Message-ID: <13462eli$9807281445@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Archived-At: From: "chrutli patrona" Subject: story Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d Path: qz!not-for-mail Organization: The Committee To Thwart Spam Approved: X-Moderator-Contact: Eli the Bearded X-Story-Submission: X-Original-Message-ID: <19980728181218.25610.qmail@hotmail.com> Disclaimer: This is a rather grisly fantasy about secret druid rites on an isolated North Sea Island. Don't read it. If you must read it, neither the author nor the poster takes any responsibility for your having done so; legal and moral repercussions are yours alone. Live well and love gently- Chrutli ( M/f; cons snuff; other stuff) Our Island Chrutli 2 Sara was easily one of the most beautiful black women I'd ever seen; tall, with a full, voluptuous figure that couldn't be concealed by her business suit. Her grey skirt came just above her knees; her calves were curvaceous; even her knees were appealing. Her hips flared; and her buttocks were high and prominent, apparent even beneath the skirt. She had a long torso and a small, elegant waist; though I couldn't see her breasts beneath her jacket, but I could tell they were firm and generous. She had the best features of her race; a strong jawline, a high forehead, and wide full lips. Her nose was strong and broad, her eyes big, brown, tilted with an almost elfin look. I had heard she was on the island, but no one had told me how perfectly lovely she was. She was all professionalism the first time I met her in my surgery. She wore a grey wool jacket over a simple white blouse, a conservative gray skirt, sensible shoes. I was attracted immediately, but there was a hardness about her full lips and dark, elfin eyes that suggested my interest was unwelcome. "Inspector Sara Brooks, doctor, from Scotland Yards. I'm investigating the death of a young French girl last year, a Carmen Longet." "Carmen, certainly. I recall her. She was a delightful girl. Very friendly, very well liked, I think. Her death was unfortunate. But how can I help you? Shouldn't you talk to the authorities?" I hoped I wasn't babbling. I was a bit taken aback, she was that beautiful. "You signed the death certificate. 'Lost at sea' is the reason. I am simply trying to ascertain the facts. Apparently no body was recovered, is that correct?" "Quite," I said. "The North Sea can be quite unforgiving, as I suppose you can imagine. She disappeared; she was last seen rowing a small dingy into open water. There was nothing to indicate foul play. The dingy washed up perhaps a week later; she did not." "Bad weather in August? Is that usual?" "In the North Sea, yes, sometimes." I smiled as charmingly as I could. "Perhaps you should talk to the constable. In cases like this, when there is no body, a certificate is drawn up based on their conclusions. I thought their investigation reasonable; I gave them the certificate. I'm sure the constable can tell you more. He's a likable sort, and fairly diligent." "I'm sure he is. Thank you, Doctor." She was cool and contained- and really quite lovely. That wide, sweet face that seemed wrong being so cool. I was attracted to her despite her reserve. "Tell me, detective, are you going to be here long?" I asked She hesitated, looking at me directly. "Why do you ask?" I smiled, a bit nervously, I'm afraid. "I thought you might have dinner with me." That seemed to surprise her; she paused, so I added, "I don't want to be impertinent. Forgive me. A woman as beautiful as you must have a boyfriend or a hus-" Sara smiled with her full, lovely mouth; her big, dark eyes sparkled. "There is no one," she said. "Do you think this girl might have been murdered?" I was abashed; I was trying to ask her out. "Do you think so? There hasn't been anything like that on our island for ages." "Her parents suspect; Carmen was apparently a rather wild young lady. Frankly, no. I don't think so. But it's politic to investigate such things, a foreign national and all." She was dodging my question as well. "You'll have dinner with me, then?" A smile lit her face, but only for an instant. "I think not, Doctor, but thank you for asking. Most men are a bit intimidated by me." "By your beauty?" Sara laughed, her face lighting once again, and once again, only for an instant. "You are most kind, Doctor. You'll be available if I have other questions?" "Always. For you, always." She smiled radiantly at my clumsiness. There may have been a sway to her lovely hips as she left; or I may have merely wished there was. I had been a widower for a number of years now, and though I'd been out with several women on the island, none had struck me as this lovely detective had. I wanted to see her; I thought about her all afternoon. After surgery, I rang home and told Kat, my 15-year-old daughter, that I'd be late. The only rooms on our island were at Fox's pub. I went there, and found her eating at the pub, reading official-looking paperwork. "Inspector, what a happy coincidence. May I join you? "Are you pursuing me, doctor?" she asked directly. "Yes." I flustered a bit. "I find you attractive. I'd like to get to know you." Sara shook her head. "You're a doctor on a poor, isolated North Sea island. Her majesty doesn't pay me all that much, but I'll wager it's more than you make. I'll be leaving in a day or two. Should we become friends- or more- how shall we continue our acquaintance? I like London. I don't much care for this island, or the routine investigation that has led me here. You're handsome, and charming, granted, but why should I begin a relationship that will end all too soon?" "I could make your stay more pleasant, perhaps. Show you the sights." "The sights? There are sights here?" Sara raised on fine eyebrow, her eyes teasing. "Doctor, you think I'm a beautiful woman. You want to show me your bedroom, and that big fellow you have in your trousers." She smiled. "Yes, I noticed. You're well endowed. But that's not enough to seduce me, don't you think?" "Seduce you?" I was again taken aback, less by her boldness than her frankness. "You can't marry me; an acquaintance is futile. You think me beautiful, and perhaps exotic. You've never made love to a black woman, I'd imagine. Seduce me, yes. That's what you have in mind, isn't it?" "Well, I rather hoped-" I shrugged. "I thought that I might-" I sighed. "I don't know." Sara laughed with delight. "Doctor, you're doing badly. Tell me something. Why aren't you afraid of me? I'm quite good at holding men at arm's length. I've had a lifetime of training in it; I am beautiful. You persist, though. You seem much too nice to pursue me, yet you do. Why is that?" "I- well, I'm either a fool, or I'm the man you've been waiting all your life for. You wouldn't want to pass that up, would you?" Sara laughed again. "Bravo, doctor. I'm not going to scare you off easily, am I?" "You have yet to frighten me in any manner. Embarrass me, perhaps. May I join you?" "Are you married?" she asked, a sparkle in her eye. "I'm a widower. My wife died several years ago." "I'm sorry." There was real sympathy in her eyes. "Thank you. I've adjusted." "Children?" "One, Katherine. She's fifteen now, and a little hellion." "So you're steady and responsible as well. I really don't think you're my type." "I may surprise you. My I then?" Sara gave me a rueful smile, then laughed openly, shaking her lovely head. "Yes, please, doctor. I would love to have your company. Please." I joined her. She attempted several more sallies at my expense, but when I brushed them aside, another side of this lovely woman emerged; she showed glimpses of not so much timidity as a curious submissiveness. All her bluster had been superficial, though she was quite spirited and independent. Still, a curious submissiveness, a willingness to please. I told her a bit about our island, and my practice; she told me how she come to have such an petty assignment, investigating an accidental death on our remote island. She'd been investigating a series of murders with her partner; that was her speciality, serial murders. The murders were young women, all of them raped and killed, their bodies mutilated. Sara had, in an excess of zeal, tried to arrest the rapist alone. She'd spent an hour in his company, an hour that she grew oddly vague about, before her partner called for support and the arrest was completed. No harm had come of it, she said, but she'd been reprimanded, and given inconsequential assignments such as this. She seemed wistful. "Danger excites you," I suggested. I wondered about that hour alone with a murderer, about that hour and about Sara. Perhaps she was better suited to me than I had hoped. She seemed startled; her lovely brown eyes grew large, looking at me directly. "Perhaps," she said. "Perhaps it does." She changed the subject suddenly. "That girl, the bar girl. Everyone calls her 'chosen.' Why is that?" "You mean Heather? It's a sort of druid thing. We have a midsummer festival here, and every year a new girl is 'chosen' for that year." I called Heather over, and introduced her. "Watch out for our good doctor," Heather said lightly. "He's much more dangerous than he looks. He'll steal your heart and have it for a snack. He's all but won my heart. A real ladykiller." "Heather, please," I protested. "I'll remember that," Sara said, laughing. I scowled at Heather in a friendly manner; she oughtn't have said something like that in front of an outsider. There was no harm in it at that, and perhaps some good; Sara looked at me appraisingly, a sparkle in her eye. I saw her to her door after dinner. "I'm not having you in, you know." She smiled at me pleasantly, her back to her door, but for a moment there was something timid and defensive in her eyes, as if she expected me to force myself on her. I touched her cheek, and she flinched, startled. "Come to my surgery tomorrow. We'll go out for lunch. Or perhaps a picnic." "A picnic? Isn't that quaint." "I'll take you up to the bluff on the east side of the island. We can have a look at the old stone altar where the druids used to sacrifice young women." Sara lost her smile, her eyes going dark. "That certainly sounds romantic. All afternoon, I suppose? "Yes. I'll close up the surgery. See you at twelve?" She hesitated. "Yes. All right." I left her at her door. She watched me as I went down the stairs. Sara intrigued me. I knew she didn't like commonplace men; I had a notion of what she truly liked. Danger did indeed excite her. *** She was wearing a white summer dress when she came to my surgery, a color that set off her silky dark skin. It was demure, showing no cleavage and coming almost to her lovely knees, but the back was scooped low, baring her brown skin, her lean, well-defined muscles. It dipped low enough that she could not have been wearing a brassiere, and she smiled broadly when she saw me looking at her breasts beneath the fabric. "You look beautiful," I said. "I am beautiful," she smiled. "So, how is your investigation going?" "Wrapped up, more or less. It was trivial; the young woman died in a boating accident. I'm looking at some curious statistics, but I don't expect anything to come of it. Ready to go?" "We'll have to stop home. I have to pick up a few things." My predecessor, Dr. Stewart, had amassed a collection of books on sacrificial rites and druidism, as well as a modest number of medieval torture devices; stocks and shackles, knives of all sorts, things with spikes and spines and screws in them; he even had an iron stake some seven feet long that was supposed to have come from the castle of Vlad the Impaler in Romania. I hadn't needed to go home, but Stewart had bequeath his grisly collection to me when he passed on, and I wanted to see Sara's reaction to all these oddities in my study. I left her there and went to the kitchen to collect the picnic paraphernalia. Sara was kneeling and examining one of the more exotic stocks when I returned to her; she had opened the wooden closure and was examining the impression intended for the head. "There are dark stains here. Blood?" "Likely, I suppose. Very old blood. It was used in medieval Austria for beheading witches. They were locked in the thing face up, so they could watch the ax descend." "I'm a bit surprised, Jon. That you would have things like this." There was a glow in her eyes, one that I'd hoped would be there. "Perhaps so. Would you like to try it out?" Her eyes blazed, dark and questioning, a new tension in her body. "Can I trust you?" I didn't answer; I got a pillow from the sofa and placed it in front of the stock. "Kneel facing away from it, and lean back. I'll help you." Sara hesitated for a moment, then knelt. I put a handkerchief in the hole for her neck, so it wouldn't chafe; she smiled at the gesture. I put my hands on her lovely shoulders and lowered her backward; once her upper torso was resting on the back of her neck, I put each of her wrists in the holes meant to receive them. I hesitated before closing and fastening the wooden bar on her neck and wrists. Sara had already closed her eyes, awaiting me. I closed the bar carefully, and Sara shivered visibly as I locked it in place. There was abruptly a tension between us; we both felt it, a dark electricity. It could not have been comfortable. She rested on her knees and her neck, face up, and the stock forced her to arch her back sharply. She couldn't see her body for the the wooden bar at her chin. "You're all right, Sara? Not too uncomfortable?" "Yes." Her voice was a whisper. She licked her full lips. "You can't escape? You're quite helpless?" I moved close to her and touched her cheek. Sara squirmed a bit then drew a shuddering breath. "Jonathon?" she asked softly, then caught her breath again. "I know, it's an awkward position. Don't worry, it'll be over in a moment." "It will?" she gasped. "Wait. This isn't. Jonathon." She squirmed, a shudder going through her body; she pressed her lovely brown knees together, her hips rotating subtly. "Are you ready, Sara?" I said softly. Sara gave a weak laugh, her brown eyes wide. "You can't. You can't take my head off. The blood, it would make a terrible mess." Her full lips were moist and trembling. "Jon? You're teasing me. Are you teasing me?" I leaned over the bar and kissed her warm lips lightly. Sara hesitated, then kissed me back, gently at first, then willingly and deeply. I found her breasts with my hands, gathered them together and fondled them through her dress. Her nipples were generous and erect; Sara whimpered and kissed me with even more passion. "There are other ways, much less troublesome," I said when I stood. "What do you mean? Jon?" "Beheading is, as you say, messy. Perhaps I could suffocate you." Sara whimpered, rolling her hips, her knees clenched tight, seeking friction, seeking satisfaction. She gave a little frustrated sob. I had thought she'd like this sort of thing. I was astonished and pleased at the intensity of her reaction. "Jon, please. Take me. I want you inside me when you-" she caught her breath- "When you do it. Please. Jon? You're not teasing, are you?" It wasn't what I had planned, but it was quite good enough. I slid my hand up the curve of her thigh, pushing her skirt up over her hard brown belly, as far as her ribs. Sara spread her thighs as much as she could, and I spread them further, kneeling between her knees. She wore no pants. Her sex was shaven clean, her mound wide, dark and silky. The outer lips of her sex were brown, tight and lovely, the inner lips delicate, pink dusted with brown. She shivered when I touched her clitoris, and stiffened when I leaned and sucked it between my lips, working at it gently. I cupped her hard, smooth buttocks as she shivered and groaned. Her belly, flat and hard, the muscles clearly articulated, shuddered beneath my eyes. When her vagina sucked air at my chin, I sat back and dropped my trousers. I rose and leaned into her, entering her deeply in a single smooth motion; she was that wet. She cried out, bucked, and then we were at it. My pleasure was considerable, in the hot, wet depths of her, but hers was greater, frenzied bucking and writhing within her bonds. I pushed her dress up to her shoulders, baring her breasts. They were large, firm for their size, a lighter brown than her chest and belly. They tapered to large blunted nipples, shiny black and stiff. Handling those lovely breasts, feeling her beautiful body beneath me and helpless brought me very near. I stopped, and nearly left the wet clutch of her vagina to reach behind me. I got the letter opener from my desk, slid deeply inside her again, and gathered her left breast in my hand, pushing the firm mass of flesh inward so her nipple was over her heart. "I'm going to stab you to death, Sara. Are you ready?" When I pressed the opener to the tip of her nipple, Sara cried out and redoubled her ecstatic writhing, arching her chest upward, urging me on. I held back no longer, but dropped the letter opener and thrust into her, giving her my seed. When we'd finished, I unfastened the stock and carried her, limp and gasping, to the couch, and laid her down gently. "Rest. I'll be back." I went to the bath, cleaned myself and straightened my clothes, then got a washcloth for her. She had recovered somewhat when I returned; she smiled meekly as I washed her sex and straightened her little dress out. Her neck looked fine, but her wrists were chafed a bit, and I rubbed ointment into the scuffed flesh. "Thank you," she said softly. Her eyes were soft and intense. "For looking after your injuries?" She laughed, a soft, sated laugh. "Of course not. You know why. Did you plan this? You did, didn't you?" "No. I had planned something similar. Bringing you here, the devices in my study, that was simply to see if you were interested." "How did you know what I- how did you know my tastes?" I shrugged. I hadn't been certain, but I'd seen characteristics in her that I'd seen in other women. "Perhaps I didn't know. Perhaps I was only acting on my impulses." Sara laughed, a delighted, happy laugh. "For a few seconds, I thought you'd planned it all, that you were really going to-" she smiled, and drew me down to kiss her. "I want to see this sacrificial altar. Will you take me there? Please?" Sara had been transformed by our tryst in the study. No longer the cold, beautiful investigator, she was playful, affectionate, and clearly submissive to me. We made small talk as I drove to the bluff, and she was constantly touching and caressing me. I spread a blanket near the old altar, which was no more than a rotting slab of limestone set up on plinths in the open air. As we ate, Sara told me about her death fantasy, and how it had all started. She had been orphaned at birth, and grew up in an orphanage in Liberia. "It was mostly boys, and I played with them frequently, cops and robbers, cowboys and indians, that sort of thing. I was always the bad guy, and I always liked being killed. I don't know why; it was simply fascinating to lay still and have the boys drag me about and manhandle me. I liked it. When I began to get breasts and hips, I liked it even better. When I had reached puberty, one of the older boys took a particular interest in killing me. He was quite handsome, really, and more than a little cruel. He would shoot me, and I'd fall down. Then he would stab me, in the breasts and belly and buttocks, with a stick, usually, and then examine my body for secret papers. My breasts, of course, and my vulva. I loved it. He hurt me, yes, but it excited me. I didn't know why, only that it felt delicious and I liked it very much. "Once, he put his hands in my shorts, and then put his finger into me. I was a virgin; it hurt terribly, and I cried out. 'You're supposed to be dead,' he said. 'I'm trying,' I replied, but I didn't stop crying until he took his finger out. He rubbed my clitoris, then, and that was my first orgasm. I didn't understand it, but I was absolutely in love with him. It's funny," Sara said, stretching out beside me, "But I no longer remember his name." "That's how you lost your virginity?" I asked. Sara shook her head. "No. He'd only stretched my hymen. And I was never really his girlfriend; it was simply that the younger boys understood that he was to kill me and no one else. Sometimes he would draw me onto his hips, pull my shirt up, and then choke me while he bit my breasts. The other boys would watch; I held my shirt up and fought for air; I was in ecstasy. My poor breasts were always bruised and swollen; I would go to sleep at night, cherishing the pain that remained. "Then one day, he took me off into the jungle without the other boys. I went eagerly. He led me to an isolated clearing and told me to undress. I protested mildly; he didn't insist, but simply undressed me himself, then made a pile of my clothing and had me lay on top of them. "He had a small, rubber knife, a toy. He played with my clitoris and told me the things he was going to do, and then he did them, with that rubber knife. He cut off my breasts, cut off my head, my arms and legs. He fondled me, kissed me, and then stabbed me again with that rubber knife. I was helpless; I was in ecstasy. He never stopped fondling my clitoris. My poor little breasts were sore from so much stabbing. My nipples were swollen with pleasure and hurt, from being stabbed and sawed at. I didn't cry out until he stabbed the rubber knife into my vagina. It tore my maidenhead; the pain was horrid, and I bled over his hands and arms. I saw the blood, and thought I was dying. And still he worked my clitoris as he stabbed and stabbed at my sex. I was in an agony of pain and fear and pleasure. I was out of my mind, it was so intense. "My cries, though, brought people running. I was rescued. I was attended to and comforted. The boy was sent away. No real harm was done, other than to my maidenhead; I recovered. But I regretted the boy being sent away. I have never experienced sexual pleasure so raw and so deliciously intense." Sara sighed and looked up at me. "Not before today," she said. "That's why you went into police work; for the risk." Sara nodded. "Rubber knives and playacting, they weren't enough. Bondage, and masochism, that was good for quite some time. But once I knew I was safe, that I really wouldn't be- well, I wanted more. Police work, though, the danger, the thought that a killer might-" She smiled at me and shrugged. "And what of you? Have you ever killed a woman?" I laughed. "The notion comes to me more easily since my wife's death. I seemed to have lost my civility when I lost her." Sara kissed me warmly and changed the subject. "You said you had had something else in mind for me. What was that?" I brought the picnic basket over and showed her; four stout stakes. "First I was going to stake you out on the ground." "Naked, of course. And then you'd make love to me, yes?" "Yes." I produced a glass vial and a sterile hypodermic. "This is a heart stimulant. Helpful for someone moribund; rather fatal if given in significant amounts to a healthy individual. Undetectable in an autopsy. I thought I'd give you the injection through your nipple; the needle wound would be rather less detectable unless they sectioned your breasts in the autopsy." "Grisly." Sara took the vial. "Is it really this stimulant? Or is it something innocent, a placebo to facilitate your fantasy?" "Shall we find out? Perhaps I intended to murder you all along." "You had your chance," she teased. "That was happenstance. This is what I planned. Perhaps I really do intend to murder you. Are you a willing victim?" Sara smiled, looking at me, and then the smile faded to something darker. She stood and slipped off her dress, her brown, lightly muscled body naked before me. She went on hands and knees facing me, her breasts swaying between her arms. "You needn't tie me up. All right?" I prepared the hypodermic and reached beneath her, squeezing her left breast so her hard nipple distended. The needle was a couple inches long; she closed her eyes and sighed as I pressed it into her nipple. "Are you ready?" I asked softly. Her eyes were fierce, dark and uncertain. I emptied the syringe and pulled it from her lovely breast, kneading it so the drug would move more quickly. "A minute or two, then." "Aren't you going to fuck me? It's not a drug, is it? Jon?" I smiled mildly and stood, slipping my trousers and boxers off. I laid on the blanket and pointed at my swollen cock. "Here it is. Sit on it." Sara glared at me, then straddled me, grabbed my cock and impaled herself smoothly. She had a gorgeous, athletic body. "You've been toying with me," she said angrily. "I believed you the first time. Now its just a stupid fuck. You didn't have to tell me a story for a simple fuck. That's not how I-" she stopped and gave a sharp gasp, her belly sucking in appealingly. Another gasp, then a soft, whispered, "Oh my god," as her heart began racing. I could see the pulse at her throat. It only lasted five minutes or so, and I can't describe her frenzied rutting. She barely seemed aware of me at times. humping, clawing her breasts, twitching and convulsing in a continuous string of orgasms. I was almost grateful when she collapsed, twitching, on my chest; I'd come two minutes before and my erection was beginning to soften. I moved her body onto the blanket and cleaned myself with some toweling, dressed, and then gathered her naked body against me. Her knees were scraped raw; she had broken fingernails clawing the dirt above my shoulders, and her breasts had been clawed and scratched in her frenetic pleasure. I found another blanket in the basket and covered her as I held her. Presently she roused, with a groan, and began to shiver. "It went wrong, didn't it?" she said softly, curling against me. "I'm still here. You must not have used enough." She didn't sound altogether disappointed. "It went as I'd intended. It was merely a stimulant, you see. It wasn't fatal; it never is." Sara sighed with rueful satisfaction. "You're a wicked man. Twice, my god. And in the same day. You'll not be able to do it again, though. I won't believe you. It'll just be play-acting, and I'll know it. Where will I find my satisfaction then?" I laughed and lifted her breast, licked the thread of blood from her swollen nipple. "Perhaps I'm only toying with you, for my own evil satisfaction. You'll never be certain, will you?" Sara laughed herself. "Perhaps," she said, then whimpered. "I'm cold. I'm sore. My god, everything hurts. I'm weak. I almost wish I was-" she stopped and laughed. "Thank you. Thank you again. I don't think you can top this." I held her for a while longer, until she'd recovered somewhat, but I was spent; Sara was exhausted. We packed up and left shortly. "You'll spend the night with me?" I asked as we neared the village. Sara shook her head. "No. What of your daughter? She'll resent me, I'm certain. I'm sorry. I'm not domestic. Come to my room instead." Unfortunately, I was domestic, and Katherine, my daughter was my responsibility. I let Sara off at the pub and went home. Kat was in the kitchen when I arrived, naked to the waist. She was wearing only jeans and eating a bit of toast. She smiled at me ingenuously, enjoying my shock. I was indeed shocked. Her hips were still narrow, but she was well on the way to becoming a woman. Her breasts were not as big as her mother's, but high and firm, with generous pale nipples, drawn up to blunted points. She shook her shoulders to make her breasts bobble and smiled smugly. "Kat, make yourself decent, will you?" "Did you have a good time this afternoon? Did she give you any?" Kat already knew I'd seen Sara, then. "That's none of your concern. Please put a shirt or something on. Please." "What if I don't? Are you going to cut my bloody heart out?" She swayed past me and went to her room, coolly defiant, toast crumbs sprinkling her breasts. What she needed was a good bloody spanking, but she was clearly too old for that. At least from her father. *** Kat was off early the next morning, fully dressed thankfully, to work on some entertainment committee for the upcoming Midsummer festival. I was busy all the next day, myself. I rang up Sara a couple times, but she didn't return my calls. It was near dark before I could get away from my surgery to look for her. I found her at the pub. Sara was rather grim. Once I'd ordered, she leaned close. "Jonathon, something sinister is happening. I'm sure of it." "Sinister? Here?" I smiled, but she didn't return it. She was quite earnest. "I've gone through records of the past fifty years. It all seemed so routine at first; mortalities are well within a normal statistical distribution. But there was something odd, and I've only just discovered it. Every year, as far back as you people have records, a young woman has died about this time. Between the ages of fifteen and thirty-five; various causes; more than half of them on the same bloody day." "The same day? Are you certain it isn't coinicidence? You can read most anything into statistics if you try hard enough." Sara growled her frustration. "I don't understand why no one around here can see this. It's so blasted obvious. Yes. The same bloody day. That day is Midsummer Day, June twenty-fourth. Jonathon, your own wife died that day." "My wife died in an auto accident," I said coldly. "What are you suggesting?" "Are you certain someone didn't sabotage the car? Was that investigated?" "I'm certain it was." "Jonathon, please. Don't be angry. Women are being murdered. I'm certain of it. Heather is next." "Heather? Our little bargirl? I hardly think so." "You have your little Midsummer festival, don't you? And you pick a pretty girl to be your "chosen?" I think that girl is bloody well being murdered, and Heather is in grave danger." "I think you've got a bloody goddamn fascination with death, that's what I think." Sara went still, a bit angry herself. "What I do for- for pleasure is different. Not every woman has my tastes, and for your bloody information, I'm a goddamn good detective." "Perhaps you are." I stood. "I think we shouldn't see each other again. And I'll thank you to leave my wife's memory alone." Sara was hurt by that, but I was upset, more than she realised. "I'm sorry, Jon. I like you. I'll be spending time with Heather tomorrow. I'm going to protect the girl. You'll see I'm right." I left Sara and I went directly to Heather's flat. It trouble me greatly that Sara was seeing Heather the next day. Heather was entertaining her father when I arrived; it took her rather long to answer, and judging from things, she'd been doing so intimately. Heather introduced us, and he shook my hand. "It's a bit sad for me, of course," he said, "But Heather will do us proud." "I'm sure she will. I hate to intrude, but I must talk to her." "Of course. I was just leaving. Pleased." He shook my hand and left. He was still buttoning his shirt as he went down the hall. Heather, wearing a t-shirt and tiny pants, saw me in and closed the door. "Dad was pleased as punch when I was chosen and he could fuck me. He's going to miss me, though. He's lousy in bed, really, he comes so fast, but I like to please him." She grinned, her cheeks dimpling, and shrugged. What she did was no business of mine, though she was quite fetching, standing there half-dressed. She was the chosen. "Heather, I've come to talk to you about-" "About your beautiful black girl?" "Yes. You're seeing her tomorrow." "She asked me. I thought it best to humor her." "I don't think it's wise. She already suspects." "Oh, no. She knows, I think. She knows, but she isn't prepared to believe it." "What exactly do you think she knows?" Heather drew a deep breath, her unfettered breasts rising. "She knows I'm to die. She suspects some secret organization; she doesn't realise everyone on our island will celebrate my sacrifice. And-" she took my hands and kissed them- "She doesn't know a certain handsome doctor is going to take the living heart from my body and offer it up to our gods." "Are you going to tell her?" "I might. I mightn't need to; she's very bright. Think about it; the chosen dies every year, and nobody around here has noticed it? She already knows, I think. And there's something else about her, isn't there? She has a secret. That's why she found you, and not because you think she's pretty. You can give her what she wants." Heather shrugged, grinning again. "Don't worry, doctor. I'll keep an eye on your girlfriend. You needn't worry at all; I think it's going to work out fine." I wasn't much assured. "I hope so, Heather," I said. I stood to leave, but Heather stopped me. She was at once shy and radiant. "It's going to be soon, you know. And I- well, I know you've never touched me, but I've come to think of you as my lover. To hope anyway, the only lover who matters to me, really." She looked up at me. "When you do me, do it slow and wicked? Please? Like a lover, like you want something from me. Don't please be cold." "Heather, I couldn't be cold to you, you know that." She smiled timidly when I touched her face, then blushed when I touched her breasts. Her hands went for my trousers directly. "Well," she laughed softly, "A big fellow, isn't he? I should have guessed." She went to her knees; she was anxious to please me. She used her mouth until I pushed her away gently. "Let me," she whispered. "I'll do it all." She led me to her bed. "Lay back. I'll do it all. I want to please you. I want you to be pleased with me." In a few moments, the lovely young woman was straddling me. She had a spattering of freckles on her chest, and her breasts were generous, though not as big as Sara's. They were snowy white, so delicate I could see veins beneath the creamy surface; her nipples were pale as well, erect and silky, blunted, with pale aureolas that swelled like plums. "Never thought you'd want me," she murmured, riding me slowly. Then her fine, firm buttocks hardened and trembled in my hands, those lovely breasts danced and bobbled eagerly, and she stopped saying anything recognisable as language for several minutes as we worked towards orgasm. Afterward she lay against me, her body filmed with sweat. "It's going to hurt, isn't it? When you cut my heart out." "Yes. It will. But only for a moment." "Can you give me something? Morphine, so it doesn't hurt as much?" "I could. Is that what you want?" Heather drew a deep breath, her fine, white breasts rising. "No," she said. "I suppose not. I want to be there. I want to feel it, to feel your hands on my body. The knife. I won't cry out. I promise." She laid her head on my chest. "It's sexy, isn't it? Killing a woman. A pretty woman naked and helpless, and you-" she shivered and stopped. "Yes, deeply so, especially a woman as beautiful as you." I fondled her lovely breasts thoughtfully. I would cut the left breast to open her. "Will you promise me something? Promise me you'll fuck my body once I'm dead. Please? I know it's odd, but it'll make it easier for me, knowing you'll do that." "I promise, on one condition." "That is?" "That I fuck you again right now." Heather gave a throaty laugh. "Yes. Hard, okay? Don't be so gentle." *** I had hoped to see Sara the next day; Heather was with her, though, until late afternoon. The village was busy with last-minute preparations for Midsummer Fair, two days off, and I was as busy as ever with my practice. It surprised me that Sara would not see me that evening. She refused my calls and wouldn't answer her door when I asked John, the owner of the pub, to knock. I had wanted to apologise to her, but she wouldn't speak to me at all. I was concerned about what she'd learned, and about her time with Heather. Heather herself rang me at my surgery before I left that evening. "You needn't worry about her," she said. " She has a lot to think about." "What did you do? What did you talk about?" "Women may have secrets as well," she laughed. "Don't worry." She rang off. *** Kat was up at dawn the next morning, off to work on festival preparations. She wore a tiny bikini, one of my old shirts, and tennis shoes, and nothing else. "You're going to burn in the sun," I said, disapprovingly. I was scandalised in truth, but expressing outrage only made her defiant. "I'll just have to get a lad to lay on top of me then, won't I?" she said cheerily, and went out the door before I could reply. Single men should not be cursed with teenage daughters. I finished my breakfast and my paper and went to my study for a few minutes to go through my mail before I went to my surgery. Sara appeared at the door of my study presently, her eyes blazing. "You're a monster," she said hoarsely. "A despicable fiend." She drew her little pistol and pointed it at me. "I should kill you here. Now." She held the pistol in both hands, steadily. I'd been half expecting her, but not the pistol, and not the hatred in her eyes. "Are you going to kill me?" I asked. "You are under arrest. For murder. For the murder of countless young women. It stops now. Heather told me. She told me everything. It stops, and Heather shall not die tomorrow." "I rather think Heather feels differently, don't you?" I was rather too shocked to be frightened. "You've drugged her. Drugged her and brain-washed her." I scowled. "You know better." "You're under arrest, Jonathon. I want you to come with me." "I think not. Arrest me, shoot me; it's all the same. Heather is the chosen. At dawn tomorrow her heart will be cut from her body. If I don't do it, another will. You know that don't you? Our dark little practice is shared by the entire island. You can't save her; she doesn't want to be saved. It would, in fact, be both futile and meaningless." "I don't believe that," Sara said. Her hands were steady, but there was a hint of uncertainty in her eyes. It restored my confidence somewhat. "Have you ever known anyone as profoundly at peace as Heather?" "Drugs. Drugs could do that." Her eyes softened a bit, though; she wasn't certain, and the hatred in her eyes was weakening. Heather hadn't been drugged, and Sara knew that. "No. She's alert, intelligent, witty, and happy. She's socially and sexually active." I paused; Sara did not contradict me. "There is a chosen every year, you know, and she's treated with deep love and respect. Heather cherishes that respect without abusing it. She has found a remarkable serenity; she found it because she must give her life tomorrow. She won't give that up. She'd rather die, you know. She will die." "It's horrid," she said, her voice showing her uncertainty now. "In London it would be horrid. Here, it is our faith and our practice. Sara, there has been a chosen since beyond memory. The druids on this island were never invaded, nor absorbed, nor civilised. Our practices are ancient, and, though your London mind might recoil, honorable." Sara's aim moved, slowly, from my heart to above my shoulder. "It's murder. Grisly sexual murder." "There is something erotic about it. Yes. That's between Heather and myself. You should understand that better than any woman." I got up from my desk, and she stiffened, training the gun on me again. "You're not afraid of me; you have the gun," I said reasonably. "Cannibalism," Sara said softly."You're going to eat her flesh." "How is that different from the Christian Eucharist? Take, eat, this is my flesh." "That's merely symbolic." "It's symbolic because there's not enough of Jesus to go around. It's the same." I came around my desk and leaned back against it; Sara was perhaps five feet away, still pointing her pistol. "Come here," I said, gesturing. "Jon-" she shook her head, her eyes dark. "Come here. You're not afraid of me, are you?" "What are you going to do?" "I want to show you what I'm going to do to Heather at dawn." Sara shook her head; a visible shiver went through her; she licked her full lips with a little pink tongue. "I'm going to show you, that's all. You see, the heart is quite well protected in the chest cavity. In heart surgery, the breastbone is sawn apart. That's not practical here; it takes too long, and its far too painful. No, what I'm going to do is slice between the ribs about halfway up the ribcage. That opens the chest adequately. I reach in, nip off the arteries, and there's her heart, still quivering. She'll be able to see it herself before she dies. It's painful, yes, but over quickly. I wouldn't want her to suffer needlessly." Sara shook her head, her lips trembling. She shook her head again, then abruptly dropped the gun. "Jon, please." I went to her, touched her face, and wiped away the tears that were forming at the corners of her eyes. "You'll give me the gun, won't you?" I asked softly. "You're going to kill me with it." "Of course I am. That seems the most practical means, don't you think?" Sara groaned, then swallowed. "Heather. I could take Heather's place." "Heather is the chosen. You cannot take her place." Sara sighed, looked at the pistol in her hand, then handed it to me. "I'm frightened," she said. I gathered her in my arms and she clung to me, her lovely breasts flattening against me. "You needn't be afraid," I said. "It'll be over very quickly. I won't be cruel." She didn't say anything, but kissed my throat, her body trembling against me. "Let's go out in the garden, shall we? I don't want to get your blood all over in here." Sara squeezed tight against me. "You're hard," she whispered breathlessly. "You'll have me first? Before you kill me?" "That's not for you to decide. Come. Let's go." "Jonathon, you really shouldn't," she murmured as we went out to the garden. "The investigation. It will raise suspicions." She was correct, of course, and I didn't intend to kill her then. I did want her, though, and I wanted to know if she would truly submit to me. "It won't matter to you, now, will it? You'll be dead." "Shot with my own gun? What are you going to do with my body? If I disappear, it's going to be the same, an investigation, and much more aggressive." I cupped each of her breasts in turn, stroked; her nipples were swollen hard. "You're a beautiful woman, Sara. I'm going to kill you now. You want that as much as I." She looked back at me as if she'd protest, but there was dark desire rising in that look, as well as her fear. I had her undress and lay her clothing on the bench in the garden, and then led her to a patch of fresh-turned earth. She was beautiful naked, tall, brown, lightly muscled and proud. My own desire was becoming quite apparent. When I ordered her to kneel, and then urged her to hands-and-knees, she complied readily, trembling and panting softly through parted lips. Her sex was smooth, freshly shaven. I knelt behind her and dropped my trousers and shorts, then presented my cock to her moist slit, moving the head up and down, locating the entrance to her, then pressing forward only slightly, so that her labia opened around my glans, a sort of kiss. She moaned, and when I didn't move, she thrust back impatiently, impaling herself on me. It was slower and sweeter this time, much different than the frenetic rutting on the bluff. For one thing, Sara wasn't pumped on stimulants; for another, she knew her death was assured. She came almost continuously as soon as I entered her, but her reaction was deeper, savoring her pleasure, waiting for the end. When I was close I gather her wrists behind her. She stiffened, anticipating, and didn't resist when I pushed her shoulders into the soft rich earth. I lunged hard into her, coming myself, and she mewed beneath me, shuddering, expecting a bullet. I wasn't done with her yet, though. Finished, I moved in front of her and made her clean my cock. She did so avidly, licking and then sucking, trying to make me hard again, eager for more. When I was satisfied, I moved beside her and drew the barrel of the gun across a silky brown buttock. I worked the barrel into her vagina; it was a small gun and didn't penetrate her deeply, but she shivered at its presence. "I'm going to fondle you now. When you have an orgasm, I'll fire. Do you understand?" Sara groaned and nodded. Her sex was syrupy wet and her dusky clitoris erect. She shuddered the moment I touched it, and it only took a few seconds before her buttocks hardened and shuddered. She wailed and stiffened, rocking against my hand, against the gun barrel spreading the dusky wet lips of her vulva. Her orgasm was prolonged and lascivious. She mewed wordlessly and pushed back against me. And when she finished, she collapsed on her side, sobbing for air. I watched her naked beauty as she sobbed and trembled. She caught her breath presently and wiped the film of perspiration off her forehead. I didn't fire; I hadn't meant to. Sara sighed, then sobbed, then smiled vaguely through her tears. "You're going to kill me with those orgasms if you keep this up." She sat up and hugged her dirty breasts, still trembling subtly from the intensity of her orgasms. "Why don't you go inside and have a bath. I'll bring your clothes. We can have some wine perhaps, and talk." She nodded, drew a shuddering breath, then stood and went in the house, her naked body lithe and proud. I gathered her clothes and laid them out in the study, then opened a bottle of wine. Sara joined me presently wearing a toweling robe, accepted a glass of wine and sat at my feet calmly. "You'll have to kill me, I think." "Yes. But not right away." "How many? How many women have you slain?" "Ten, a dozen." I shrugged. "I remember each, but I don't count. My wife, she was my first." Sara said nothing, but looked at me curiously. "She accepted her role as chosen eagerly and graciously. She gave so much, and she gave her heart. She insisted that I-" I stopped. "Forgive me. I loved my wife. It was difficult. I should not have enjoyed slaying her so much." "Yet you did. And you still do." "Yes. Very much so. It's a monstrous pleasure, don't you think?" Sara said nothing, but sipped her wine. "Am I to be your captive now?" "No. Of course not." "I've been followed, watched, monitored?" "Since you arrived." Sara nodded. "And Heather?" "At dawn tomorrow." Sara finished her wine and stood. "I- I won't report this. I have to think. May I leave now?" "Of course." I helped her dress and tucked her pistol into it holster before she went. Sara smiled weakly at the gesture. She knew now it wouldn't protect her. I didn't need to tell her that if she tried to leave, or to expose us in any manner, she would be killed. She understood that unspoken. *** The altar was in a catacomb beneath the church; Heather's heart would be burned in offering upon the ancient altar on the bluff, but that was too public in these modern times for the actual sacrifice. At dawn, Heather was naked on the altar, her body pinioned by the hands of six young men. Her skin glistened with oil, and she was flushed pink, smiling nervously up at me. She had been blessed and anointed, the invocations had been said. We waited for the moment of dawn; I rested my left hand on her left breast, fondling her erect, slippery nipple; in my right I held the ceremonial knife, a foot-long blade of black iron. "It is time," said the elder tracking the moment of dawn. A sharp blade is a kindness. I squeezed the base of her breast, cutting through her nipple, and then through the mass of her breast. Heather clenched her eyes tight as I sawed through the soft tissue, but didn't react otherwise until I cut the pectoral and started into the intercostal muscle between the ribs; then her body convulsed strongly. Do it slowly, she had said. I did not. I opened her chest quickly, the open gash filling with blood, obscuring the lung. I pressed it aside, reaching inside her, and gathered the pulsing muscle in my hand. I slid the knife along my hand, cutting the pericardium, the arteries; and then I pulled heart and hand free of her. Heather raised her head, seeing what I held before her. Her head fell back abruptly. The muscles of her belly tightened and shivered, and then her body was still. I touched her cheek, her belly, and her sex; her clitoris was erect, her vagina slick with erotic secretions. It was done. I stepped back as the young men wrapped her body in linen. Another elder took the knife and her heart from me. Her heart would be burned in a pyre of oak wood on the altar on the bluff; her body would go to the butcher shop to be dressed and prepared for our feast. It was my further obligation that day to inform the new chosen of her role, to advise and counsel her of her duties and her doubts. The encounter often led to lovemaking, and this time was no different. The young woman was frightened and eager and generous- but all that will have to wait for another account. My obligations- and my lust- satisfied, I went home, took a bath, and then had a nap, a true luxury for a country doctor. I dreamed of Sara. *** I received reports. Sara stayed in her room for two days. She ate, she read books, she had rather too much liquor brought to her and she drank it all. She made calls, but they were routine reports, all of them unremarkable and discouraging further investigation. It seemed she was not going to pursue it. She knew, and yet she was helping us to conceal our dark custom. The constable was distressed. I was intrigued. I discussed her with the other elders, and we did finally arrive at a consensus regarding Sara. She was, ultimately, my responsibility. After two days she rang me up and asked me to take her to the sea bluffs. I half expected a romantic interlude, followed by Sara's murder by one means or another, or I thought that's what she had in mind. When I picked her up, though, she was dressed in the grey skirt and jacket I'd first seen her wear, looking very cool and professional. I drove; we spoke little as we travelled to the east side of the island, driving up one of the bluffs that Sara indicated. When we reached the top, overlooking the sea, I turned off the engine. Sara drew in a deep breath, collecting herself as the engine ticked and the cool wind ruffled the air. "Heather seduced me, Jon. Did you know that?" "No," I said, "I didn't." She smiled timidly. "It was- I've never done anything like that. With a woman. She was so strong. So sure of things. Serene." Sara looked over at me, her eyes searching for something. "I've never known anyone like her. I'm going to miss her. She told me everything, you know. " I said nothing; there was nothing to say. "She took me to meet the butcher. He fucked her, right on his cutting table. Stripped her and fucked her while he explained to me how he was going to butcher her body. And I-" Sara sighed and bit her lower lip- "I drank his seed from her. Heather was in ecstasy." Sara gave a small laugh. "A very handsome young man, your butcher, a black man. He wouldn't touch me, wouldn't let me touch him. Yet he fucked her happily. Why is that?" "It's our custom," I laughed. "The chosen may have any man. Indeed, its considered a blessing on a marriage if she choses a married man. Patrick is married, you see, to a very pretty little girl. He could do the chosen, Heather. But if he'd done you, he'd have been cheating on his wife. Patrick is rather devout." "What a peculiar custom," Sara said softly. "Sacrificing women is peculiar. It all makes sense, though, from inside our community. I hope you'll come to understand that." Sara nodded and looked out the window. It was still but for the wind and the ticking of the engine. "When you make out the certificate, put down the date for the winter months. Make it arbitrary. That was the one thing that gave you away." "Thanks, I'll do that." "She waited for your knife like she was waiting for a lover. She died proudly?" "Yes. With serenity." Sara nodded and took a deep breath. "Well, she said, opening the door, "Now it's my turn." She startled me; I hadn't expect quite this. She strode to the highest part of the bluff, and went carefully to the edge, as close as she dared. Close enough for risk. She looked out over the sea, then down, then straightened her shoulders and looked back at me. "I'll need a hand. I can't- I don't have the courage to do this myself." Sara turned and stood proudly on the edge of the bluff. "Just a push, Jon. I won't fight. Everything is in order; my bags aren't packed, my gun is holstered. It'll look like a simple accident. There's nothing to prove otherwise." "Sara, wait." I started towards her, and then stopped. I didn't want that; I didn't want her death, not now, not this way. "Please?" Sara said softly. "I can't go back and keep your secret. I can't jump; I haven't the courage. And I can't be your chosen. Please?" "Wait." I approached her slowly, afraid some sudden move might make her slip and fall; once I had my arms around her, I pulled her back to relative safety. Sara sighed and shook her head, tears welling in her eyes. "Jon, you mustn't. We mustn't. If they find your semen in me it will raise suspicions." I ignored her and took her to a sheltered spot beneath a rocky ledge. We lay together. I unbuttoned her blouse and fondled her delightful brown breasts. Sara was submissive and melancholy. "You think you love me, Jon. You don't. You're being unspeakably cruel. I don't want you to love me. That isn't what I want at all." "I know what you want. I'm not a fool." She shook her head. "Jon, no-" "Yes. Listen. You're going back to London. You'll continue as you have. You'll protect us here, with our secret practices. When you're ready, you'll resign, and settle your affairs, and you'll come back to us. To me. You'll be our chosen, according to our canons." Sara caught her breath. "You said that I couldn't. I couldn't be chosen." "No. I said you couldn't replace Heather. You can be chosen in your own right. The other elders have agreed. Midsummers day, the first after you return, you'll be chosen. I'll see to it. You'll have a year among us, a year we can honor and cherish you." Sara sat upright, looking out over the cold North Sea as if listening for something, holding her breath. Then she settled against me with a sigh. "Thank you," she said softly, then laughed and opened my trousers. "I wish this fellow was five feet long and you could kill me with it right now," she said. Her soft lips, then her mouth, and then her throat engulfed my cock, her lips descending to the root. She was talented as well as beautiful. Two days later she returned to London. She wrote me often; once she even told me she didn't want to be chosen, that she'd changed her mind. Another letter followed, asking my forgiveness, and asking if I might send her a book on the druid faith, so she might prepare herself properly. I did so, and asked her to return it when she came back to our island. Sara wrote me in January two years following that she had resigned her commission, that she was busily closing up her affairs. She would be arriving in April. She had chartered a small boat from England, and I met her when she arrived; she was wearing jeans and a bulky sweater, hugging herself against the cold winds off the water. She had cropped her black hair close against her scalp, and she looked beautiful. She ran to my embrace, laughing and shivering. "You can't believe all the things I thought about coming over." "I might very well," I smiled. "You're staying with me. Is that all right?" She smiled eagerly. "For a year?" "For a year." Public Domain -- +----------------' Story submission `-+-' Moderator contact `--------------+ | | | | Archive site +----------------------+--------------------+ Newsgroup FAQ | ----