Killer Cop Ch. 7

That's what their cocks told her, too. She was holes. Sexily packaged holes. Cocks perfectly fit them all. Any other way they were used was incidental to being fucked in them. Something to do when they weren't serving their primary function.

But it wasn't until the tenth or twentieth one split her pussy or her ass or her mouth that that fact became part of her. There was no resistance anywhere within her. She had already come, before anyone touched her. She began again just before her first passenger shot his come deep inside her. She didn't think she ever stopped after that.

Funny. She never remembered their faces. She never could recall who did what to her. Who was mean and who was tender, who used her which way.

All she ever saw when she relived it was that her lips were always perfect unless they were sucking madly on something, and that she was never, ever totally empty. Somebody was always inside her. Usually, more than one somebody.

They threw her into that other reality. They kept her there. They wouldn't let her come back, even for an instant. They fucked her and fucked her. For eight hours, somebody told her, long afterwards. One hundred and twenty-seven times cocks had penetrated her. And, when they finally stopped, they said she wept, weakly begged god for it to never end.

And her prayer was granted.

Suddenly, there was no more time. Her veins were filled by flaming fog. Her dream became permanent. She was being fucked and it was never, ever going to end.

When she awakened, a familiar classically handsome face was looking down at her, wearing an expression of concern and fear. Barney. He'd come for his piece at last. She reached up for him, surprised that her restraints allowed it, feebly tried to pull him down to her warm, waiting, open body.

"Lisa!" His voice held tremendous relief. He effortlessly freed himself from her weak arms. "Jesus Christ! You're awake!"

He called for a doctor. Her surroundings began to register. What the fuck was she doing in a hospital? Where was everybody? Was the party over already?

The doctor didn't want to fuck, either. The nurse was an ugly old bag who looked like a dyke, but she ignored Lisa's invitation, too.

It took her a long, long time to figure out what was wrong. Somebody'd taken away her pretty clothes and wrapped her in a shapeless cotton sack. And she could tell by the feel of her face that they'd taken off her makeup, even her lipstick. No wonder they didn't want a piece of her ass. She looked like shit.

And they wouldn't even give her her fucking purse. At least when she raged at them, they did something right. They shackled her to the bed. She instantly smiled and fell back with a sigh, thanking them.

But figuring out what They wanted her to do was hard. They wouldn't tell her the rules of the game she was supposed to play. They wanted her to figure them out for herself. It was stupid, really. They wanted her to act like some fucking virgin cunt who didn't know cock from cucumber. Who would die before she wore makeup, especially lipstick. And whose taste in clothes made nuns' habits seem flashy. They wanted her to be like Mom and Dad had.

And it was clear that They weren't ever going to let anybody fuck her until she got it right. Acting wasn't good enough. She had to live it all the time for Them. It was hard. They made her quit finger-fucking herself, even at night in bed. She had to quit smoking. She had to pretend, more convincingly than for any john she'd ever balled, just exactly what They wanted her to pretend.

She did it, never once doubting she'd be given a fantastic reward for her immense effort. For an entire month, knowing that this was just another test sustained her. Only this was some kind of final exam. Even more important than fucking Mom and Dad, or turning that first almost accidental trick.

She finally understood this was what They'd meant all along. It was the same thing that Ann had taught her, really. She had to be able to do exactly what They told her to do. No matter how pointless. No matter how boring. Whatever They said, she had to do.

It wasn't just a game. It was truth. The only truth left. So simple. So pure. So easy, really. Easier than the continual warfare in her head.

So why did it hurt so much? Why did it feel like she was dying?

But, at night, when she couldn't keep her knotted hands away from her sweet cunt a moment longer, she'd remember how it'd always been worth whatever she'd had to endure. There'd always been some stupendous fuck in store, like a graduation present. While her stubby-nailed, unadorned fingernails squished in her stubble haired pussy, she imagined how great this one was going to be. A fuck to end all fucks. One that'd might never, ever have to stop.

She'd passed the test with flying colors. Everybody said so. Her cunt drooled, as she sat meekly in the doctor's private office, wondering if he'd finally give her back her things, give her a minute to get ready, and fuck her till she screamed. Instead, he told her she could go home. Home. That was supposed to mean the apartment, not room 127. That must be where the next party was going to be. Instead of bolting from the room, she waited, as docile as a cow, until he urged her to go. He'd even called a cab for her.

The first thing she did, after she was sure the test was really over, was bum a cigarette from the taxi driver and greedily suck it down. The second thing she sucked down was his cock, while he drove, to buy the rest of the pack.

Her apartment building loomed over them. He avoided her lips as she tried to kiss him goodbye. She laughed and waved as he sped off, then hustled her ass upstairs. The rooms were empty. The air was stale and musty. And every fucking decent thing she had to wear had been stolen from her closet. Somebody'd ripped off her makeup, too. Her eyes welled with tears when she saw the bare wall that had held her precious lipstick collection.

"Why?" she wailed. "Why the fuck are you doing this to me!" But there was no answer. There never was.

So she had to start all over again. It was quicker and easier the second time, and even more grand than she'd imagined it'd be. Because she knew how to obey, now. And lots of people loved obedient slaves. They took care of her in fine fashion. They bought her huge tits. They gave her beautiful erotic clothes. They kept her in luxurious surroundings. They shared her with all of their friends. They for the most part let her fuck as often and whoever she wanted to, if she played by Their rules.

And they indulged her little idiosyncrasies. Like her only possession. All she ever took, from one master to the next mistress, was a single heavy suitcase holding a massive lipstick collection that was still growing. And she seemed unable to wear clothing heavier than lingerie, regardless of where she was taken. Diplomatic reception or cellar bar, she went almost totally nude.

Her face always, day and night, bore thick, mask-like makeup, amazingly ornate, dominated by one or another shade of searing red lipstick.

And she never, ever said no to anything. In fact, unless she was being fucked in one way or another, she seldom said anything at all.

Because she was the best. About that, there was no doubt. What Lisa couldn't do simply couldn't be done.

At last, she was safe.

- The End -