Hell In High Heels --- A Jane Delacroix erotic novel: Sex, Sin, and Slaughter in Southern California (3 page)

               Boupha held open a bedroom door and Jane pulled Hun Sen in after her. She stopped, disbelieving. The wisp of a girl, raven hair hanging down to her waist, body marred by bruises and teeth marks, was already naked, holding an extravagant water pipe in childlike hands. Her breasts were nubs with big, dark nipples and her skin a deep bronze yellow, like soft Asian gold.

               She was stunningly out of place in the French Renaissance room. Heavy velvet curtains covered windows on either side of an ornate fireplace. A four poster bed with dripping canopy spread out over about a half an acre of floor space. On the wall next to the double doors ran a wet bar made of onyx and teak with gaudy gold leaf trim.

               Sun Hen was behind her, pushing her toward the big, high bed. The bodyguard took one last look in the room and shut the door. She grinned as she heard the lock being turned over. She let herself be shoved toward the turned down sheets of Egyptian cotton.

               She put her hands out like a gymnast, caught the mattress as she was propelled forward and spun easily. Her thighs, long and smooth and strong opened like the cover of a book and her tight dress ripped loudly along the seams. Now she could move.

               Her panties, red satin and cut as French as the Louis XIV chair next to the divan lounge in front of the ostentatious fireplace, winked out as she lay back on the bed. Beneath the thin material her soft, downy pubic hair was as pale blonde as the hair on her head.

               Hun Sen staggered, caught himself then clumsily undid his pants. His erection stuck out, red and purple under the deep yellow of his skin and he staggered toward her. She spread her legs wider, making an inviting target.

The girl drew deeply on the water pipe, inhaling smooth smoke like a furnace bellows. The size of her hit, given the fragility of her ribcage, was truly prodigious. Her own public hair was a black thatch at the junction of her skinny thighs. If Jane hadn't know she was nineteen years old she might have thought the girl years younger than her actual age.

               The sickness of the situation left greasy stains in Jane's stomach as adrenaline bled into her already ramped up system. She narrowed her focus to Hun Sen as he came forward, his cock leading the way. The Phenobarbital was really kicking in now and the warlord could barely stand.

               The word had come down to the LAPD from the CIA through the State Department; the good General Hun Sen was to be accorded every privilege of diplomacy, including immunity from investigation and prosecution. His army kept the Viet Cong out of his region and strengthened the royal family's hold over the imploding nation.

               The communists had to be stopped and if a little Golden Triangle heroin had to make its way into the west coast to do that, then so be it. If teenage girls were used up and then thrown away, then so be that too. There was a bigger picture, a larger stage where the drama was being played out.

               But Jane Delacroix was used to small stages and small stakes. When you weren't fighting global battles then people could still matter. Little girls strung out on opium while being turned into the abused playthings of sick and twisted villains, could still matter in life, even if the monolithic shadow of the Soviet Union still loomed in the background.

               Hun Sen was on her. Despite his heavy intoxication and their recent encounter, the skin of his penis shaft stretched painfully tight. The light from a Currey and Company period piece chandelier gleamed off the head of his cock as it came toward her like a battering ram.

             
Sometimes,
she thought,
undercover work is a bitch.
Time
to be a pro.

              She reached out and took hold of the hard-on. The girl came up behind Sen and pressed herself against, running her hands across his body in open admiration. Jane’s stomach did a slow roll, confused by the situation. The girl’s actions didn’t appear to be the kind normally associated with a victim.

              She needed time to figure the situation out. Reaching down, Sen ripped her panties out of the way, and began rubbing his cock on her pussy. Behind him, the girl dropped to her knees and began rimming his ass.

              The sight was stunning, and arousing. She felt herself growing wetter and in her moment of hesitation, Sen slammed his blunt instrument home. She gasped as pushed into her to the hilt, balls slapping her ass. Her thighs remained sticky from his first load and he was going for round two.

              His hands came down and found the soft mounds of her breasts and squeezed. She moaned at the intensity of his fever touch, amazed at the warlord’s stamina. Her back arced up into his touch as he moved inside her.

              Behind him, the girls fingers grabbed his waist from behind and Jane watched her shoving her face fully in between the muscular globes of his ass cheeks. Sen had come up through the ranks humping heavy rucksacks uphill through the jungle, and it showed in his lean, muscular body.

              His fingers formed claws and squeezed her tits hard. The twin sensations met somewhere at the base of her spine and set her body on fire. They made wet sounds as they fucked, the girl eagerly licking her way through the rim job, Jane’s well lubricated pussy taking the pounding Sen dished out.

              She propped herself up on her elbows and looked down as Sen roughly handled her breasts. She saw his cock sliding in and out of her, heard the girl slurping behind his back. It was a kinky scene, and, truth was, Jane Delacroix liked kinky scenes; they were her stock and trade.

             
Nothing wrong about taking an orgasm where you can get,
she told herself.

              On Sen’s next thrust, she lifted her hips up to meet him, allowing him fuller access to her cunt. She grabbed her legs behind the knees and pulled them back until they stuck straight up in the air.

              She let soft exclamations escape with each breath as he hammer his cock home. She saw his eyes glazing and began fucking him back harder. She had to get off before he passed out or she’d be out of sorts until she came.

              “Come on, general,” she urged. “Hurt that pussy, fuck that American pussy.”

              His hands slid off her tits and found the covers where they knotted into fists around the fabric. He leaned forward, eyes closed, and clearly dizzy. But the warlord was a machine, and his cock kept drilling into her.

              A paralyzing tingle swept through her body, riding the currents of adrenaline from the danger of the situation. She suddenly felt light headed, and her vision went blurry. In the next moment an intense feeling of lightness erupted through her, as if she would simply float off the bed and away. Between her thighs her clitoris throbbed with amazing intensity and she put her head back and screamed out her pleasure.

              Inside her, Sen broke out his second orgasm, gushing into her like a broken hydrant on the street. Copious amounts of ejaculate flooded her pussy and the muscles inside her contracted hard.

             
Perks of the job,
she thought.

              Between her legs, Sen, now clearly inebriated, backed away. He wobbled as if unsteady and pushed the girl away.

              “Hey, general,” Jane said.

              He looked at her.

          Her leg lashed out once, quickly, like a snake striking.

         The ball of her foot caught the inebriated fool in the side of his knee and he folded like a cheap card table. He stumbled and fell forward as Jane piston drove her hips up, her long, long legs snapping open then closing around his head like the jaws of a trap.

               Moving fast she jerked her body to the side and swept him off his feet as she cinched in the figure 4 leg lock, shutting off the flow of blood to the man's already foggy brain. The girl watched, nonplussed and slowly let smoke leak out her nostrils like dragon breath.

               At first Hun Sen was confused. He tried to turn his face toward her vagina and for a moment she could feel him trying to work his tongue against her crotch. She snarled and cranked her hips to the side. Hun Sen gasped at the pain as his head was jerked to an unnatural angle. Gradually he realized he was suffocating.

               He tried fighting back, Jane twisted her body around, all sinew and hate until she pushed him down on the thick carpet where he couldn't get any purchase. She sat above him pushing down, squeezing hard. His chin was tucked, blocking part of the effects of the Judo hold. She wound her fingers through his greasy black hair and yanked his head back, exposing more of his throat.

               Settling her hips down lower she sunk the leg lock as deep as it could get. Immediately the Cambodian's face turned purple. Jane balanced over his thrashing body like a rodeo rider. She looked to the girl. It finely seemed to be sinking in to her that this wasn't some kind of strange Western sex.

               The girl's mouth fell open. The female private detective realized with a sort of confused, horrified shock, that the girl was going to scream.

               "No!" Jane whispered in a harsh voice, speaking French. "I'm here to help you! I'm going to get you out! There are people waiting just outside the mansion to take us away!"

               The girl paused, her mouth slowly closing. She cocked her head in confusion.

               "You speak French, yes? They said you understood French. Do you understand me? I'm here to rescue you!"

               "I understand," the girl said. "I understand you are a bitch traitor to the God-King Hun Sen, regal lord of the Khmer Empire!"

               Then she began screaming in earnest.

               The girl's cries were like an air raid siren going off.

              The shrill shriek raked Jane's eardrums until she was sure they were going to bleed. There was no way anyone would confuse those for sex but she was betting Hun Sen's men were long used to hearing the sound of a woman's scream coming from their master's chambers.

               Chau sprang to her feet and began screaming a string of wild, frantic words in Cambodian and now Jane knew she had no choice. Everything had been going to plan until the warlord withstood the effects of her Mickey for just a few minutes too long. Now this; his sex slave coming to his defense!

               She looked down at Hun Sen. He seemed out. The girl was on her feet now, stumbling toward the door. Jane had to make a decision and make it fast. Cursing, she released her hold on the Cambodian and lunged after the girl. The man's head thumped off the carpet like a bag of apples.

               The girl was still screaming, lunging for the door on opium-shaky legs. Jane would never make it time. She snatched up the water pipe and hurtled the piece sidearm toward the girl. The heavy apparatus spun round like a boom o rang before crashing into Chua’s legs. A glowing red ember of burning opium popped free and sailed across the room.

               The girl grunted at the impact, her feet tangling up. She went down hard, her legs splashed with bong water. The ember, smoking furiously, landed in the thick shag carpet. Jane was on her belly and scissored herself to her hands and knees. Her dress ripped more until it hung off her like some Hollywood Indian’s loincloth from a John Ford western.

               From her knees she came up to one foot as the girl tried to stand. Jane drove hard and sprang, acrobat-like after the girl. She collided, driving her bigger, all-American Girl's frame into the slighter female, knocking her down before she could reach the door.

               The Cambodian turned, a hissing Asian hellcat. Jane snapped her head back to avoid raking nails and the girl's hand caught the front of her dress, ripping it like a cyclone. Jane's breasts, big and braless fell free, creamy mounds of suddenly vulnerable flesh.

               "Bitch!" she bellowed in English. The girl would understand no matter the language.

               The opium-slave began screaming again, obviously calling for help, shrieking a warning to the bodyguards with their savage dogs and folding stock machine pistols. Jane yanked the girl's head closer to her by long raven tresses and slammed her hard little fist into the girl's exposed face.

               Chua’s nose broke open like an over ripe piece of fruit and spread across her face. Hot blood pumped scarlet and splashed Jane's breasts, warm as bath water.
Some goddamn rescue,
she thought, then punched the girl in the face a second time as the little Cambodian tried again to claw her eyes.

Behind her the carpet began smoldering. Hun Sen, choked unconscious, drunk and heavily sedated, showed little sign of rousing. Jane shifted her hold and tried to climb on top of the writhing, naked pleasure girl, their bodies now slick with their sweat. She needed to pin her down and cut off her cries at least long enough for her to make her escape if she had to.

               The wiry little Asian was surprisingly strong and Jane miscalculated her attempt to straddle the girl. Both Chua’s legs came up and then shot out like the pistons in an Aston Martin coup. Jane grunted as the girl's heels slammed into the side of her head.