Drop
Dead Gorgeous
by
Donald Allen Kirch
Genre:
Horror
1#
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"Would
you like to hear a story?"
The man couldn't help himself.
His captor was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. Her
powerful eyes held his attention and made him forget that she had him
confined in a basement; his hands and feet bound with duct tape. His
heart raced as he meekly nodded his head 'yes' to the
question.
After getting past the terror and discomfort, he
reasoned that there was nothing to worry about. He would be missed.
He had loved ones who would call the police. All he had to do was
wait. Letting this woman tell him a story was as good a stall as
any.
The mysterious woman weaved a tale of betrayed love and
unwanted, unnatural experiments placed upon her. Of a loving wife,
working on a top secret government program. Of a husband searching
for love in all the wrong places. The prisoner couldn't believe what
he was being told. A descent into insanity, fueled by a jealous rage,
ended with using the tools of science for torture and revenge.
With
every blink of her lovely eyes, licking of her full lips, and heaving
of her perfect breasts, the captor entertained a story most bizarre.
Of a woman bent on teaching her cheating husband a lesson.
The
prisoner wondered...."Am I next?"
PROLOGUE
Addison,
Kansas - July 7th - 4:18 A.M. - Present Day:
Ray
opened his eyes to one hell of a headache.
"What
the f..." He blinked trying to clear his eyes of what seemed to be caked
on blood. His eyelids wouldn't cooperate,
and the pain coming from the back of his
head took away all common sense.
His
girl, Tammy, had been trying to keep him from swearing, and since he loved her, he censored himself. Most of the time that is.
The
pain increased, and he felt as if he
wanted to vomit.
Ray
tried to move and realized his hands were tied behind his back. "What
the...fuck?? Hey!" he yelled, his breath causing a small dust storm on the
dirt floor where he lay face down – he
had no idea where he was, but could sense
that he was not alone. He could hear movement upstairs, whoever it was probably
reacting to his voice. "Hey! Come down here, right now! You fuckers!
I don't need this shit."
In
the back of his mind, he knew that Tammy
would not approve. She was a "Jesus
Crispy" and did not condone the use of profanity. He had often discovered that those who
condemned the use of dirty words were proficiently good at sucking dick. That alone gave Tammy power over him. He caught himself smiling at the irony before
reality brought his mind back into focus.
She had been about to leave him
but hadn't found the heart to tell him.
He frowned; it was his own damned fault.
Prince Charming, he was not!
Ray
struggled to adjust himself, fighting the bindings holding his hands behind his
back, and noticed that he was in a basement of some kind.
"How
in damnation did I get down here?" he squinted, blood still running into
his eyes.
Above
him, footsteps went from one end of the room to the other. He could hear, faintly, the sound of a water
faucet turning on and off. The owner of
the footsteps seemed unhurried, moving
slowly, and without concern.
"All
right, Ray, who did you piss off this time?" His thoughts, such as they
were, turned to the events of the night before. "I can't remember a damn
thing." He was starting to panic and struggling against his bindings
worked against him.
He
tried to get up and fell, face down, in the dirt.
"Ouch!"
He
struggled some more and managed to roll onto his back. He saw his feet, ankles,
and knees had several wrappings of what appeared to be duct tape.
His
frustration was maddening. "Hey!" he yelled, focusing on the unfinished wooden ceiling. "You!
Up there. What's with all of
this? Come on, man. The joke's over."
Someone
laughed.
Was
it a woman?
Inching
his way across the dirt floor of the basement, Ray surmised that he was in a
farmhouse of some kind. Modern houses
had concrete flooring in the basement, and he saw nothing but riverbed rock
lining the walls.
"Definitely
an old house," he huffed.
It
took a considerable amount of time, but Ray was able to prop himself up against
a support beam, sitting up. He imagined
that he must look like Harry Houdini in one of those old-fashioned filmstrips
showing the master escaping from a straightjacket. Gasping for breath,
he was quite proud of his accomplishment.
"What
the hell happened?" he asked himself.
He
remembered he had waited all week to go out with his co-workers to Diamond
Jane's – a local strip club.
Although most went there for the tits and ass, Ray thought that they
made the best bacon quesadillas in the universe. That and a few beers were his only vice. Of course, hanging out with the guys and
looking at a few naked women wasn't bad either.
Tammy was wonderful, but she had
the tits of a twelve-year-old boy. She
knew he went every Friday, but tried to ignore the fact. Sex with her hadn't been stellar as of late –
one more reason he suspected that there was trouble in paradise.
Vaguely,
he remembered someone buying him a drink, it had been a rather fruity mix, and he was certain
that a girl had kissed him. Caught
between remembering and guilt, Ray adjusted his butt so that he sat up more
comfortably.
What
if this weren't a joke or had nothing to do with the night before?
Ray
paused, thinking. How could he be sure that he had been out for only one
night? Was this actually Saturday? He didn't know.
What
if he had been taken by a serial killer?
The
basement, although quite small, was neat and practically appointed. An old toolbox
sat with its lid propped slightly open by the wooden handle of a hammer. As he
looked closer, he thought he saw a substance that resembled blood
dripping from it.
An
old card table stood at the room's center.
The table reminded him of the type his
pain-in-the-ass grandmother had forced him to sit at while he played hours and
hours of Yahtzee. Damn!
How he hated that game. On the table were a small desk lamp that lit a
medical kit, and a plate of food.
Food!
Ray
was starving. He hadn't felt this hungry since he had gotten sick at fifteen
and hadn't been able to eat for three days.
His stomach grumbled, and he found
himself sniffing at the air and licking his lips. Was the meal meant for him?
Ray
turned his attention to the sounds of more footfalls from the floor above
him. Music – jazz – was softly
playing. It sounded like Billie Holiday,
but he wasn't sure. The voice sounded
too pure. Was it his captor's? Was his captor a... woman?
"Hey,
up there!" he shouted. Ray bit his
bottom lip to keep himself from sounding scared and to keep from crying. "What's going on, please?"
The
singing stopped. The music turned off. There was silence as if his host were
listening to him struggling. He imagined they were pleased to have him under
their control.
"Jesus!"
Ray pleaded, his hands were starting to fall asleep. "I have a woman who's worried about
me. I will be missed." Ray suspected that was far from the truth,
but they didn't need to know that.
The
footsteps moved, and they sounded like
they were heading for the basement's entrance.
A
sliver of light invaded the semi-dark basement as the door to the upstairs
opened.
"I
love it when a man says 'please.'" The voice was female, but something was
odd about it, he thought, it was just too female
– if there was such a thing.
Two
long and heavenly legs started down the staircase.
"Holy..."
Ray found himself whispering. Then,
cutting his thoughts short out of tact, he simply
stared. From a singularly male perspective, he couldn't have been in lovelier
hands.
"That's
it," the woman jeered, as she reached the bottom of the steps. "Take
me all in."
The
woman slowly turned in a circle making sure Ray got the full effect.
He
found himself gasping for breath, not to mention fighting down a full erection.
Simply put, she was the most amazing
woman he had ever seen. Venus had
nothing on her!
The
woman was about five foot one. She had a
rather healthy olive complexion, long
hair that hung down to the small of her back, and sharp, green eyes. She wore a tight-fitting red dress that could
distract a blind man, well-manicured hands, full lips, and a healthy hourglass
figure.
"38-28-36,"
she giggled, clearly reading Ray's mind.
Caught
staring, Ray lowered his eyes.
"Oh,
come, now," she purred. "If I
didn't want you to look, I wouldn't have worn this for you."
Ray
cleared his throat. "What's going on here?"
She
shook her head, her long hair swished like a sultry tide hitting the beach,
softly covering her left eye. God! She
looked fantastic. "Wrong question, love," she said, waving a finger
in the air.
Ray
paused, thinking.
"Then,
who are you?"
The
woman sighed with happy relief.
"Wonderful. He can be
taught."
Ray's
mysterious captor bent down, exposing cleavage from her ample breasts, and
stared him in the eyes, smiling. "Others failed to get as far as you have
come. Bravo!"
Ray's
eyes squinted in curiosity. The
others? He thought.
Again,
as if reading his mind, the woman giggled – her laugh soft and perfect – she
pointed toward a darker corner of the room.
"The
others cared only for their fate." She paused, staring at Ray
longingly. "I feel you're not like
that, are you...Ray?"
From
that corner of the basement wafted the smell of raw meat and decay. She stood and moved to the lamp on the card
table. She lilted it to shine into the dark corner to show off her work. She looked back at him, studying his reactions,
testing him.
Ray
remembered the blood dripping from the hammer. Now he saw the source. Several
dead bodies, stacked one on top of the other like old books in a forgotten
library, lay rotting in the dark. They
were men of all ages and races.
Swallowing panic, Ray counted at least seven. He was lucky number eight. All showed evidence of having been bashed
between the eyes, probably with the hammer.
Each set of eyes stared blankly out at Ray with a potent warning. Do not ask or say the wrong
thing!
Ray
held himself perfectly still, fighting the simultaneous urges to scream and fight to break free. He was dealing with a mad woman, it was best
to help play her hand. Ultimately,
someone was bound to find him. He had
friends who would worry. Tammy would
demand that the police help find him. At
least he hoped that she would. All he
needed was time.
Then
it hit him...she had called him Ray.
He
stared with surprise at the woman.
"Come
on, honey. Do you think that I would go
through all this trouble to get you, tie you up, and not look in your
wallet?"
"Well...who
are you, then?" Ray started to
shake with terror. What kind of crazy
world had he fallen into?
Sensing
his fear, the woman sauntered back across the room and, crouching down in front
of him, did the last thing in the world Ray expected. She kissed him.
And...damn,
what a kiss!
Despite
the circumstances, he felt himself responding. It had almost been three weeks
since he and Tammy had found the time for sex.
This woman knew her way around a man's tongue. She was passionate and soft, yet hard and
knowing. She almost made him blow a load
in his pants.
"Mmmmm,"
she said appraisingly, running her fingers through his hair. "You taste wonderful."
Ray's
eyes bulged with fear.
"Oh,
no, no, no, no, no," she said, soothingly.
"I'm not Hannibal or anything like that. Besides, I hate fava beans." she backed
away, laughing.
Ray
fought his bindings. His face twitched.
"Honey,"
she knelt down taking his chin in her hand.
"I am not going to eat you."
"Who...are
you?" he softly repeated.
"Quite
right. A man has a right to know the
name of his woman."
In
response, Ray let out a little gasp of a nervous laugh. It was not meant to be an insult.
All
emotion left the woman's face. Her hand,
with its long and razor-sharp fingernails, moved to his neck and he thought he
felt the prick of nails on the skin over the arteries there. All it would take would be a slight flick of
her wrist, and he would be gone. Bleed
out drop by drop, until nothing but blackness and unanswered questions
remained.
"Not
a laughing matter!" she screamed, suddenly furious. "If you want to live, never laugh at me
again."
Ray
cleared his throat. Did he have to
repeat himself?
"Eve
Doe," she stated, her eyes dropping to the ground
as if being forced to recall a bad memory.
"Please...address me as...Eve."
There
was an awkward moment. The kind where
neither party knew how to break the silence.
Ray's
stomach grumbled considerably, and they
both broke into nervous laughter.
"Someone
is hungry," Eve said, finally flipping the strand of hair out of her eye.
"A
bit," Ray confirmed, on the verge of panic.
"Well,
then, let's prepare you a meal." Eve moved with the grace of a cat. She opened a nearby drawer of a dusty cabinet
and took out some tableware. Several
times, as she set the table, she bent
over just enough to show off her breasts or wonderfully heart-shaped ass. So tight was her skirt that as he admired her
rear, he could see that she was not wearing any type of undergarments. This goddess was going commando.
With
each leer, stare, and silent, covetous look, Eve seemed to grow in confidence.
"This
is what will happen," Eve explained.
She lit a single candle and placed it at the center of the table. "You will eat, we will fuck, and then I
will decide your...fate."
"My
fate?" Ray looked in the direction of the rotting corpses in the
corner. She turned and saw the transparent expression of concern on his
face. He struggled to contain his silent
panic.
"Would
you be more comfortable if I were to share with you...a...story?"
"A...story?"
Ray repeated, almost in disbelief.
"Good,"
Eve beamed. "You cared not for the fuck I promised you. I'll make doubly sure you enjoy
yourself. I know my way around a man's
body." Her eyes focused on his crotch.
Ray
closed his eyes, mortified at the tent that was obvious there. Damn, this
bitch is hot!
As
if sensing his thoughts, Eve pulled down the top of her dress, revealing her
breasts.
I
could have sworn she was wearing a bra.
"I
don't need one," Eve explained, again, as if reading Ray's thoughts. "My breasts were created to hang this
way. Firmly." With the last word,
she pushed the velveteen mounds into Ray's face. "Suck them," Eve
ordered softly, almost begging.
What
would any man do in similar circumstances?
Once they forgot, of course, about being a hostage and in a room with
corpses rotting in a corner. Ray closed his eyes and opened his mouth.
Eve
let out a long moan of ecstasy. She
knelt in his lap and rubbed her sex against his, which did all that it could to
reach her through the thin layer of denim. A dust cloud started to rise, and Ray had wished that he were in a chair and
not on the basement floor.
"Mmmmm," was all he could bring himself to
say.
Then,
as quickly as it had started, Eve pulled herself away, replaced her top, and
was off of her captive. She shook a little as if fighting back emotion. Disgust,
perhaps? The scene was unnatural.
"I
am in control," she said, pointing a firm finger at Ray. "Always remember that."
Like
a pouting child, Ray stuck out his bottom lip.
Suddenly ashamed, his thoughts turned to Tammy. Where was she? Was she out looking for him? Did she even care anymore?
"Can
I eat now?" he asked, almost crying.
"Of
course, honey. You can eat."
Eve
went to the toolbox, opened it, and took out a small bright orange plastic box
cutter. She bent over Ray, and warned, "I'm only going to say this once:
do not try and escape. If you do, you
will die."
Ray
shook his head, eyes wide and pleading.
Eve
sliced through the layers of duct tape, freeing his legs. She took hold of his arm and with surprising
force, helped him stand.
He
was at least a foot taller.
"Oh,"
the woman exclaimed, obviously excited, "You're a big one."
As
she guided him to the table, Ray's curiosity piqued. Wouldn't she know how tall he was, what he
weighed, and all of that? After all, she
had kidnapped him.
The
woman ventured into the dark of the basement and produced a chair. Eve ordered him to sit in it – smart, a
plastic molded chair was hard to break free from. She duct-taped his feet, legs, and waist to the chair before using the box
cutter to free his hands. She then taped his ribcage and neck. He dared not struggle but could feel sweat breaking out all
over.
"You
will have need of those, later," she teased, slowly licking her lips and
winking at him seductively.
"Pardon
my French, lady," Ray said, swallowing hard. "But, you're fucked
up."
Eve
paused for a minute, thinking.
Ray
waited for an attack of some kind.
Wasn't this what he was supposed to do as a prisoner? Test his boundaries?
The
woman just laughed.
Ray
caught himself looking at her wobbling breasts as she laughed at him. Her tits
were...perfect. Almost too perfect.
"Mister,"
Eve whispered, looking at Ray through long and seductive bangs. "You have
no idea. Now, as promised, would you
like to hear a story?"
DONALD
ALLEN KIRCH lives in The United States of America. He is an avid
reader of history, Sherlock Holmes Mysteries, the paranormal, and is
a "hardcore" Doctor Who fan. After spending two weekends in
the famous "Sallie House," a "haunted house" in
Atchison, Kansas, he is one of the only authors of his craft who can
claim to have been attacked by a ghost!
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