Tombstone (15 page)

The next to enter the stage area caused Felicity to panic.
 
Her pussy was still clenching and demanding fulfillment, though the sight of Teresa threw her off.
 
The woman lifted her caftan and knelt, wedging Felicity’s head between her thighs and reaching to tweak the mannequin’s nipples.

Felicity smelled the hairless slit lowering towards her mouth and her stomach gripped.
 
As street savvy as she was, she had never been with another woman.
 
When the pussy rested over her pried mouth, her tongue curled to the roof of her mouth in an effort to evade the obvious demand.
 
She would lose lashes over her refusal, but she could not help herself.

The sharp nails pinched her nipples tighter, pulling them up from her chest and lifting the weight of her breasts.
 
Teresa settled more firmly on the girl’s face, and she saw the mannequin fighting the urge to raise her arms and push her away so that she could breathe.
 
No.
 
Oh, please.
 
I thought it was only men.
 
Felicity’s lungs were seizing while she tried to gasp small wafts of air around the sealing flesh mask.
 
An involuntary effort caused her tongue to thrust up and taste the moist folds spread over her mouth.

The pussy lifted and she gulped in air, only to have the woman lower again.
 
Felicity stroked a long path through the musky folds, and the woman lifted enough for her to gasp a breath through her nose.
 
Her nipples felt as though they were being twisted and torn, and Felicity gave up her struggle to evade the moist crotch and she began to swipe the velvet wrinkles in earnest, even locating the hard pearl of the woman’s clit.
 
It took five minutes of judicious manipulation before the woman climaxed, bathing Felicity’s tongue with her juices.
 
Teresa left the chits in the box on her way out.

Felicity lay quietly dazed in hazy shock, until glaring lights blinked on above her.
 
The white lights blinded her and she closed her eyes, not daring to turn her head when the door opened.
 
Without looking, she knew it was her master.
 
Tombstone had come and she would finally receive her reward.

Tombstone knelt between her thighs, smiling at the continual clenching drool from her hole.
 
He lowered his zipper and slid inside the pulsing muscles.
 
Felicity was confused.
 
She had been promised a whipping… not this slowly thrusting rod.
 
Watching his face for an indication of his plans, his blue eyes faced downward, watching his tube plunging efficiently in and out of her warmth.

Tombstone spread her fleshy lips with one hand, pressed down hard on either side of her clit, and smiled at her shriek and tightening sheath when he pierced a ring through her bead, close to the base.
 
He pierced her nipples in the same fashion, down close to her skin so that they would cause her discomfort when not kept aroused and erect.
 
Felicity had screamed in ecstasy, but she had only moved in minute, quivering spasms.

He quickly thrust into her gripping channel, feeling her tightly clinging to his shaft while he exploded in jerking squirts.
 
Felicity herself still had not climaxed, though she had come close when he pierced her clit.
 
Pleading eyes gazed adoringly at the man.

Tombstone stretched out beside her on the stage and he stroked her breasts, lightly tweaking the rings on passing.
 
“When you are in this closet, you will perform accordingly.”
 
He stood and gripped her arms, pulling her up and leading her from the room.
 
He walked behind her with his hands on her shoulders.
 
“Out here, you may scream and shriek, gasp and moan, and writhe in pain or pleasure.
 
Always at my direction.”

“Yes, Master,” Felicity answered in a breathless whisper.

Donald sat next to Jonathan, with Claudine kneeling between them.
 
“He’s given her the ultimate torture and reward,” he noted.

“Tombstone has received the same pleasure in return,” Jonathan countered.
 
“He has gotten to pay tribute to Susanne.”

“You met her once, didn’t you?” Donald asserted.

“Yes.”
 
Jonathan chuckled.
 
“I was so very young.
 
It was on a summer excursion with my brother, much like my own children enjoy now.
 
Susanne was a statuesque beauty, but the hard selfish edge showed in her eyes even back then.
 
She was still working the front room, fully covered.
 
I remember the boy sitting at the bar, gazing at her with that fixed glassy stare.”
 
Jonathan watched Tombstone latching Felicity’s cuffs to the chains hanging from the whipping post.
 
He did not miss the caress down her ribcage, nor the responding shiver from the girl.

“Morris has a pick up waiting,” Donald whispered.

“I think Tombstone is probably ready to get back to work.
 
It will be interesting to see where Felicity fits into his plans.”

Tombstone turned her so her back was facing the room.
 
It twisted the chain holding her cuffs and she spread her legs, forcing herself to her toes.
 
She wanted her muscles tight enough to fully enjoy the lashing she had waited so many weeks to earn.
 
The first strike lashed expertly across the fatty globes of her bottom, and she moaned and pressed her pussy into the post.
 
By the seventh lash she had orgasmed and closed her eyes, relishing the last three strokes across her shoulders and thighs.

Felicity bemoaned the fact that it was over so soon, until Tombstone walked over and turned her around.
 
His thumb ran down her latex cheek, and he leaned forward and kissed her.
 
Felicity was stunned almost as much by his action as by her own answering, searching tongue.
 
They thanked each other with passionately devouring lips, and Tombstone pulled back and whispered, “Ten more.”
 
Felicity gasped, and managed to peck him quickly before he drew back.

The whip caressed her breasts, top and bottom and expertly centered across her newly pierced nipples.
 
With an almost shy request, she spread her thighs and arched her pussy towards him.
 
Three lashes crossed her belly, three on her thighs, and one directly on her slit.
 
She shrieked her orgasm, pumping her hips in wild abandonment while tears slipped over her mask.

She rode back home in the casket in the hearse, and knelt beside Tombstone while he gazed into the fire and finished a snifter of brandy.
 
When he rose and pulled her up, Felicity turned towards the sawhorses.
 
The coffin was still on the dolly, so she remained fixed in position, waiting for instruction.

Tombstone led her to the spiral staircase, and Felicity’s legs trembled while she climbed.
 
She had never been upstairs.
 
There was a short hallway with a closed door at the end, and a single bare light bulb lit the corridor.
 
The beam illuminated a brass plaque.
 
‘Room One’.

Tombstone opened the door and stood aside, indicating for his prize to enter.
 
Felicity’s legs were numb as she walked to the center of the room and slowly turned to take in the décor.
 
One side was another rendition of the ‘Mannequin Closet’ stage.
 
Beside it stood an exact replica of the dressing room she had broken into the one time.
 
Hairbrushes and makeup were strewn across the surface of the vanity, with a pack of cigarettes and matches.
 
The Crimson Cruiser had been placed beside them.
 
The wall behind the dressing area was painted a dingy yellow, with dried brown droplets of paint hanging from the ceiling.

On the other side of the stage stood various bondage devices, including a post, an arch, and a sturdy wooden X frame.
 
Various implements hung from the wall, leaving Felicity’s stomach churning and her nipples puckered with promise.

A wall-length window looked out onto the small cemetery, and Felicity caught a brief glimpse of the cement marker bearing both her and Jerald Fry’s names.
 
Against the final wall was a massive bed, covered in black satin billowy blankets and pillows.
 
The frame of the bed was basically a wooden planked box, with two-foot sides that had to be stepped over to sink into the mattress.
 
Felicity lay beside Tombstone and he pushed a lever on the inside edge of the frame.
 
She watched in amazement as a square cover of polished wood lowered over them, resting on the sides of the bed frame and sealing them into the darkness of their shared tomb.

In the middle of the night, Felicity edged closer to the man lying beside her.
 
She kissed his chest and whispered, “I love you.”
 
In the black crypt she had thought he was sleeping… and she did not see his smile.

EPILOGUE

Felicity tugged the black shift over the permanently affixed latex bands.
 
She stared at her face in the vanity mirror and applied a light touch of makeup.
 
The gothic look she had worn for years was a weak attempt to give her the confined pleasure of her mask.
 
Tombstone would not let her wear it for the service, and he watched her panic when he pulled the mask from her head.
 
Somehow, she felt naked and unable to hide without it.

Felicity slid on the black flats after ruffling her fingers through her curls.
 
She walked downstairs and sat in the chair Tombstone held out for her.
 
It felt awkward not to be treated like his mannequin.
 
After breakfast, he led her around to their marker.
 
Felicity picked some wildflowers along the way and she laid them in front of it.

“What did this mannequin do?” she asked, anticipating the widow they would soon be abducting.

“They aren’t mannequins until they earn it, Felicity.
 
Right now, Casey Flanders is just a slut who screwed with the wrong family.”

“You aren’t going to ignore me while you’re working with her, are you?”

“You know I don’t like demanding,” he reminded.
 
“Every time the girl screws up, you get to be punished as well.”

Felicity smiled.
 
“I hope she fucks up a lot, then.”

They walked towards the cemetery and Felicity stood by the backhoe with Tombstone.
 
“It’s beautiful,” she said softly.
 
Peaceful doves swirled around entwined hearts with Ralph and Casey’s names in them.
 
Casey stood thirty feet away, angrily jerking her arm to release it from Morris Flanders’ grip.
 
She glanced nervously over at the policeman standing at the edge of the crowd of mourners.
 
Casey did not know that Chief Lyle Flanders had recently been invested into a special membership in exchange for handing his brother the videotaped evidence of the woman admitting she set up the hit on his son.

Morris had been devastated, and the thought of the bitch rotting in a jail cell did not suit him.
 
Lyle agreed.
 
There was some grumbling from his department, but with no proof the detectives closed the case on Ralph and listed it as a suicide.
 
Morris would rather have people think his son had killed himself.
 
After all, he was gone.
 
It was Morris’ sincere hope that Tombstone would see to it Casey wished she had joined his son under the ground.

Felicity watched with fascinated interest as Casey’s shrewish features melted into horror.
 
Morris and the Chief chuckled down to her as she lay frozen and slipping into the drugged haze from Tombstone’s needle.
 
Felicity remembered the delicious fear of the moment.

When the girl woke up, screaming gagged shrieks from the confinement of the coffin, Felicity closed her eyes and envisioned her panic.
 
She decided it was almost as arousing to imagine the terror with the woman.
 
Felicity stifled her laugh when Tombstone stared at her and banged on the lid, causing more shrieks.

The lid to the coffin finally lifted and Casey’s panicked eyes looked into a glassy blue stare.
 
The gravedigger with the intense, lust-filled gaze was not what caused her to scream.
 
It was the figure standing next to him in the black rubber mask, green eyes smiling excitingly while her pink tongue licked her lips.

Casey screamed until the man’s deep voice stilled her.
 
“You know this can be real, any time Morris gives me the word.”
 
Tombstone smiled and lowered his hand to her breast.

THE END