, or shown their faces. He couldn't give the authorities too much info if they dropped him off somewhere. He could actually make it out alive. He knew that the small window he had was whenever they released him from the chains binding his wrists. He would have to bide his time until then. To keep his mind sharp, he began to give names to his captors.

Butch was an easy tag for the beast with the Mossberg. She looked like she would rather kill him than fuck him. He named the woman with the Afro, Foxy, because she looked like a retro upgrade of Pam Grier. Her swagger and demeanor was from the seventies. The Latina was now named Sofia. She had the look of that actress from Modern Family, thick accent, exuded sexuality with each step, and any woman who could handle an Eagle had to be a bad ass broad. The Asian one was a little harder, but he ended up with Suzy. All he could link her to was a Asian stripper named Suzy Q that he use to throw singles to at the strip club; when there was no such thing as a recession and nobody got laid off.

"Yes," squealed Suzy, giving a tiny power salute as her coin came up as a winner. "I never draw first round." "Even the sun shines on a dog's ass once a day," quipped Foxy. She rubbed her coin for good luck, giving Chris a quick once over before flipping again. The trio flipped until a shout from Sofia dwindled them down to two. Butch seethed as Foxy won the last flip. "C'mon, you don't like dick anyway." Foxy told Butch. "Besides the point," she growled. "This shit is a waste of time anyway. I'm going to count money." She put her quarter away, spat on the ground and with a sneer in his direction, left through the only door in the room.

"Help me strip him?" Suzy looked at the other two.

"Sure." said Sofia, reaching under her dress and pulling out a butterfly knife. Chris tried to scurry back away from the approaching women, but the trio was on him with a quickness. Foxy and Suzy grabbed his arms, Sofia planted firmly on his legs.

"This blade is sharp, Mi Amor. It was designed to cut tension." She giggled at her own joke and leaned forward, grabbing his jaw with one hand. With her free hand, she flipped open the knife, her hand a blur of cold steel. The blade glinted as she slid the tip of the knife along the seam of his shirt. His buttons popped off effortlessly, rolling down his stomach, off the mattress and onto the dusty floor.

"Please?" croaked Chris. The first words out of his mouth since this morning.

"Aw, how sweet," chirped Foxy. "He has manners. Momma raised him well.

Sofia worked, skilled like a surgeon, cutting away his collar, shirt and leaving nothing but two shirt cuffs.

"Now he looks like a Chippendale." she joked.

"I heard they were all gay, anyhow." answered Suzy. "You're not gay, are you? The last two were, and it didn't work out too well for those guys."

Chris shook his head no, the pictures of the two bank guards in Virginia and North Carolina ingrained in his cortex.

"At least he works out," remarked Foxy, giving his biceps a squeeze. Suzy ran a manicured nail up and down his chest, also checking his physique. Sofia took off his gun belt began to undo his belt buckle when Suzy stopped her.

"I can handle it from here." She grinned like a child on Christmas morning.

"Fine." Sofia rose up off his legs, sheathing her blade and tucking back on the inside of her thigh. Foxy joined her as they left the room. "Remember, you are one, we are four, and you're chained to the wall. Behave, huh?"

She gave the bulb a playful tap, making it swing back and forth, before leaving with Foxy trailing behind her.

Suzy walked to the door, made sure it was shut. "I'm kind of shy."

Chris tried to test his bonds, but he was securely attached to what may have been an industrial boiler. It wasn't on, but pipes that connected it to the floor was solid. They must have been planning this for weeks. The chains, mattress, location. This wasn't a last minute setup.

"I'm Chris." he said, trying to start some conversation.

"Doesn't matter. Just do what I tell you to, to the best of your ability and you might make it through."

She reached up under her dress and removed her panties. "I don't know what gets me more wet, robbing or this, right here." She sniffed them before tossing them over her shoulder.

"You must have gotten a big enough haul; you got away clean." Chris tried to reason once more. "What's with the kidnapping?"

"We have our reasons." She looked at him, tapping her feet impatiently. He was going to say more, but the look in her eyes told him that his rebuttal session was over. She was ready to get down to business.

She straddled him and began to work on his belt buckle. "You watch porn? I mean, of course you do, you're a man." She pulled on one end of the unbuckled leather. "I mean, do you watch a lot?"

"I guess." Chris answered. He was being modest. He watched more than his fair share. About 8 GB of worth.

"Well, throw that timid Asian chick squealing like she's being murdered shit right out the window. I don't like fisting, eels, pissing, shit, fish hooking, sharking, aliens, or any of that other crazy shit that you guys see on the web. I like dick. I like it hard, obedient, and, pardon the pun, long time."


Liquid Bullets Ch. 02



You clicked on this link for any number of reasons, and I thank you. Be warned, this is the second part of a previous story and if you haven't read the first, you'll be lost before the second paragraph. If you are looking for purely stroke, sorry to disappoint you, but this isn't how I get down. Will you rub one out before finishing the story? Very likely, but you'll also want to see how it ends too. Thanks again for taking time to read it and I hope you enjoy it as much as I did writing it.

Rio. Blazing sun on pale sands and clear waters. Exposed skin of multiple hues, walking, swimming, and cajoling without a care in the world. A perfect pace to fall in love, lose your inhibitions, or plot the ultimate revenge. I was here for the latter. 

Stuffed between two tourists on a Southbound flight that took half a day, minus the two hour timezone shift, I had nothing but a duffel bag and a hunch. I think back to the day that was almost my last on this planet, the events playing over and over in my mind like a DVD set on continuous loop.

The mandated therapy sessions didn't help, nor did the liquid burn from a bottle of Agave. I needed answers. Closure. Revenge. Didn't matter the order.

My target was about 5'9', shapely hips, heavy breasts, and full lips painted the color of freshly spilled blood. A tattoo of a dagger on her left butt cheek. That's all I had; a needle in the second largest haystack in Brazil. In her last encounter with me, we made love. In reality, I was forced, hands shackled, clothes cut off by blade, and my life hanging in the balance.

It's been near three months since my abduction by the Succubus Crew. I was the last in a long line of victims. They robbed banks and took men hostage, usually the security guard, leaving their naked corpses for the authorities to find and the news channels to exploit. At first, I thought it to be a test of sexual prowess. Could I have sex with four women and please all of them? I soon learned that they killed whether satisfied or not.

When it was all over, three were dead, one of them by my own doing. I was lauded as the brave hero in the media. What the news didn't, or couldn't, report was that the task force put in place to stop them was outsmarted and almost killed me in the effort. The stolen money wasn't recovered and one got away.

I threw myself into work, becoming almost a Super Cop, closing cases in rapid succession, hiding behind a mask of heroic bravado. I was in line for a promotion, an easy desk job and increased benefits, but I couldn't sit still. I smiled in the faces of my coworkers and superiors, but at night, I was a fucking wreck. I jumped at the shadows, slept with my gun under the pillow, and changed the sheets on a daily basis from the constant night sweats.

I finally took some time off from the squad and after another nightmarish week of sleep sweats and paranoia, boarded the next thing smoking to Rio. I had two leads, albeit insignificant ones. A tattoo and a location. I held these facts from my superiors; they would just fuck it up and it was out of Fulton County jurisdiction anyway. I needed closure. Answers. Revenge. All three ran neck and neck, the finish line well past the horizon.

***

It's been a week since my arrival and I've been back and forth through the city, learning my way around. I followed the tourist route, going to Sugar Loaf Mountain, taking pictures of Christ the Redeemer. Was he going to be watching when I found her? I blended in with the residents, doing things that were more Carioca than Gringo.

I befriended some locals from the favela close to where I was staying and got introduced to a low-level lieutenant. Once assured that I wasn't causing trouble for his people and his palm was sufficiently greased, he granted me permission to roam and some other favors. I wanted a pistol, but firearms was scarce since the last police raid. With the Olympics on the way in a few years, the battles for control of the city have increased. I kept under the radar, staying in a shitty hotel a few miles from Copacabana, my comings and goings low-key. I became more familiar with the city day by day, everything falling into a steady pattern.

To catch a thief, one must think like one. I spent too many years chasing down criminals around the city not to pick up many traits along the way. I stared death in the eye many time in my short career as a cop. After the brutal murder of my mother by a thief over a few dollars and a maxed out credit card, I made it a plan to rid the world of criminals, one asshole at a time. Graduated near the top of my class, I became a shining star in the department. Not every apprehension went by the books, but I got results. When I made Detective, I chose the Robbery as my forte, hunting down two-bit stick up kids and soulless car jackers before I had my morning coffee.

I've had bullets whiz past my ear, cars try to run me down and gotten stabbed, twice, by fleeing suspects. It just made me fight crime harder. But, this last case. This one stirred up something in my soul that I couldn't excise.

***

It was mid-afternoon of day seven when the iron got hot and I got to strike. I was sitting on a bar stool of a beach side Kiosk, sipping a Caipirinha. Crowds of people in all layers of dress strolled along the sands of Posto 9. This was a very active part of Ipanema beach. The section "Sofia" kept regaling about while she fucked me. Women in thongs, some with matching tops, others without tops altogether, strolled amongst the multicolored umbrellas. Gay couples frolicked without condemnation from others, openly showing affection. It was just as she described it. Street vendors hawked giant bags of anything, from bikinis and sunblock to ice cold beer. 

I drained my cup and was signaling for another when I saw her. Out of all the figures on the beach, hers was the only one not moving. Staring at the ocean, her hands outstretched at her sides, like she was waiting for a hug, a large red swatch of silk in her right hand, blowing in the wind. From such distance, I couldn't tell it was her for sure, but something in my gut told me it had to be. She was close enough to the water that the waves lapped at her feet. People gave her a berth, not paying her any mind but aware of her presence. She stayed like that for more than a few minutes.

The bartender slid a fresh drink in front of me. I slid him some Brazilian Real and never took my eyes off the figure. I've been wrong before; outside the Catedral Metropolitana, on the way from the airport, and the lobby of my own hotel. I saw her in my dreams, and now she was haunting my days at every turn. I kept watching, when she turned towards me and picked her way through the crowd back to the sidewalk. I slid off the stool, and moved between a stand of palm trees for a better vantage point, leaving the drink untouched. 

I changed my appearance since the last time we met, letting a goatee grow and shaving my head bald. In my Ronaldo jersey and shades, I fit in pretty well with the crowd. With the exception of my limited grasp of Portuguese, I could have been taken for a resident. Her appearance changed as well. The Rio sun darkened her a few shades and she looked like she was enjoying the local cuisine as much as I did. Her shape was still stunning, just a tad softer on the edges.

She shook out the scarf in preparation of wrapping it around her waist, walking within ten feet of me, head down as she fixed the material. I was able to make out a mark on her tanned cheek before she wrapped up, a tattoo. That fucking dagger! I welled up with muted celebration as I began to follow her, hitching my tiny backpack higher on my shoulder.

I didn't see her face yet, but her figure was scorched in my brain since the day she left me. I wanted to see her before she saw me, so I stayed at her six.

I watched her cross the street with the crowd, moving East down Avenue Vieira Souto. I stayed on the ocean side, walking parallel to her carefree gait. When she stopped to look in a store window or shake out sand from her sandals, I kept going. I use the environments to keep track of her, buying a coconut water, taking a picture of the beach, or tossing away some trash. Without notice, I stiffened. Whether is was the sway in her hips, the shape of her ass, or even the carefree way she ran a hand through her hair, I was at penile attention. I tried to keep casual, but my shorts put me on blast. I got a few stares from female and male alike before slipping my backpack in front of me. 

She turned up the street a few blocks later. I waited for traffic to thin and crossed, keeping her in my sight, but not rushing. I tailed her into a neighboring favela, belonging to a rival crew. She obviously had permission to enter, piquing my curiosity about who she knew and her background. The gangs were dead serious about the territories in this city, and without an escort or tribute, I was signing a death warrant. A young kid was handing out fliers to passersby on the street, giving her one too. She looked at it, said something to him and tucked it away in her bag. He smiled and replied. I was too far away to hear the conversation, but it looked like a positive reaction. As he continued up the street, I purposely got in his path to get one as well. I ducked into a corner store and fiddled around with the tourist trap merchandise, biding my time to see if she would reappear. I read the paper and saw it was a promotion for a baile funk street party. The rum and cane sugar taking effect, I swayed slightly against the counter. This wasn't going to work, the alcohol working against my reflexes and my judgment. I left the store and headed back to the room, repeating the mantra, "Best served cold, best served cold."

***

The sun was setting and people returned to their homes and hotels to get ready for the night, as did I. Gone was the shorts and sandals, replaced with a linen pants and a button down shirt. I checked my readiness kit and and after satisfied that I didn't draw suspicion as I checked myself in the mirror, left the hotel room.

I caught a cab to the Lapa district, lively music blaring from each doorway. The street was a blocked off from traffic, no cars getting in or out till the block party was over. Only the most daring of tourists dared to venture here after dark. The cab driver let me out at the corner and I joined the masses. I lit a cigarette and took in the visual orgy. Beautiful women wearing the tightest of materials, shook their assets while men ogled, some joining in the beat of the baile funk. Just like Hip-hop, it was the music of the struggling middle and lower classes. Children of all ages ran back and forth selling trinkets or begging for coins, making what money they could. It was an open air drug market, little packs of cocaine switched with every third handshake. I picked a spot on the wall and finished my smoke, nodding my head to the beat and pretending to enjoy the festivities 

She would be here, like a moth to the flame. The sensuality of the crowd was too enticing for her not to. She wasn't a loner like me, she needed the attention and camaraderie of others. 

A half pack of coffin nails later, the crowd was doubled in size, making harder to scope out individuals. I've been in less crowded atmospheres at the Georgia Dome on game day. It was neutral territory, but rival gang members let their presence be known as they flashed their gang signs during each song. A Mexican standoff, things can go from bad to worse in the blink of an eye. I reminded myself to play the lottery when I got back home as she walked no more than a few feet in front of me. I avoided eye contact as she sauntered past, swinging her hips to the drumbeat. 

She wore a floral print dress that fell loose around her knees, cut low in the neck, exposing sumptuous cleavage. I took it all in, from the black pumps to the pink ribbon she had tied into the thick mane of hair that flowed off her shoulders. Seeing her face for the first time was no surprise. She wasn't a spitting image of Sofia Vergara, but might have been cut from the last cloth. She had a genuine smile between those full lips, blazing eyes, and a small beauty mark under her eye that was hidden by her mask last time. She could have been famous; she had a recognizable face that should have been on film, or the cover of magazines. Instead, she was a cunt's hair from appearing on the FBI's top ten.

I was surprised that she didn't recognize me, thankful for the cover, but kept up my guard. When she got further away, I pushed myself off the wall and started to stalk. Just like a few hours earlier, she moved without a care in the world, gliding through the crowd with ease, people just seemed to open a path for her. I had to paw and shove celebrants to the side just to keep her within view. Several men tried to entertain her in conversation, but she smoothly rebuffed their advances with a shake of the head and smile before stepping inside a Samba club at the end of the block. I gave her about five minutes before following suit. Before stepping inside, I pulled out a cellphone and made an important call.

The flashing strobes, smoke machines and bouncing bodies of the virile crowd kept me well camouflaged me in the medium sized club. Leaning against the bar, I kept vigil with glasses of coconut water, no more alcohol during this stakeout. This was a club for serious dancers. Only the fleet of foot and keepers of the rhythm allowed on the floor. She was in the center, widening the space around her with each swing in her hips and step of her foot. A new group of new party-goers flooded the dance floor. These guys were different, dressed like the crowd but looks of killers. One by one, they advanced on her whirling torso, challenging her to dance combat. She met the thrown gauntlet, matching their moves, one by one, step by step. When one got spent, a fresh pair of legs replaced him. She loved the attention, all the swarthy Alpha males directing all their libidos upon her. I watched her dance for better part of an hour, she had the stamina of the Energizer bunny.

She stayed within the group all night, taking a few breaks to quench her thirst or catch her breath. She declined their multiple offers for drinks, buying her own. When she hit the dance floor again, her dress was clinging to her body, hair glued to her neck. She was in bliss. The music died down as the club began to close, young guys in yellow Seguranca shirts guiding people out with flashlights and whistles. I left quickly, taking a spot in the alley across the street for a vantage point. The streets quickly began to clear when the music stopped, nothing left but death and sorrow to deal with. 

She came out near last, surrounded by her Samba partners. She was full of smiles and laughter, begging off their invitations for another party. One of them waved down a cabbie, even opening the door for her, like a gentleman, as she got in. I stayed to the shadow as they bid her adieu, blowing kisses and shouting out vows of love.

The cab pulled off and I ran back into the alley, cutting over to the main avenue. The street was deserted, no one out but the creatures of the underworld, slinking with the shadows. I reached into the kit fastened around my waist and quickly prepped. I had a slim window to get it done.

The cab crawled to a stop on the corner, idling at a red light when I made my move. A large shrub blocked my presence from the occupants of the taxi and before anyone knew it, I flung open the backdoor and dove inside. Catching her off-guard, I clamped the chloroform soaked towel around her mouth. She fought back, scratching at my face, looking for an eye to poke, putting up a hell of a fight. As soon as her hands fell away from my face, I pushed her head against the window, locking the rag into place, and stuck a hand between her legs. 

I felt the hardened handle of her blade between her thrashing fingers and snatched it, ripping it from her grasp and flinging it to the floor. Anyone who thinks that using chloroform is just like the movies hasn't done it firsthand. She struggled for more than a minute before finally succumbing to the inhalant and going limp.

"OK," I said the driver. "Hora de ir". He nodded at me through the rear-view and started to drive. I checked her pulse for a few minutes as we drove, before removing the cloth and going into my bag. Pulling out a syringe, I checked that the contents were still intact before rolling up her skirt and injecting into her thigh. A little treat known as Satan's kiss, it would keep her incapacitated until I was ready.

The cab driver pulled up to the hotel, crawling around the back to the service entrance. He helped me get her out the cab and quietly thanked me as I handed over a thick envelope for him and his buddies. I took the service elevator up to the top floor with my prize slumped at my feet. She smelled sweet, but it could have been traces of the chloroform. After checking that the hall was empty, I hoisted her up on my shoulder and rushed down to the last door on the right. 

The rundown hotel had seen better days, but they still had a presidential suite. I chose correctly, as no one wanted to walk up seven flights of stairs since the elevator was suspiciously out of service. I passed out more money earlier in the week to insure that I didn't need or have any interruptions from any employee. She was mine and mine alone.

***

The sun was high in the sky by the time she awoke, bound to the bed and blindfolded. Each limb strapped down independently to it's own corner of the queen size bed. She was still dressed in her clothes from last night, except for the pumps, which lay in front of the dresser with her purse. I stood over her, a cup of steaming coffee in one hand, honey roll in the other. I didn't sleep yet, much work had to be done before the drugs wore off. I stifled a yawn. 

"Ola?" she moaned, throat obviously dry. "Quem esta la,?" Her Portuguese was quite good. She still didn't realize who took her or she would have used English.

I smiled, taking a sip of the excellent roast. She coughed once, testing the bonds on her wrists and ankles. She knew of my presence, sniffing at the aroma of coffee, turning her head to the sounds of my sips. I put down the late breakfast and took a step to her bedside. The sun stood at my back, shining brightly on her trussed figure. I removed the blindfold and stood back. She rapidly blinked, trying to focus on my image.

"Quem e voce?" My disguise worked better than expected. She had no idea it was me.

"Mi Amor." I said, feigning surprise. "How can you not recognize your greatest lover?" I moved away from the sun so she could verify the face attached to the voice. "You." she gasped, fighting against the ropes to no avail. She started to produce a scream, but I presented her favorite toy with a deadly snap. "This blade, is sharp." I raised a piece of paper and sliced through it with ease. Did it more for my benefit than hers. She quickly held the outburst in her throat, swallowing with tremendous effort.

"Please." she quieted down. "You must understand..." she tried to find words, but I stopped her with two fingers against her soft lips.

"First things first." I sat on the bed next to her. "Name."

"Abila." Very good. She was quick with her answer, a sign of the truth.

"Well, Abila. I'm Chris, but I think you knew that. All of Atlanta knows the name of the one that got away from the Succubus Crew." I rubbed the side of her cheek with the back of my hand. "Such a stupid fucking name, I always thought so."

She opened her mouth to speak, but I hushed her again.

"How did you escape?" 

"Luck." She went into detail of her narrow escape through the dragnet. After she was through with me, she left in a second vehicle, with the money. She went to fill up the gas tank and get some supplies for their exit, expecting to make a clean getaway. Luck was truly on her side as she got caught up in rush hour traffic. A sheriff's road block diverted her from the mayhem and instead of investigating, she just took off. I let her talk, but didn't pay too much attention. I watched the rise and fall of her chest, the movement of her lips with a peek of tongue in between words. Even in distress, her sensuality took the lead.




Liquid Bullets Ch. 02



Exchanging the knife for my cup of coffee. I took another sip before continuing the questioning.

"They're dead, you know. Put up a fight and got dismissed, with prejudice."

She showed no surprise. "I know, read it online."

"Every last one. Especially the bull dyke. I did that one myself." I leaned in close enough to see the veins in her brown eyes. "You haven't lived until you've choked a person to death, but I guess you know all about killing." She flinched when I patted her thigh, making me smile inward.

"You found me, how?" she asked.

"You forgot you were trying to seduce a cop? I did say I would follow you to the ends of the earth." I combed some fingers through my goatee. "You did leave me some clues. Ipanema. Posto 9. Ass tattoo."

"You remembered." she looked towards the door. "Where are the Ferderales?"

"You actually think I would go this far to put you in jail? I came thousands of miles all right, but it's not to arrest you, if that's what you're thinking." My cup empty and my bladder full, I excused myself and went to the bathroom. She was fighting with the ropes by the time I returned, thrashing with all her might, but my knots were top notch.

"Give it a rest, you're not going anywhere." I cracked open a bottle of water and took a few swigs, pouring the rest of it in her face. She lapped at it, trying to catch as much of it as possible to moisten her throat. It was more kindness than they showed me.

"The money, it's not here."

"I don't care about the money. I'm only here for you."

"I guess you're wondering how easy it was to catch you?" I took a seat in the chair by the window, picking up the half-eaten roll. "You're probably used to men fawning all over you, but those guys last night were decoys."

"The taxi?" She looked at the ceiling, trying to recollect last night's activities.

"All, my people."

They were from the favela, doing my bidding under false pretense. I told a few lies to curry favor in my behalf. Nothing they hated more than government officials and spies, even ones with a pretty backside. They trusted me to dispatch her without too much involvement from them. If they had any inkling that I was a cop, I wouldn't have lasted the day myself. My phone call last night put them into action, sending a crew to the club and having another on standby with a taxi. We used subtle signals to communicate the whole night. They would have slipped her a mickey but she didn't drink anything they bought, so I had to do it the hard way. To their credit, they were very convincing for a bunch of street thugs.

"I have to tell you something." she said, trying to put on a brave front. She stopped flexing against the bonds, concentrating solely on me.

"Of course, by the end of the night you would have told me everything I need to know." I was in no rush.

"I was serious about what I said to you the last time. I wasn't like the others. You were a very good lover." 

"Flattery will get you fucked up, don't play me."

"I'm serious, Papi." She paused. "Chris." She rose up to look me in the eye. "You were, are, the type of man that made me feel like a woman."

"You had a funny way of showing it, threatening to cut my throat, leaving me there to get raped by them two...two..." I didn't hide the anger in my voice. "You knew I was gonna get capped, no matter how I performed." I spat out the last word.

"That wasn't my call." she gulped. "You don't understand."

"I understand that I almost died. Not to mention the sleepless nights, wondering if you would come back to finish the job." I pushed up out of the chair and jumped on top of her, wrapping a hand around her throat. "Do you know the emotional pain of waiting for an HIV test result?" I felt her heartbeat pounding against my hand. It would be so easily to close my hand into a fist, make that beat go away. "I lost about ten pounds in nervous sweat alone."

"I'm pregnant." she squeaked. My heart leaped into my throat and I quickly swallowed it down. It was a ruse.

"Bullshit." 

"I swear to you, I'm with child."

I grabbed her blade from the nightstand and held it between her bosom. Abila held her breath and shut her eyes. Poking a home in her dress, I ripped a line right down the middle to see her naked body for the second time. She wore no bra, just a thong underneath. Thicker and browner than last time, but still beautiful. I took a nipple between my fingers and gently squeezed. 

"How far along?"

"Since Atlanta. I knew for about a month and a half." She winced at the pressure on her nipple, but didn't cry out.

Her aureola was slightly darker than the last time, but that could be attributed to the sunlight since she had no visible tan lines. He breast were slightly fuller, not as firm, but I couldn't be positive. Her abdomen was still smooth and slightly muscular, too early to start protruding with the tiny life. I got off her and scanned the room for the purse she had. Emptying it out on the table, I began to search through it. A few bills, a tube of lipstick and some coins. Standard fare. I was ready to wipe her lie from my memory when a tiny bottle caught my attention. I picked it up to study it. It was a prescription bottle with her name and some other words in Portuguese. Vitamina Pre-natal. It was easy enough to translate. She told the truth; about her name and her condition.

I took the bottle back to the bedside, holding it up to her face. "What makes you think that it would make a difference to me if you were knocked up?"

"Because, you are a decent person. I see it, behind the rage in your eyes. You wouldn't have looked if it made a difference."

She got me there. 

"I was just a sperm donor to you."

"More than that."

"It didn't look like that last night." I palmed her tit and gave another squeeze. I saw a hint of smile from her pursed lips.

"You gave me a chance."

"That hasn't been decided yet." I stuffed a towel in her mouth and tied it close with her hair ribbon. 

"I'm going for a walk. Be here when I get back." Before I left, I turned on the television set to a soccer game and increased the volume.

I had to think. A lot to think about. I walked the streets of Rio, repeating the past 24 hours though my mind. I wanted to kill her, that much was true, but at what cost? Was it worth throwing my career away for? The weather began to turn, just like my mood. I was at first ecstatic to have her in my clutches, but now I wished I never left the US. 

The humidity was thick, everybody moved a step or two slower. The weight on my shoulders got heavier with each step, sweat poured from my skin. This wasn't going to be as easy as I imagined. I crossed the line from law to lawless. I could be charged with kidnapping, at the least. As the wind picked up, I stopped at a couple stores to pick up some essentials. My captive was going to be around a little longer.

She was in the same position when I returned, sweaty and frantic. I set the bag down on the floor and undid the gag from her mouth. 

"I'm going to pee." It was a statement, not a request. I went back to the bag and withdrew a bedpan, still wrapped in the plastic from the store. I picked up the knife and cut at the packaging. I wasn't cutting her loose just yet. I cut at the strap on her thong and shoved the plastic under her ass. Not a moment too soon as she blasted a stream of hot urine into the pan. Relief washed over her face as she loosed her bladder.

When she was done, she said. "Gracias."

I emptied the pan, returning with another bottle of water and one of her vitamins. I held her head so she could drink without discomfort. 

"Why me?" I asked, after she drained the bottle.

"You were there."

"But, why kill the guard?" I wiped some errant water from her chin. 

"Like I said, it wasn't my call. I didn't seek pleasure in taking lives. Amanda did all of the killing. She hated men with a passion and got off on it." 

Amanda was the one I killed, the butch with bad skin.

"There is a lot more you haven't told me, not that I cared at that time, but I think you might want to start."

"I can only tell what I know, I wasn't the head of the group, none of us were. We took orders from someone who only spoke with Maxine." Maxine was the Asian gymnast who came like a fire hydrant. 

"Where are you from?" 

"I don't know for sure." 

"That doesn't fly. Tell the truth and shame the devil. Meet God with a clean conscience." I twirled the knife between my knuckles. I was getting tired of the enigmas.

"I haven't lied to you. Not in Atlanta, and I'm not lying now."

She was telling the truth. I've interrogated criminals for years, under less pressure, and knew the tells. Her breathing was steady, she looked me in the eye with every answer, and she seemed eager to confess. Either that, or she was trained very well. I could water board her, but she'll admit to being Joan of Arc and the 20th hijacker on 9/11 too. I just wasn't asking the right questions. 

"Were you ever on the pill?"

"At one time. I couldn't get another prescription, so I used condoms and didn't worry about it. Then, I saw you and realized what was missing from my life. I wanted a baby, I wanted to love someone, that would love me equally as much."

I remembered her wiping off after I filled her with my seed, but out of millions of sperm, all it took was one.

"Were to going to tell him how you killed his Daddy?" I haphazardly poked a few holes in the mattress by her ass. I always wanted a son.

"I wasn't thinking like that. I just wanted the love."

"You should have gotten a dog." I got up and went to the table, opening up one of the cardboard containers. I've gotten a taste for the Feijoada, a staple of the people here. The aroma from the beef and pork stew quickly filled the room. She watched me as I shoveled a few more spoonfuls into my mouth.

"How can I make it right, Chris? She asked. "Tell me what I have to do."

"You should have killed me, quick and clean." I sucked juice off my thumb. "Instead I was a pawn in your little game, pawns don't win chess matches."

"But, you did survive. You captured me." I paid more attention to my meal, mixing some white rice into my next bite.

She was silent as I continued to eat. She attempted to keep eye contact, trying to read my thoughts, but I held them close to the vest. She jumped whenever I made a sudden move, keeping me in control. She had no idea of my next move and I liked it like that. 

The room was too warm and I opened a window. I spent the better part of the day grilling her and we were deep into the afternoon. The sky was completely grayed over since this morning. The wind picked up and the first few drops of rain started to fall. The store lights on the corner flickered, a sign that we might have some power problems. It's evident by the candles scattered around the bedroom that it was a regular occurrence for this area.

"Fuck me, Chris."

I slowly turned with a raised eyebrow.

"I know you didn't." 

"I did. Go ahead and fuck the shit out of me. I deserve it. I always talked about wanting a man to love me and the one time it happened, I left you to die." A tear slid down her face. "Take that pain and put it inside me. You deserve better."

I looked at her splayed out body, nude and bound. Fucking her was the last thing on my mind, but the thought of the last time we were together stirred something up inside of me. I sat on the bed, ran a finger up her thigh. She shuddered and closed her eyes.

"What makes you think I want to fuck you? You give yourself too much credit." I drummed my fingers on her abdomen. "How about if I let the fellas from last night come in and do it for me? They seemed to love dancing with you." I stared at her, poker face intact.

"If it helps you, so be it." She accepted her fate, surprising me with her resolve. I was a little disappointed in her lack of fight, but with no gun, knife, or back-up, what choice did she have?

"I think I'll keep you to myself, for now." A sharp gush of wind blew through the window. Shadows grew along the walls as we began to lose the daylight.

I didn't bother to turn on the lights, instead lit the few candles around the room.

I leaned in closer to Abila. I could smell the mixture of sweat from last night, fear from this morning, and the excitement of the present. I turned her head to the side, placing my lips on her jugular. She gasped as I sucked her neck, licking the salt from her skin. 

"Feel good?" I breathed into her ear.

"Si.."

I hummed in agreement, repeating the action on the other side of the neck. Just as she began to coo, I pulled away.

"It's not about you."

I picked up her knife and cut away the rest of her dress, snatching the material out from under her until every stitch was sitting in a pile by my feet. Even her fancy garter that once held the knife wasn't spared. Abila's breathing became more audible as I went back to the window. I began to peel out of my clothes as I watched the darkening skyline. I had a open view of the coast. The whitecaps churned, announcing the arrival of the storm. Lightning crackled over the ocean and I took it as a signal to start.

I turned back to Abila, erect. My cock bobbed with each step as I stomped at her. Standing at the foot of the bed, I saw flashes of apprehension coincide with the bursts of electricity from the outside. I knelt down between her legs, and inserted my middle finger inside her. She was wet and my digit slid in easily, up to the third knuckle. I pulled it out and she watched me lick it. The familiar sweetness set my taste buds on fire. 

"Remember how I ate your pussy, how good it felt?"

"Si.." 

"I bet you would like that again, wouldn't you."

"If you want." She was smart enough to remember who was in control.

I leaned in closer. Her pungency was pleasant to my nostrils and my mouth began to water. "I figure, why not let you have a last request." I plunged my tongue inside her sweet folds, the minute tang from leftover pee mixed in with her amorous nectar. I moved my tongue from left to right in a slow sweep, listening to her gasp. Her thighs clenched, but the ropes held fast, keeping her from closing her legs around my head. I kissed her on the clit, nestled my nose against the soft patch of pubic hair. She had it trimmed in the shape of a heart and I planted a kiss directly on it. 

"You missed this?" I gave her another lick.

"Oh God, yes." Abila moaned. The wind blew harshly into the room as the storm built, covering her with a fresh batch of goosebumps. I attempted to kiss each and every one of them away. Her breaths became ragged as I sucked her clit with ferocity, firmly clamping the sensitive bud between my teeth. She bucked, raising her ass off the bed as far as the bonds would let her. Maybe it was the ropes, the lack of control, or my cunnilingus skill, I knew she was ready to come and I abruptly stopped. 

I sat back on my ankles. "I don't think I want to give out orgasms so quickly." She collapsed in frustration, not saying a word, the disappointment etched on her face. One of the candles blew out from the storm and I picked it up to relight it. A drop of wax fell on her bare arm and she quickly sucked in her breath. 

"Burn you?" I tilted it and let another drop fall on the inside of her elbow. She bit her lip. A third drop on her thigh made her squirm, and after the fourth on her navel, she moaned and licked her lips.

"Even in pain, you find pleasure." I re-lit the candle and let more hot wax drop on her naked flesh. She jumped as the liquid adhered to her skin. I traced a path up her torso to her tits. I focused, covering her nipples with wax, making a tiny pasty.

"You like this, don't you?"

"I'm here for you, Chris. Do what you must. Sin piedad."

"No Mercy." My Spanish has gotten better since the last time I saw her too. 

I blew out the flame and tossed the candle to the floor. I peeled the hardened wax off to the hissing delight of Abila, using my teeth to lift it off her nipples. Spitting out the chunks, I dove onto her tits, sucking on one while mauling the other with my hand. Her moans made me ravenous, my gnawing left tiny bite marks.

The head of my cock bumped against her clit, sliding against her moistened gash. Without pause, I shoved in to the hilt. Abila cried out, her body stiffened as she came. I didn't realize how close to the edge she was, feeling betrayed once more. 

"Mi Amor!" she cried out, craning her neck in attempts to kiss me. 

"Am I really?" I asked as I withdrew and forced it back in anger.

"Please, let me love you like you are loving me." She pulled against the ropes.

"There is no love without trust. I don't trust you, and I'm certainly not loving you."

I began to fuck her harder and faster, feeling nothing but the ire I held back for months. The nerves of my dick were desensitized as I stabbed her cunt, doling out pain with each shift of my hips. Abila's mouth opened but no sound came out, just puffs of air from my body slamming into hers.

"Do you know what the others like to do?" I shouted as I pumped into her. "Did you ever watch?"

"No!" she groaned as she could only lay there and be impaled.

"To be treated like a piece of meat, that's not love." I grunted, scrambling for leverage to climb deeper inside her.

"I'm sorry, Chris!" she cried out. "I didn't fuck you, I made love." She began to sob as I kept pounding against her pelvis, each thrust with the callousness of a drunken carpenter. She began to dry up, her arousal waned as I kept up the harsh grind.

"I almost forgot." I pulled out, cock wielded like a sword. "Amanda had a strap on. You knew that, didn't you? You knew what she like to do with that, didn't you?"

She closed her eyes, more tears sliding from the corners, and shook her head in the affirmative.

"Ever had your shit pushed in?" I mimicked the gruff tone of my last captor. "That's what she asked me." I grabbed a pillow and shoved it under her ass, raising her higher in the air. A loud boom filled the air as a thunderclap erupted over the city. I placed the tip of my finger against her small sphincter and pushed. She moaned and resisted my penetration. I kept at it until the tip disappeared. It was a new and unpleasant experience for her and she fought as best she could to escape it.

"So, you haven't." I stopped pushing against her asshole. "I heard it's not a very good feeling. Luckily, I killed her before she could do it to me." I squeezed her on the thigh and felt her tremble as she waited the next phase of sexual torture.

"Why is love so important to you?" After a few seconds, she opened her eyes. Realizing that it wasn't a rhetorical question and I was waiting, she took a few calming breaths and answered.

"It's the only thing that I couldn't afford, the only thing the money couldn't buy."

I contemplated her statement, understanding what she meant. My mother's love was gone at an early age and all the convictions, awards, and promotions couldn't replace it. All the years of chasing scum off the street and into the prisons did nothing to bring back the love that was snatched from me.

"That's all you want? Love?" I asked, unable to mask the pain in my voice. I wiped at the tears on her face.

"All I ever wanted, Chris."

I covered her body, kissing her full on the lips. She returned the kiss, snaking her tongue in search of mine. It was a forceful kiss, full of passion, the first woman I kissed like that in a long time. I cradled her head with my hands, kissing her all over her face, her forehead, eyes, and chin.

"There are many things I've done wrong in this world, things I will have to pay for in the next life, but there is something I have to do before I get out of here."

I got off the bed and searched the floor in the dim light until I found what I was looking for. When I returned, I had the knife in my hand. Abila's eyes widened and she tried to fight it as I straddled her again, but I was determined to do this last thing and she couldn't stop me.




Liquid Bullets Ch. 02



I grabbed her right wrist, pushing the blade against the material and cut the rope, then did the same with her other wrist and her ankles. When I climbed off, she scurried to the far end of the mattress with her knees drawn up to her chest. She looked at me in disbelief, apprehension, waiting for my next move.

"You're free. Do what you have to." I tossed the knife out the window and took a seat on the chair, picking up a bottle of rum. I paid little attention to her as I took a long pull. My erection was deflating and I just wanted to sleep, put it behind me.

Abila pulled the knots around her wrists free with her teeth and removed the ones from her ankles, rubbing the circulation back into her appendages. I expected her to run, throw a lamp, or scream bloody murder, but she did none of the above. Instead, she slid off the bed towards me. She took the bottle from my hands and took a drink. 

"My first drink since I found out." She looked down and rubbed her stomach. "I think it's needed, considering." She put the bottle back on the table and sat on my lap. She wrapped her arms around me and kissed me on the neck.

"I knew you were a better person than this. Thank you for giving us a chance." She took my hand and placed it on her belly. She kissed me on the forehead and I felt a tear splash on my scalp. It could have been the kiss of death, but I was through fighting it.

"You owe me a blade, Papi." She looked me in the eye and I steeled myself. She grabbed my face with both her hands and kissed me. A kiss of force, of thanks, of passion. I returned it, running my fingers through her hair and not wanting to ever let go. Her mouth was sweet, lips soft. I could feel her dampening pussy against my thigh and my erection quickly returned, bumping against her leg. She reached down and rubbed the blossoming head with two fingers.

"I missed this, I really did." she breathed into my ear. "I want to get reintroduced."

Abila slid down, covering my chest and abdomen with quick kisses until she was on her knees. With both her hands, spread my knees apart and took me in her mouth. Her oral vacuum brought me to the edge very quickly. I threw my head back, mouth open wide. Abila's skill with a cock in her mouth was unmatched as she manipulated me with her tongue and lips. I fought against the urge to come and she helped by squeezing the shaft every few seconds. I beat my fists against the arms of the chair, savoring every lick and stroke. I heard her giggle at my attempts to stop from shooting into her gullet.

"Te gusta?" she asked after coming up for air. I vigorously shook my head yes, leaning over to kiss her her saliva coated lips.

"The best." I cupped a swollen tit in one hand. "But, this isn't about what I want."

I stood up, bringing her to a standing position with me. Lifting her up in my arms, I took her back to bed, laying her face down.

"This time, it's about us."

I massaged her neck and shoulders, taking away the ache I put there when she was tied up. Following the path of my hands were kisses. I rubbed until I got to the small of her back, running both my hands over the globes of her ass. She responded to my touch, raising her hips to meet the contact of my hands. I gently bit her on the tattoo before continuing further South, kneading down to her ankles and feet before coming back up to her ass. Spreading her cheeks apart, I lowered my head down to her dank slit. She moaned at the touch of my lips and pushed back against my mouth.

Rising to her knees, Abila lifted her ass high in the air, her wetness returned. The moans grew louder as I ran my fingers over her clit, at the same time slipping my tongue inside her. She pulled away, flipping over onto her back and pulling her legs up. 

"I want to see you when you do that."

She grabbed me by the head and guided me back between her thighs. She was still sweeter than the ripest passion fruit, a team of horses couldn't drag me away as I lapped. She began to thrust against my mouth while pulling at the skin of my scalp.

"Dios Mio, I'm coming. " she shrieked as I sucked her hardened clit. My head was caught in a fleshy vise as she ground out another orgasm. I kept at it until she pushed me away.

"No mas, Papi.." she collapsed on the bed. "No man has ever done me like that."

"I remember." I slid up along her soft body, letting her taste the passion on my mouth. She hummed in approval.

"Are you making love?" She asked as I lay on top of her.

"You tell me." I responded as I lifted her leg and guided myself in, slowly.

I was careful, thinking about the penile punishment I gave her earlier. She nibbled on my ear as I pushed deeper, wrapping a leg around me. 

"I want you to trust me, Chris." she said hugging me tighter. "So, you can love me."

I didn't answer, kept kissing her as I slid my pelvis against hers. This time, I felt everything. From the slight resistance as I entered, to the warming compression of her accepting my girth. Every detail; the rhythm of her torso against mine, gasps in my ear, smell of arousal, I took it all in, burning the image in my mind. I didn't want to think about the past or the future, just the present. At the present time, I was making love to the most beautiful woman I ever laid eyes on. A woman who was ready to carry my firstborn.

"Will you follow me to the ends of the earth?" I pushed inside her.

"Yes," she emitted with a whisper.

"Have my little brown ninos?" I backed out halfway.

"As many as you want." she grabbed my ass with her hands and pulled me back in.

They say people will confess everything when in the throes of orgasmic bliss.

"Will you die for me?" I stopped and looked her squarely in the eyes.

"Yes, Chris. I would die for you."

I sped up, feeling her walls tighten as she had another little death. My brain wanted to get back in the game, telling me that my heart and my cock were in cahoots. I blocked out all rational thought, letting the beautiful wetness engulf me. With a soulful groan, I erupted deep inside her, my limbs locking into place as I blasted wave after wave of thick jism. 

"I feel you, my love." She whispered, lifting her legs higher and ran her nails down my back. 

Exhausted, I collapsed on top, staying inside her as the last of my come ebbed out. She stroked my head, kissing my eyelids, legs still entwined around me. The storm passed, the splatter of rain on the windowsill slowing as calm returned to the city and my soul. My eye lids grew heavy, I wanted to sleep for a week. I began to soften, willing myself to move off of her. As I lay on my side, she put her back against me and snuggled close.

"We have a lot to talk about." I buried my nose in her hair and breathed deep.

She only hummed, rubbing the arm I wrapped around her.

As I began to fall asleep, I wondered if I would rise to see the sun shine again. 



Liquid Bullets



She laughed at the joke as she tossed his belt over her shoulder and began working on his fly. She got it loose and moved down. She removed his shoes, tossing them in the corner with the belt, and grabbed his pants by the hemlines. She yanked and they began to slide off, stopped after a few inches.

"Little help?" She looked at him and Chris lifted his hips so they would slide off the rest of the way. He saw her pistols lying in the corner and decided that any attempt to fight at this time was useless. He focused on the matter at hand, getting her off.

His boxers followed the pants and she gave his cock a once over.

"I thought the brothers were hung like horses? She picked it up by the head with two fingers, rolling it around like she was inspecting fruit.

"It'll do the job." Chris was more angry than he was embarrassed. Sure, it didn't fall to his knees, but his thick girth had many a lady attending Saturday night revival. He had enough calls to Jesus in his bedroom to start filing for tax exemption.

"It better," said Suzy. She wrapped her tiny hand around him and began pulling on it. In a matter of seconds he began to stiffen. She had a strong grip, squeezing his shaft like she was trying to eject a magazine, and he winced at her rough treatment. 

"Okay, then." She reached between her legs and inserted her fingers. "Mm, I'm just about ready." She placed her sticky fingers on his lips "See?"

He tasted the moisture, actually found it to his liking. She lifted her skirt over her head, revealing perky tits and a neatly trimmed bush. Her abs were finely sculpted, her arms and legs toned nicely. She obviously worked out enough to warrant wielding two Colts. 

"Oh, almost forgot." She jumped up and skipped over to her raincoat on the chair. She reached in and pulled out a rubber, Trojan Magnum. He watched her and noticed her ass was remarkably rounded.

"Gymnastics." She caught him burning a hole into her backside. "You don't keep a body like this by just robbing banks." Showing off, she executed a one handed front flip back towards the bed.

"It'll have to do, but one has to be prepared." She said as she tore the wrapper with her teeth and shook out the latex. Chris willed to himself to think about anything other than the guns, the possibility of death, or coming too soon. It was worse that walking on a tightrope made of razor blades.

Suzy sat on his legs and continued to stroke him. He felt the crisp thatch of pubic hair in his knees, the moisture of her pussy rubbing against his skin. He became harder in an instant.

"Now, that's a jack in the box." She whistled appreciatively at his lengthening prick.

She rolled the condom on him, and climbed aboard. After some struggle, Chris felt himself slide inside.

"Oh, yeah. I like that." She sighed as he filled her up. She moved up and down, trying to get a good rhythm, before settling down on him completely. Her eyes were closed and her breathing increased through the mask increased. 

It was warm enough in the room as she began to sweat, a bead of perspiration escaping her hairline, a light sheen on her breasts and abdominal muscles. He was already sweating from the agonizing position he was secured in, beads of sweat rolled down his forearms and from his pits. He thought about writing a strongly worded letter to Degree. He almost laughed out loud at his own wit and caught himself. No telling how he would react if she thought he was poking fun at her.

Chris couldn't deny, she felt good. He felt her vaginal walls squeezing against his cock. He was louder than her, stifling his groan of pleasure through pursed lips. With each passing second, her pussy got wetter. She didn't bounce, just grind. He nipples were huge, almost too large for her adolescent like tits, and he wondered what it would be like to taste them, but she leaned away from him as she rode. No more pleasure than allowed by her. He could only watch her pulsing abdominal as she rotated the lower half of her body against him. Suzy tweaked her own nipples, a slight grunt of approval. Without disconnecting, she swung a leg right over his head and spun around in the opposite direction in a reverse cowgirl.

Chris was impressed with her flexibility, that earlier vault over the bank counter was no fluke nor the front flip. Suzy began to ride him again, up and down fluid motions. A nice creamy froth formed, covering a good area of his shaft. 

He was just getting into it when she began to shake. Shake hard. She groaned and his lap was bathed with her release. Chris looked down and saw the earlier froth being washed away with sudden bursts of secretions. He never had a woman come before, not like that. Sure, he'd seen it done online, but chalked it up to special effects or urine, but she was on him right now, an orgasmic river splashing over his thighs.

"Congratulations." Suzy panted, separating from him with an liquid pop. The sheet beneath him was soaked through.

"You won this round, but I'm a lightweight," said Suzy, as she climbed off him, still dripping. She pulled on her dress and left the room. Chris was still hard, thankful that he was able to finish her off without coming. He barely worked up a sweat, he beamed with a small sense of pride. He wiped the smile off his face when she returned, carrying a bucket. He heard liquid sloshing around as she set it down. She reached in and grabbed a sudsy sponge and began to clean him off. The sponge bath felt good and Chris hummed when she let the water rinse over his balls. "Don't get too cocky; no pun intended." said Suzy as she finished up quickly, dropping the sponge back in the water and pulling the rubber off him with a resounding snap. He cringed at her callous demeanor, remembering that this wasn't role play. There were no safe words, no lines that couldn't be crossed. She yanked at the sheet beneath him, leaving his ass sticking to the suede cover of the airbed.

She left the room and Chris breathed a little easier. He tried to move, get some sort of leverage, but the chains were so taunt, he couldn't even rise to his knees. The mattress, still soaked with sweat, soapy water, and Suzy, squished beneath him as he shifted. The light bulb stopped moving a while ago and all was quiet again. Chris's eyes kept darting around to all corner's of the room, looking for an edge, but finding nothing but the worn chair. He tried to relax, save his strength for when the time arouse.

The door opened again and Sofia stood there, watching him. She was wearing the red dress from earlier and matching pumps. She held the hand cannon loosely by her side, tapping it against her thigh.. Any other time, he would have welcomed a sight such as hers, sans weapon.

"Hola, Papi." She cooed, as she stepped into the room, shutting the door and standing underneath the bulb. "Having fun?" She took a look at his bed. "It looks like you did very well with my buddy. She looks like she might have dropped a pound or two."

"I only did what I was told." He tried to keep the banter going. "It would be more fun if you let these cuffs loose." 

She laughed, a loud joyful noise that filled the room. She batted at the light again, shadows began to dance around her.

"Not on your life, Hermoso." Sofia stood, hands on her hips, cocked at a sultry angle. She looked him up and down nodding her head in approval. "Oh, the things we could do if we were in another time, another place. You ever been to Ipanema? The things they let you do on the beach, especially Posto 9." She had a far away look in her eyes.

"I have some sky miles saved up." Chris kept the mood light. Sofia laughed again, approaching his bedside and rubbing the top of his head.

"So full of hope, I like that." She planted juicy lips on his forehead, her first gesture of foreplay.

She slipped out of her dress, being careful to lay it on the back of the lone chair in the room. She wore matching bra and thong, red, like her dress. She had on a black garter belt, where her knife laid secure against her thigh, which she also removed and set on the chair.

"I'm not like the others, you know." She sat onto the mattress beside him. "I want a man that can make love to me. I look all over, but every man want's to leave when the sun comes up." She ran her fingers over his chest, manicured nails playing with his nipple. "I can be a good woman, for the right man."

"I'm not going anywhere." replied Chris, taking in her body. She was ripe, an fruit that begged to be bitten so the the juices can escape it's fleshy confines. She smelled like it, a subtle waft of mangoes, coconuts, fresh cut bits left on the breakfast platter at your oceanfront suite. Her voice was syrup thick, oozing into his ear, making him very warm. How can someone be so sexy and so deadly? They say that Latins will kill for love in a heartbeat, maim and disfigure their lovers so no one else may enjoy the bounty.

"I know you're not leaving, yet." Sofia reached behind her and unclasped her bra, letting her heavy breasts spill free. "You look like like could love a woman." She held her right tit in her hand and guided it into his mouth. He tasted a lot of breast flesh in his life, but Chris never had one so juicy as the one his captor was feeding him. Plump, but firm, with a tiny nipple that was so hard it could have put her own knife to the test.

"Si," she gasped. "Show me how good you are." Chris kept suckling, tracing circles around her nipple with his tongue. She was turned on and he was hard enough to snap these chains if his cock could reach them.

He stopped licking long enough to ask, "Am I doing okay?" She replied by standing up and putting her soaked groin against his manacled fingers. She ground against him, the tops of his digits slipping inside a few centimeters at a time.

"Let me please you, S-" He caught himself before he called her out by a name that clearly wasn't hers. That was the quickest way to meet his demise, calling a woman by another name.

"You in such a hurry, but I'm not like my friend." She pulled away, moving to the foot of his mattress. She began to rock and sway, dancing to a rhythm in her head. He thought about how hard Salma Hayek got him when she danced in the Tarantino movie, From Dusk till Dawn. He had to keep his drink cup in his lap for another 15 minutes after the scene was over. Her mask was still in place, but a hole was cut out where her mouth was, blood red lips poked through.

"You like this dance, I do for you?"

"Yes. Very much." he strained against the cuffs, his cock bobbing in the beat to her hips.

"Sex should be intimate, not a battle." She rubbed her hands over her breasts. "It's not a game, it's passion." When she spun slowly, he saw a clue. What looked like a birthmark at first inspection was actually a tiny dagger, tattooed above her left cheek, no bigger than a quarter, but distinct enough for him to store away for safe keeping. It was dull, for a tattoo. She tried to cover it up with make up or some other type of concealment but her dress rubbed some of it away.

"We are going to make love, now." She lowered herself down between his legs, her hair brushing against his ankles and calves as she moved upwards, tracing a path of little kisses. Chris squirmed as the heat of her mouth brought him close to a conclusion. He began to think of anything to slow his course: roadkill, war victims, burned bodies, Nancy Grace.

Sofia kept kissing, up one thigh and down the other, warm breath on his balls and shaft, not using her hands at all. When she finally did, he jumped. Her touch alone was damaging. He tried to control his breathing. In slowly, out even slower. She was a sexual tornado, ready to strip him of his foundation at any second. She parted her hair away from her face, and looked him in the eye before taking him in her mouth.

"Shit Damn Motherfucker!" Chris cried out in surprise. She took all of him in the first gulp and hummed. His toes curled, the cartilage popping in unison. He jerked against the cuffs, trying to get her to stop, but she was calling all the shots. Her oral skills were amazing, her tongue darting in and out, licking the top of his sack, while sucking him with reckless abandon. She breathed through her nose every minute or so, her breath steaming into his pubic hair. He wasn't going to last.

"Wait, wait, wait a minute." Chris pleaded, trying to distract the vacuuming seal she had on him.

"I hope you aren't about to come?" She moved her hair out of her eyes. "That's not a good thing." She glanced at the chair in the corner.

Chris thought quickly. "No, it's just that a woman like you she be pleased first." She quizzically studied him. "Let me taste you. I'll make you come, I promise."

"I don't know," she put the tip of his cock back in her mouth for a second. "No man has made me come like that before. You must be very skilled." "I want to do it, just tell me try?" Chris felt the rise of his semen subside. He kept talking. "I always go down on the woman I make love to first. We are making love, aren't we?"

Sofia let go of his cock and rose up. She went to the chair and his heart sank when she returned with the Eagle in her hand.

"You do anything funny," she waved the gun at him. "And you'll never taste anything again."

He nodded, watched her walk around to the back of the boiler. He heard metal scraping against metal and felt his arms loosen. The chain went slack and he was able to bring his hands together. A forgotten ache shot up his arms as muscles burned from the sudden motion.

"Lay down." she called from behind the boiler. Chris did as he was told and felt the links tighten once again. He was now in a prone position on his back, staring up at the ceiling. Sofia returned, tapping the pistol against her thigh, inspecting her work. Satisfied he was immobile again, she went to put the gun back on the chair and returned to him. Frowning, she look at his softening penis.

"What's the matter, now?"

"It's the gun; not exactly an aphrodisiac. I'll be back to normal in a second." He studied her eyes, saw that she was still receptive and began licking his lips. Her eyes twinkled as she placed her feet on both sides of his head and lowered herself onto his face. His cock sprang to attention and she murmured in agreement. Chris waited until she was inches from his lips, sticking out his tongue. If her breasts were ripened fruit, her pussy was pure cane sugar.

Sofia hummed in approval, lowering herself even more. She was a mold of perfection, everything in the right place. He found her clit and attacked it like he did her nipple earlier. Sofia sucked in her breath in a rush, uttered some words in Spanish, as Chris gave her the best head job he could muster. Anything to keep her deadly mouth off his cock, the gun out of her hands. She tried to reciprocate orally, but he kept interrupting her with frenzied lapping and overzealous suckling. He heard her moan and kept at it, even though the ache in his neck increased with each passing second. She squeezed his cock in recoil of his electric kisses, which worked in his favor, keeping him at bay.

"Mi Amor," purred Sofia as she shuddered. Her body collapsed on top of him and she dragged herself away from his mouth. Chris smiled as he figured that she was done. Sofia rolled over and climbed back on top of him, face to face.

"You did a good job, better than most, but I'm not done." She reached below and gave his testes a squeeze before guiding him inside. "I want to feel you, Papi. Feel you inside me. Then, maybe, I finish."

Chris groaned as he slid inside a pussy wetter than Suzy's at her apex.

"You want some more?" she asked, pushing her other breast towards his pussy slicked maw. He accepted it, as she slid him deeper inside. He paid more attention to the flesh in his mouth then the flesh he was inside, anything to keep him from coming. "Ipanema, that's where I want to be." She said to herself as she rode him. She planted kisses in his shoulders and neck, removing her massive tit and replacing it with her mouth. He felt her tongue, darting in and out, playing hide and seek with his. "So sexual, so forgiving." 

"Yes, you can make love." She whispered in his ear. "You are a very good lover." Then she said the thing that chilled him to the core. "I want to feel you coming inside me."

"I can't come," he rasped. "I know what happens if I come."

Sofia looked at him, stop riding him for a second. "I won't give away your secret." She kissed him once more. "I know you have another one in you, I just want to feel loved, tonight."

Chris exhaled slowly, through his nose, trying to see if she was tricking him. All the imagination of faraway places wasn't going to replace that fact that he could end up in the woods, naked with two bullet holes.

"I'll do what you ask, because you want me to." Sofia answered him with another kiss and nuzzle under his jaw before she began to ride him again. She sat up, bouncing up and down, tits moving in a rhythmic sway. Her aureola still glistened from his saliva, twinkling in the dim light. 

Chris closed his eyes, imagined that beach he never been to. Warm waters, white sands, and Sofia. The sun would be hot enough to turn everyone three shades darker in one afternoon. He thought about the alcohol that flowed freely in cups made from coconuts, garnished with pineapples. Sofia stiffened, grabbed his chest with her hands, digging into his chest, small rivulets of blood appearing beneath her nails..

"Aye, Papi," she screamed.

"Ipanema," replied Chris and the next moan that escaped her lips was guttural. She rode him faster, rocking hard enough against him to snap it off. He thought about having this lusty creature for himself. He could do this every night, giving her the love that she craved. He would spit in the direction of any woman that tried to catch his eye. He rose up on the bottoms of his feet, thrusting his hips in the air, meeting the clash of her pubis halfway.

"I'm going to finish, come with me." she begged as tightened her vise around his cock.

Chris groaned as his balls swelled and his stomach buckled. If he was going to die, at least he could die fucking like a champ. Sofia squealed as he gave her a blast deep within. He never come so hard in his life; his sperm might have destroyed her egg, like X-wing fighters surrounding the Death Star. He felt another pull and gave her another load of his seed to which she replied with a sensuous whimper. Unlike Suzy, there was no geyser from Sofia, just coital moans and pants. She collapsed on top of him, sweaty, gasping for air through her mask.

Chris could do nothing but wait. He was chained tight and he couldn't out his arms around her if he tried. He did give her a kiss on the forehead and she snuggled closer. He was exhausted, ready for a nap, but he remembered, there were two more and sleep was not on the agenda.

"You did well." She licked at the residue on his neck. "Any woman should be proud to share a bed with you." She reached beneath her legs, wiping at the excess come. "You fill me up like a gas pump. If I didn't take the pill, you would probably give me beautiful brown ninos." She chuckled and got up, walking over to the sitting pail and grabbing the sponge. She began to wash herself, careful to rinse away any remnants of his seed. When she was done, she began to wash him in the same delicate fashion.

"Do you have to go?" If there was any of the four that might have become an ally, Chris figured it was her and played it to his advantage. "I'll follow you to the ends of the earth, let's just go."

Sofia just smiled as she kept wiping him clean. "You know, others have said the same thing." She frowned. "It wouldn't be fair to my partners if I were selfish. I already gave you a pass, I just hope you have enough left." She picked up his cock and gave it a peck. It began to stir and Chris prayed it would rise to the occasion.




Liquid Bullets



Sofia gave him another kiss, then another, till the blood began to flow once more. She took him once more in her mouth, until he was fully erect again, then let go.

"I knew you could do it." She patted his abdomen, then got dressed. She stepped into her red dress, scooped up the undergarments and put her shoulder holster back on. He watched as she picked up the blade, placing it back in her garter, finally the Desert Eagle and slipped it back in the cradle.

"Uh, I feel so relaxed now. I can sleep for a week." Sofia shook out her hair and blew him a kiss before exiting.

Chris tried to remember who was on deck, hoping that Butch wouldn't walk through the door. Sofia took more than her share, leaving him winded and sweaty. He hoped he could talk a good game against the last two as he just did against his Latin lover.

Then door boomed open from a heavy kick and Butch stomped in, a leering grin on her face. She already shucked her dress, switched out for a pair of sweatpants and an extra long t-shirt.

"Boo!" She laughed at the look of shock on his face. "Damn, I almost scared his prick back in it's hole." She took the shotgun off her shoulder and leaned it on the inside wall, next to the door.

"Hey, let me do my thing first." Foxy strolled in behind her, grinning. She too, also got rid of the dress she wore that morning. Instead of clothes, she wore a white bustier, that barely contained her breasts, and matching panties.

"Well, Mr, Mack, you survived the first two, I guess that says a little something for you." Foxy stood above him and ran fingers up and down her bustier, while Butch pulled the chair from the corner and put it next to the mattress by his feet and took a seat. "Not too many can defeat my Spanish sista from another mista." 

"Is this some kind of double team?" Chris's eye went back and forth to each of them. "I thought I was getting a sporting chance?"

"Oh, it's still sporting," said Foxy. "See, my friend here, she doesn't care about the cock as much as moi." Chris could see Butch staring at him through Foxy's legs. "Me, I love the cock, and a little pussy on the side. But, what I really love is to get off while she watches. That's my thing."

Foxy reached down a grabbed a handful of balls, making him wince. "Listen up. I don't know what kind of go round you had with the other two, but you better bring your A game, got me?"

Chris nodded vigorously, anything to make her release the death lock she had on him. Foxy let up and bounced over to sit on Butch's lap. They began to kiss, ignoring him completely. He watched Butch tear at Foxy's top, releasing her brown mounds of mammary goodness. Chris felt a little left out as he watched Butch suck on the dark nipples, palm Foxy's rotund ass, and make her moan.

"Ooh Daddy," Foxy crooned as she writhed against Butch. "You make me feel so righteous." Butch just grunted in response, mouth still full of breast.

His erection was back, and he was thankful. Still not sure what his role was, Chris tried to move into a zone of readiness.

"You know I love you, Daddy," Foxy was still talking to Butch. "But, your baby need some cock, once in awhile."

Butch stopped sucking her nipples and stared at Chris.

"Can I fuck him, Daddy?" Foxy was looking back and forth between her lover's eyes and Chris's dick. "I want you to see how hot you get me when you watch me take the cock."

"Go head," grunted Butch. "He better make my gal come too." Foxy dismounted her lesbian lover and hopped on the mattress with Chris. She slapped at his cock, making it bounce against his stomach.

"I never turn down a piece of chocolate," Foxy said as she bounced his cock up and down. "Since I quit smoking, I have what they call, an oral fixation." Chris was distracted by Butch, staring him down.

"Almost as big as yours, Daddy." She wrapped her hand around it, measuring it with her fingers. "How bout we have a little contest? We'll see which one I like the best.

Chris watched Butch stand up and tug at the the drawstrings on her sweatpants. He almost choked when she let the pants fall to the ground and a hefty cock sprung free. He did a double take till he realized it was black and held fast by an o-ring harness. 

"Ooh, more for me." Foxy beckoned her over. Grabbing his cock in one hand and Butch's in the other, she was a kid in a penny candy store with a fiver.

Chris closed his eyes and felt her mouth on him. She rolled her tongue around a couple of times and stopped, a resounding pop when she rose up. He heard more sucking and through slitted eyes, saw her giving Butch head. She kept a grip on him, but her mouth was fixated on the dildo. Butch reacted as if it were real, groaning and grabbing the back of Foxy's head.

"Yea, suck my dick." Butch's eyes were closed, head tilted back. Foxy went back and forth between the two of them, sampling each piece put before her.

"I don't like yours as much," she said to Chris. "The chocolate is a little stale." She excused herself and left the room. Butch stayed behind, stroking her strap on and staring at him with murderous intent.

His bowels rumbled from the stress and he looked away. Foxy returned and hopped back to her original place. She leaned over and took him in her mouth again, inch at a time until she was more than halfway down. When she came up for air, he had a condom on.

"I learned that back in my wild days," she chortled. "Of course, I know where Daddy's cock has been." She went back to sucking Butch, use both hands to grab her by the ass and take her deep. She gulped the dildo down, almost to the base, a slight gag every once in a while. 

"Lips or hips?" she asked.

"Keep up that bomb head game, baby." Butch started to play with her tits through her t-shirt. Foxy stopped long enough to climb on top of Chris. He was so distracted by the look that Butch kept shooting him, he didn't even realize that he was inside of Foxy.

Butch had to move positions since Foxy was facing in the opposite direction, putting her right over his face. She kicked her pants from around her ankles and got on the mattress. Chris felt the pockets of air displace and buckle with the added weight, found himself staring into the maw of Butch's pussy. Very bushy and unappealing, it looked like a roast beef sandwich that sat out for a few days. Chris was sliding very quickly away from the orgasm zone to towards the state of flaccid. He tried to close his eyes, but received a slap to the face for his efforts.

"Ah, ah, ah." chided Foxy, grabbing his jaw and pointing his head directly up. "You must appreciate what you have before you, Sugar. Imagination land is closed for the night."

Foxy was having the time of her life, bouncing up and down on his cock while sucking on Butch's. She stuck three fingers inside of her woman, rapidly moving them in and out. Butch dropped the tough facade and began to whimper.

"Right there, right there." She ran her hands through Foxy's Afro, legs shaking as the hand moved faster.

"Please don't let her come like Suzy," thought Chris to himself as he was forced to watch her pussy loosen up even more. Foxy had four fingers inside, trying to get the thumb to join his comrades. He watched in amazement as the thumb disappeared, followed by her whole hand, up to the wrist.

"Ooh shit, Baby!" Butch almost lost her balance, her legs buckled and she almost dropped directly on his face. She grabbed Foxy's hand, stopping her from moving it in any further. "I can't take anymore. Your turn."

Foxy squealed, clapped her soaked hands in glee and jumped off Chris's cock. She scooted further down and raised her ass in the air. Butch stumbled to the other side and dropped to her knees.

"Only my Daddy can make me come," she informed him, gripping his cock. "You'll probably taste better this time around, being I seasoned it up." She swallowed his cock in one fell swoop. Butch pulled her t-shirt up and tucked it under her chin, exposing gut and flabby breasts. Foxy groaned when the dildo found it's mark.

"Let me show you how to fuck, amateur." snarled Butch as she grabbed Foxy by each of her ass cheeks and began plowing into her.

"Show 'em, Daddy!" Foxy screamed as her ass slapped against Butch's belly. She pulled on Chris's cock like a joystick, barely paying him any attention anymore. Butch was taking over and she was loving it. Not exactly the threesome that he envisioned, but it was giving him a much needed reprieve. 

What was going to happen when these two finished? The only thing he knew about them was ethnic makeup and sexual proclivities. The masks never came off and they never divulged their name. Will they really let him go? He fulfilled his end of the deal, but could they be trusted?

He snapped back to reality when Foxy screamed as she began to come.

"Yes, Daddy! Fuck me hard!" She rained blows on his thighs with his fists, her head snapping back and forth. Holy revival came early as she called out to God, Yahweh, Buddha, and the ninety nine names of Mohammad. The way she was carrying on, Satan would have canceled his RSVP if she called him too.

She collapsed in a shivering heap, the large dildo extracting from her in a menacing glare. Her pussy gave a very audible fart and she giggled in content. Butch grinned maniacally, waving the penis around like a victory banner. Chris stayed silent, not wanting to interrupt any balance.

"Whew," sighed Foxy as she struggled to rise. Butch helped her on her feet and guided her to the door.

"You want me to clean him?" she asked and Butch shook her head no. Chris was puzzled as Foxy bid her lover good bye with a soulful kiss and Butch guided her out and closed the door behind her.

"Finally." Butch slapped her hands together, slick cock swaying side to side.

"I thought I was through?" Chris tried to roll away, to no avail.

Butch removed her mask and his heart sank. She displayed a mouthful of gold teeth, acne scars on her chin, and tiny whiskers.

"You really thought that you were going to walk out of here?" She knelt down between his legs, scooting closer till the tip of her cock was resting on his balls. "We had to keep you in the game until we all got our share. If your heart wasn't in it, what fun would that be."

"What kind of sick shit is this?" fumed Chris. If he was going to go out, it wouldn't be begging or crying. "What did we do to to make you so fucking evil?"

"We?"

"Men! I haven't seen any women victims." He tried to stare her down, but he kept stealing glances at the massive dong."

"Don't psychoanalyze me, asshole." She punched him, straight in the balls. He screamed and she laughed.

"Ever had your shit pushed in?" She grabbed him by the ankles and threw them back towards his shoulders. He tried to fight, but she already had the upper hand.

"Relax your muscles, that's what my father use to tell me." She hawked a gob of spit at his puckered rectum. "Not that it helped me any." She aimed the tip of the dildo at his asshole and when he shifted away, gave him a straight punch to the solar plexus. 

"Hey, I'm being nice here. I gave you some lube and this is how you act?"

Not pleased with his insubordination, she followed up with well placed shots to his rib cage, each one as powerful as the last.

"I like my bait to squirm, but you need a lesson in obedience." When she was confidant that he was done fighting, she grabbed her cock and began to mount him.

Chris felt the increasing pressure of his sphincter being penetrated, begged silent requests of absolution and traveled to a happier place. Ipanema.

"Showtime," she mocked as the first inch disappeared. 

His prayers were answered when he heard something he'd been waiting on forever. Gunshots.

It sounded like ladyfingers, little pops from afar, a few seconds apart. Then it increased and they came more rapidly as someone brought automatic weapons into play.

"What the fuck?" Butch stopped concentrating on taking his anal virginity and looked towards the door, releasing his ankles and sliding back out of his ass. "Who's bucking off shots?" The shotgun rested against the wall by the door, but before she could make a move, Chris sprung into action.

With as much force as he could muster, he aimed his left heel at Butch's head, catching her in the jaw. She wasn't looking at him and was dazed by the blow, falling off balance into him. Throwing his right leg up, he wrapped her around the neck, and used his left to lock her in a triangle choke hold. It was much more difficult because he had no use of his arms. She tried to fight him off, scratching his face with her caught arm and flailing punches at his ribs with the other. He had it locked in tight and had to bear down as much as he could. He couldn't let her get to the door. Her carotid artery was in the crook of his knee and he kept pressing down, until her struggles lessened.

He heard the stomp of heavy boots and shouts of "Police" and "Let me see your hands", mixed with the shots. He kept her in the hold as he heard a female scream, more shots, and louder booms. They were going room to room, shouting "Clear!" every time they came up empty.

Chris tried to shout a warning, but the door cracked open and a cylindrical object flew in. He cried out, just as the flash bang grenade went off, deafening him in an instant. Everything became a blur, police flooding through the door, MP5s with laser sighting, sweeping the area. He could no longer breathe, temporarily blind from the magnesium flash, and could only feel the vibrations of those around him.

He felt the gloved hands on his legs, trying to break the hold he kept on Butch, but that made him push down harder. Someone was calling his name, but he was still disoriented. "Detective Almond." A voice shot through the haze. "Chris!" He felt a hand on his shoulder, shaking him. He reached out to grab the hand and realized he was free. Somebody had cut the cuffs off. He grabbed at the hand and blinked his eyes. He made out the face of his partner, Alonzo Perry.

"You can let go now, she's done." Perry squeezed his buddy's shoulder. "She's dead."

Chris relaxed his legs and collapsed, spent. "Get the medics in here!" ordered Perry.

As he sat in the back of the ambulance, Chris greedily sucked on the cigarette offered to him by a SWAT team member. He wore a pair of police issued sweat pants and someone's flip-flops. An EMS worker was taking his blood pressure. Against the urging of his partner and the medics, he refused hospital service. Not until he got his answers.

The rain has since stopped, a chilly overcast blanketed the city. Dozens of cops cars and ambulance surrounded the abandoned factory where he spent the past ten hours as a sex slave, almost his resting place. He was discovered in the basement, attached to an industrial boiler. 

He watched as three gurneys came onto the loading dock, body bags strapped to each one. One of them was soaking the white sheets with blood. Ripping off the pressure cuff, Detective Chris Almond, Robbery Division, pushed himself off the gurney where he was sitting and walked towards them. 

His partner was standing there, full battle gear, rifle slung over his shoulder. Chris pushed past everyone and ripped open the first bag. Butch was in there, her neck discolored and bloated.

"Man, you damn near broke her neck too." said Alonzo. "I need to learn some of that MMA shit."

Chris moved on to the next one and found Foxy, a bullet hole in her center mass, eyes still open, registering surprise.

"Caught her with her pants down, literally." Chris took a puff on the cancer stick and nodded.

The last gurney contained Suzy and from the multiple bullet holes and the fact that half her face was missing, she put up a hell of a resistance.

"Missing one." Chris looked at his partner, then at the parking lot, counting ambulances and searching for another gurney.

"There were only three." Alonzo looked embarrassed. "Look, we need to get you checked out."

"Where the fuck, were you guys?" Chris felt the earlier anger start to rise again.

"The chip we put in your phone, it deactivated within five minutes of the bank alarm sounding." Alonzo stepped closer to his friend, putting an arm around him. "The higher ups dropped the ball and I watched it roll out of bounds. I'm sorry."

"What about the the GPS in my tie clip?" Chris thought about that butterfly knife cutting away at him.

"By the time the satellites were in position, you were nowhere to be found. They had you in a lead lined room of all places."

Chris knew that the bait mission was a risky one, but he felt so confidant in the wonders of technology. The FBI had Intel that Atlanta was next on the hit list and after weeks of research, Chris was placed in a bank that was the most likely to be hit. Apparently, the bag of phones he gathered was retrieved a few blocks from the bank, soaking wet. One of them must have dumped them in a bucket of water or some other liquid and destroyed them in seconds. He had no immediate back up because there was somebody who felt that the bait wouldn't seem authentic if somebody was watching him all the time.

"How did you find me?"

"The Dept. of Transportation had enough camera footage that we were able to triangulate the location of the van. We were shocked that they even stayed in the area. So fucking glad they did. The Chinese broad stopped off at the Super H market in Duluth, about three hours ago, and some keen eyes at the DOT recognized the van. It was a crap shoot because those bitches had removable decals on the side. They left the bank in a cable truck, then changed the decal to a catering store." Alonzo took a breath, reliving the past few hours.

"We were able to squeeze down to a three mile radius, but it couldn't look in force or they might have run, that's what took so long. We didn't know of your condition and didn't want to put you in anymore danger than necessary."

Chris shuddered from the cold more than his near death experience. It didn't fully sink in, how close he came to death. They were never going to let him go, according to the dyke. He needed a strong drink, another smoke, and payback. Not necessarily in that order.

"You didn't find the fourth." He said it to himself, more than to Alonzo. Sofia got away. Was she here when the infiltration started, or did she leave long before?

"We cleared the whole building, twice." Alonzo straightened his vest. "The last robber wasn't here. We put out an APB, but there are too many Hispanic women in Atlanta that fit the description of Sofia Veraga from the neck down." He lit another smoke for himself. "Needle in a haystack, brother. Needle in a haystack."

"Okay, let's go debrief." He tossed the rest of his butt away and was escorted to a waiting squad car.

Detective Almond gave as much information as he could on the missing link of the Succubus Crew. He couldn't give them much, and some details he kept to himself. He was found in a rather compromising position, but his brothers in arms kept that detail under lock and key. He was taken to the hospital and had his blood drawn for STD testing and had his minor wounds attended to. He lost a bit of skin on his wrists and needed his ribs taped up. Thankfully, he didn't need stitches in his ass, as she never pushed deep enough inside. 

The newspapers and TV stations plastered his academy graduation photo all over Atlanta for the next few weeks. He was promoted, honored, and held onto the shoulders of the city, until the next big thing came along. The money wasn't recovered and there were still many unanswered questions, keeping the Feds in his face for the next few weeks. The three dead suspects didn't have recognizable prints, just scars from where they burned them off, and the dental records haven't come back with any matches as of yet. It was like they appeared out of thin air.