Hell In High Heels --- A Jane Delacroix erotic novel: Sex, Sin, and Slaughter in Southern California (8 page)

               Makin stepped forward. "Look, DIA has problems with intelligence. General Hun Sen is a treasure trove for them, but they've gotten into bed with a devil. I can't get into specifics of what's going on behind the scenes in Washington, but the turf battle has split the State Department down the middle. One side is going with McNamara the other with Hoover." Makin looked hard into Gleason's eyes. "Who do you think is going to win?"

               "That monomaniacal fruitcake Hoover
never
loses a turf battle," Gleason turned his head and spat. He was disgusted. Turf battles between the Secretary of Defense and the head of the FBI.

               "Then you need to be on our side when this thing shakes loose."

               "Doesn't matter," Gleason pointed out. "I'm never going to get confirmation on Sten's release in time to make a difference to Jane."

               "Nothing that's going to happen is going to happen on the books," Dawson said. "You're only going to get permission after this is over and done. But you're an LAPD Captain; who do you want on your side, a bunch of DIA spooks or the FBI?"

               "I let Sten go, I stall the paperwork 'til I hear from you and this helps me how...?"

               "And the Federal Bureau of Information drops all civil rights violation investigations into the conduct of a certain precinct run by a certain Captain during the Watts riots."

               Gleason stood still and silent for a long, long moment. Hot wind, the precursors to the Santa Anna's, blew through palm fronds above their heads. The sounds of traffic suddenly became louder. They could hear a jukebox in Joey’s playing Sympathy for the Devil by the Stones.

               Captain Gleason turned to Clark. "Get Sten the hell out of my car and let's go get a beer."

               "The FBI appreciates your service," Makins said.

               Dawson looked over at Sten and winked.

              Blood ran down the back of Jane's legs in scarlet rivulets. Her backside burned from the abuse. She been hit very few times, because a few times was all it took. Boupha dropped the cane to the floor with a rattle at a nod from Hun Sen.

Time to put my big girl panties on,
she thought.
Whatever these assholes have got, I can take it.
Then she added to herself,
Hurry, David.

              She looked up at Sen. Her body came alive with the drug and aphrodisiac adrenaline had become for her. She surged with endorphins from the caning.

              “Excellent,” Sen told his bodyguard. “Give her what she wants.” He looked down at her and smiled. “I did pay you for the whole night, right?”

              “Extra cock, extra charge,” she told him. He frowned.

              She heard Boupha’s zipper come down. He pushed up behind her and she felt a fist-sized cockhead nuzzle in against her pussy. She closed her eyes as the shaft pushed in, fat and hard and warm, letting her body take it.

              Her nerves, already brought to a fever pitch of heightened awareness by the caning, surged with pleasure. The sensations counter-balanced and were accentuated by the ache in her flesh from the rough treatment.

              Boupha reached down with his paw-like hands and grabbed her waist. Half way in and his dick was too fat to fully fit. Blood rushed into her lips and clitoris, swelling them. She grunted behind the gag and Sen grinned again, watching her getting fucked.

              She felt the rough wood of the table beneath her as she slid back and forth across the desk top. At her ankles and wrists the restraints held her snug. The jerking, back and forth motion of Boupha’s assault, pushed her tits into the hard material of the table, and her nipples throbbed under the intense stimulation.

Between her legs, her body’s natural lubricant flooded in and she moaned behind the gag. Behind her, the bodyguard grunted and pushed his cock all the way in. Beneath him, filled with his erection, Jane realized she was going to come. That fast.

Every muscle in her body tightened up, clenching hard. Her thighs began quivering and a light sweat broke out across her body. Her head came up in the ecstasy of it and somewhere below her belly, a faucet turned on. Her hands stretched wide against her bindings and her toes curled upward.

Hot liquid gushed out of her in a pressurized spray of female ejaculate, soaking Boupha. The man made an animal sound and began slamming into her harder. Sen’s eyes grew wide and his hand went to his crotch.

Suddenly, Boupha yanked his cock free of her dripping pussy and took his naturally lubricated cock and slammed it balls deep up her ass in a single stroke. Jane screamed, the sound baffled against her gag until it reverberated down her throat. Electric jolts of pleasure-pain washed through her with tsunami force.

Already in, he began fucking away.

Sensation rushed up her body in pulses from the tips of her fingers and toes and hammered in successive waves through the tender lining of her ass. Tears began streaming down her face, causing her makeup to run in streaks over her cheeks.

She grunted on each painful thrust, once again endorphins filling her body. On each stroke, she loosened just a bit more, stretched just a little further, as she fought to accommodate his girth.

“Ugh, ugh, ugh” she grunted, head snapping back and forth.

She had never felt more alive, more totally submersed in a moment, so free of every other worry. Everything that was not that thick cock fucking her ass faded away. Cold and hot bursts of sensation resonated in palpating waves from her rectum. Her pussy pressed into the table, rubbing back and forth against the unyielding surface, and pressure continued mounting there as well. The faster and harder he ploughed her ass, the faster and harder her clit rubbed against the table.

She realized with something like stunned rapture, that she had two separate orgasms, on clitoral and one anal, her cunt and ass, building at the same time. Boupha’s strong fingers grasped her aching ass cheeks up near her hips and bit in hard.

Centered, he slammed into her harder. He pulled his dick out, let her ass close, then slammed it in again. His cock was an iron bar in a velvet sleeve. Each stroke hurt, but the hurt was the engine driving the rushing cyclone of her dual orgasms.

The building pleasure wave erupted from deep inside, shooting out in tingling currents that engaged the soft lining of the tight canal of her ass. She began bucking against her restraints, and her dripping pussy exploded for a second time in an avalanche of fluid and gratification.

Boupha snorted and suddenly tensed. She felt him trembling, pressed against her, and then his cum spurted out, splashing inside her. He fell across her stinging back, spent, and lay across her. Beneath him she trembled as the last vestiges of her orgasm dribbled slowly from her body in sweet release.

Boupha let his dick, going soft, slip out of her ass and then pushed himself to his feet. She felt his sperm dribble out of her ass and heard him buckling his pants.

"Now, Miss Delacroix," the General said. "I'm going to ask you some questions." He cupped her chin with a sweat slimed hand, forcing her to look up at him. With his other hand he slammed the point of his switchblade into the table next to her face, causing her to flinch.

               Her makeup ran across her face, leaving streaks of black mascara like Zebra stripes on her face. Clear snot ran down over the ball gag from her crying, and drool hung in delicate strings from her lips.

               "You've never looked more beautiful," Hun Sen smiled. "That could be a problem for you just now, Miss Delacroix. My other men are also curious about big breasted blondes, and you're the biggest breasted blonde any of them have ever seen. They've served me well and I'm inclined to indulge them, unless you can give me a reason not to." He pattered her face in a condescending, paternalistic way. "Do you understand?"

               Eyes earnest, Jane nodded.

               "What? I can't understand you?"

               Terrified, Jane began making croaking sounds, bobbing her head up and down. Hun Sen laughed cruelly at her fear and desperation. His men, on cue, stepped forward and began hooting with mirth. In the weird echo of the wine cellar, it sounded like a troop of monkeys.

               Hun Sen pointed at one of his gunmen. "Take off her gag," he snapped. "Now!"

               One of the men, his mouthful of gold teeth scintillating weirdly in the hard yellow light, jumped forward, Swedish K dangling from a strap over his shoulder. Moving quickly, he undid the Sadomasochistic accoutrement from the blonde call girl.

               Jane turned her head and threw up on the floor, convulsing with the effort to vomit. Her stomach was empty accept for champagne and bile and the mess was clear other than for the blood. It pooled up on the floor of the cellar and splashed onto the warlord's shoes.

               Hun Sen leaned forward, pulling Jane's head up by the hair. "I want to know who sent you and for what? I am protected by your government. I want to know who you are working for!"

               Jane's mouth worked, no sound came out. She closed her eyes and swallowed against the tight rawness in her throat. Her lips moved but no sound came out, she started to whisper but then was overcome by a spasm of coughing.

               She tried to speak again but her voice was faint. Impatient, Hun Sen jerked her head back harder and leaned in closer.

               "What? Tell me!"             

              Her voice cracked, too faint to understand. Hun Sen leaned in closer.

               "Who sent you?"

               His ear was so close to her mouth he could feel her breath against his skin.

               "I said," Jane whispered. "Go to hell!"

               She lunged forward and clamped her teeth down hard on the skin and cartilage of the General's ear. Sharp, white teeth caught hold and bit down hard, splitting skin until blood, hot and salty, rushed out and spread like a lake over Hun Sen's jaw and neck. Blood poured over Jane's lips and chin.

               Hun Sen screamed in surprise and pain. He tried to jerk free but Jane just bit harder. His cries where high pitched whoops like air raid sirens and his men remained frozen in shock. Jane snatched her head to the side like a lioness yanking meat off a bone.

               The top of the Cambodian's ear came away in a long, tearing avulsion that left blood smeared across his face. Blood splashed into Jane's platinum blonde hair, turning it strawberry. The fat slug of flesh that had been the top of Hun Sen's ear stuck out of the private investigator's mouth like a piece of escargot at a French restaurant.

               Grinning like a demoness, Jane turned her head to the side and spat. The flesh struck a wine rack and clung to the porous wood like sputum. She grinned, blood smeared across her teeth like lipstick.

               "What was the question again?"

               Hun Sen looked at his ear, stuck like a booger on the wood, his face all incredulous horror. His hands clamped hard to the side of his head but blood spurted freely from between his fingers despite the effort. He staggered back and forth like a drunk, screaming in agony.

               Boupha moved toward him, confusion on his simian face. He reached out his hands toward the General who slapped them away. Jane, slightly unhinged from her torture was laughing, cackling even as the General, staggering, tripped over his own feet and went down hard.

               Boupha went to help Hun Sen up but the man couldn't seem to get himself under control. Not sure of what to do next, he backhanded Jane. The blow snapped her head to the side and split her lip. After the caning the strike was a pittance and she just giggled.

               "Kill her!" Hun Sen finally managed to stutter from the floor.

               Dutifully Boupha took a half step back, pivoted from the waist and snapped back the bolt on his  sub-machine gun. He swung the blunt, industrial looking muzzle around and centered it on Jane's high, broad forehead.

               Her eyes shone defiantly in discs of cobalt blue, "go ahead."

               Boupha tightened his finger on the stamped metal curve of the trigger. His knuckle whitened as he took up the slack. Boupha liked killing people, he wasn't really interested in any information Jane might or might not have had, pulling the trigger and sending a cavalcade of 9mm slugs to ruin her face would have made his day. He was grinning as he squeezed.

               Javacovitch stepped forward out of the shadows. Boupha spun, surprised by the sudden movement. The ex-Green Beret kicked the bodyguard in the shin, using the pain to short circuit the man's reactions. He knocked the barrel of the sub-machine gun away from Jane's direction and slammed the heel of his palm upward into the Cambodian's nose.

               The movement was not the instantaneous execution some martial artist claimed, but the pain and shock instantaneously blinded the killer, the excruciating pain sending him staggering.

               "Enough!" Javacovitch snarled, David Sten's modified .45 appearing in one fist and a Walter PPK in the other.