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The Mess

By: nasty1



Note-For the fans of Umalord that didn't want it to end, here's more. I would like to thank those people who have read that story and gave it my highest rating to date. If you have read Umalord, then you'll recall I left that story without Alicia reliving herself from her shit. If you haven't read that story, please do before reading this one. On to the story

The day was WONDERFUL! First, Uma Thurman fucks me. Then, Uma AND Alicia fuck me. Afterwards, I was aloud to watch Alicia and Uma battle it out on the set of "Batman & Robin,(DAMN, Alicia looks good in rubber.) Now, her I was, back having the time of my life with Uma and Alicia.

"Lick my asshole, shit slave." Alicia was on her hands and knees just waiting for me to get under her.

I lied flat on my back and stuck out my tongue. 

"PHHHHH," Alica farted in my face. 

I was getting an enormous hard on. Putting my lips to her asshole, I placed my tongue on her anus.

"Ready? Here we go. UMPH! ARG!"

The tip of my tongue felt the tip of what seemed to be a thick shit. 

"UMPH," Alica grunted. I put my tongue back in my mouth and just watched as the tip of a light brown log emerged from Alica's ass.

God, if you spare me this moment, I'll never take your name in vain again, I pleaded.

"UMMMPHHH." 3 more inches appeared. Then, she just stopped grunting altogether. 

I believe I knew what she wanted from me. I put my lips to her brown present, and started humping her shit.

Alicia turned her head around and when she saw me fucking her poop with my mouth, she smiled from ear to ear. "My little shit slave like's what I've produced, hum?"

I looked at Alicia and she blow me a kiss. "UM," was all I could say.

"Well, get ready shit-eater, their's more cooking. UMPH!" Finally a 7 inch shit popped out of her puckered ass. I was lucky that I had chewed some of it already or else I would have drowned.

That would be cute: "22 year old male drown in famous movie star's excrement." I rolled my eyes and Uma was sitting on a chair, fully naked, with one hand touching her enormous breast, and the other touching her wet pussy.

"Oh, yeah, eat that stinky hot shit. I wanna watch. Eat it, or I will."

"Know, Uma, you've already had a taste of my shit. Give Bob a taste. Bob, are you gonna clean me off here?"

"UMPH," I said because my mouth was full. I chewed up another bite of the delicious shit. "Oh, sorry." I stuck my tongue out until it touched Alicia's dilated hole. Swashiling my tongue around her ass, I took my time. Alicia was obviously glad I did.

"OHHH, YEAHHHHH. LIIIICCCKKK MEEEEE! She put her hand to her nipple and I watched her play with it. "OOOHHHHH, BOB, I'm CUMMMMMMIIINNNNGGGG! Just then a tiddle wave of her cum washed down my throat. 

Thank god I'm quick, or I would have missed that.

"OH, HELL! I want some." Uma stood up and grabbed a piece of Alicia's know 2 inch nugget. She stuck her lovely tongue out and erotically licked around the turd's edge. "UM, Yeah, I love it. Tastes so nice and sweet."

I was sitting against the bed know, yanking my cock. "Oh, suck that dirty hot piece of shit. YEAH, SUUUCCCKK ITTTT!" I was going feriously now.

Alicia was sitting next to me, and decided I could use a hand. "Mind if I help with that?" Without waiting for instuctions from me, she placed her hand on my member.

I figured that I couldn't be the only one with a free hand, so I massaged Alicia's clit.

"OHHHH, Yeah, FUUUUCCCCCCCKKKKKK MMMMYYYYYYY PPPPUUUSSSSY, she quivered. Helping me with her only good hand, the teen grabbed a finger and VIOLENTLY shoved it inside her. "OOOH, YEAH, FFFUUUCCCK MYYYYYY PUSSSY! The blonde was humping me with all her might. Her head was shaking from one side to the other. "YEAH, fuck me, FFFFFUUUCCCCCKKKK MMMMEEEEEE, HHHAAARRD!" As her orgasm approached, she quickened her strokes on my hard-on. 

Uma was just busy watching as the 2 of us were friging with each other. "OH, finger that pussy. Stroke that enormous cock. I LOVE IT!!" Uma's hand was also busy playing with her pussy.

"I'MMMMMM, CUUUUUUMMMMMMINNNNGGG!!" Just as I was warned Alicia's orgasm poured over my finger. With one more stroke, I was cumming.

"OHHHHH, AHHHHHHH!" A volcanic eruption of white semen emerged from my engorged erection. 

Noticing I had my orgasm, Alica and Uma crawled over to me and lapped at my slimy mass like dogs.

"My turn," said Uma. You gotta do what you gotta do. 

To be continued...Sorry, I would of had Bob fuck Uma in this story, but I'm tired and just didn't have the energy to write anymore.

The Message



I took one last look in the dingy bathroom mirror of my Strand Hotel room, opening my mouth in a wide, toothy grin to make sure everything was in good order, and then I took a deep breath, muttered a "OK, then, let's do this" to myself, and turned to the door. "Can't keep the general waiting too long."

I would have said something to the hotel management about the condition of the bathroom but from what I gathered of the conversation in the dining room the previous night, I had one of the only functioning bathrooms left in the establishment. As I walked down the corridor to the stairs, not trusting what was offered as an elevator, I did what I could not to look at the smoke-damaged, peeling wallpaper of what had once been the celebrated Rangoon gem of the necklace of colonial grand dame hotels extending from New Delhi, down through the Southeast Asian nations, and up to Hong Kong. I hoped that someday the hotel would again regain its glory, but that was unlikely to happen as long as General Ne Win, now in his twenty-fourth year since he seized power in Burma in 1962, held his stranglehold on power here.

I would be honored to be able to be any part of whatever changed that.

I entered the dining room, where there was just a smattering of diners, just as there was only a smattering of lodgers at the hotel. Most Burmese were not permitted to lodge or dine at the Strand, and most foreigners weren't even able to get into the country. It was a minor miracle that I was able to be here myself, especially considering that my request for a visa was based on an intent to interview the imprisoned emotional symbol of the freedom fighters, Kyine Nyunt, whose father had unsuccessfully led the struggle for a return to civilian rule and had died in the attempt. Kyine Nyunt, who had written elegantly and spoken eloquently in favor of the freedom movement throughout the world, had returned to Burma, only to be imprisoned and held with little contact outside of Mandalay, a long distance north of Rangoon up the Irrawaddy River. Along with the opposition's even more important intellectual leader, Aung Htun, who also had been imprisoned in some unknown place in Burma, Kyine Nyunt, was the heart of the country's freedom movement.

I was here, in the Strand dining room, because the key to my being able to land an interview with Kyine Nyunt for my International Press news agency was sitting at the best table in the room, separated by a considerable distance from any of the foreign diners. General Soe Ye, once (and still) the war lord of a major opium-producing enclave somewhere upcountry in Burma on the Thai border, was dining here this evening. I had known that. There was a whole network of informers willing to put me into contact with the whereabouts of General Soe Ye. The good general was also one of General Ne Win's backers and main supporters. If anyone could get me to where I needed to go, it was General Soe Ye.

My entrée was that I had met the general before. I had been covering an ASEAN mutual cooperation conference in Bangkok that General Soe Ye attended for the Burmese. "Mutual cooperation" was a euphemism for military alliance, but, as ASEAN was not supposed to be a defense organization, all of their talks on cooperation were couched in economic terms. I was covering the conference for the IP. General Soe Ye was royally bored by the economic framework given for the talks, and his eyes wandered. His eyes wandered to me—repeatedly—which was noted by those with interest in the freedom movement in Burma. As they also knew what General Soe Ye's weakness was, they had come to enlist my cooperation. My own inclinations didn't rail at the assignment, and the general had, in fact, propositioned me before leaving Bangkok and invited me to come to him in Burma, so, with their help from the Thailand end in me getting into Burma, here I was. Making myself available—for a worthy purpose.

Soe Ye saw me, and his face lit up in a big smile. It's not that I wasn't expected; I wouldn't have even gotten this far, to Rangoon, without his intervention. But he nonetheless was happy to see me. As, no doubt, was the waiter, who, when the general's attention was switched to me, managed to slip away from the hand that had been squeezing his buttocks and retreat to the kitchen.

"Mr. Jansen," he said in excellent, if perhaps somewhat overenunciated British English, "welcome to Rangoon. I trust you had no trouble clearing customs."

"Nothing that two bottles of Johnnie Walker Red didn't smooth over," I said. "But thanks for all of your help," I quickly added, having seen the touch of anger my first comment had caused to flit across the general's face. Corruption and bribery were widely practiced here in Burma during these years; it just wasn't anything you would talk about openly, especially not to one of the senior generals of the ruling cabal. "And do call me Gene," I added, giving him a sunny smile, which changed the expression on his face considerably. "I'll call you general, of course, but you certainly needn't be formal with me . . . given the circumstances."

"So, you have considered the little proposition I made you in Bangkok, then, have you . . . Gene? And, please do sit down and have a drink." I sat while he motioned for a waiter. "What is it you'd like to have, Gene?"

"I'll take a vodka screwdriver," I said to the waiter. I wasn't that fond of screwdrivers, but I had winked at the general—playing him—when I'd said "screwdriver," and he'd appreciated the little joke.

The waiter stammered, reluctant to admit the hotel's limitations in front of the all-powerful general. "I'm sorry, sir, we are unable to serve vodka here."

"Oh, that's OK," I said, understanding that to mean they didn't have any vodka to serve. "I'll take whatever beer you have available then."

While he was leaving, Soe Ye leaned over to me and said sotto voce, "I have vodka upstairs in my suite. And a screwdriver too. We can go up there directly to entertain each other with them." His lustful smile was unmistakable.

"That, I'm sure will be very . . . entertaining," I answered him, with a smile of my own. "But first things first. I must serve my masters—I do like to serve masters." I saw the chill of a thrill zing through his body when I said that.

"As you know, I have been sent here with a purpose. My news agency wants an interview with Kyine Nyunt. It would mean so much to my standing there if I could get one. As we discussed in our letters, certainly. The authorities can review the text of the article, of course—before I leave Burma. That's a given, naturally."

Such a game we were playing. I knew the Burmese government didn't want an interview with the emotional symbol of the opposition of any sort floated, and they would have been donkeys to not understand that a censored article run now wouldn't preclude an entirely different version being published once I'd left Burma. But it was all a game within a game, and much of it hung on the lust of General Soe Ye and on what he convinced himself was worth giving up to get what he wanted in the short term.

"Yes, quite all right," Soe Ye said. "And you have a guide to take you up to Mandalay?"

"Yes," I answered. "He's right over there—his name's Saw Win." I waved to the local Burmese guide my friends in Bangkok had hooked me up with, and he smiled back. Soe Ye wasn't smiling. He was looking at Saw Win speculatively. I wondered if Soe Ye had, by instinct, recognized the competition. Saw Win was quite talented and heavy on the muscle and good looks and assessing eye. I had only met him yesterday afternoon, at the airport, at the arrival of my Air Burma plane from Bangkok. But he'd already spent the night in my hotel bed, fucking me masterfully like we were long-time lovers.

"Shall we go up to my suite now?" Soe Ye asked in a tight voice. I'd pulled his attention away from Saw Win by placing my hand on his thigh, just above his knee, and giving it a little squeeze.

"The letters of access and of passage up the Irrawaddy," I said gently. "I believe we had agreed that I would receive them first."

"Yes . . . I . . . I." The general was struggling for control now. I'd moved my hand to his basket, holding what gave me a lurch of fear and anticipation through the material of his trousers. This was a tricky moment, and I needed to have him in my control and panting for me.

"Here, right here. I have them," he said. And he produced a packet of precious passes worth their weight in gold—certainly worth what I was about to do.

After looking the passes over, I motioned to Saw Win, who approached the table, and I gave them to him and he left the dining room. Soe Ye watched Saw Win intently as he walked away, with seeming mixed feelings. Another obvious rooster leaving the hen house; but leaving with high stakes that Soe Ye had placed on the table in the playing of his hand.

Soe Ye was a forceful, and cruel, and demanding lover. It was all about him; his pleasure. And part of his pleasure was in inflicting pain, receiving full service, having full control. The preliminaries were all about me pleasing him. Me massaging him and sucking him to the heights of desire and the hardness of steel. And the main event was focused on him taking me—by force, at his direction. My struggling against the taking was instrumental in him getting as much passion out of the fuck as possible. I massaged his ample body and gave him suck until he rose up and slapped me hard across the face, sending me to the floor. And then he was upon me, covering me, and thrusting inside me as I struggled, on the tired, almost threadbare carpeting of his room, trying—at his direction—to scrabble out from underneath him and slither to the door. Putting me in a headlock and screwing me to the floor with the force and size and insistence of his cock then, he fucked me in a lengthy campaign for his ejaculative satisfaction, while I whimpered and moaned and groaned at the onslaught.

Then he held me there, me panting, close to exhaustion, while he had barely broken a sweat. He was recharging, but while he did so, I remained his prisoner, pinned to the carpet by his bulk and by the ramrod drilled into me, nailing my pelvis to the floor.

When he was ready again, he pulled me up off the floor, flung me onto the bed, on my belly, the balls of my feet on the floor, my legs spread, and he beat me with a riding crop on my back and thighs and buttocks while he rode me hard to a second completion.

Afterward, he sat, calmly in an arm chair next to the bed, smoking cigarettes and drinking scotch and humming to himself, as I lay, exhausted and covered with welts, still panting hard, on his bed.

"You please me," he said, blowing rings with the smoke of his cigarette. "You will come back to me here after your trip to Mandalay."

It wasn't a request or a question. I could not leave the country without his acquiescence. If all went well, however, I had no intention of meeting him here at the Strand again. And if I was guessing right, he didn't really have any intention of that either.

My guide, Saw Win, was waiting for me in my room when I returned from being debauched by the general. He was all cluckings and soothing words. He gently rubbed salve on my welts—both of us having known what the general would do with me—and then he stretched me out on the bed on my side and covered me close from behind and made languid and deep-delving love to me with his master cock until I drifted off to sleep.

* * * *

Saw Win suggested that, since I had managed to get into Burma and most likely would not find it easy ever getting in again, that we should break our trip up the Irrawaddy on a series of river trader steamers at the ancient temple complex at Pagan, which rivaled Cambodia's Angkor Wat at setting the mouths of archeologists of ancient Asian civilizations drooling. It was here that the expedition turned ugly.

I was exhausted from a full day of moving from one ruined temple to another in a World War II vintage Jeep. Saw Win was an excellent guide. He knew so much about the long history of the building of several hundred temples at Pagan on the banks of the Irrawaddy. And he also was so attentive to me. And loving.

The facilities were primitive, and we showered together in the evening under the drizzle of a water pipe in a half-enclosed shed, soaping each other up and rinsing each other off, running our hands all over the tired curves of muscles and into the inviting crevices of one another. He was magnificent and masterful, and I was panting my want for him while he toweled me off and guided me into the guest lodge and parted the mosquito netting for me to lower myself on my back on the bed and then spread and raise my thighs, so he could maneuver himself between them, slowly glide inside me, and start filling and stretching me with long, languid strokes.

During the lovemaking, we whispered to each other, discussing what lay ahead of us, knowing that if anyone was spying on us, all they would hear were two lovers in high heat, their bodies undulating against each other in primeval passion, whispering what they want to feel or do next.

I had been led to Saw Win by friends of the Burmese opposition forces in Bangkok. So I knew that he knew there was more to my coming than gathering an interview with Kyine Nyunt that would be chopped to pieces before I filed it—if they let me actually talk to her at all, which in itself was highly unlikely. It was time to tell him more. I had been told to tell him more at this point in the journey.

"I am not really here to . . . oh, god, that's good. Again, please. Oh, Shit! . . . to interview her," I whispered. His cock stopped in its probe at that point. He held us there, not moving a muscle other than the throbbing of his centering muscle inside me. I was panting, waiting for the next thrust, wanting the next thrust. But he was waiting to hear the rest of what I had to say. I could feel him beginning to tremble, in anticipation, no doubt having waited for this since that first day in Rangoon.

"Go on," he growled.

"I'm not gathering," I whispered. "I'm giving. I'm carrying a message for her. Something so important that it has to be conveyed this way."

"A message?" he asked. Holding, trying to hold us in suspense. I moved my pelvis against him, trying to get him to push me over the edge, but he placed the palm of a strong hand on the small of my back where it descends into my crevice and held me there, waiting.

"Yes," I murmured. "It's in code. In my interview notebook. A page that looks almost like the shorthand of the rest, but not quite. If . . . if . . . oh, god, YES!" he had started to pump me slowly again. ". . .If anything happens to me, could you? . . . Oh, oh, Ahhhhhh!"

We had been stretched out almost flat, Saw Win's pelvis between my thighs. But now he went up on his knees, rolled my hips up to him, pushed his cock a couple of more inches inside me, and began stroking me hard and fast, as if there was no tomorrow. He was sending me over that edge I had been seeking. I arched my back and thrust my hips into his pelvis in a counterpounding, lost in the fuck, wanting every single inch of him and the tiniest dribble of his spouting deep inside me. Pounding against each other endlessly, both crying out in lust and passion.

When we had both ejaculated and collapsed into a sweaty, spent heap, I started to doze off. I was not yet asleep. Saw Win might have thought I was, though, from my regular, shallow breathing, when he rose from me, parted the mosquito netting, and padded over to the doorway, which had been covered by matting.

The shadows of two monstrously muscle-bound men raced across the ceiling in the light of the small bedside lamp, and I was being manhandled, fucked vigorously by one bulky, cruel attacker after the other, as Saw Win stood off to the side of the room, rifling through my things, looking for my interview notebook.

* * * *

The truck journey east, away from the Irrawaddy, not north toward Mandalay, but east toward the Thai border area, was a rough one. The track we moved on could hardly be called a road; there was little if any suspension in the bed of the truck, where I was huddled between two burly Burmese hulks, both of whom prodded and pulled at my naked body to their great enjoyment. I wasn't hooded or kept from watching my surroundings in any other way, which I took as an ominous sign that they had no reason to care where I was being taken.

Saw Win wasn't with us. I had seen nothing of him after he had found my interview notebook and left our room in Pagan, while the men who had invaded the room were still fucking me.

Hours later, the truck pulled up into a jungle compound, walled and consisting of several pavilion-style, leaf-roofed buildings set against the side of a steep ravine tumbling down into a rushing stream far below. The canopy of the trees met far overhead, making the compound virtually invisible from the air.

I was hauled out of the truck and set down on my bruised feet and forced to turn around. I was standing right in front of . . . General Soe Ye.

"Welcome to my kingdom, Gene," Soe Ye said. Then he laughed and ordered me to be taken into one of the pavilions and slapped down onto a rough table on my back. My wrists and ankles were bound to the legs at the four corners. And then General Soe Ye, entered, naked now, swishing his riding crop, and smiling an evil smile.

He beat and fucked me almost into unconsciousness, declaring that I couldn't fool him, that he knew I wasn't in Burma just to interview Kyine Nyunt, that he was too clever for me, and that he would hold me here and play with me until I was all used up. No one, he said, would know what happened to me after I'd left Rangoon. I was in his world now and there was no leaving it.

I moaned for him and whimpered and told him that he was the greatest lover and that I didn't need to be bound. That all I wanted to do was please him; that I couldn't get enough of him. That he had the best cock I'd ever had.

Afterward, I was unbound and led to where I could stand under a water pipe and sluice the fucking of so many men off of my bruised and broken body. I was given a native sarong to twist around my waist and led to a small pavilion near the back of the compound. Unlike the other pavilions, its sides were set with iron bars. It was a cage of some sort.

I was pushed through a barred door, into the cage, and the door shut tightly behind me and was locked.

The area inside the small pavilion was dark, but I was able to see the rustling of material back in the corner, and, as my eyes became adjusted to light, I could make out the figure of a small, emaciated man. He turned and I checked the memory of the photographs that had been shown to me back in Bangkok.

"Aung Htun? Is that you? You are Aung Htun, aren't you?"

The figure rose up off the bench and shuffled toward me, reaching for the light.

"Who? What?" he asked through parched lips, in a ragged voice having grown unused to conversation. Aung Htun, erstwhile leader of the National League for Democracy, the coalesced umbrella organization for the Burmese opposition. The intellectual underpinning of the movement.

"Your friends in Bangkok have sent me with a message," I said. And I laughed to myself. A message for Aung Htun, not for Kyine Nyunt in Mandalay. All a game within a game, the opposition in Bangkok knowing that their intellectual leader was being held by General Soe Ye somewhere—although no one knew where. Needing someone to lead them there.

"A message?" Aung Htun asked, in confusion. "But you come almost as you were born. Where is this message? Why have they not taken it from you?"

"I am the message," I said. And then I smiled a broad, full toothed smile for him, reached two fingers into my mouth, and pulled out a molar. "In this false tooth is a transmitter," I said. "When I found you, I was to extract it and disconnect it. That was the signal that where I was, there you would be also. I would suggest that we both stand back toward the back of the cage now, if you don't mind. And perhaps go under that bench. In a few minutes, I think it's going to get very busy around here." 



The Messenger



The following dialogue is from a seventeenth century publication by an anonymous writer, and will serve as an introduction to my story: 

Death: Fair lady, lay your costly robes aside, No longer may you glory in your pride; Take leave of all your carnal vain delight ... I'm come to summon you away this night! 

Lady: What bold attempt is this? pray let me know from whence you come, and whither I must go? Must I, who am a lady, stoop or bow to such a pale-faced visage? Who art thou? 

Death: Do you not know me? Well! I tell thee, then, it's I that conquer all the sons of men! No pitch of honour from my dart is free; my name is Death! Have you not heard of me? 

~ ~ ~ 

Note: It is important to note that no one is killed in this story; any passing from this 'mortal coil' that occurs is from natural causes. Death, just like love and sex is a part of life. The personification of 'Death' in the story is as a messenger—a guide. Please enjoy: 

~ ~ ~ 

Present day, in a large city: 

She steps out of the shower in her palatial uptown townhouse. Angela is beautiful. She is tall ... and what you might consider statuesque. As she bends down to dry her long slender legs, her ample breasts slip out of her dressing gown. Although she is alone, she smooths her hands over them to push them back in. Touching them feels good to her, and she brushes her fingers over her nipples, moaning softly to herself. 

Angela is rich, or rather, her father is rich and she is living on a generous trust set up by him. She is a sometimes model, but at twenty-five is getting a little old for the business and she does not work very hard at it. She is vain and very proud of her body and her looks: her silky dark brown hair, her beautiful emerald eyes, her long slender and silky legs, and her large firm breasts. 

She is going out later, but does not have a date; she is on the prowl tonight, and is trying to decide where to start ... which upscale club. Turned-on by her touches to her breasts, she moves her hand down over her stomach, and slides a long slender finger onto her crotch, massages her clit, and slips it up inside her. She lets out a gasp from the pleasurable feeling of her soft squishy insides. 

She strokes herself just deeply enough to give herself a little shudder. She feels a warm glow spreading up to her stomach from her autoeroticism. 

"God! That feels so fucking good!" she says to herself, trying to regain control of her breathing. 

Angela is not a bad person, and she treats the people around her fairly. She is just ... aimless. She has had things handed to her all of her life, and dear Daddy is doing her no favors by financing her vapid lifestyle. 

She dries her hair with a large fluffy towel, shakes it loose, and sits at her dressing table to put on her face for the evening. As she puts powderpuff to cheek, she feels an icy chill running up her spine ... and a feeling ... like she is not alone. As she swivels around on her upholstered stool she sees a ... a presence. 

She recoils so quickly as she stands and braces herself against the table that she pushes her face powder, body lotion, and an expensive vial of perfume onto the floor. She sees what looks like a man. He is tall, and handsome by human standards, with jet-black hair, and black eyes. She admires his powerful built, but something inside her ... something she does not fully understand ... tells her that he is not human. 

"Wh-who are you? What are you doing here? What do you want from me? She asks, frightened by the presence. She grabs a heavy bottle of toilet water to use as a weapon if needed. 

He smiles and steps forward and as he does, Angela raises her weapon. He stops and raises his hand in a gesture to tell her that the bottle is not necessary for her defense. She lowers the bottle without looking where it is going, it falls over and rolls off her table. 

He steps forward again, and in a soft but cold voice asks, 

"Which question shall I answer first, my dear?" 

"Let's start with who the hell you are!" 

"Well, let's see; I have been known by many names over the centuries. The romans called me 'Mors,' and to the Aztecs I was 'Santa Muerte.' 'Azrael,' 'Kronos,' 'Thanatos,' or 'Grim Reaper' ... have you never heard of me Angela my dear? I am Death!" 

Angela's blood runs cold in her veins and she shudders at his frightening declaration. She suddenly notices that in her haste to rise from her stool, a long shapely leg is peering out from her silk dressing gown, all the way to her hip. She sees the dark stranger noticing also, and pulls her robe closed over to cover it. 

"You are very lovely, my dear!" the cold voice says, as he takes his black suit coat off, and carefully folds it over the back of a tufted chair near him. Angela gathers her courage to ask another question of the mysterious stranger. 

"Okay, question number two: Why are you here?" Angela is not sure she wants to know the answer to that question, but she is used to negotiating for what she wants, and feels that whatever it is, she might be able to make a deal. Because she is gorgeous and rich, she feels that she has a lot with which to bargain. 

"It is my sad duty to take you with me this night, my lovely Angela!" said the voice. 

Angela shudders as this cold message frightens her beyond the capacity to speak. After a moment, she is able to say nervously, 

"B-But, I-I am so-so young. I am only, ah, Twenty-one, and still have so much life to live. May I not at least one more evening?" Angela has tears welling up in her beautiful emerald eyes. 

"Angela, you are twenty-five, not twenty-one, and you will not need to go anywhere tonight." He says. 

"I am rich. I have money, gold and jewels. They are all yours if you will take them, and seize instead, some poor wretch who is old, tired, and weary of living. There must be a hopeless prisoner longing for release from life, or someone in so much grief at the loss of a loved one, that death would be a welcomed friend." 

"Your jewels mean nothing to me my dear; they cannot buy you freedom. Your Father is a fine and honorable man, but he did you no favors allowing you to depend on your wealth to solve all of your problems. The message I have for you tonight is not transferable ... I cannot cause your death, nor can I do anything to cancel it. There are lonely and wretched souls in the world to be sure, but my message tonight is not for them, it is for you and you alone my dear." 

"Mr. um, Death, I have a beautiful younger sister. She is a little angel, and she is better than I am, for sure. I would wish for time to breathe, to live, and see her wed to a deserving young man. I would want to live to see this at least, if no more than that!" 

"This is a frivolous excuse, my dear. Leave your beloved Isabelle to her own fates. Her goodness and beauty will lead her to her righteous future without your help. No, beautiful one, you are coming with me to another place ... tonight." as he takes another step forward, he continues, 

"I have obliged Kings to give up their crowns, and to lay their scepters at my feet. If I cannot grant them but a minute longer, how can you think that I have the power to allow you any longer than your allotted time?" 

"Look Mr. um, ah, sir, I have been to the opera and I know that you make deals with mortals for their souls. Have you never heard of Faust? You know, like Charles Gounod's "Faust?" I wish to make such a deal for my life, and you may have my soul at the end of it. I promise." 

As he laughs at her ridiculous suggestion, he answers, "Faust is a work of fiction, my dear and his deal was with the Devil. I am not the Devil. And if I cannot grant Charles Gounod, or Christopher Marlow, or Johannes Goethe a second longer of life, why would I be able allow you this privilege?" 

"Sir, would you cut down a young woman in the early morning of her life. Can you not grant me until at least the noon of it? I have not lived yet ... it is not my time!" 

"Do not speak of noon, young lady, I can grant you not a second longer! Please desist with your bargains! Your life here will end tonight at the appointed time! It is not within my power to end your life or to prolong it! You will be obliged to come with me at the end of that time! As I have told you, I am but a messenger!" 

Angela fully in tears has exhausted all of the arguments and deals she can imagine making, and she is desperate to hang on to life as long as she is able. All of her pleadings are falling on deaf ears with this tall handsome man. 

Then she thinks. "That's it, he is a man! He has not come to me as a Harpy, or a dark flaming angel, or even a Valkyrie riding on a black stallion. He is here as a man, a little on the dark side, but quite a good-looking." She leans back on her table a little, allowing her dressing gown to part enough to expose her long and beautiful legs once more. She helps matters by loosening the belt on her gown. 

"Sir, I see that you have appeared to me as a man. Since I must leave tonight and you can do nothing to stop that from happening, I will gladly go with you if you would allow me ... a little pleasure ... before the sands run out on my life completely." 

The man looks at Angela, then up and down her beautiful body from her painted toenails to her stomach. She pulls her gown open to give him the full effect, and notices that his trousers have become fuller in front. He must be quite well endowed from what she can see. She can only figure that he appeared to her as a man for some reason. Devil, or messenger, or dark angel, he is a man at present, and if there is one thing Angela has a talent for, it is getting any man she wants into bed. 

She can see that he is already regretting his choice of how to appear to her, and he has no ready answer for her. She decides to guild the lily, so to speak, 

"Um, Mister, uh, uh, we must have some um, time before I must leave with you. It is daylight savings time here, and since we are on the west coast, we must have a few hours, for ... for ... you know!" 

He throws his head back and laughs heartily at her lame attempt at bargaining for her life. But, he realizes that although it has nothing to do with time zones, she does in fact have some time. For whatever reason, he has appeared to her early, and it will be a little over two hours for her life to expire naturally. 

She reaches up and lowers the top of her gown off her shoulders, and gathers it around her breasts, still exposing her legs all the way to her stomach. Her breasts are large, firm, and beautiful. He approaches her, and when he comes close enough, she reaches down and unzips his fly. Her gown falls from her body as she kneels, and he is able to see her beauty in total. 

She pulls out what must be eight inches, and as thick as her wrist. She gasps, as she takes it into her hands. She loves the feel of it. It is heavy. It is not cold, but not exactly warm either. She thinks to herself, 

"I'll warm this asshole up! If there is anything I know about, it is men ... and cocks!" 

He smiles, reading her thoughts, but says nothing. 

Angela takes him into her mouth. She smooths one hand down the long length of the shaft, as she teases the glans with her lips. Her tongue tickles it from underneath. Her other hand is on his massive balls, feeling them ... massaging them ... squeezing them. She heart is beating faster and she becomes more excited, but wary of having sex with such an unearthly creature. 

"What will Death's cock feel like inside her?" She wonders. The prospect is frightening and exciting at the same time. 

The head of it pops into her mouth with relative ease, but the long thick shaft is never going to fit. She uses her hand to pump his shaft as she feels a large amount of his pre-cum on her tongue. She is determined to fit as much of him in her mouth as she can, and his tip is near her throat. Her lips are as wide as they can possibly be, to accommodate his thickness. 

She sees his eyes closing, as his massive chest heaves. He gives out a loud open-mouthed moan that sounds like it is coming from the bottom of a tomb. She shudders at the sound, but keeps stroking him with her mouth and her hand. She can sense that he getting closer and closer, until he finally stiffens and unloads in her mouth. She struggles to swallow as much as she can. Some of it escapes her lips and dribbles down her chin, but she is able to swallow most of it. 

The taste is similar to other men she has serviced in the past, and as he pulls out of her mouth, she as a smile on his face. He relaxes from his convulsions and smiles down on her. He dribbles a little onto her breasts. As he offers her his hand to help her up, he moves in and licks her chin and her breasts. He kisses her passionately. His lips seem warm to her as she puts all of her passion, all of her womanhood, all of herself, into kissing him. 

He picks her up in his strong arms, and she can feel that his arm and chest muscles are rock hard. She is thinking to herself as they head to the bedroom, 

"If I must go tonight, at least it will be with a real hunk, and the largest cock I have ever seen." She is looking forward to what is to come, but dreading the end of it. 

Her arms are around his neck as he carries her upstairs to her bed. She is smiling as she looks into his handsome face, and dark eyes. She kisses him again, and dares to ask, 

"So are you a devil, or a god or demi-god, or like an angel?" 

He looks into her beautiful emerald-green eyes and laughs. 

"Must I go through the litany of names again? Once again my dear, I am not the Devil. I am not Hades, Pluto, or Beelzebub. I am a kind of messenger. I have brought you a message, and I must deliver you to your next state of being ... your next world." 

"Well ... wh-what will it be like?" 

"It is different for everyone so I cannot say what it will be like for you." He leans down and deposits her softly on the bed. 

She looks up at him with a fearful look in her round wide-open green eyes, she screws up her courage and asks through the lump in her throat, 

"W-will it b-be like, like Devils with pitchforks, poking my ass for all eternity ... will there be fire?" 

He laughs again. "My dear child, you have really bought into all of the myths haven't you? No. No self-respecting devil would dare to poke a pitchfork into that lovely ass of yours, my dear. And ... you do have a lovely ass." He looks deep into her eyes and continues, 

"Your experience will be one that it is beyond your capacity to understand now, but you will when you arrive. I will be your guide to this new existence. It will be more of an existence of the spirit than the body. Isabelle and your parents will find your beautiful remains tomorrow, lying right here on this bed, wrapped in your lovely dressing gown. You will be beautiful, and as much as they grieve your passing, they will get on with their temporal lives, as you will with your spiritual one. It is all part of a design that is greater than any of us." He thinks for a moment biting his lip, and leans in a little as he quietly tells her as if sharing a secret, 

"If it is a comfort to you, I can tell you that Isabelle will grow more beautiful, and will marry a fine young man. They will live a long life and have four children: three boys, and a dark-haired, green-eyed girl that they will name Angela. There is no harm in you knowing at this late stage." 

She breathes in with a couple of emotional hitches to her breaths, smiles with joyful tears in her sparkling eyes, and she says haltingly, 

"Thank you ... so much for that. It will make ... things a little easier for me to accept ... my fate." She rises up and gives him a sweet kiss. 

She watches as he takes off his shirt, and exposes his expansive shoulders and chest. She admires his chiseled features, and involuntarily says, "Ohhh, my!" 

She can feel herself becoming very moist, as he removes his trousers and sport briefs. He now matches her completely naked state as he lowers himself into a passionate embrace with Angela. His slab of meat dangles to almost eight inches; as he moves down to put his face between her wide-open legs. The beauty he must escort from this world amazes him. 

The sweet musky aroma of her sex reaches his nostrils, and he takes a moment to breathe in her bouquet. This causes him to swell to his full length and thickness. 

"Please be gentle with me!" She says looking up at him with her wide-open green eyes. 

"Absolutely, my dear." 

He puts his strong hands under her and lifts her firm buttocks to his face as he kisses her mound, and teases her clit with his tongue. She gasps loudly, and starts to breathe in and out deeply. She can feel her heart beating in her throat. "Ohhh!!" is all she is able to utter. 

When he slides his tongue into her, she screams as she shudders and convulses into the strongest orgasm she as felt in a very long time. She can feel the electricity in her buttocks, surging down her thighs to her feet. Then it spreads up into her stomach as a very warm feeling. She involuntarily utters, "OH MY GODDD!!" 

He looks up at her, and she giggles asking, "Can I say that to you. I mean ... 'God'?" 

He laughs as he quietly reminds her, "I am not the Devil, I am Death—a messenger. God is a part of my ontology!" 

She giggles, smiles sweetly at him and softly says, "Oh!" Then she looks deep into his eyes, 

"Please fuck me!" 

He knows that he has to be gentle with her at first, but he is taking full advantage of his human persona, and is intent on making love to this beautiful woman. He is thinking that he has to do this more often ... appear as a human man to the women, and to arrive a few hours early. He chuckles to himself thinking of these things. 

"What's so funny darling?" She asks with a quizzical look. 

"Mmm, nothing my sweet!" He says smiling. 

It is time for him to change his position so he can enter her completely. He pushes the tip up against her smooth and very moist slit. She gasps as he starts to push it in, just a little. She moans, and he can see her biting her lip a little with nervousness ... and maybe a little discomfort. 

He pulls out of her, and slides the tip up and down her labia to gather her moisture. He reenters her, but pushes in the whole glans and another inch or two. She is breathing hard, open-mouthed and he can feel her heart beating like a drum. "Ohhh! Goddd!!" she says with the pleasure and the little bit of pain she is feeling. She spreads her legs further, and lifts her hips to allow him better access to her. 

He slides another couple of inches into her and she moans loudly, but he senses that it is with more pleasure than pain, so he slides it in right to her cervix, and backs off a little. He seems to have about six inches or so in her, but with a slow motion in and out, he can feel her expanding to accept more. He is able, after a while, to get it all inside her and just let it throb as she shudders and quakes in another strong orgasm. 

She is thinking, "Oh, God. I have never felt so full ... so completely filled up!" When she slows to a couple of minor shudders, he grabs her hips, and starts to slide in and out of her in a smooth rhythm. I suppose you could say that he has lost his virginity to the beautiful Angela. 

"Oh, my sweet man! Fuck me! Fuck me so good! I need to feel your cock inside me!" She says breathlessly. 

Her very direct language arouses him. As a spiritual being, he is not used to sex with a human woman, but he is feeling his arousal building in him. He continues to slide in and out of her lovely willing body, and starts fucking her hard. Her vocal responses tell him that she is enjoying his hard cock in her, and he continues to pound her with it. 




The Messenger in Black



Ally didn't expect the reaction she received when she returned home. It had been a huge mistake but somehow she had convinced herself that it wasn't that bad what she did. It wasn't something that hadn't been done before. It just seemed that living in a small town made everything worse when it came to the gossip mill.

Ally could barely get to work without at least three or four scowls and evil glares. The scowls were from those older then her who were old fashioned. They were ashamed of what she had done and would talk in the privacy of their own homes about how the younger generation was an embarrassment and specifically how it was expected considering the family life she grew up in. Those that gave her evil glares were his friends. She was the enemy and every person who had ever gone to school with Trevor, had played sports with him, and all his coworkers, became his best friends and thus were protective of him. Ally was just the dumb red head who had put everyone to shame.

February was turning into a cold and damp month and Ally of course had not thought to wear gloves and a hat this particular morning. Her boots were stylish but not at all practical. She hated living in Redwoods for so many reasons and the fact that it was cold and dark and miserable was only one of her reasons to hate this place.

"Watch it!"

Ally felt him grab her shoulder before hearing his words. She had been in a long drawn out daydream, or nightmare of sorts and didn't even realize she had almost walked right into oncoming traffic. His touch was forceful yet gentle, if that was even possible. She spun around and looked up at the man who had probably saved her life.

"You seriously almost got run over. I bet you're a poet or singer right?"

Ally looked confused. Her heart was racing and it wasn't until she took a breath that she realized she had indeed been holding her breath. She tried to put together a coherent sentence but all she got out was half words.

The tall man smiled and pulled his hand from her shoulder. He was taller then Ally but considering she was only five feet tall that wasn't much of a feat. He was dressed in a black leather jacket and black jeans with black gloves. Had the wind not been blowing in an eastward direction she would have smelled his musky cologne. As it was she was just standing there, still, trying to piece together a sentence.

"I'm not a poet or singer. I'm just distracted. Thanks."

And with that she spun around and walked down the street, parallel to the stream of cars that almost killed her.

"Hey!"

She knew he was calling out to her but she was ignoring him. She had to. She knew that other then her best friend Nancy no one in town liked her. She didn't know him and so had quickly made two assumptions -- either he was new and the moment he found out what she had done he would hate her too, or he was playing a cruel joke on her. No one was nice to Ally Fitzgerald.

"Jesus woman." Aeron grabbed her by the shoulder and spun her around. Before she had a chance to respond he blurted out his thoughts.

"I'm sorry if I scared you. I was just trying to make small talk. I was trying to flirt with you ever since you walked past the window of the diner. I was eating my breakfast minding my own business and you distracted me."

The glare she gave him would have scared off any man but Aeron just stood his ground. She was a curiosity and he wanted to know more.

"I'm sorry. I'm just trying to get to work without getting killed. If I'm late I'll probably be fired. I'm not having a very good day and it's only eight in the morning. Thank you for saving me."

"I'm Aeron, Aeron Sullivan. I'm in town for a conference. Well actually the conference is in Beaverbrook but my lovely company forgot to book me a hotel room so this was the closest."

"Oh."

"Anyways I'll let you get to work."

"O.k. Bye."

And with that Ally bite her lip and smiled before walking down the street. She wasn't going to admit to him that she was going the wrong way. She'd just cross the street, carefully this time, at the next block and continue on her way. She'd be late and get another discipline report. It wasn't anything new.

Aeron watched her walk down the street. He had his work cut out for him. There was no doubt about it. He walked back into the café and finished his breakfast. The toast was soggy and the eggs cold but he had only one thing on his mind, Ally.

He finished his breakfast and then made his way to her workplace. The building was rundown and definitely not on the right side of town. He enjoyed the hot blast of dry heated air as he stepped into the foyer. There was a simple wooden desk with a very young looking secretary. As a skilled journalist, he filed all this into simple and easy categories in his brain.

"Ally Fitzgerald works here right?"

"Unfortunately yes."

Aeron looked around, surprised that she had said that. He really had no idea the extent of her predicament.

Aeron just stared at her, his cool black eyes piercing into her soul. It took less then 30 seconds before she picked up the phone. A few minutes later the redhead entered the foyer.

"Before you say anything let me explain. I'm from a newspaper in Woodcliff Estates. I was asked to do an article about romance. I want to interview you."

"Romance! Are you kidding? You're like all the other tabloids that hounded me. It's been four months!"

"I'm serious. You can even call my editor. I'm sorry I didn't tell you this when I ran into you. Actually I was so nervous. Anyways I'm not like those slime ball reporters and I'm definitely not like the people in this town. I actually want to write about your side of the story."

Ally opened her mouth then shut it fast. She hadn't expected that and now she was at a lost for words.

"What do I get out of it?"

"Dinner at Enchantment. I know the chef and although the table is in the back near the kitchen he said that he'd make sure the food was delicious."

"I'm not going to say yes."

"Yes you are."

"What makes you think you can barge into my workplace and demand I go out to dinner with you. What makes you think that I even believe you? When I saw you this morning you said you were at a conference. You've already lied to me once."

"Fine. I'm probably the only person who will ever listen to you and believe your story but whatever."

Aeron spun around and left the office. As each step took him further and further away from her, he realized how stupid and arrogant he had become. He had this whole speech set out and the moment he had opened his mouth he had forgotten everything. Of course she wasn't going to go out to dinner with him. He had demanded a date. He hadn't told her what newspaper he worked for. He didn't even explain why he had said he was at a conference. Aeron Sullivan rarely let anyone get the best of him but today that fiery redhead had indeed put him in his place.

The next evening Aeron entered Enchantment. It was an upscale restaurant just outside New York City. It was the type of restaurant that was fancy enough for middle income couples to go to for a special occasion and for those rich widows to eat at on a regular basis. Aeron's cousin Anthony was the chef and had told him over and over again that if he ever needed to bring a special girl then he would make it happen. 

Aeron was seated and then a few minutes later Anthony came over to the table.

"Where is she?"

"She's not coming. I fucked up. Just give me whatever is good and let me nurse this bottle of wine."

"Fine man."

Anthony knew not to press Aeron for more information. Questioning his line of work was out of bounds. After the fourth glass of wine Aeron was tipsy and enjoying the beautifully prepared Caesar salad. The carrot and ginger soup had of course been delicious and had he not been drunk he would have made sure to leave room for the beautiful rib eye steak, cooked to perfection.

Aeron looked up to find the waiter, needing another bottle of wine. Instead he was face to face with Ally. He didn't even have time to speak before she sat down.

"I'm sorry. I've had a rough few months. You can ask me anything. Whatever you write can't be any worse then anything else that has been written or said about me. Just ask away."

Aeron blinked, hating himself for being so drunk. She had given in and now she was actually willing.

"Um. O.k. Let me just see if I can find my tape recorder."

Aeron fumbled in his bag and thankfully found his tape recorder. He placed it face down and pressed play.

"I just want to hear your side of the story. Without the cameras and rude reporters. I just want to know your side of things because every single news report about you has some random person making assumptions."

Ally took a deep breath. After he had left her office she had gone back in and began to research his name. Everything he had said was true and the fact that his picture was online helped to prove that he was indeed who he said he was. She waited for her boss to tell her to stop surfing the Internet and get back to work. She had become invisible again but somehow the thought that everyone only knew his side of the story was going to eat at her for the rest of her life. It was in that realization that she got up from her desk and quickly left. She didn't say a thing to anyone and for once she left people speechless. It was the next night that she drove herself to the restaurant, hoping that he wouldn't give up the reservation.

"I thought Trevor was the one. I mean we had dated in high school and had stayed together all through college. I was happy in the city but he got a job as a teacher and I was expected to come along. It's been four years since we moved in together and no mention of a ring. When I saw the preview for the show I thought it would be perfect. He'd get the hint and propose. That was all I ever wanted. I didn't think there was another motive for the show. I didn't even realize that the real purpose was to show how easily couples could break up."

Aeron's dinner had arrived and he casually offered her the extra fork left on the table. They shared the delicious dinner while she spilled her heart out to the tall dark stranger.

"We got back to Redwoods and didn't talk about it. We couldn't talk about what happened to anyone until the show aired and in private we didn't want to say anything. We had both cheated on each other. It wasn't just me. I was drunk and stupid and wasn't thinking straight. Those fucking producers knew exactly what would happen."

"Why didn't they show him cheating?"

"It was a better storyline. I mean he was the college football player who now teaches high school. Of course it's expected he's going to cheat. But me, of course not. I mean I'm the girl who only dated one guy her whole life. It makes sense that I'm made out to be the evil one."

"I figured as much. I arrived in town three days ago and every person I met I asked about you. Why stay in a town when you're so hated?"

Ally rolled her eyes. It was a question that she had asked her self every day for months. She was living in a house that her ex boyfriend owned. He was living with his parents, sobbing over how she had embarrassed and hurt him. She hated her job and her family had clearly made up their mind with the first phone call she received after the show aired.

"I don't know."

"I have a confession."

"What?"

"You probably don't recognize me but we went to high school together. I told you once that you were going to miss your soul mate. You took it literally and ran down the hall before Trevor got on the bus. I meant it figuratively actually. I meant that I was your soul mate."

Ally blinked and suddenly everything came together. There was a reason she was suspicious of him. She had heard that name before but couldn't quite place it. She would have had to think hard and long to put two and two together. She had been oblivious of everything and everyone all through high school. The only person important to her was Trevor and she had let fame and fortune tear him away from her.

Suddenly the room felt dark and cold. A glance at the tape recorder showed the red light wasn't on. She looked at him and he looked back. She shivered.

"I remember that conversation."

"I do too."

Ally began to sob uncontrollably. Her body had remained stiff and without feeling for so long and suddenly the floodgates were open. She covered her hands with her face.

"I just wanted to make sure you were the same girl I had met in high school."

"I am. Oh god I made so many mistakes. I left home even though my Dad was sick. I knew my mom couldn't take care of him on her own."

Aeron watched as Ally mentally took inventory of her life. He sensed she was near the end when her eyes went wide. He didn't want to tell her. He hated this part.

"You didn't catch me in time. I slipped under the_." Ally couldn't even finish the sentence. 

"No I didn't Ally. But somehow I knew you had unfinished business."

Ally opened her mouth to scream but no sound came out. Aeron, sitting alone at the table at the back of the restaurant watched as the pink candle flickered and then went out. It was a pink candle, surrounded by red and white hearts. It was Valentine's Day after all.



The Messenger



"Oh, fuck me, fuck me, FUCK ME!!' She screams as she shudders into another orgasm. 

He is pounding her hard, with smooth strokes as his immense cock saws into her. He is fucking her so hard that he grunts loudly with each stroke. He feels her come again as he starts to get close himself. After another dozen or so hard pounding strokes, he stiffens and unloads inside his little beauty. 

This is a new feeling for him, with his temporal body convulsing and spurting its essence inside of her writhing body. She climaxes once more as he comes deep inside her pussy. She becomes so wracked, with her multiple orgasms that she is babbling incoherently. They lay in each other's arms for a long time as they recover. She kisses him, and then looks into her eyes and says, 

"Mmm. Please tell me that there are men like you where I am going!" 

He rolls his eyes and reminds her, "No body! Remember?" 

"Oh shit! Yah, I do remember. Damn!" Then she quickly covers her mouth and continues, "C-can I say those words to you, I mean I won't go to Hell, will I?" 

He answers her laughing, "No my dear! There actually is no Hell as you have come to know it. And, although you will not have a body, I am sure you will find many other delights after your spirit enters the light." 

She looks at him with many questions on her mind, and a furrowed brow, but just says, "Oh!" 

She slides her hands over his shoulders and chest, and asks, "Where have you been all of my short life, sugar!" He laughs, enjoying her human sense of humor. He could really get to like this. 

She looks up at him and asks, "I'm hungry, how about you?" 

"I am feeling something I guess, it could be hunger!" 

"Good, darling, I make the most scrumptious omelets. Let me make you one." 

They race down the stairs to the kitchen, both still completely nude, and she makes her spirit-friend something to satisfy his temporal body. He sits and admiring the way her body moves as she makes omelets, silver-dollar pancakes, grits, and slices up some strawberries. Her large breasts giggle in a most attractive way, he is thinking. 

She makes coffee for them, and pulls her stool up so she can put her leg inside his to get as close to him as possible. They eat lustily, touch each other, and talk fast about everything that occurs to them, often talking over each other, then laughing about it. 

She gets serious for a moment and rubs her hands along his thighs as she looks into his eyes, and asks, "I would like to feel you inside me once more, honey. Do we have time?" 

He is massaging her shoulders and arms as he says, "My darling, you must come with me tonight, but I to have the prerogative of allowing you some small amounts of time. I will allow time to make love one more time, and then maybe we can, um, do it, ah, another way." 

She smiles and giggles a little, saying, "Peachy, darling!" 

Then she wiggles her cute little ass on her stool. She smiles at him as she grabs the last bite of her omelet, and washes it down with coffee. He kisses her as his hands glide over her breasts, and nipples. She is open, and responsive to his touches. This sophisticated model is acting like a giddy schoolgirl tonight. 

She jumps off her stool, grabs his hand and he stumbles as he tries to keep up with her leading him back upstairs to the bed. 

They make love hard one more time, and she comes several times before he unloads inside her again. She gives him a nice slow blowjob to clean him up. Angela's attentions to his member with her mouth and hands give him a warm feeling flooding into his stomach and thighs. He is not quite used to this feeling yet. He asks her to get on her hands and knees on the bed. She wears a huge smile, as she knows what is coming next. 

She assumes the position and wiggles her lovely ass at him to tease him a little. He laughs at her playfulness, but she is thinking, "God! I am such a slut!" and as she reaches back to him with a tube of K-Y she grabbed on her way in she continues that thought, "But I guess it makes little difference now, so I can be as slutty as I want! Fuck it!" 

He gets the idea of the K-Y, lubes up a finger, and sticks it inside her cute little pucker. She gasps as the cool cream touches her warm insides. He moves it around inside her slowly, feeling how soft and fleshy she is inside her sweet ass. She never tires of the feeling of a strong man's attentions to her that way. She even likes the little squishy sounds his finger makes! 

He coats himself with the lubricant, and starts to push into her pretty ass a little. He allows her time to adjust to his massive invasion, and soon as it all the way inside her body. She is moaning loudly, and trying without success to keep her breathing under control. 

He is sliding in and out of her ass, as she starts to push her little tushy back against him to meet his thrusts. She came when he was all the way inside her, and then came twice more during his smooth stroking, when he finally stiffened and released inside her, she came again with him. It felt like a firehose had been jammed up inside her when he came with such strong spurts. She is spent. She collapses on the bed. 

She laid with him hugging and kissing for a time, returning to normal. She suddenly jumps up and runs into the shower. She is not going into eternity all sweaty and 'cummy.' He joins her, and they laugh, and kiss, and hug, and tickle until they are both squeaky clean. 

She puts on her dressing gown, and lies on the bed. He follows, and they just kiss and fondle for a long while. He looks down at her and with genuine sadness and says to her, 

"Your time is coming, my darling." He rises from the bed, and looks down on Angela with a true sadness at having such a beautiful creature called at such a young age. But it happens! 

Tears fill her eyes, and with a trembling chin, she simply utters her last words, 

"Ok, my sweet messenger. I'm ready." 

He sits on the bed and puts his arms around Angela, gently rocking her, waiting with her for her time on earth to expire. She is quiet now. She looks up at him. Her eyes flutter to a close after a few minutes, and she is gone ...peacefully ... naturally. 

He stands and takes her spirits hand as she offers it, arising from her temporal body, leaving it behind like an empty shell. He straightens her gown, places her hands over her chest, and her spirit being smiles at seeing the way her loved ones will discover her. 

Death is but a messenger and her passing is a result of natural causes. Her time came for her as it comes for us all. 

His temporal body begins to change to a more spirit-like being, as he leads her to her eternal existence. The light is so bright that it would blind her temporal eyes. He lets go of her. Looking back at his bright spirit, she smiles sweetly ... and then disappears into the light. 

Her sixteen-year-old kid sister, Isabelle, is the first one to find Angela lying sweetly on the bed. She tries to awaken her older sister, and then screams as she realizes that her doting older sister is gone. 

A particularly bright spirit essence, watches through the prism of another world, as her former family gathers to lay her temporal remains to rest. Her sister is inconsolable, and Angela's spirit is touched to see her mother in tears. Her society parents become just a Mom and a Dad for the time it takes them to say goodbye to their daughter. 

She sees her Father step forward teary-eyed, and place a single perfect red rose on her coffin. 

She weeps. 

END



The Messy Hunt



Hilary was bubbling with excitement as she entered the room. "What has got into you?" Caroline smiled, hugging her friend and lover. 

"I am excited because we have been asked to join the local hunt!"

"Oh..." Caroline frowned. "I am not into hunting, its a bit cruel."

"Don't be silly, since the hunting ban they don't chase real foxes, they lay a trail for the hounds and that is what they follow." Hilary smiled. "You haven't seen the best bit!" She reached down and picked up two suit covers, she unzipped on revealing a hunting pink jacket and brillant white jodhpurs. 

"Wow!" Caroline grabbed the bag. "So we get to look the part!" She giggled "And all those sexy huntsmen!" She saw Hilary frown. "I'm only joking." 

"And..." Hilary pulled out an envelope. "We are guests of honour at the hunt ball also!"

Hilary and Caroline were both young and fit riding instructors from the Abbeyway Equestrian Centre. At twenty-two, Hilary was tall, slim and well built drawing admiring glances from male visitors to the stables. Her piercing blue eyes and almost model features were matched with a body honed by hours of hard work, mucking-out, riding and working with horses. Caroline was, twenty, she was tom-boyish, had scruffy brunette hair, brown eyes and a wicked sense of humour.

***

The day of the hunt arrived, Caroline and Hilary had been told to arrive where the hunt was meeting. "I am guessing that we will be borrowing someone's horses there. Just as well, I don't think the riding school horses would do any good in the countryside." Hilary parked up the Land Rover, there was a large number of horses ridden by people in immaculate outfits. Caroline and Hilary drew admiring glances as they stepped from the car and walked into the throng. They ignored the whispers and laughter between some of the riders. "Ignore them Hil's." Caroline smiled. "They are just jealous of us, I mean we do look pretty damn good!"

Hilary was dressed in a brilliant red hunt jacket, white blouse and stock with skin tight white jodhpurs finished off with shining black riding boots, Caroline was dressed the same and had spent hours polishing her boots until you could almost see your face in them, a far cry from how she would usually dress on the yard. "Good morning ladies." The hunt master strode towards them, looking them up and down. "I see the outfits suit you very well." He smirked. "I hope you will have a good day's hunting. You are pretty important to the day so thank you for joining us." 

The master stepped away, leaving the girls standing while he spoke to the kennel man, suddenly the hounds bounded towards them, they were soon surrounded by dogs. Hilary laughed as the hounds lept at them with their tails wagging. "Ahh... Nice doggies."

"They have to get your scent." The master laughed. 

"What?" Caroline's blood ran cold.

"Yes..." The master stopped laughing. "Oh did you not realise?"

"Realise what?" Hilary shuddered.

"As you know we don't hunt foxes anymore. But to be honest we still find ways to have a good hunt! I hope you are feeling fit today ladies."

"What?" Hilary snarled. "No way!" She span on her heel to run away but was boxed in by horses and riders, they jostled the two girls until they were caught in a circle of horses. The riders laughing at them as they tried to escape. 

"Oh now, you don't want to spoil the hunt now do you?" The master smiled. "We will give you a head start, and then let the hounds find you. There is a prize for the rider who catches one of you first and then of course you will be our guests at the hunt ball tonight. Look it is just a bit of fun."

"Okay..." Hilary smiled. "As long as we won't be hurt."

"Of course not."

"Right... When do we start?" A cheer erupted from all of the hunters, the master blew his hunting horn, 

"Ladies, you have a forty minute head start." He paused. "Oh by the way, you should know that there are some surprises waiting for you."

"Surprises?" Caroline shook her head. "What the hell do you mean?"

"Oh you will see... Off you go, it's your time."

***

Hilary and Caroline set off running across the muddy field away from the hunt. They could hear cheering and horns blowing behind them. As they reached the top of the hill they stopped to catch their breath. "What the hell have you got us into?" Caroline had her hands on her knees. 

"Sorry!" Hilary hugged her.

"Oh I don't care... This is fun." She smirked. "And by the way..." She shoved Hilary so that she slipped in the mud falling into a muddy puddle. "I am not going to be caught!" She ran quickly, vaulting the field gate and across into the next field. 

"You nasty cow!" Hilary yelled, laughing. So she wanted to play it that way... Well, two can play that game!

***

Caroline leapt the gate and into the field, there was a clear path which across the field, she knew that she had to keep moving, she knew that she was fitter than Hilary so wanted to make sure she put as much space between her and the hunt and leave her to become the pray. She giggled at the idea, this was a perfect plan. The was striding easily across the field, there was a stile on the other side leading onto more open land. She reached the stile quickly, looking across she saw the ground was boggy, obviously the cattle had been standing there, but a bit of mud was no problem. She stepped onto the stile, swinging her leg over and leaping into the field beyond. Almost instantly she realised her mistake, the boggy ground had in fact been a deep pit of mud ready to catch anyone who used the stile. She had landed, immediately sinking to her waist in thick, gooey mud. She struggled but was trapped, swearing under her breath she tried grabbing for tufts of long grass at the edge of the mud pit.

"Well well..." Hilary leaned over the stile. Her white jodhpurs soaked and coated in mud where she had been pushed into the puddle. "Having a little trouble are we?"

"Hil's get me out of here!" 

"Now why should I do that?" Hilary smiled. "You have made it clear that this is a race, you had better be more careful next time." Hilary gingerly stepped over the stile and leapt clear of the mud, landing on the grass to the side. "I think I will see you at the hunt ball!"

"Don't leave me!" Caroline cried out as she watched Hilary cross the next field. "Oh you are so dead!" She smiled.

***

Hilary spied a barn on the horizon. A though crossed her mind, if she could hide perhaps the hounds would not find her, she could escape and leave Caroline to be caught. She ran towards the barn. 

As she approached she could see that it seemed to be pretty ramshackle but sturdy, she pulled open the heavy wooden door and peered inside. Most of the barn was empty but there was a clutter of old machinery and equipment at the back half hidden in darkness, what caught Hilary's eye was a ladder leading up to a floor above. She smiled and started to climb the ladder. The top of the barn was dark and dusty, she slowly walked into the gloom knowing that she could be totally hidden and escape the clutches of the hunt. 

She edged along the floor as it creaked, there was a pile of bales in the corner, she could hide behind those and be safe. She took another step, suddenly there was a massive creak and the floor fell away from under her feet. Hilary screamed as she fell through the floor. She had a soft landing in a huge vat, Hilary splashed and sunk into a thick black ooze, she fought and struggled to the surface taking in mouthfuls of sweet goo. Eventually she was able to get to the side of the vat and see that she had fallen through a trap door into molasses. She was covered from head to toe in sticky black goo. She struggled to lift herself from the sludge as it tried to pull her back into its sticky grasp. Eventually she was able to pull herself up and sit on the edge of the vat before dropping to the floor. 

She tried to get the worst of the molasses off her body but it stuck like glue. Her red jacket was coated and her white jodhpurs were now sticky black. She swore looking up at the trap door. This was no accident, she could see that, unlike the rest of the barn, the trigger for the trap door was polished and brand new. Suddenly she knew what was happening, they had been set up, the mud pit and this, the meaning of the 'surprises' was suddenly clear. 

Hilary sighed, pushing the barn door open she went back outside, if they had set this trap they would know to check it,. these hunters were taking things to the next level. A frisson of excitement ran through her body. The treacle was seeping into her panties and definitely giving her a warm feeling despite the impending doom presented by the pack of hounds Hilary found the game pretty exciting. She took a deep breath and ran on.

***

Caroline was running along the hedgerow. She was exhausted after eventually managing to pull herself free from the mud, she was covered from her hips to her toes in heavy mud and her chest was coated where she had dragged herself out. She had to rest, a short distance away was a copse of trees, perhaps she could stop there and hide, hopefully she had still a clear lead on Hilary. 

Caroline edged into the woods, the trees were overgrown and this gave a dark area of cover. She followed the path towards the centre of the copse, suddenly there was a crack and a sudden pain in her left leg. Caroline yelled out crumpling and grabbing her leg. She had been shot! Looking down she saw red pouring from her leg, she was on the verge of passing out when she saw it was paint. She sighed, some stupid paintballer playing stupid games. She stood up and yelled out "Look I am not playing paintball!" She took a stride and there was a sudden series of cracks, she was hit by a barrage of multi-coloured paint pellets. Spattering her chest and legs with red, green, yellow and blue paint. She shrieked and hit the ground. 

It was there that she saw the fishing line glinting in the sunlight, there were tripwires all along the path, almost invisible in the darkness. Grabbing a stick she prodded the next line and paint balls shot into the empty space before her. She stepped carefully over the next wire, walking slowly feeling with the stick for any resistance, soon she had reached the clearing in the centre of the woods. Well, at least no one else can get in without me hearing them she thought. 

The clearing was silent, the only sound was the distant sound of a hunting horn. Caroline thought that she could wait here, hiding from the hounds. She walked into the centre of the clearing carefully looking for trip wires. She breathed a sigh of relief when suddenly there was a crack. Only a twig she giggled nervously, without seeing the pressure pad she placed her booted foot onto. There was a click, Caroline looked up mounted on a tree in front of her was an hour-glass, she watched as it turned, attached to a pulley and almost invisible fishing line. "Oh this cannot be good..." She watched as the sand flowed before running out, nothing happened. She breathed out deeply, a sigh of relief. 

Suddenly and without warning there was a boom, above her head five barrels which had been pressurised with compressed air burst as small pyrotechnic charges destroyed their already strained plastic walls. Caroline was hit by a flood of paint and glue. Black gloss, white emulsion, red floor paint, in fact every spare bit of left over paint that the hunt could gather had been placed in the plastic barrels which had been pressurised as part of the trap. Caroline screamed, she was covered from head to toe and the glue was already starting to react with the air making her movement more difficult. She bolted from the clearing triggering a barrage of paint balls making her yelp as she ran out into the open.

***

Hilary struggled to run as she was coated in a thick layer of treacle, she suddenly heard the sound of a hunting horn and knew that she had to go faster. Crossing behind the barn she entered a farm yard. She hoped she maybe able to clean off some of the mess that covered her and looked around for something she could use to get the mess off with. Across the yard was a raised water tank, it had a pipe coming from it and a pull handle, it seemed that pulling the handle would open the valve and release the flow of water. A perfect shower she thought and dashed towards it, she positioned herself under the pipe and pulled the handle, it was stiff and needed all her strength to wrench the valve open, she pulled down using all her weight, the valve moved and there was a rumble as the water flowed.

Hilary looked up ready to wash the molasses from her eyes, but instead was shocked to find that she was covered in more black ooze, this time smelling strongly of... She shrieked it was old engine oil, she was covered in a fast flowing stream of oil which hit her body and knocked her from her feet. She slithered and slipped trying to get purchase to stand up as more of the mixed oil and grease fell onto her. Eventually she was able to escape the flow, but her pace was made even slower as she moved like an ice skater as the oily mess lubricated her every move.

***

Caroline left the woods, she was covered in paint and glue, swearing revenge on everyone involved, it was then that she stopped, she could see a familiar form in the distance. Was that, she paused, it looked like Hilary but totally in silhouette. She called out and the oily being turned and waved at her. Caroline quickly approached her. "What the hell happened to you?"

"I could ask you the same..." The sound of dogs in the distance shocked them both. "Quick run!"

The hounds were on the horizon and approaching fast Caroline and Hilary dashed out of the farm yard, the dogs were almost upon them, they ran as fast as they could but were soon surrounded by horses and hounds. Hilary held her hands up. "Okay... You got us!" 

"You look as if you found some of our surprises." The master laughed. "But not our last one... Ready, aim, fire!" The girls shrieked as the hunters pulled out super-soakers from their saddle bags. There was a deluge of mess as they were covered in jets of custard, cold soup, syrup and ketchup. In less than a minute Hilary and Caroline were unrecognisable blobs covered in layers of mess. The master raised his hand as he noticed the two of them were shuddering. "Are they crying?" He asked his assistant, somewhat concerned.

"No!" Caroline cleared her eyes. "Laughing..." She giggled. "What a lovely mess!" 

"Excellent.." The master smiled. "I told you these were game gals, they will do well at the ball tonight! We had better get them ready!"

Hilary recognised the local vet approaching them. "Hello Steve what are you doing here with that?" Before she had an answer he had spiked Hilary with the syringe he was carrying. Caroline gasped, but he was quick and she received the same treatment. He stood back as both of the girls slumped to the yard.