0 comments/ 24489 views/ 4 favorites Ghost Stories By: capnmitch "He's so LOUD!" you giggle to yourself as you wait to pounce on the big white Gorbe who's been helping you out so much lately. You can't believe that any member of your race could possibly be less sneaky than Ghost. "Hey there sweet little thing, if you're gonna jump on me again, at least do it repeatedly. I like to take time gettin' all rumpled up! MROUR!" Ghost was hollering, well to Ghost it's just a normal speaking voice, but you can hear it across the forest. You were a little curious about that 'do it repeatedly' comment. Usually Ghost isn't that subtle. You have to admit, for all the bravado and naughtiness, Ghost was a good Sarr. He had helped you in combat situations more than once, and had been more than tolerant of your little 'pouncing' habits. And on top of all that, there is something about him that just makes you purr. It must be the confidence ("ARROGANCE!" your inner voice corrects you) or just something about the way he can look at you and make you feel like the only female in the world. As a matter of fact... WHUMP!! You're suddenly blindsided by a blur of fur and teeth, slamming you to the ground. Adrenaline pumps into you and you become a hellcat, fighting and struggling desperately. That sickening mix of fear and anger that humans call bloodlust courses through you, and you barely hear the familiar voice shouting, "WHOAWHOAWHOA" over and over. Your head clears almost as quickly as it fogged and you scream. "GHOST! How dare... what in the... but how....?" I let you splutter for a few more moments before the laughter wells up and I can't hold it in anymore. "You know, if you're going to hide and pounce sweetness, you should avoid purring. You were rumblin' louder than an avalanche, baby!" I flash a smile at you and am suddenly very aware of the fact that I'm on top of you, and have you pinned. I quickly raise an eyebrow and under my breath, I say, "Mrour baby..." The adrenaline has run its course; the rivers of strength that had run through you are suddenly empty creek beds. That hollow, weak feeling has slipped into place instead, but your heart is still pounding. The fear is obviously gone, but this new danger is far more exciting than your typical pouncing games. You lick your lips nervously and say, "Well, you got me..." The hesitation in your voice is gone almost as quickly as it makes itself known. "I guess you win." You roll slightly, adjusting rather than struggling and your eyes halfway close as you look me straight in the eyes and smile. I grin back, but the show's gone, now you can tell that you ARE the only female in the world ("At least, right now..." your inner voice teases you. You tell your inner voice to go climb a tree.) You wonder how much harder this must be for humans, they can't even smell the musk of each other. No such problem here, and if you ever wondered if I was interested in you 'that way', your nose tells you I am. The scent is intoxicating, your own musk intertwining with mine as I lean in and kiss you. Soft! is your first surprised thought, for some reason you were sure I'd immediately try to devour you. The thrumming of my purring is comforting and warm, and the kiss is very gentle and exploratory. You close your eyes and lose yourself in it, the rumble of both of us a bass undertone to the rustling swish of tails in the dry leaves of the forest. I roll to the side of you, the kiss turning to kisses, closed lips pressing and parting. You press yourself against me again, this time on our sides facing each other. You involuntarily flex once and your claws find purchase in my arm, then my back. The kisses are harder now, with our lips open slightly and the heat and taste of each other’s mouths echoing and teasing the other. The slightest hint of peppermint is on my breath, and it’s a delicious, intoxicating addition to the musk. Your raspy tongue slips out, as if to steal the mint from my breath. The contact of tongue to tongue is electrifying and it seems to answer any questions. Passion wells up inside of you, and the kissing becomes an open-mouthed combination of tongue and taste and smell. Your claws find my back again, and I free my doublet so that you can peel it away with one hand. My fingers find your shoulders, then travel around the back of your neck to the thick mane of your hair. Entwined, but without extending my claws, I pull. Gently at first, but with ever increasing pressure I draw your head back. With your eyes barely open you look at the trees above us, the occasional leaf twirling a lazy pattern down towards the ground. I pull you up to a sitting position, still kissing you and rolling onto my knees in front of you. Your head still held back, my kisses stray from your mouth and find their way to your neck. Tensing slightly at the submissive position, you relax and decide to enjoy whatever I have in store for you. For any animal to trust another with their throat exposed is a huge risk, and it's against every instinct you have. But the teeth and grooming tongue feel so good on your fur and skin that your eyes slip closed again. I take my time, a purr still constantly rumbling in my chest, as I kiss down your neck. Nipping and nibbling, claws dancing lightly through your fur and touching the skin below, my mouth finds its way to your breast. All pretenses forgotten and animal passion threatening to take us both, I intentionally delay letting my mouth make contact with you. Thunder in my chest, wet heat in the breath above your breast, you finally can wait no longer and you pull me to you. My open mouth takes your breast and immediately everything changes. There's the rasp of my tongue, it's strength apparent and you now know you want it everywhere. My teeth touch your nipple and toy with it for a moment, bringing a high feline moan from you. Your claws dig and release, dig and release, as I taste you. There's a growl underlying everything, and you know it's from both of us. You let go of me and lean backwards, supporting yourself on your hands. Your legs part slightly, and I straddle the one closest to me. I am exploring both breasts now with hands and tongue and teeth, slipping the sensitive nipples into my mouth and flicking them with my tongue before releasing them again. My hands caress, then slide down and around to the base of your tail, then back again. The heat between your legs is obvious now, the scent of lust all around us. You part your legs even farther and I oblige by stepping my other knee over so that now I'm kneeling between your legs, claws dragging from breast to backside and the sides of your thighs. Up on your hips are the fastening strings for your clothing, and as you reach to remove the tiny bottoms I realize your intent and they're untied before you can get a finger on them. Amused and enjoying my continually exploring mouth, you chuckle/moan as I make short work of removing them. Sitting up, you wrap both arms around my head and slip your fingers into my mane. Winding the thick, long fur into your hands you hug my face even tighter into your breasts, you then push down. You're pleased that no tension enters my shoulders as I happily slide down your body, kissing and licking your stomach before you feel my hot breath hovering over a far more sensitive area. The scent of your sex is overpowering. My heavy breathing is a vibrato with the purr, and you can already feel the sensations that are about to come. With a snarl that surprises you I hungrily lunge forward, mouth enveloping your lips with a delicious warmth before my rough tongue makes its first of many passes over your sweet wet sex. You roar at the sensation, the grooming touch of my tongue being used to flick your clit with each pass. I stretch out my legs, laying flat on my belly, arms wrapped around your thighs as I continue to lick, caress and massage your clit and lips. The purr coming from you is consistently interrupted by sounds of pleasure, far more animal than human. My hands find your hips and then slip beneath, pulling you even harder into my sucking, nipping, and licking mouth. My whiskers have been tickling your thighs this entire time, and the gentle light touch of them coupled with my hungry mouth is finally too much to bear. Your claws tear into my back as a growl begins at the back of your throat and becomes a roar. You buck wildly into my muzzle, each wave of pleasure more fierce than the last as your orgasms climb, one atop each other, ending the roar with a scream and a gasp. The fur just around my lips is matted with your moisture, and the hunger in my eyes smolders above my wet mouth. Still shaking from the first climax, you nevertheless want more. Flipping over onto all fours like our feline cousins you turn away from me, playfully flicking me across the face with your tail. From my now crouching position, I dive greedily forward, making you jump away then back as you feel the rough contact of my tongue again. I’m on all fours behind you, sucking and licking you, unable to get enough of your taste, your scent, your soft and silken lips. But you want something else, and the arch in your back tells me all I need to know. One hand constantly playing with your breasts, clawing lightly at your back, tracing light shapes in and around your sex; I use the other to remove the rest of my clothing. I peel out of my pants, my boots long since finding the forest floor. You’ve arched your back enough to have your breasts pressed into the rich earth, the dry scritch of the leaves pleasant under their heightened sensitivity. Tail constantly flicking and curling, you spread your legs and slide your hips lower to the ground as you feel the pressure of my head pushing against you. There’s a slight flutter in your stomach as you feel the pressure of the slick head sliding around, feeling your lips wrap around it as if they were a mouth trying to draw it in. The waiting quickly becomes unbearable and you drive your hips towards me, but I pull away, keeping the same distance between us. Every time you rock back towards me, I move with you, just teasing your clit and lips with the tip. Just as your purring fades and I see your tail twitch in front of me in frustration I thrust forward, plunging halfway into your soaked sex. The feeling of your tightness gripping me is enough to draw a growl from my throat as I slip almost all the way out and then plunge fully into you. Your claws sink into the earth and mine clamp firmly into your hips as we start to rhythmically pound against each other. Our passions fully awakened, sleek fur shimmering with body oils and sweat, we furiously drive into each other again and again and again. I watch as my rod slips out of you, slick and wet, then slams back into you over and over. Our animal growls and yowling show the pure passion of our lust, and orgasm after orgasm wrack your frame with pleasure. Your legs are starting to buckle beneath you, the climaxes draining the strength from your thighs. As you collapse forward, I withdraw and turn you onto your back, sliding my hands down your breasts and stomach, taking hold of your hips once again. Sliding slowly into you, now from on top, is a new and exquisite sensation. The reversal hits new places within you and you begin to writhe beneath me, slowing the pace as we slowly grind against one another. My face close to yours, we begin to kiss again, mouths open and sweet musk everywhere. Your hands travel everywhere, your body and mine, touching, clawing, exploring. The pressure of my pelvis constantly grinding against your clit is too much and you can feel yourself starting to climb again, this time to somewhere far above the previous climaxes. The warmth of our breath, the passionate, intertwined tongues, the scent, the exquisite pressure, the claws combined with gentle fingers touching and exploring… all of it focuses and then explodes. My open mouth over yours mimics your roar an octave lower as my own climax starts to overtake me. You are howling with passion, your body shaking beneath me uncontrollably as the orgasm reaches every part of you, bolting through your skin like lightning. With our heads thrown back, yours against the ground and mine pointing skyward, we roar again with unintentional harmony, the after effects washing through us as we both slowly descend. Ghost Stories 1 Sydd had promised herself not to get involved—not that she was scared—though, if she had any sense she should be...it was just that, what was past—well—should be... 'past'.... Perri had reappeared—like a vision—not a 'sprite.' There was nothing spritely here in this apparition. No odes to youth and springtime. There was something of a cold edge here—a sinister slice, so-to-speak, that said 'delete the email,' 'respond to no texts,' 'take no calls'. The past is the past. Perri had reappeared. More like a ghost from that past; from out of somewhere—or nowhere—or so it seemed. For anyone else with any sense who knew Sydd, it was obvious—all too obvious—that she was a wmn with a past—a vastly chequered past at that, that included women—genetic women. It might have been difficult to forget that Sydd was once male—then again, maybe not that difficult at all. Perri, that past—that history—posed fundamental questions about what it might mean to be transgendered; about the assumptions made about this 'state of being'...even by the transgendered themselves.... So...there she was, this 'blast from the past'—a virtual beginning in the conception of—good word that, given the sexual nature of these beginnings—and as much, the instigation of one Sydian Onyx Black. Yep, Perri had been there at the very moment of the 'Big Bang'. Some might have even accused her of having lit the 'fuse'....A very interesting notion indeed. *** They had grown up together. Back then it was the very pretty girl—actually Perri was not 'pretty'...it was in fact her look, her air, her confidence—the seductiveness of her being, that had inspired Sydd's own look and carriage....no, neither of them could be defined as 'pretty'—both would reject the term. They settled for exactly what they were: sensually seductive... 'stunning' is, in fact, more apropos.... But, we digress. This is about 'then'—about when it was about to 'start'. Two kids, one a girl—decidedly 'cute', and a boy—a black boy—who was a proto-dork. There was some chemistry that took them all the way through high school and that raised questions among their peers as to what she 'saw' in him. He wasn't simply all brain, though. He was a runner—a very good runner, along with that fast-assed sister of his. Perri had always secretly wondered about her, too—fantasized about her. But then she got distracted—distracted when she found out that he truly wasn't 'all brain'....when she discovered his cock—that 'huge cock', she once moaned....High school...high school...high school.... That was the summer before college when she truly rocked his world...and she knew it.... He knew it. She couldn't have been aware of how profound an effect she had had until they bumped into each other in a different city years after college.... *** Sitting in a snow-bound train overlooking an ice-flossed river dusted with snow....trees and brush as far as the eye can see, ethereally frosted...into an urban winterscape that curved along the lakeside, Sydian mused about that many year ago chance encounter—or what seemed to be 'chance' then.... A couple of years out of college, between her military service and graduate and law school, they 'bumped' into each other....and in the bumping and grinding that ensued, Perri both re-seduced and recruited Sydd into a potentially quite dangerous business. It took a while for it to register that Perri was quite a dangerous woman—in fact, on the scale of it all, a tad bit more dangerous than Sydian O. Black could ever have been imagined to have been.... Sydd was part of the military lottery. Her luck had been to finish college early and to do so before the draft had ended. She attempted to hedge her bets—when her number was called—or right before—she preempted the process and joined the Marine Corps. Somewhere, in basic, where it was determined that this slender, wiry, black reed of thing was not only not to be fucked with, but was also an inspired ass-kicker, she—then he—was offered the possibility of special training in intelligence with the promise of a commission. It all worked out, and two years later our grl—still a guy—mustered out with the rank of captain. Yes, it was a quick tour of duty. Imagine being black in today's Marine Corps and then project that back a couple of decades....imagine a few too many taunts, slurs, and physical slights, and then an explosive, yet subtle response, to their accumulated weight. That the discharge was honorable was due in part to three things: first, an extremely high degree of intellectual acumen—yep! Grlfriend was smart, even back then. Second, Sydd was trained as a special operations officer—a black, black ops, if you will. Her training had taught her how to kill, how to maim, how to hurt. Most importantly, however, it had taught her how to instill fear.... This leads us to the third and last point of this successful foray that led to a discharge with honor. Though she left her 'calling card'—those who were the 'objects' of her mayhem knew unequivocally that it was her/him—how else to really inspire fear and send the message that 'you should never even dream of fucking with me?'— as an intelligence officer, she did what the best intelligence officers do. She anticipated every possible scenario she could and then prepared for the 'worst' cases by collecting data on everyone up the chain of command who might even remotely affect the outcome of whatever consequences lay before her. In short, when she was summoned to the CO's office, there was no Board of Inquiry, no charges from the JAG Corps. Only a terse 'sign this Marine.' Then, before she spun to exit service for the last time, the CO confided: 'That was a fuckin' brilliant set of maneuvers...shame you're leaving...our friggin' loss....' Those were memories on a snowbound train along a glazed lake overlooking a frozen river.... *** 2 Now, out of a fantastical winter whiteness, a spectre reappears—a 'ghost' from her past.... It was a warm, early spring evening in a city big enough to get lost in—to be lost in.... It was somewhere before a short, nappy blonde do, and stilettos—though they were closer than even Sydd might have imagined. It was well before the permanency of a set of carefully crafted 34Cs. But even then, Sydd was feeling her sexual otherness. O....she loved smart, pretty black women—in fact, she loved all kinds of women made that much more attractive by their intelligence. She—still he—had even had encounters—a few, in fact, with males. But what was becoming even more intriguing and alluring was that world 'in between': the world of the transgendered that was just beginning to 'surface', so-to-speak. That spring evening, walking out of the office of a clerkship that paid nothing, or next to it, Sydd turned the corner and literally ran into Perri.... *** Briefs—the legal kind—scattered all over the sidewalk...what might have been important papers would have blown away if she had not 'instructed' him to stop gawking.... It was a look—her look—the way in which he/she supposed that only she could look....it said: 'that mouth could be put to much better uses'—as she stooped—long, long legs sweeping up, up, up, under a too, too short pin-striped, pencil skirt to a v that he could only re-imagine—to help him gather the papers... *** They stepped into a cool, dimly lit bar; took a booth in the farthest reaches of the back...before he could speak she put her finger to his lips, and then her lips to his.... Then she spoke before he could.... 'You're thinking this is 'coincidental'...nothing is 'coincidence'—not even when it's given to chance—and certainly not this....It was only a matter of time before I'd find you....and yes...I've been looking....' His first reaction was to be flattered. The first love of his life had sought him out after all these years. But, years, and training would teach him/her never to make such an assumption again.... Her hand sought his beneath the table, brought it to rest on the warmth of her thigh.... 'Yes...I've been looking—for more reasons than you can imagine. I've looked since I last saw you—how many years ago? And now, this time, I've been looking because it's my job....' His head began to swim as she slid his hand further up her thigh....through the words and the sensation, he could make no sense of it at all.... Then she said: 'I need your help....' And he was shocked back into the here and now. 'My help,' he stumbled...? 'Mmmmhmm,' she replied with a measured nonchalance. Then she began to tell him things about himself that he thought very few people knew, or at the very least that very few would have taken the time to put together. She talked about his military career; his skills. And then said she needed them—him. He felt himself pulling away. She stopped him with a sentence: 'It's not a game, Sweetheart....' That night, she convinced him of what she did, and who she was. She convinced him to work with her 'just this once'.... Then, she convinced him even more.... *** 3 Winter night. She stood gazing out the floor-to-ceiling window that made up one wall of the condo. The view was the river, half frozen, spilling into the lake. Phone calls. Texts. Emails.... Sydd wondered if a special delivery parcel might not be next—the delivery person rapping on the condo door; perhaps marching into the her suite at the firm. Nope, the latter wasn't Perri's style.... Perri understood the strategy of 'attrition'....Sydd would be 'worn down'.... 'water torture' was the more fitting metaphor here. *** 'This is a national security issue. It ain't the highest level, but in the notion of what's accretive—what builds up—it has the possibility to grow. And I can't let it grow....' He looked at her, confused, yet growing a bit more defiant at every turn. He started. 'Perri, why in the world would you think I would want to do anything for this government? If you know me—and you say you do—from way back, to now—why in the world would you think I'd help—even you...?' He trailed off.... 'Because....' The pause was long and pregnant—too pregnant—birthing twins...triplets...even quadruplets.... 'Because... 'You love your peeps....' Hadn't heard that in a long time...the term, the phrasing, the cadence.... Perri sighed. 'I don't just know you from childhood; I don't just know your military record or the fact that your were regarded as the best intelligence prospect in your cadre....I know what you do now...I even have some inkling of desires: Law-school boy doing shit-level clerking so you can represent the 'poor''....Well... I'm offering you the chance to do that...and a bit more...before it gets to court....if ever.... She sighed again.... *** 'It's simple...but it's complicated....' She began. 'We need information. It's information that could stop this muthafuka from pumping any more of his shit into our communities. But it won't be easy. And that's why I need you....' He was still bewildered. 'I told you that I know more about you than anyone else should.... I know what you want to hide most.... Maybe, just maybe, I can help you get over it. Maybe, I can help you embrace it....' This set him on edge like nobodies' business. His military records, yes. School, yes. His law interests, OK; even their childhood. But now, the intimation that she was privy to what was most intimate to him; about him—to what he might have regarded as his 'deepest secrets'....that was a bit too much. He rose to leave.... 'You're pretty as a girl,' she said softly.... 'Actually, not 'pretty'.... Stunning.... 'Dress for me....' That stopped him where he stood.... *** She led him to a closet in her flat; opened the door. Rows and rows of feminine stuff...more women's shoes than he had ever seen in life—at least in one closet.... 'The clothes all fit—the shoes...never....' she laughed. 'All this has been waiting for this moment...and you....' All he could do was stare...and stare.... *** 4 Her hands ran up his back. Shocks and shivers ran down. She tugged his shirt from the waistband of his pants; slid her arms round his waist from behind to undo his belt, thumb his button, unzip his fly...they fell to the floor noiselessly as she nipped his ear, whispering, 'dress for me....' It was smooth and cool against his skin. The touch of it made his cock hard...the scent made him start to leak.... She kissed the back of his neck, murmuring—purring—as she gingerly bit the strands of muscles that corded from his neck into the sinews of his shoulders. All the while, she 'polished' his chest with the silk of the thong; passed it across his navel and the flatness that encompassed it, and occasionally—strategically—allowed it to dip pass his pubes...where on the last pass, she simply allowed it to become ensnared; hoisted on the full mast of that powerful, black cock. It was time for the first phase—she knew it, and she let him know it. Gently, she took him by the hand and led him to the tub.... *** She made him soak in the hot, perfumed tub as she took his legs and shaved them smooth from the crotch down....took his feet, did things to them he never knew imaginable in the realm of the pedicure—and then, polished each toe perfectly. As his toes dried, she pushed him back into the tub and slid her hand up under the suds to grip his cock.... He grimaced then moaned as she pumped...in turn she bite his lip then forced her tongue into his mouth. She stopped short of his cumming, his breath hard and ragged....then she shaved his face...ran her cheek along his to check for smoothness, then kissed him gently on the cheekbone.... 'Close your eyes,' she murmured....in the heat of the tub-inspired lust the command posed no problems.... She reached for brushes and began to apply color....the flick of horsehair across his lids, over cheeks and chin relaxing him in ways he couldn't describe.... Finally she creamed something over his lips—thick and heavy, or so it seemed....then she kissed him with a kind of blotting motion.... He moaned again, and it seemed, so did she.... *** 'Look,' she said in a throaty whisper.... When he opened his eyes he had difficulty focusing....he wasn't certain quite what he was looking at....the image resolved itself for him slowly....but it took what seemed like forever for it to register that he was looking at himself.... The face in the mirror was exquisite.... And this time, it seemed that she couldn't help herself as her hand slid beneath the suds again and started to stroke his huge hard on...the 'oil' seeping from his cum-slit and mixing with the bath oils in the tub.... 'Mmmmmmm....,'this time Perri moaning and biting her bottom lip as she slowly pumped the snake in the tub.... 'Damn, Babi....,' she hissed almost inaudibly, 'you are fuckin' gorgeous....' She use his cock to leverage him up out of the tub where she finished shaving his pubis, and then had him turn and bend so that she could do his balls, the trail leading to his perineum and then his asshole ....there, she kissed and gently licked the smooth tight space that extended from the base of the balls to the asshole.... He winced and groaned....Her response: 'Clean as a whistle....' She laid a towel along the edge of the tub and had him lay of his stomach. She reached for a rich fragrant cream and began to work it into his body from the flat of his soles to the nape of his neck....expertly massaging as she worked her way up and down.... She turned him and did the same to his front—purposefully avoiding his straining cock, but silently admiring it...and remembering.... She concentrated on his biceps and then his chest...kneading the cream into his pecs, almost absent-mindedly flicking his nipples with her nails as she worked in concentric circles around them.... Her hands slick and lathered with the cream glided to his cock without warning....his back arched as her hands slid up the column of hard black flesh....when he was able to focus again, she said 'I love you...' as she pushed two fingers up his ass with more ease that he expected....never missing a beat as her wrist propelled her fist up and down his cock, coming to concentrate on the head.... He moaned...growled...babbled...then whined as he exploded in her fist....her fingers up his ass to the knuckles as she twisted them in and out for maximum effect.... 'Yes Babi,' she cooed....he imagined Marvin Gaye in the background—or was it her: 'Give me your love...give me your love/ Give me your love...give me your love....' He slumped back onto the towel. She let him be for the moment.... *** When his eyes fluttered open, she kissed him lightly.... 'We're not done, yet....' She gave him something cool to drink.... Matter-of-factly she confided: 'You'd be surprised at how many guys get off having their asses done....' And in a slight aside, 'You be surprised at how much I get off on doing it....' She giggles.... 'Cmon....' Leading him into the closet. His outfit—at least its foundations are waiting for him. Most he recognized, one piece he wasn't quite sure of.... She helped him into the corset...cinched it so tight that it took the air from him. 'You'll get use to it....' Glancing down at his now semi-erect and leaking cock, 'I'm putting money on it that you're gonna grow to love it....' Catching a pearl of precum on her long, lacquered finger and sucking it with relish, yet sexual sophistication that made his cock twitch again. The garters were laid out against his thighs—three on each side—as she watched him pull on the sheer, coal-black seamed stockings with a black Cuban heel. Then, she placed a pair of black, patent leather mules in front of him... 'These, for starters....' He stepped into them...taller than she was now, but not so much so that if they were out together that wouldn't simply be seen as two women in heels.... She smoothed the hose and straightened the seams for him as he watched in the floor-length mirror. Then, she took a black silk kerchief, triangled it, then twirled...slid it up under his balls at the base of his cock, looped it twice then tied a small, yet, neat bow at the top of his cock....she looked up, smiled as the blood rushed into his cock.... 'Better than a cock-ring....' 'Walk,' she whispered.... He tottered a bit. Self-conscious of his male-awkwardness; clear that if this was a life he had chosen before now, he wouldn't have been up to the task.... She giggled.... 'So...you think we were 'born' doing this, huh?' Meaning walking in heels. 'Clearly, you haven't been paying attention....hehehe....most of us begin our 'apprenticeships' quite early if we want to stand a chance, let alone 'perfect' this thing. Ever notice how many of us don't?' Another chuckle.... 'maybe 'billion and billions''....Carl Sagan entering her voice for effect.... 'Nah, you're gonna practice a bit...but luckily what I need you to do, no one will give a squat about how you walk....' So, he walked...face-made, waist-cinched, cock swaying, and be-heeled....and the more he did it, the more he loved it...the more he wanted to 'master' it...to make the walk his.... 'Day-uuuum, Babi....' She hissed once again—her words like hot smoke in a French exhale. 'You are too fuckin' hot....' She slid her hand down the waistband of her slacks as she watched him move back and forth across the room...tracking his reflection, as he did, in the wall of mirrors.... *** 5 Make-up and practice....practice and make-up...for a week? A month? He lost count—Sydd lost count. It only seemed long enough for him to wonder if it wasn't truly a game—if Perri hadn't turned him into some exotic pet. Then, almost as if she were reading his mind: 'You think I'm fucking with you, don't you? Playing a game...?' Ghost Stories She slid the sheath of papers across the table to him. He was made up—as usual—her request for all their meetings; from head to toe—from stilettos to the roughly tossed nappy bush that she'd taught him dye—tonight, jet black with bluish highlights.... 'I like that...like it a lot,' she said absent-mindedly as he paged through the folder. It was simply newspaper clippings—something anyone could collect. On the other hand, for someone trained in intelligence, they weren't any odd collectibles. They told a story. 'That's him,' she said. 'That's the fucker....' Sydd recognized him. Wasn't hard. He had a 'persona'; somewhat larger than life to his 'following' and to those who opposed him. A legend in their minds, if not his own.... Sydd looked up. 'And you want me to do what?...' 'Walk....' She said smoothly and softly.... *** Maybe a month later, she called: 'Wanna go out? Do the blue-black thing with the hair—I love it. Seven, OK?' click.... He had become good at this—was becoming better.... The bell...he buzzed her up. She stood in the door, her mouth open.... 'You bitch....' She breathed. 'You hot, fuckin' bitch. I can't go out with you looking like that....' He was stunned. She kept on.... 'You'll pull everything with a cock, a pussy, and in between with that look! Mrs. Fuckin' Frankenstein! What the fuck have I created here???!!!' With that she collapsed into a chaired and just gawked.... 'Jeezus, grl!'—the first time he'd been addressed as such—'you are spectacular, but we need to save that look—or part of it. Here's what I want you to do...,' looking Sydd up and down; whistling.... 'a bit more conservative—but not much...' The initial outfit, all white, picking up the coal colorings of Sydd's skin and that ruffled blue-black dye-job. A white corset with black boning over a fine-meshed, sheer white T, over a black half-cup bra that gave the promise of something that wasn't there—the joy of forms.... The skirt was a spandex micro mini—the tucking that it took to pull that off must have been excruciating—she/he was never known to lack in the nether region. Rising from her toes to her crotch were a pair of white, black-seamed, Cuban-heeled thigh highs. All this nestled in a pair of open-toed white, kid stilettos—seemed there was a 'budget' of sorts with this assignment. Around her shoulders was a white kid bolero. The jewelry was impeccable from earrings to faux nose-ring to necklace to the rings that adorned every finger.... Tapping her finger against the air, Perri stared wide-eyed, then spoke: 'one suggestion....the mid-calf, black kid pencil skirt...you know...the one with the killer slit....' With that she giggled.... *** 'First test....' Perri stepped back from the curb leaving Sydd standing solo. 'Hail the cab....' They slid into the back seat. The destination was one of the hotels that vied for the Zagat's 'best in town'. The doorman opened the door to the cab and Sydd swung her long-short legs out—5'6 with maybe four-inch stilettos.... 'Welcome to the Pinnacle, ladies,' it came out as a sort of moan as Sydd pushed her skirt down and smoothed it. Perri was almost doubled over in laughter from the man's reaction. 'Now! That's what I'm talkin' bout!' she breathed in Sydd's ear as they made space for themselves in a crowded elevator. The elevator was packed—well, not quite.... 'snug' might have been a better word given that our divas commanded their own personal space. As they mounted to the rooftop restaurant, the other occupants crowded to the sides and corners—all casting furtive glances at the two. Glances that Sydd caught in the polished brass of the elevator doors. First, she registered Perri's expression. A satisfied smirk that seemed to convey two things: to the crowd, without they're knowing: 'Yeh! I created this!' To Sydd, a more self-satisfied look of 'I told you so....' Sydd had to control her own laughter.... To the right, the tall—taller than Sydd or Perri—willowy blonde who was shooting daggers at Sydd; eying the seams of the Cuban-heels, measuring the 'talon' of the pumps, caressing—possibly—that kid-encased ass with her glare. This, her partner was certainly doing with his eyeball rolls. Lucky for him blondie was just as occupied. Crammed in the far left corner, a dowager, who didn't know quite what to make of it all. Sydd wasn't certain if she had been 'made', or if it was simply the old biddy's first encounter with two terribly attractive, and clearly sophisticated black women, dressed to the nines—even if in runway mode—who were about to enter into what she and her ilk must have regarded their inner sanctum. In front and to the left, slightly askance from Perri, a short, shinny-headed, director-mogul type; the kind for whom 'casting couches' were invented. He couldn't keep himself from stealing glances at Perri's cleavage, which she so deliberately and expertly arranged to be seen. If his eyeballs had swung a degree more in her direction, his nose would have been embedded in a valley of rose-scented tits.... Rooftop. As the 'queen-mother' and her septuagenarian escort shuffled past, he turned to Sydd and smiled: 'Remarkable....Absolutely stunning...,' before the 'queen' pushed him on with a scowl. Perri and Sydd broke up and had to recompose themselves as the maitre d' approached..... 'Mesdames, welcome to the View....' He dripped. 'Table for two for Roddgers,' Perri said in a soft husk.... 'Ah yes, Mademoiselle Roddgers, a special table for you and your guest', his eyes devouring Sydd, 'on the deck....' With that he led them across the full dining room—and it was full—to Perri's slow and measured catwalk stride. She wanted to make sure that the entire room took them in; that Sydd was the center of this 'happening'; and, that Sydd understood that completely.... Heads turned...eyes followed...necks craned...not a few napkins were lifted for compliments or envious catting.... One or two guys at the bar actually stood for better looks....as they took their seats 'Day-uuum grl!' Perri all giggly again, 'I don't know if I can stand bein' out with you. You slayin' 'em. Good thing I'm your bitch—tonight!' Sydd couldn't help but laugh. Perri: 'That's it...flash that, Babi. That smile is worth a million—a billion—of whateva.... When in doubt, blind 'em with it! You are damn gorgeous!' Perri had created the physical manifestation, now she needed to 'load' Sydd with the confidence that she could not only play this role, but master one a bit more complicated and dangerous.... The sommelier appeared, and Perri changed up completely, launching into flawless French; turning to Sydd from time to time with quips, sexual double-entendres, and idioms to which Sydd replied with perfection, both pleasing and embarrassing the wine-steward, but much to his pleasure. The room was buzzing, but the two paid it no mind.... 'Should we do Italian next?' Perri asked wickedly.... *** 7 They wined. They dined...had dessert and coffee....listened to the Latin-Jazz band. Then the martinis arrived—two apple treats. The waiter directed their attention to the bar. There, he raised his glass to salute them. They both smiled and raised theirs in his direction before Perri said softly, and possibly ominously, 'Bingo!' Sydd looked at her quizzically. 'Our ticket in.... You ARE good, Sugah....just be cool....' He took the distance from the bar to their table with the grace of a big cat....and he was gorgeous....Buffed bronze in something impeccable, tailored only for him—he was a head-turner too. Halfway to the table, Sydd caught the flecks of green in the hazel eyes, the broad brow and nose, and the flash of teeth framed those full lips....the power in the shoulders, chest, hips and thighs.... 'Careful...he's dangerous...literally...' Perri said under her breath. Sharply, Sydd countered, 'How...?' 'Not now! Just play it....' Play it she did. *** 'Ladies....' There was a kind of lisp to his delivery that made it hard to place his speech. With no more than that, he winked at Perri, took Sydd's hand and led her to the dance floor where the salsa magic was vibrating. Perri could only wince, watch, and hope.... All that heel-walking—stiletto-prancing—had paid off as she watched Sydd being led to the floor. But...she had never considered 'dancing'—let alone Salsa! 'O fuck....' Perri moaned. But all she could do was watch...and pray.... The beat started up and seized our grl's hips... or so it seemed. Perri was forced to watch—mesmerized—as Sydd did her thing. She flowed liquid with the rhythm and her partner—cross-hand turns...closed-hand whirls...open-hand spins...cumbias...drapes...and the obligatory shimmy.... Then, before he could lead her from the floor, she pushed him into another dance; one where she gripped him to her tight and fierce as her pelvis ground against his thigh to a slow, hot, Latin rhythm....when she brought him back to the table, she offered him a napkin to wipe his brow, then gave a low, throaty purred 'de nada' to his 'gracias'.... 'So....how can I see you again...?' he began...and before she could answer, Perri intervened. 'My cousin is from out of town, but...we should be HERE again, the last Friday night in the month. Look for us....' With that, she offered her hand. He kissed the back of it—charmer that he was—then kissed Sydd's as well.... 'Ciao....' 'Ciao....' The dance had turned a few more heads...might have caused a stir in a few less refined places.... 'Where the hell did you learn THAT?!' Perri hissed.... 'O, Pachanga? West Africa...shore leave....' 'Mother...deliver me....' Perri moaned.... 'I was scared shitless when he pulled you to the floor...didn't know what would happen. You are one dangerous mami, Darlin'. Between Salsa and Pachanga he was sweatin' so much that if he had cum you and he would have been the only ones who'da known it....' 'I think he did....' 'WHAAAA???!!!' Sydd reared back in her chair laughing.... *** 'So...who was he?' Sydd asked after they got back to Perri's. She unbuttoned, then unzipped the skirt, and let it slide from her hips and collect in a silent puddle at her feet. She raised one leg, bending it back at the knee as she balanced on the other to undo the buckle on the pump.... 'Don't...' Perri said softly... 'Keep them on...keep the rest on...only... take off the thong.... I want to look at you....' Self-consciously, Sydd stepped from the thong, gave a sigh of relief as the big snake of a cock dangled free...absent-mindedly massaged the kinks of the tucking process from it...suddenly and quietly aware of the depth of Perri's breathing as she stood there boleroed, corseted, stilettoed and pantiless.... 'So...' she began again, 'Who was he...?' 'A functionary in the 'Corporation', she began. 'And if we know his M.O. as we think we do—we—that is more specifically you—are going to be introduced to the man in the pictures—Mr. Casanova....' Sydd turned to face her—all too gracefully; too feminine for belief, given where they had started. That thick, semi-erect meat swaying seductively as she walked to the picture window, pulled it open and stepped out onto the balcony, high above the city. Lights twinkling...blinking...winking in the darkness.... Perri followed with her eyes, thinking: 'Did 'he' know how beautiful 'she' was? How powerful?... How dangerous?... Looks. Incredible intelligence and creativity—clearly capable of improvising on the fly—look at tonite. The ability to instill fear—Perri knew the record by heart. And, if not the potential to kill—Perri just didn't think that that was in him/her—then clearly a record of mayhem that would make anyone think twice about fucking with Sydd Black. Again there was the 'paper trail—all computerized now. And then, there was this creature on her balcony....looking out over a dark, sparkling city.... *** Sydd let herself into Perri's. It was a day she didn't clerk—a day to herself—almost.... It was actually Perri's day. It worked like this: Perri had simply said 'Take the day....' Innocuous enough, but code: 'Go out dressed in the daytime. No more shadow-boxing. Don't care if you're 'made'—if someone realizes that you're transgendered/transsexual/transvestite—'transcendant'—Yeh! Take that! There are more of you than you realize...and right now, the thing I need most is your confidence....Go out....' Sydd went out. The outfit was simple and comfortable. She and Perri had found new forms that slipped on like a bra. With some creative and artistic 'engineering', they made the most essential elements close matches to Sydd's skin type and color....over that, a sheer black mesh 'wife-beater'(pretty stupid, sexist terminology, but it describes the look)....when she was properly tucked and supported—a silk kerchief laced round her balls at the base of her cock ('better than a cockring': Perri), a heavy duty thong, and then a tight, tight spandex support panty, she pulled on a pair of tight spandex capris...also black...and a pair of flat black sandals—she'd come to realize that even flats could be sexy. She topped this off with a huge white shirt which she could belt—tossed the belt into the also huge black wicker bag that carried with all her essentials, a couple of books, a notepad, and her MacAir. Tousled the rough blue-black thatch. Slipped on the over-sized sunglasses; considered a hat, which she stuffed into the bag. And stepped into the world. She let herself in. Perri was in the back, working. Sydd's 'work' area was a table with a view—'musing' was okay—even good.... On it were a new folder, and a small but bulky, tough cloud milky-white Styrofoam envelope. Sydd went to the folder. First a quick skim—protocol: familiarize herself with the content. Then, a much more analytical read and the first line of detailed memorization: 'Mr. Casanova'.... The first gleaning-knowing she'd come back to this time and again—she pushed it away and brought her attention to the small, bulky item on the table. Perri walked in as she slid a finger through the adhesive lip.... 'You remember how to use one of those?' In spite of its bulk, it was small, light, and deadly: in some circles—and in her case, appropriately, it would seem—called a 'Black Widow'. It was almost covered in the palm of her hand. A silencer, the size of a lipstick tube, slipped out next to it. Sydd looked up.... 'Protocol...and protection....' Perri said softly. 'We'll have to figure out several ways to secure it—your thigh is obvious...but I have the feeling that anyone looking there will be expecting something of higher caliber,' she grinned. 'In any case, they'll know you're carrying. You're supposed to be a 'dangerous' wmn...or at least one who knows how to take care of herself....' Sydd mused. 'Get me another, please. Just like this....' she hefted the pistol and sighted out the balcony door across the skyline.... *** Perri was gaining a new appreciation for her lover. She could see why she had risen so quickly in the Corps—as brief as that career had been.... They had just gotten in from the practice range, where—for a person who supposedly didn't have much use for guns ('not the most effective—or preferred—tool of intimidation')—Sydd again gave Perri something to think about. There was the old 'blindfold' disassemblage/assemblage routine; the then marksmanship from every possible vantage and disadvantage. And, of course, the fuckin' trick shots.... She loved the way Sydd handled the 'Widow'... 'How is it?' she queried.... 'I like it—actually, if I were to 'love' a gun—I love it....probably because it fits the persona, more than anything else....' 'The 'persona'?', Perri cocked a brow.... Sydd just ran her hands through her rough blue-black naps, and then over her curves—faux or not—and grinned. 'Ahhhhh...,' Perri grinned back. 'Dangerous wmn,' she thought. The small pistol nestled in the small of her back, she bent over her files.... 'Casanova...? We know anything other than these files?' 'Hmmmmmm.... He's a freak....can be something of a sadist. He's smart...and also impulsive and unpredictable. Ruthless—but you can see that in the files. And.... 'And he loves wmn like you....' Sydd's turn to arch a brow.... 'Really...?' 'Truly. Which is why you don't to even try to hide it. You don't need to be butch, but you need to maintain that edge you have to your femininity....' 'So, Sweetness, what is it exactly that we want from this man?' Perri pursed her lips, paused. 'That's easy. Too easy, in fact. We just want him to say that he's the biggest fuckin' distributor in the region....' 'Ahhhhh, 'too easy', huh? So I'll need to be wearing more that this peashooter if you want a confession like that....' 'Nope,' Perri countered. I'd prefer you wear nothing at all. Modern technology will take care of the rest. You just need to make him sing, Darlin'. And you have a date with him in two days....' Sydd glanced up from her worktable. 'That's with his man....' 'You misjudge the relationship. He'll be there. That was his 'scout'....' Perri smirks.... *** 8 Thursday afternoon, Sydd fresh from a hot scented oil soak, creamed her skin, bending and flexing from the waist down in stilettos—knees locked to keep her tone. Always practicing in those heels.... Practice. The face was flawless. She had become expert with makeup—in part, because she wasn't afraid to play; to experiment.... Perri stepped into Sydd's peripheral vision, silhouetted in the afternoon sun.... 'You need more 'practice'....' Sydd looked and caught the silhouette. Perri was naked in the shadow, the cut of her upturned breasts and stiff nipples clear...her muscled ass protruding over equally muscled thighs and calves, gliding into another pair of equally stunning stilettos.... But what really caught Sydd's attention was the huge protrusion jutting from her between her thighs. The strapon—like most things Perri—was specially crafted. It was a two-headed job meant to pleasure the woman who wore it as much as the one who received it. The end that Perri had so delicately inserted into herself was angled to not only hold, but to deliver its own measure of ecstasy when she rode whomever....it was held in place—firmly—by a set of leather straps that gave it a sense of elegance that enhanced its menace....it was huge.... Sydd caught her breath as she took it and then Perri in.... Before she could say anything, Perri had her against the wall; her mouth covering hers, hand on Sydd's cock as she tongue-fucked her.... Sydd moaned just the way Perri wanted her to—just as she hoped she would—like a little bitch....a little bitch in heat.... Perri slapped her ass hard—the report rang through the flat. Sydd moaned even louder, grinding her hips against Perri's thigh, forcing her cock deeper into Perri's fist.... Perri's hands were all over her body.... 'Good, Bitch....' She whispered hotly.... 'You do need 'practice', don't you...?' biting Sydd's bottom lip....another moan was all Sydd could manage. 'Practice....' Perri whispered as she pushed Sydd to her knees. 'Just what do you think he'll do to you...huh? You think he'll just want to 'hold hands'?... gently slapping Sydd's cheeks with the big rubber cock... Rubbing her dick against those full, plush red-lacquered lips.... 'What do you think he'll want, Babi, after he gets a look at you? Mmmmmmm....' Perri's breath becoming more ragged now.... 'Mmmmmmm.... He'll want to fuck this pretty fuckin' face...' With that she forced the head of her rubber cock through Sydd's swollen, puckered lips....Perri's knees trembling.... 'Oooooo....' She moaned. 'Yessssss... he'll want to fuck my babi's mouth....' Her hips began a slow, deliberate rock, feeding the pretty face she'd created... Ghost Stories 'Cmon, Babi...cmon....show Mami that you can make him 'sing' for you....I'm gonna make YOU 'sing' for me....Mmmmmmm, Bitch.....Oooo, fuuuuuck.....that's it...That's it!' Involuntarily...instinctively...Sydd grabbed the cheeks of Perri's ass and pulled all that pumping plastic into her throat, twisting and torquing her head all over it. The special design of the dildo worked Perri's cunt and attacked her clit as she fucked Sydd's face. Sydd's enthusiasm only intensified the sensations.... Perri's turn to whine and she plunged deeper down Sydd's throat causing her to gag. The spasm created a backwash of thick creamy spit that draped from Sydd's lip and chin to the tip of the huge strapon like a chain of sugary confection... Sydd caught her breath and lunged back onto to the cock fiercely, pushing it deeper up Perri's pussy, jamming it against Perri's clit. Perri felt sparks. Saw stars, and knew that her earth was about to quake when Sydd forced two fingers up her asshole as she face-fucked that fake cock.... Perri's knees buckled. A squeal wheezed from deep in her chest. She slid to the floor, popping the cock from Sydd's lush lips; spraying her with a thick concoction of faux cum—simply the spit that Sydd had creamed through her own monumental efforts. Sydd's face and chest looked as if she had just 'won' a bukkake lottery. 'Ooooo fuuuuuck, grl,' Perri moaned. 'If that muthafuka messes with this mouth, he'll tell us everything and anything....Lemme catch my breath, Babi...' Sydd grinned, took a towel and wiped the spittle from her face then stood to redo her makeup... *** As she stood at mirror leaning over the sink, Perri came up behind her, rested the thick, long plastic in the crack of her ass, gently forcing her cheeks apart...she had 're-oiled' it—spit and lube merging into a creamed slickness warmed by the friction of her fist... She pushed and Sydd grunted.... 'You know he won't stop with your mouth.... You gonna give him this...?' Sydd's mouth was contorted into a silent 'O'...it was as if the cock up her ass had come through her mouth and replaced her tongue. She had never experienced a dick so big in all her life... 'Mmmmmm...you like this don't you? You love it! You're a little, fuckin cock-slut.' Perri pushed deeper into Sydd's bowels and reached round to take her already hard cock... 'See? I told you. Slut. You love it. Why else would you be as big and as hard as the cock I've got up your ass?... Mmmmmm, just thinking about him fucking you makes me hot....' Sydd dropped her head into the basin of the dry sink, the extension raising her hips and inadvertently allowing more of Perri's cock even deeper up her asshole. She found her voice as all that thick, long hardness hit bottom, knocking the wind from her lungs. It came as a long, low keening at first, that rose to a higher pitched whine, punctuated by the deep, slow staccato of Perri's thrust.... 'I would want my bitch to feel every inch of my cock...to be able to count them off as I fed her ass...can you count the inches for me, Babi?' Perri pulled back to the entrance of Sydd's rosebud and then slowly and deliberately inched back in, counting methodically: 'One. Two. Three....'until she got to twelve.... Then, as Perri began to rock in her gut deeper than she ever thought possible, Sydd wasn't quite sure if she was seeing stars or not—wasn't quite sure she was 'seeing'—flashes simply dancing and bouncing off her clenched eyelids like lightning bolts.... When she did finally raise her head to catch her reflection in the sink's mirror she could hardly believe what she saw—who she saw. The rawness of pleasure in her expression—the pure ecstasy—made her cum in the basin; her scream rattling all the glass in the flat.... Perri pulled her hand from between Sydd's legs and licked the palm.... 'Mmmmmm....you ARE a dangerous bitch....you make me wish I had a real cock.' *** 9 Friday night. The table was even better. Further out on the terrace, thirty-two stories above traffic—and maybe the world—an urban vista of spires, treetops, and penthouses, all meticulously spaced....somewhere in the far off distance, water and maybe another country?... They had been there a bit before the martinis arrived. The 'calling card'—expected, but they feigned surprise and delight. They were on the clock now. Perri knew there was nothing she could do from here on....nothing she needed to say...she was with a professional—in fact, her most important objective other than the completion of the mission, was observation. She was to look, listen, and learn—from Sydian. She needed to be able to clearly assess the capabilities of her recruit. Number Two glided up to their table, all feline grace and power—in some ways a mirror of Sydd, though he couldn't have known it. The greeting was polite—even decorous.... She still couldn't make the accent—she only knew that he had been in too many spaces—and possibly knew too many languages... and maybe even things....so, the key with him—and his boss—was to always speak plainly and to speak the truth. 'Sometimes,' she thought, 'truth obfuscates....' He kissed Perri's hand, then looked at Sydd quizzically... 'I hardly recognized you....You are breath-taking....' 'Breath-taking....' Perri held her breath on this one, literally. She waited to see how Sydd would re-direct. Sydd had decided to take charge that evening, before they arrived. As part of her prep at 'disarming' their would-be hosts, she had given herself a new look.... *** The barber had cut the free-range wool that had covered her head down to a buzz. The close-cropped naps had then been frosted the color of winter wheat. At the time, neither Sydd nor anyone else figured that this would be her signature cut—the tight burr of her bleached head sitting above that obsidian face was quite arresting—and that was only the start.... Sydd told Perri that everything tonight would be decided on 'mood' and 'misdirection'. Perri had raised her eyebrow at this as Sydd prepared herself. The hair was followed by make-up—the 'mood'—'bronzes' and 'golds' around the eyes and cheekbones; the chin and jaw-line. All done expertly; all designed to enhance the bronze-gold, armless, linen and spandex shift, that was so short that any woman would have had to practice the act of sitting in it with great deliberation....over this mini she wore an almost floor-length, gold-bronze linen duster. Her footwear—playing on the brevity of her hemline—was a pair of butter-colored, butter-soft, thigh boots with a 3 ½ to 4 inch heel...the sweep from the heel to her head brought the eye back to the two things that made Sydian Black a 'stunner' tonight—and that term should be taken in all of it's possible permutations. Aside from jewelry that was flawless from earlobe to neckline to each finger joint, was first the mouth. Much, much more than a scarlet slash, it was a black wmn's mouth—a thick, lush pucker of carmine lacquer that had been applied by the hand of an artist in love with her 'model'/ 'subject'. If the eye was not brought immediately to those lips and their insinuating, and somewhat insulting 'promise', then it was it was locked by the most dangerous element of this 'unspeaking' ensemble: her eyes.... It was simple. Sydd had laid out the color-scheme. It had begun with her eyes—they were to set the night's 'mood'—they dictated everything else. The lenses she had selected were a coppery-gold that not only complimented, but directed everything else she wore, yet forced whoever was in her space to concentrate on her face—eyes and mouth. The 'mood' was lightness, even frivolity—play. Mischief. The 'mood' was 'misdirection'....Mischief—mayhem, if need be....they were on the clock.... Perri could only stare—surreptitiously—in awe. One last thing: the boot. An absolutely beautiful piece of work. Superb craftsmanship—full, and ample—particularly in the ankle....a wonderful space for a 'widow-maker'.... *** So, there was no wonder that Casanova's pimp—that is what he was, to be sure—hadn't recognized her....and, no wonder that her look had the desired effect—at least on him. A sidelong glance to Perri said it was quite effective; she could hardly contain herself.... 'You...you... you are exquisite..., he stammered.... Sydd breathed out a deep, airy , musky 'thank you', as he kissed her hand in turn. 'There is someone I want you to meet—both of you..., he said, glancing back to Perri.... 'Of course,' Perri intoned as he pulled back both their seats and glanced in the direction of a booth situated across the room. It was ensconced in a secluded corner, yet commanded the most magnificent view in the restaurant.... He took them both in tow—one hand in each of his as if they were about to dance the minuet—and led them across the room. One had to wonder if any of the 'regulars' were there from the previous night—Perri and Sydd managed to create another stir: all this black beauty gliding the length of the restaurant on the hands of a bronzed god that many would have killed—maybe not—to be in the company of.... *** Sydd had focused on him from the moment she had entered the restaurant. She and Perri both knew he would be there—Perri knew their man.... Here, was a type of 'training'—military or otherwise—that became 'targeting' in sense. She had locked in on him and picked up as much information as possible from her entrance to her introduction.... 'Mr. Casanova,' Number Two purred, 'this is...' Perri pre-empted him: 'Perri Roddgers....' offering a hand.... Sydd was short, curt and provocatively husky: 'Ms. Black....' Emphatic emphasis on the 'Mizzzzz....' Again, Perri had to laugh internally, and wonder: 'What the fuck...?' But, she was clear on one thing, from this point, 'Ms. Black' was in charge—in fact, she realized that Sydd had been in charge from the moment they walked out the door of the flat. Another persona has emerged.... Casanova—Casanova, the rather pale, porcine, thinning haired, toilet-watered Casanova—was amused, then possibly thrown off guard as Sydd began her greetings. 'Bonsoir,' 'Buenos noches,' 'Bueno sera,' 'Guten aben,' 'Nine hau,' 'Khafil....' She stopped when his face blanked over; laughed, and then said simply and smoothly, with a verbal liquid fluidness that approximated her stroking his cock without ever touching it; offering her hand, 'Good evening, M. Casanova, and thank you for the invitation....' This time, it was Sydd who had the accent that couldn't be placed.... Casanova shifted uncomfortably in the booth as she flowed in beside him...primarily because she had made his cock hard in that brief interchange....matters were exacerbated as Perri slid in on the other side of him and Number Two closed the geometry by settling next to her, but giving himself full eye-contact with Sydd. Sydd gathered he was to be her 'watcher' for the evening—in more ways than one.... *** 10 'Information....information', this was all about information Sydd told herself. She recited this over and again; it was her silent mantra.... They wanted Casanova to talk. What better way to get him to than to let him know that they knew all about him? 'So, Ms. Black,' Casanova's joke now—Sydd was about to realize that even a thug could be engaging.... 'Tell me a bit about yourself....' Sydd smiled. Pursed those richly lacquered lips, sure that what might be perceived as 'bee-stung' were actually the implements of a wasp—a black wasp... 'misdirection....' 'Hmmmmm, M.Casanova... I think that the first thing you should know is that I'm a dangerous wmn....' Her laugh was soft and deep. He laughed too and shifted in his seat again as she lightly placed her hand on his thigh. 'A bit more dangerous than her...,'nodding to Perri. 'Though, I have see her wreak havoc as well—in fact, I've abetted it....' The grin was a thousand candles as she squeezed the thigh and realized that the engorgement was a 'hog's girth' as well—the rumors might well be true about Casanova.... 'Dangerous...? Casanova seemed amused.... 'In several ways...yes,' Sydd went on. 'My 'cousin' and I are 'contractors', M. Casanova.... Our 'services' go to the highest bidder....' With that, she discretely took Casanova's hand and placed it in her lap—the hem of her dress had long since ridden up over her hips. The bulge in her thong was unmistakable. Casanova's eyes said so; so did the involuntary flicker of his tongue over his lips.... At the same time, Sydd was 'reading' the 'watcher'—it seemed he squirmed just a bit as well.... Perri had decided to go with the flow. The difference between life and death here; safety and mayhem, was improvisation—and close, close attention to detail. She let Sydd lead.... 'So, M. Casanova,' Sydd continued, pushing the knot in her thong into the hot, damp cup of the palm of his hand.... 'I think, at some point, we'll need to talk 'business'....' Casanova kneaded the knot. 'What sort of business, Ms. Black...? 'Any sort of business that might come to mind, M. Casanova.... As long as it's lucrative. We're highly versatile...aren't we, Perri...?' Perri nodded. Sydd stared across the table at Number Two.... 'A dangerous wmn, eh, Ms. Black?' Casanova mused.... 'Just how 'dangerous'...? Sydd ground deeper into his palm, her erection straining against the confines of her thong. Just as deftly, she emptied the contents of her handbag onto the table, turning her head to him as she ran her tongue over her lips.... 'Let's just say I'm 'packin'' in more ways than one....' Sliding from her bag, amid her compact, brush, blush, lipstick and card-case, was the Black Widow.... 'See...?' She said.... 'No need to hide it....' She squeezed the huge ridge of cock snaking down his thigh. 'Besides, there seems to be at least one or two more 'weapons' of higher caliber here....' She made sure that she caught the eye of Number Two as her words trailed off.... Casanova moaned, 'Indeed....' Looked to Perri, and smiled a soft, lecherous smile, and said 'Of course, we wouldn't think of excluding you from our tête-a-tête....' The meaning was clear as Sydd tried not to make eye contact with her. The equation had been altered. Perri was being 'observed' as well, though possibly not for the most obvious of reasons.... 'Ladies,' he said, attempting to make it sound as if it were an 'afterthought'... 'what say we take our dinner in the penthouse? I can't imagine a much more spectacular view....' With that, he looked at Sydd, and winked.... *** 'Calmness and power...calmness is power....' Sydd had begun her mantra as soon as they shifted from the booth and began the long walk across the restaurant's open space to the bank of elevators that would lift them to the penthouse level of the opposite tower.... Her silent recitation made the restaurant crowd oblivious...they faded into the background...became white noise as she concentrated on the task at hand and it's new permutations....Her internal chant was interspersed with one dictum which she depended on Perri to intercept and then act on: 'make him talk.' Her ploy here, was to get him to talk by forcing him to insert himself into the conversation and elsewhere—if need be....she would lead by centering attention on herself and seeing if they had his psychological profile right—was his ego as large and as needy as they thought? So, here was the test of her training-the 'psy ops' element of the black ops operative.... 'Make it work, grl...,' she told herself.... They waited the few seconds—what seemed to the two males, one guessed, an eternity—in silence. This was only punctured by the soft, yet crisp 'ding' of the elevator that was about to whisk them another incredible thirty stories above the rooftop restaurant that had afforded such a spectacular view. The silence was 'manufactured'.... Sydd and Perri needed Casanova and his second to believe that those moments at the elevator were simply the anxiety of 'female' nerves... 'female' nerves that require the 'steel' of alpha males. *** As they rose from the table and Sydd had begun to scoop the clutter of her purse back into its confines. She stopped at the Black Widow and her eyes locked on Casanova and she said: 'You keep this....I feel secure....' He smiled...almost shyly.... Perri took her cue, sitting next to Number Two. Hiking what little there was of her skirt over gorgeous mahogany thighs, she placed her own Widow softly on the table...looked at him, her lashes fluttering, and said, 'A gift....' From men who most likely measured their prowess in Desert Eagle-size proportions, these 'ladies'' guns forced guffaws.... *** 11 As the doors to the elevator glided close and they began a noiseless ascent, Sydd initiated the line of attack. Her opening was directed at Perri, marginalizing the men—most specifically, Casanova. 'This reminds me of Abu...the height...the view.' Looking out from the glass enclosed cocoon that took them up the outside of the building.... Perri: 'Hmmmmm...yeh, how did we get out of that one?' Then a giggle.... 'Yeh. But we did. And that was a big pay day....' In the background, arched eyebrows...internal mental patter.... *** The doors opened on the penthouse.... If Sydd had been anyone else—if she had been in any other frame of mind other than the ultra-focused one that now possessed her—she would have went slack-jawed at the sight of it all. Her mind did register: 'So... this is how they live....' The living room was nothing but glass, crystal, and mirror in all of its expanses. Where the rooftop space they had left was cityscape, the view here was clouds—that almost seemed touchable—and the ocean. It was a vista in which one imagined oneself nude from sunrise to sunset and sunset to sunrise—bathed in the ethereal, as it were.... It was breath-taking.... But, then she stepped into the space as if she owned it. Dropped her duster, and revealed more that her two male companions ever expected...though, functionally, she was still clothed.... It was her show, and she recognized it.... 'Calmness and power....' There was an audible gulp—or at least Sydd thought so—as she shed the long garment and tossed it over the back of a long, custom-made Mies that was almost the exact same color as her outfit. 'This could get interesting,' she mused to herself, 'at least, aesthetically.' 'Use all available tools' she had been taught. She sprawled on the sofa like a very expensive, exquisite piece of erotica and anticipated Casanova's move.... He settled next to her, his thigh not far from her inclined head. Perri situated herself across from the two of them on an oval ottoman the size of a small sofa itself. Her position indicated not only her silent understanding that she was being observed, but also that she was both voyeur and exhibitionist in the two men's fantasy. That she might also be mayhem, and, perhaps murder, was a possibility they had seemed to dismiss—guns at the table, 'female' anxiety, yielding to alpha males—Perri and Sydd were just two bitches—two very kinky bitches. Number Two busied himself with drinks.... 'So you've been to Abu...?' And here was the opening.... Sydd shifted herself closer to the thigh, propped herself up on it as she accepted the tumbler of Glenfiddich. 'Abu?... You know it?'.... 'O, very well,' he began.... She caught his eye working the length of her thigh-boot from the heel to her crotch...nonchalantly, she flexed the toe, working the arch and elongating her entire leg....for him, no doubt, it was a conduit of electric sensuality...she could feel the jolt she was giving as she lounged on his swollen thigh.... He cleared his throat.... 'So...' he began.... 'what were you doing in Abu?' She leaned her head back...chin up, neck exposed....a line from the bottom of her full lip transgressing the hillocks that were her breasts with their peaked nipples struggling against thin linen, down to the flat plain of her belly, falling into the valley between her thighs—a place they both knew held a mound of delight...from there, the line traveled down her illusorily long leg to the toe of that exquisite boot.... She shifted on his thigh, his thick, pants-enclosed cock purposely caught in the hollow of her underarm—its heat and moisture radiating against it.... Ghost Stories "A surfeiting of terror soon makes terror a cliché." -Richard Matheson, "I Am Legend" *** Dora's ghost and Jill's ghost left the basement at midnight, dragging chains all the way up the apartment building's thirteen floors. The chains were Dora's idea. "If we're going to haunt people, we should have chains," she said. Jill thought it was silly, but she didn't argue. Dora had always gotten her way when they were alive, and some things never changed. While they haunted the apartments, they told scary stories. "...and when the boyfriend came around to open the door, the killer's bloody hook was dangling from the handle," Jill said. After a moment, she added, "See, because when he drove off—" "Yeah, I get it," Dora said. "I heard that one in the second grade. It's not scary." She stopped to howl into the air vents, so that the sound would carry into every apartment in the building. "How about this one: There's a woman driving alone at night, and the car behind her won't stop flashing its headlights—" "Because there's a killer hiding in her backseat," Jill said. "I heard that one in the second grade too." They banged on every door in the seventh floor hallway and left bloody handprints on every wall. "My brother told me it really happened to a teacher of his," said Dora. "I heard it happened to a friend of my dad's. But I don't think it ever really happened to anyone." "Yeah. Nothing scary ever happens around here." They drifted into an apartment on the eighth floor, stopping to push the closet door open with a long creak, upset everything on one shelf, and leave more handprints on the walls and ceiling. Dora said: "How about the one where the girl hears someone breaking in in the middle of the night, but feels her dog licking her hand in the dark, so she thinks it's all right, until the next morning when she finds—" "Heard it. Do you know the one about the babysitter getting the scary phone calls, and eventually the police trace it and find out the calls are being made from the phone in the upstairs hallway?" "No, tell that one." "...I just did." "I think I heard that one before anyway. Is it true?" "Probably not," said Jill. Dora sighed. "It's almost Halloween, can't we think of anything scary?" "Maybe we're just not trying hard enough." They scribbled scary messages backwards on all the mirrors in the apartment. (Dora insisted that you needed to write backwards on a mirror so that people could read it. Jill was pretty sure that wasn't how it worked, but said nothing.) Finally, they hovered over the bed of the youngest of the apartment's inhabitants, a teenage university student who had moved out of her parent's place two months ago. The girl tossed and turned in her sleep while the ghost children peered at her with faces blue from livor mortis (they'd died facedown) and dragged bloody fingers over her sheets. "People tell those stories all the time, but they're not real. What a gyp." "Yeah. Nothing's really scary anymore." "On three?" "Okay: one, two..." "Three!" And they both screamed right in the sleeping girl's ear. *** Laurie had just put her suitcase down and was about to call her mother when she stopped and looked at her new roommate, wondering if she was being made fun of and, if so, what the proper way to react was. "What do you mean 'haunted'?" she said. "Just what I said. By ghosts, you know?" said Helen. She was a senior, tall and pretty. Laurie was a freshman and she felt like a dwarf standing next to the tall, lithe girl. "Everyone on campus knows. That's why nobody wants to live here. Why do you think the rent is so cheap?" "You live here," said Laurie. "I'm moving out once I find someone to take over my part of the lease. I thought I could stand it here, but I really can't. Elaine was my last roommate and she moved out at the beginning of the month. That's why you're here now. Anyway, it's only fair to tell you. I know you're from out of town, and those assholes at the leasing office wouldn't have said anything." It was a Saturday morning, and yellow sunlight streamed into the apartment's bay windows. Laurie had all of her worldly possessions in a truck downstairs and she had just figured out there was no elevator in the building (was that even legal these days?) and that she would have to bring every box up all 13 flights of stairs. Now she was being told that her new roomie (first-ever roomie!) was in the middle of moving out because of...ghosts? This must be what they tell every new freshman who moves in, Laurie decided. I'll play along. "What kind of ghosts are they?" She brought her suitcase into the room Helen said was hers. It was nice enough: small, white, big windows, hardwood floor. She put the luggage on the bed and began unpacking and refolding all of her clothes. Helen opened a Coke and gave her one too ("Do you want anything in it? Rum? Jack?") and sat in the only chair. The light coming in the east window made her hair look like a blond halo around her head. "Two kids," she said. "They were murdered in the basement, back in the '70s I think." Laurie's jaw dropped. "Did that really happen?" "Of course. I mean, it's what everyone says. Now they haunt the entire building. I guess just haunting the basement would get boring." "Have you ever...seen them?" "No. But I hear them sometimes. And they get into everything." "How bad could it be if they're just kids?" "Wait and see." Laurie wanted to laugh, but Helen didn't sound like she was joking. She's really selling this, Laurie thought. Is she studying to be an actress? Because she's really good. "Anyway, I just hung out to say hi," Helen continued. "As soon as I finish this I'm heading out. Won't be back until Monday." "Oh," said Laurie. She tried to hide her disappointment. She'd hoped they might be able to spend tonight getting to know each other. She guessed if the older girl was just going to move out anyway it didn't matter, but still. "Where are you going, if you don't mind my asking?" "Out of town. Tomorrow's Halloween and there's no way I'm staying here. Those little monsters are going to raise hell." She paused. "I just thought I'd—" "Warn me, yeah, got it." "I don't know if you know anyone in the city, or..." "I do. In fact." A lie, but what else was she going to say? "Great! I mean, that's really lucky. You don't want to stay here. After Halloween it'll get...well, a little better, at least." She shrugged. "I'm sorry, I just don't want to lie to you. I wish someone had been this honest with me when I moved in." Laurie snapped her empty suitcase shut. "I'll bet," she said. Then she smiled, hoping it would take the sting out of it. She wondered where all this was leading. Some neighbor boys popping out of her closet with sheets on in the middle of the night, maybe? Whatever it was, she'd stick it through. Because I can handle this, she told herself again. Whatever happens, I can handle it. They chatted for a few more minutes, Helen apologized twice more, and then she left. It was just Laurie, alone in the apartment. There wasn't even much furniture—apparently the previous roommate had taken most of it. She flopped down on the bed and looked up at the crinkles of the plaster ceiling. I'm really here, she thought. I made it. She'd missed more than half of the first semester, of course, because of the hospital stay, and that was time she'd never get back. But it didn't matter: She could start in the spring, and for now she was finally away from home and her mother and everything else. It was the city and the school she'd picked, and she'd driven the whole way here herself, because she'd insisted on doing it that way. Mom had fretted but couldn't stop her. At last, Laurie's decisions were what counted. She called home: Yes, I made it just fine, no problems on the road at all. No, I didn't feel dizzy even once. Yes, I have all my pills, and if I feel lightheaded I'll take one and then call you right away. Yes, I love you too. Eventually she could put the phone down. What to do on her first weekend in her brand new, very first apartment? Unpack, she guessed; she had to return the truck to the local drop-off Monday morning. But it still felt like the occasion called for something special. Helen had ditched her and she didn't know anyone in this city at all yet. She wanted to go out; she wanted to have fun; she wanted— Laurie almost screamed when she opened the front door. The boy standing there looked frightened too. For a second they just looked at each other, wide-eyed and startled...and then they burst into helpless laughter. "I'm so sorry," he said. "I was about to knock and you just flung the door right open." "It's all right," she said. "You just startled me is all. I wasn't paying enough attention." She leaned against the doorframe, trying to look and sound as casual as possible. "Are you looking for Helen?" In her head, she prayed: Please don't be Helen's boyfriend, please don't be Helen's boyfriend...for that matter, don't be anybody's boyfriend! The stranger scratched his head. "Yeah. Are you the new roommate? She told me she was getting one. I live on the tenth floor. She and I are kind of friends. Just friends. I came to see if she had any plans for tomorrow. You know, Halloween." "She went out of town. With some guy, I think. It's just me here." She added, silently: All alone, all night, in case you want to come over... "Oh, okay. Well, hey, I know we just met, but do you want to come by?" "I'd love to!" Laurie bit her tongue. "Tomorrow, right?" "Yeah. It's just a little thing for people in the building who don't really know anyone yet. A lot of people in this building are new. I guess nobody stays very long." "Well, you know what they say about this place. I'm Laurie." "John. Tenth floor, apartment one, tomorrow night. Come by anytime." "Yeah, okay, great. I'll see you there." She just barely stopped herself from winking. The wink would have been too much: She'd have died of embarrassment and never been able to see him again. Once the door was shut and she heard his footsteps down the stairs she waited for her heart to stop fluttering. She was humming to herself as she tromped down the stairs to start hauling all her things up to. Don't get too excited, she told herself: He just invited you to be polite. It doesn't mean he's interested. ...but you can get him interested. You can do anything you want now that you're on your own. There's nothing stopping you. It all starts now. "It all starts now," she said out loud, into the lobby mirror. She paused when she passed the basement door, remembering Helen's story. It had sounded silly, but she wondered if the murders really had happened or if it was just something people believed because everyone said so? For a second she thought about going down there...but to do what? Look for evidence of a 40-year-old crime? Or a couple of little girl ghosts? She laughed. Laurie had a lot of work to do before tomorrow night. There was no time to worry about ghost stories. *** Dora sat on one side of the board, Jill on the other, with their fingertips on the pointer. The table was covered in burnt-down candles; the girls on the sixth floor had been trying to use the Ouija board to "contact" spirits in the building, but neither Dora nor Jill had been interested in any of their questions and hadn't bothered to respond. Now, long after midnight, they sat at the board themselves. "All right," said Dora, "what about the one where the car breaks down and the boyfriend goes for help, but he's gone for a long time, and then the girlfriend hears this scraping noise over and over, and when she gets out she finds someone has hung the boyfriend's dead body from a tree, and the sound is his feet scraping the roof? Did that one really happen?" The pointer trembled for a second and then slid across the board: NO. "Darn it." "What about the one about the woman who picks up the old lady with the grocery bag who's hitchhiking, but for some reason the old woman makes her really nervous, and finally she realizes that it's actually a man in a wig, and the police arrest him and find a knife in the grocery bag and tell her he's a killer who escaped from jail?" said Jill. "Did THAT one really happen?" The pointer paused, slid one way and then the next, and then finally came to rest at: NO. "Shoot." "Oh! What about the escaped mental patient who gave poisoned Halloween candy to all the kids who trick or treated in one neighborhood, and all of them got sick and a lot of them died?" said Dora. "That one totally happened. Right?" The pointer shot across the board: NO. "Darn it. None of these old stories are any good at all." Dora threw the board across the darkened apartment and went off in a huff. Jill followed. "I don't get it," Dora said. "Everybody hears those stories all the time. How come none of them are true?" "It's just the way things are. Like how people say you and me were murdered by a maniac down in the basement, but actually it was just a gas leak. Or how they say we pushed that sophomore off the balcony last Halloween but really he just fell talking on his phone. People always want to believe thing are scarier than they really are." "But nothing's really scary unless it's true." "Well, WE scare people." "Those people are just scaredy-cats," said Dora. She went into the apartment on the twelfth floor with the doll collection and twisted all the dolls heads backwards, so it looked like they had broken necks. "None of this stuff is really scary. What's really scary is maniacs with knifes and escaped mental patients and guys hiding in your house and your car, or that movie Mom wouldn't let us watch with the guy with the knife and the white mask and the babysitter. Not dumb old stuff like this." She indicated the dolls. Jill shrugged, and her chains rattled. "Tomorrow's Halloween. I guess we'll just have to try to be as scary as we can. Maybe—" Jill paused. Dora had a look on her face. Jill knew that look: It was the same one she'd had back when she said they should play in the basement in the first place even though Mom and Dad said not to. "I've got an idea," Dora said. "I can't believe I never thought of it before. I know how we can be REALLY scary." Jill trembled. "Dora, maybe it's not a good idea. Maybe we shouldn't try to be scarier than we are already. Maybe—" Dora grabbed her by the arm. "You haven't even heard the idea yet. It's going to be great." She squeezed a little harder. "This is going to be the best Halloween ever. Trust me." *** Like John said, it was a small party, only about ten guests, all but two of them freshman and all of them people who had just moved into the building this semester. Nobody wore a costume and the only decorations were a few pumpkins John's roommate had carved (even those were looking a bit on the saggy side; he'd carved them nearly two weeks ago and didn't have money to buy new ones by the time Halloween rolled around). But the building was kind of spooky at night anyway, and two guys from the first floor had gone trick or treating across the street as a goof and actually got a lot of candy, which they spread out on the floor and split between everybody, so the place had a nice Halloween night atmosphere after all. Naturally, the conversation turned inevitably to one topic: "Of course they SAY the building is haunted, but I haven't seen anything," said a girl from the fourth floor, around a mouthful of Milk Duds. "I think it's all made up." "No way!" said one of the first floor guys who had brought the candy. "It's totally true. I wake up every morning with all my sheets and blankets pulled off my bed." "That's because you kick in your sleep all night long. Last time I stayed the night I woke up with bruises on my shins," said a girl from the ninth floor. "That's why you're sleeping on the couch if you come over tonight." "Somebody messed with our Ouija board last night. I mean, after we went to bed, we found it on the other side of the room," said a sixth floor girl. "Jess says it was the wind, but I don't think she believes it. She seemed really creeped out." "Wait a minute," said John. "Blankets, Ouija boards, that's all small-time. I've heard really crazy stories: bloody handprints, voices screaming, windows breaking. Hasn't anybody seen something like that? You know, something good?" There was a pause. "Well, I heard all that too," said John's tenth-floor neighbor. "But I think the people who really see shit like that move out. Wouldn't you?" "Hell no," said John. "I'd love to be that scared. Nothing that scary ever really happens. I wish it did." He looked at Laurie. "What do you think?" The question startled her. She stalled by taking a swig of pumpkin beer (she was still on her first one, but it went right to her head). She was sitting next to John on the couch—not too close, but not too far away either. After taking a second to think, she swallowed (careful not to wince—this stuff was actually awful) and said: "I just got here last night, and nothing happened in my apartment at all. But...hell yeah, I'd LOVE if something scary happened. Especially tonight. That's the whole reason I moved into this place." John grinned and clinked their bottles together. He even sat a little closer on the couch. Laurie's heart fluttered again. An hour passed, then two: the jack o'lantern's candles burned lower, the empty bottles piled higher, the bag of candy disappeared bit by bit, and, subtly, the space between Laurie and John grew ever smaller. One by one, the other guests floated off to their own apartments, and John's roommate retired with his date. Soon John and Laurie were alone on the couch, and the sickeningly sweet essence of pumpkin beer was swirling around her head. They'd been making out for ten minutes and his lips tasted like lingering pumpkin spice mixed with the faint, underlying sweetness of chocolate. Laurie shimmied lower on the couch and John scooted a little bit up to lay half on her. She ran her fingers through the short bristles of his hair as he panted against her open mouth. Oh my God, she thought, this is really happening. His hand glanced down and across her left breast, squeezing a bit through the fabric of her sweater. She grabbed him and pulled him in, twisting her legs around his body (which pinched a bit—she'd intentionally worn jeans that were too tight). She stabbed her tongue into his mouth and all but pulled his hands full down to her breasts, where he squeezed until she squealed. She pulled her sweater off and tossed it onto the floor. John's hands moved to the hooks of her bra, and she let them. She crushed her naked chest against his, and his bare skin felt achingly warm in the draft of the apartment. The last jack o'lantern had burned its candle down to a nub, and the flickering orange glow of its face was the only light in the room. At first she'd felt self-conscious: Am I doing any of this right, she thought? Back home she'd only ever kissed one boy. (Also one girl, as a dare, but she didn't think that counted.) She knew the things to do, but had never had the opportunity to try them out. Now she found it was a lot like the first time she danced: Just let him lead. His lips found a sensitive spot on the side of her neck and she bucked and squirmed, fingers digging into the couch upholstery. As he lay on top of her she felt a distinct bulge down in his pants, and blushed. Holy shit, this is really going to happen. Did she want it? She did...she was nervous, of course, but yes. She'd wanted it for forever now, and she hadn't dreamed she'd get the milestone out of the way so soon after she was finally away from Mom's watchful eye. She flung her arms around John and pulled his body even tighter against hers. The room had been drafty, but now it was getting SO hot... Ghost Stories A momentary panic accompanied the sudden wave of dizziness, and Laurie worried she might black out then and there. She couldn't speak, so it was a second before she could signal to John that something was wrong (she slapped his back a few times). He came up looking confused and she rolled off the couch and onto her knees on the floor. Just breathe, she told herself. She'd left the pills back in her apartment—a stupid thing to do, but she resented having to take them everywhere and relished the freedom of abandoning them. Now she wished she hadn't, but she talked herself through the attack slowly: Just breathe, she reminded herself. One breath at a time and you'll be okay. Just breathe... In about a minute, it passed. She sighed, relieved. Then she remembered John was still there and, embarrassed turned to look at him. "I'm sorry. I'm okay. It was nothing you did. I just have this...condition." "Oh. Oh! Is it serious?" "No!" she said. "It's not. I just get these panic attacks sometimes, and when I do I have to slow down. It's no big deal." "I get it," he said. Half-undressed on the couch, he looked a bit awkward. "I was moving too fast. If you need to go—" "I don't," she said, and took his hand. "That is, if you don't want me to?" He shook his head. She smiled, relieved. But now, a puzzle: How to do this without running the risk of exerting herself too much? She eyed his sitting position and said, "Stay right where you are. I want to try something." He half-jumped when she undid his belt buckle, but then settled back in. That bulge was still there. In fact, it even looked even bulgier now. She scooted his jeans down his hips and he obliged. Laurie pulled the waistband on his shorts down with mock reverence. When she saw what popped free, she was...surprised, and also completely unsurprised. She knew what to expect, of course, and had seen pictures and videos, but the real thing was still different. Now, let's see if I can figure out the right way to do this, she thought. A cousin had explained it to her, but she was still a little unclear: Wouldn't she choke? Shortly she found that, yes, she would, if she went too quickly. She decided to take it one step at a time, first wrapping her fingers around it (it was springier than she'd expected, but also less flexible). She slid it against her palm from one end to the other and was pleased to hear John give a kind of growl. Trying it again, she found she could make him squirm in his seat quite easily, which as fun. Finally she worked up the nerve to extend her tongue and touch just the tip to him. She licked him up and down, rubbing the grain of his skin first against her tongue and then against her lips. It was cooler than she'd thought it would be. John grunted deep when she slid the tip of him into her mouth. That was the part that had always made her the most curious: On the Internet it always looked shiny and juicy, and she imagined it would practically pop in her mouth. Instead it felt heavy on her tongue, but when she prodded it she found he went a little wild. The slit at the top dribbled and there was a spark of salty warmth on her palate. Very, very slowly, she eased him inside one bit at a time (mindful of the common advice about her teeth). It bulged wider than she'd thought, and the feeling of it was totally unlike what she'd expected, but she didn't stop or slow down. Even when it went all the way back and she felt her gag seize up again she just slowed down and did it in even smaller bits, wrapping her lips around it as tightly as she could and massaging with her mouth. I'm really doing it, she thought. It felt...strange, to be honest. But thrilling. This was the most secret, salacious thing she'd ever imagined; to be confident and daring, like the women she'd seen on the computer or the older cousins who had explained certain things to her. She'd felt she'd never be able to make things work with a guy until she knew how to handle him this way. Now she was, and it was easier than she'd imagined. She slid her mouth over and down him again, bobbing her head and letting her tongue dribble all along the underside. She heard the upholstery tighten as he dug his fingers in. Her hands were free, so she reached up and cradled his balls, careful not to squeeze them too hard. He responded by jerking upwards in a motion that almost choked her again, but also made her giddy. The darkness of the room and the intimacy of the single candle made it easy to forget everything else. I must look really, really hot like this, she thought. She was still wearing her too-tight jeans, but that was okay; she liked the idea that if anyone else walked in they'd still be able to check out the way the fabric hugged her ass and thighs, even while her breasts bounced free and her mouth swallowed John up and inside. He was dribbling like crazy now and she heard his breathing becoming faster and shallower. Was he really going to—? Yes, she decided in a second, he really was. And she was going to let it. When it came, it was quicker than she thought it would be: barely any warning, and then a warm gush and a strange, salty, slightly bitter taste filling up her mouth. John twisted and wriggled in his seat and Laurie pushed herself down all the way on him, letting him squirt in her throat and feeling the hot, surreal sensation of it sliding down as she swallowed. When she came off him, his cock was dripping with spit, and her mouth felt like a hot, satisfying mess. "Oh my God..." she said. "That was..." Liberating was the word she was thinking of, but she didn't say it. Too weird. "Yeah," said John. "It was." He paused. "I'm sorry, maybe I shouldn't have. I didn't know if you wanted to—" "Oh, I definitely wanted to." "Right, but now I can't...I mean, if you wait a while, maybe..." She wanted to giggle. "No problem, tiger." Tiger? Is that something people really said? "You know where to find me. You know, tomorrow, or anytime. If you want." The truth was, she did have a particularly troublesome itch that she guessed she'd have to go scratch on her own now. But that wasn't so bad. "Yeah. Yeah!" John said. "Okay, definitely. Do you want another beer, or..." "I think I'm at my limit. Oh, where did you throw my bra?" "Back here, over here. Your sweater is—" "I've got it." She put the sweater on but simply carried the bra, swinging it back and forth a bit as she went to the door. "Thanks for the invitation. I had a really good time." "Me too. Yeah. I'll see you around?" "I hope so." They kissed at the door (briefly—she suspected he didn't want to taste what was still lingering in her mouth). She took the stairs two at a time. She felt...well, a lot of things, actually. But one of them was a strange kind of relief. None of this was hard at all. It wasn't all some strange, foreign thing reserved only for other people. She could do it too. She could do anything. Tonight had confirmed all of her best expectations. Laurie paused when she got to the front door. It was open, just a tiny crack. Had she forgotten to lock it? Or...well, any burglars who came in would have left disappointed, since there was hardly anything to steal, unless they wanted to unpack all of her boxes for her. And what thief would climb all the way to the top floor anyway? Probably she'd just left it open. "Or else the ghosts did it," she said out loud, and laughed. She locked the door behind her, kicked off her shoes, and weaved her way somewhat unsteadily toward her room. She wondered if she should stop by John's place tomorrow, just to say hello? Or maybe I don't want to, she thought. Maybe I just want it to be a one-nighter. I could go out and meet other guys instead. I could meet a guy every night. She flopped onto the bed and giggled. There was nobody to tell her no. There was nothing— She hadn't bothered to turn the lights on, so it took a moment for her eyes to adjust. A moment for her to notice the dark shape looming over her on the bed. A moment to recognize the gleam of cold steel in the intruder's hand, and detect the subtle shuffle of boots on floorboards. And then another moment to remember how to breathe, but even then she found she couldn't bring herself to stand, or run, or scream, or do any of the things that she knew she should do. All she could do was stare. It wasn't until the black shape actually raised the knife up that her body began to obey her brain's frantic commands. She rolled off the bed (she meant to stand, but her knees were too shaky), scrambled across the floor, pulled herself up using the doorframe, ran to the living room window (open, although there were bars on it), and screamed as loud as she could: "HELP!" A noise behind her. She saw the intruder slip out of the bedroom and into the hall. The bare moonlight coming through the window accented the blade in his hand. He made scarcely any noise at all, his footsteps padding ever so softly on the floor. Laurie stumbled backwards. She had to run, she knew. There was still time to make it to the door, but soon he'd be too close. Even though her heart was pounding and adrenaline in her veins made her feel crazy, her feet dragged when she tried to move them. Oh God, she thought, my condition; I still don't have my pills. The lightheadedness was coming on. If she blacked out now she didn't stand a chance. I have to take three deep breaths, she thought, but she didn't have time. Two breaths, then, and then I run. Only a second had passed, but the man with the knife was that much closer. I've got to go, she thought, but first she forced herself to breathe. Breathe, she told herself, come on and breathe. Another second. No more time. Any longer and he'd be right on her... Bare feet skidding on the hardwood floor, Laurie bolted. The man with the knife lunged to grab her, but his movements didn't seem to have much strength behind them. She felt the tips of his gloved hand brush her wrist...but by then she was already passed him and to the front door. She jerked the doorknob, threw it open, and was about to sprint out into the hall and escape— And then the door slammed shut. It happened so fast it nearly knocked her in the face. The door swung smack shut again as soon as she'd opened it, and when she grabbed the knob she found that it wouldn't turn. The lock was undone, but no matter how hard she struggled it wouldn't budge. Oh God, oh God, what's happening, she thought? She heard footsteps behind her. I've got to get to the window—no, there were bars. Was there any other way out? Could she get back to the room and lock herself in? Could she— A gloved hand touched her hair. Laurie collapsed, screaming, to the floor, hands over her head. This was it, but she didn't want to look. This can't be happening, she thought, this can't be happening. This can't— And then she heard it: Two voices, very quiet but very distinct. They sounded like children. "Dora, that's enough. Don't be mean." "Shhh! She'll hear you!" "Just stop it now, okay? She's scared enough." "All right. You're no fun..." And that was all. She heard the rustle of fabric and the clatter of something heavy on the floor. The intruder didn't grab her or haul her up by the hair or cut her throat. He didn't seem to be doing anything at all. After a few agonizing seconds, she forced herself to look, and when she did she saw... Nothing. She was alone. The room was empty. No, that wasn't quite true: On the floor in front of her was a crumpled pile of black clothes. A pair of sneakers sat orphaned nearby, with nobody's feet in them. The intruder, whoever he was, had vanished. It was some time before Laurie could bring herself to move again. When she did, she found the room seemed to be heaving back and forth, and when she tried to breathe she couldn't. Oh, right, my condition, she thought. Now that she knew she wasn't about to be murdered, the stress caught up to her body all at once. Should she try to get her pills, or was it too late for that and better to call an ambulance instead? In the end it didn't matter, because before she had even a second to make up her mind everything went black, and she crumpled with one last heavy thump to the floor. *** Although the building was mostly empty, there were still enough neighbors home, awake, and sober to hear the screams and call 911. The police found Laurie unresponsive, but she regained consciousness in the hospital a few hours later. Her statement, when she could make one, was rational enough, but it didn't explain any of the strangest things they found in the apartment. In the bedroom they discovered a digital camera had been set up, and on the floor around the bed it appeared the intruder had crudely painted a circle with a crisscrossing star pattern in it. "One of those, what do you call them, pentagrams," said one of the responding officers. "The kind those Satanists use." "Think so?" said another one. "Of course. It's Halloween, so one of those nutso devil worshipers broke in here and planned to murder this poor girl as a ritual sacrifice. Then he was going to tape the whole thing and sell it to perverts on the Internet. You know: a snuff video." "Oh, yeah, I heard of those." "Sick fuckers like this do that kind of stuff all the time," the cop said. "I tell you, it's a shame what's happening to this country." "I don't know," said another cop. "Have you ever actually heard of devil worshipers killing anyone? Not just a story, I mean, but ever picked up the paper and seen that in there, with names and photos, or talked to another cop who worked the case? And I always heard that nobody ever really finds any snuff tapes whenever they try." "But everybody knows that kind of thing happens," the first officer insisted. "That kind of shit happens all the time. I mean, just look at this mess here. It all makes sense." Even the skeptic was forced to agree. Except a few things still didn't make sense: Why the suspect had apparently run out of the apartment and left all his clothes behind rather than finish the deed, for example. And how an apparently naked stranger had been able to flee down thirteen floors and out into the night without anyone seeing such a thing remained a mystery as well. Neither could anybody explain why the attacker had apparently dressed himself in clothes from the victim's own closet. In fact, all the evidence left turned out to be things from the apartment: The knife (a harmless prop, upon closer inspection, part of a disused Halloween costume) belonged to the victim's roommate. The pentagram was drawn with nail polish from the bathroom medicine cabinet. "It's a crazy world," was all that the talkative cop concluded. As the night wound down, Dora was looking at the police tape over the door with a bright, brittle grin. Jill moped nearby. "I still say that was mean," said Jill. "You shouldn't have put all that gross stuff in the bedroom, nor done that thing with the clothes. You could have really hurt that girl..." "Yeah, but she's fine. And she was SCARED." "It wasn't any scarier than the normal stuff we do." "But nobody believes all that stuff. Everybody think it's just stories; all made up, like the other ones. This story people will believe—and it's actually true." "Well, sort of," said Jill. She made some of Laurie's other shoes walk a few feet by themselves again, and then made another pair of pants float up and join them for a few steps more. It was an easy trick. Both ghosts yawned as the sun came up, and dragged their chains back down to the basement. "What do you want to do tomorrow night?" said Dora. "I don't know," said Jill. She paused. "Hey, did you ever hear the one about the guy who wakes up in the bathtub full of ice and—" "You told that one already," said Dora. "Oh," said Jill. Another pause. "But...you could tell it again." "You want me to?" "Might as well," Dora said. "It's not like anything scary is going to happen around here."