"Acid Rain" by Frank T. GilsonCopyright 1991 Frank Trevor Gilson Permission granted for public distribution The author can be emailed at: frank@aris.ss.uci.edu I pulled up to the curb and switched off my car, just as it started to rain. I'd listened to the morning news so I had made sure to put on my environment suit before leaving the Federal Building. As the auto-valet pulled my car into the hotel's car storage area, I climbed the short flight of stairs. The annoying, but necessary rinse off over, I removed the suit and went over to the check-in desk. "Clean skies to you, sir. How may I assist you?" The clerk attempted to hide a cough behind a gloved hand as I looked him over. I flashed him my ID and badge. "I need to know what room Dana Maris is staying in and whether or not she has received any calls or messages since yesterday afternoon." As the clerk called up the relevant data on his terminal, I checked the screen's reflection in the polished marble wall behind him. I was unsure whether she was still in her room. "She's in room 4005. No messages since yesterday, but she did receive one phone call at nine P.M. last night." He had neglected to add that the call lasted only 30 seconds or that she had made three calls of approximately 45 seconds each immediately afterwards. The 'client present' flag was blinking, so unless Dana had unusual pull with the hotel, she should be up there. "Thanks. I'm now going to go up to her room. Don't signal her or you will be in violation of federal law. Don't call anyone she may have told you to." The clerk looked nervous and coughed again. I gave him that stern, commanding look they tell you to use. It never works so I slipped him 50 dollars. The elevator had an attendant, in keeping with the expensive room rates. I told him to take me to the 40th floor. The hum of the elevator was almost inaudible and it accelerated and decelerated smoothly. The doors slid open and I left to find room 5. After a foyer of the same marble as the lobby desk, a long hall with nine doors stretched out before me. With four doors to either side, any reasonable numbering sequence would put hers at the end. One sane numbering sequence later, I was facing her door. I knocked, not using the palm plate signal. I didn't want her to know who it was, yet. I could almost imagine the click of her heels as she walked towards the door. I could almost smell whatever perfume she would be wearing. I unfortunately was not prepared for the door to snap open and a taser to be jabbed in my gut. Brief flashes of black stiletto heels and an expensive Chanel perfume stabbed into my mind as I collapsed to the floor. My head hit the doorframe, my consciousness left with my breakfast. * * * A swirl of pain and blurred vision greeted my return to to the waking world. I could taste vomit, and blood from a split, swollen lip. It felt as though I was on a soft surface, like a bed. My wrists and ankles testified that I was tied down. As the visual details of my surroundings sorted themselves out, my conjectures about ties and a bed proved true. Since the decor matched the hotel's, I surmised the bedroom to be the one in room 4005. I couldn't have been out longer than about 30 minutes, judging from the state of the cut on my lip. "Ms. Maris, I assume you are still here. I must inform you that assaulting a federal agent is punishable by imprisonment and forced reeducation." She walked in from the living room, a smile on her face, a glass of wine in her hand. "You aren't in a position to arrest me. My previous crimes, which I assume brought you here, outweigh this little one. I'm afraid I would be in for more than reeducation." She wore a tight, leather dress. It ended quite a bit above the knee. Her color appeared to be black, from hair to eyes, from dress to stockings to heels. That damn Chanel scent only helped to drive home her beauty. "Then I assume you intend to leave me here and make good your escape?" She laughed. I hate that. It means they've got something they want to do to you. She walked around the bed, to the left side, and brushed some of my hair from my forehead with her hand. "Isn't that a nasty bump you have? I hope you don't mind the pain. I enjoyed using the taser on you. In answer to your question, I intend to enjoy myself. I intend to enjoy you." On the bedside table I could see my gun in its holster. She opened one of the drawers and removed one of those new plasti-knives. They can score steel plate. They cut flesh like butter. Dana then proceeded to cut my clothing from my body. What she intended to do finally percolated through my pain fogged mind. "Rape? Are you trying to compensate for an oppressive father? failed relationships?" The sarcasm evoked a frown from her. "But tell me one thing. Will you kill me afterwards?" "Psychoanalyzing me won't work, Mr. Federal Agent Man. I may kill you, or I may not. If it feels very, very good, I could let you live." Testing my bonds, I felt that the left bedpost, securing my left wrist, was somewhat loose. Dana had finished cutting the clothes from me. She stood up and unzipped her leather dress, letting it fall to the floor. It was tough not to get a raging hard on at the sight of her nearly naked body. Taut, toned muscle revealed itself, dispelling any mystery of how she had carried me to the bed. She wasn't wearing a bra, or panties. Just a garter belt to hold up her stockings. As she reached down to unhook one, I spoke, figuring I should play along. "Don't. I'll like it better if you leave them on. Please?" She gave me a suspicious look, but left the stockings on. The bed was long enough for her to kneel between my legs. She lowered her head to my cock, her hair cascading about my thighs and stomach. Taking the head of me into her mouth, she caressed it with her tongue. Any thought of holding back, any attempt at resistance, melted away. A stone cold corpse's limp prick would have stood at attention for her. Satisfied at my reaction and my hardness, she left the bed to return to the table. Out of that same drawer came a little jar of lubricant. I was confused, surely -she- could get wet enough. Dana got back on the bed, straddling my thighs. She applied a thick coat of the lube to my cock. Then, one hand behind her aiming me, the other supporting her weight, she took me into her ass. She just sat right down and took the length of me inside her with one stroke. To my surprise, my erection didn't shrink. If it could have gotten harder, it would have. Bringing the hand she'd used to aim me around to her front, she plunged a finger into her pussy. Then two fingers, then three. Her thumb buzzed her clit like an angry insect. She slid up, then down, up, then down, her short strokes insuring I didn't fall out. Driven by what I was feeling, by the warm, soft walls of her ass around my cock, I began to thrust up to meet her, to move away when she did. Retaining something of my rational self, I also began to pull at my bonds in time to our movements. Her motion got faster. Her lips pulled back from clenched teeth. She shuddered, eyes fluttering, and threw herself forward, nails raking my chest, and bit my split lip, tasting my blood. "Don't worry dear, don't worry. Ohhhh, we're almost finished, almost." I'd slipped out of her, but she didn't seem to care. Her concern was wholly for her own pleasure, not mine. She was stealing it from me, bit by bit. She knealt over my abdomen, on leg to either side, and slid a finger up her ass. She pinched one of my nipples with her other hand and rubbed her pussy against me. She stopped and looked me in the eyes. "Are you a good little pussy eater? Hmmmmm? Maybe if you eat me real good you can live." I didn't feel much like eating pussy, with the remains of vomited breakfast and blood still in my mouth, but I resolved to eat her like no one had before. She moved, on her knees, towards my mouth. She took the bed's headboard in both hands, and kneeling in front of my tied-back arms, pushed her pussy into my face. The salty-sweet wetness of her stung my wound. I took one of her pussy lips between my teeth, gently nipping her. She convulsed and she moaned. My tongue took on a life of its own, tasting her, licking her. I went as deep in her as I could, licking, using my lips on hers. Her hips bucked against my face and her juices flowed freely down my chin, dripping onto my chest. "Ohhhhhhhhhhhhh, Ohhhhhhhhhh, Yes, yes yes yes. So good." My tongue left, for the moment, the depths of her, to move its attentions to her clit. At that change of targets, her hands moved from headboard to head, fingers entwining in my hair. I licked her clit, I sucked it, I nibbled it. I flattened my upper lip against my teeth and rubbed that clit as I again tongued her insides. Almost a river of cum poured out of her. She shuddered, back arched, eyes closed. "I've, I've really never.. Ohhh.. never had it.. Mmmm.. quite so good." Dana got up and moved back down between my legs. "My, my, the federal agent's penis is still hard. I can't let that condition continue." She again straddled me, but this time a little farther back than before. She rose up over me, and with one hand guided herself onto me. Slowly she took me into her pussy, torturously inching herself down, until finally, I was hilted inside her. "Ahhhhhhhh. You've been in my mouth... in my ass... I'll bet this is better. Yessss." And it was better. It was like her pussy was made to fit me. Her ass had been tight, her pussy wasn't, but it wasn't loose either. She continued in long, slow strokes, absentmindedly playing with her clit and one breast. I felt a pressure building within me. My breathing quickened, I pushed up to meet her downstrokes. She sensed I was going to cum and slowed. "Not yet, Mmmmmmm... I, I... Ohhhhhhh! I'm not ready.. not yet..." Even over my orgasm she maintained control, not letting me cum until she was finished. She leaned forward, over me, and while continuing to work her clit with one hand, used the other to pinch and twist my nipples and scratch my chest. She was barely moving on me, using a circular movement of her hips. I pulled on my bonds in time with her motions. I could feel the bedpost my left wrist was tied to weakening, loosening. "You've been... Oh!... good. Ahhhhh. I.. Oh!.., I have.. I'll have to kill you... Oh!.. anyway, sorry. Ohhhhhhhhhhhh!" Her nails ripped furrows in my flesh as her body straightened, back arched, shaking. As I came, flooding her, matching her orgasm with mine, I ripped the left bedpost and thus my arm, free. I threw myself forward, flipping her off me and onto the floor. The gun on the bedside table beckoned. I answered its call. She recovered almost instantly, the plasti-knife in her hand. I brought the gun around to cover her. "Don't do it, Dana. Your life is still worth something, no matter your crimes." She hesitated, I'll give her that, but in the end, with animal fury, she flung herself at me. I fired the gun into her, I fired again. Her arm, outstretched with knife in hand, hit me first, the knife opening a shallow gash from belly to shoulder. She wasn't moving, just laying on top of me, not breathing. As our blood mixed, I lost consciousness again. * * * send email with your thoughts to: frank@aris.ss.uci.edu -- Mail rec.arts.erotica submissions to erotica@telly.on.ca. Most software will automatically mail your postings to that address. |