You reflect on your last call to Ripley Jackson as you park close, but not to close, to the Hearst residence. You've given up on the Albright and Rayne cases, but you're pleased by the new selection. The wives Rothschild and Wu may make for two bodacious victims, and while that Lawson women does nothing for your libido and you're leaving her go, you're rather surprised to find something appealing in that ginger chick, Mrs. O'Connelly, something in her freckles reminds you of unfinished sexual business of your own from long ago. You've also signed on for Ms. Petrova -- interesting that her husband's name wasn't cited -- as well as the wives Polyxena and Littledove. Your appetite -- perhaps simply your confidence -- is incredibly high lately. You try to chalk it up to "spring fever."
You're going with mask and overcoat tonight, even though the evenings are warming up. The residence looks very nice, the door is shut but unlocked -- and you go to one very seductive bedroom, sheer curtains around a four-poster, leading out to a patio. Mrs. Hearst is in a bedrobe, her back to you, staring at the stars while nursing a drink, and from the bottle on the table you see she's already made serious progress. You decide that the patio and the alcohol may be problematic, but should be manageable.
You go right up to her, gloved hand over her mouth, knife before her face, and you growl "I'll be your rapist tonight. Have you taken your fertility medication?"
She nods, and when you fling her back into the bedroom and quickly shut the patio door and curtains behind you, you get a nice shock. Mrs. Hearst is HOT. You could tell from the photos that she had a good body, but for some dopey reason she insisted on obscuring her face with her hair. Yet her face is so striking you figure she should be in Hollywood.
You yank her robe off, then reach for her nightgown. She gasps as you rip it right off her magnificent body -- but the gasp feels far more sexual that panicked. You use the knife to slash her panties and bra right off, then slam into her right up against one of the bed's lower posts.
"Oh shit, oh shit!" she gasps as she hits a big wild orgasm almost immediately. You're pleased that this is going so amazingly well. You keep grabbing and gently mauling her and continuing to slam her slot as she gushes and yowls again and then again.
You halt, however, as you realize she's crying.
"What the fuck is the matter with you? You're being raped."
"I ... I've needed a MAN for so long. I've felt so ugly. So worthless."
"I'm not here to be your fucking analyst. It's a fucking crime -- literally a crime against fucking -- to leave a woman like you unfucked for years. You were born to be fucked. Born for a man to use you."
"Yes, yes!" she agrees almost happily. "Use me! Use me!"
And you happily do. It's easy to put in a couple of hours with so fine and hot a woman, who orgasms so hard and so frequently, and it is tempting to go soft on her (so to speak) but you remain the stony machine-like rapist all the way through, and at last she is sprawled over her bed with a look of starry-eyed amazement, her body covered all over with flopsweat and wasted but decorative semen.
"You will make me one fine-looking baby," you tell her. It's as close as you dare come to being sweet to her, and you stalk out. |