Chapter 3
Marcus made a small noise in the back of his throat to attract the attention of the shopkeeper. He had observed this action performed by one of the natives and understood it was a socially acceptable method of drawing attention to one's desire for communication. The proprietor of the store looked up from behind his counter where he had been tallying up the day's profits. He was a short, balding man with a full beard. He exuded the manner of one who had been in his profession many years - he had an air that was neither excessively friendly, nor was he overly distant.
"It is an excellent afternoon, proto-capitalist," said Marcus.
"Yes, sir," the storeowner replied reflexively, his professionalism showing through in his lack of reaction to the stranger's curious mode of address, "how can I be of service?"
"I am looking for someone."
The shopkeeper looked expectant. There was a strange pause before the man spoke again.
"An individual wearing a bloodied, blue dress. Are you aware of any individuals who wear bloodied, blue dresses."
The proprietor's eyes flicked to one side as he considered that inquiry.
"Ahhh, no - no-one immediately springs to mind."
Flin grasped Marcus by the elbow and drew him back, away from the shopkeeper.
"I believe those variables are transient. The target is easily able to manipulate such particulars in an effort to remain covert. You should instead seek to inquire along global and stable factors."
"Your methodological critique may be valid. Specify proposed variables."
"Gender, age range, socio-economic status, habitual patterns of movement, non-variable genetic endowments."
"Thank you for your input."
Flin inclined his head slightly and Marcus approached the storeowner once more.
"Excuse me. I meant to say we are looking for a female, late-teens or early-twenties, of a financially comfortably family, observes Judeo-Christian spiritual traditions and attends associated ritual gatherings, who possess blonde hair and medium sized breasts."
The storekeeper has been digesting that reasonably well until the last detail. He appeared to choke on something.
"Excuse me? Medium sized...?" He left the last word unsaid.
"Yes. Do you require more specific details as to the nature of the breasts?"
"Ahhh, no, no indeed I don't believe I do," he spluttered, "and I don't believe I know anyone who fits that description."
Marcus was disappointed. This plan appeared to be as inefficient as the recently abandoned serendipity and observation paradigm.
Flin dragged him back again and said, "Perhaps offer him resources in exchange for information."
"Weapons. Technology."
"I think disposable income would be most appropriate. Precious metal."
Marcus looked doubtful for a moment but anything seemed possible with these organisms. He returned to the storekeeper.
"Allow me to assist your recall processes."
He tossed a pair of gold guineas on to the table. The storekeeper's eyes lit up - at last these two fools were now speaking a language he could understand!
"Well, just between you and me," he began, leaning forward conspiratorially in a marked change of manner, "if it's a young girl you're after you could try down on the waterfront. They'll be a bit more...accessible than the rich crumpet. Those girls keep to their own social circles and don't deign to...'favor' us 'common folk.'" He winked at Marcus.
"Socio-economic stratification. I understand." He winked back, clumsily, not really understanding the gesture.
"Ahhh, quite," the proprietor said, unsettled slightly. "But if you insist, and what you do to those spoilt little bitches means nothing to me, understand?"
Marcus nodded. Flin continued to gaze out of the store window.
"Well, then I know a couple of lasses that might fit that description." He proceeded to give them some names and locations to search in.
Marcus thanked him for his time. The merchant nodded and winked again. Marcus did not attempt a second wink; he had resolved to practice the maneuver in private before trying it again in a social context.
The two men left the shop and stood in the street, nearby. Noting that no-one was within earshot Flin spoke.
"I believe it would be appropriate to liquidate that native. He represents a security risk."
Marcus considered that.
"Agreed."
They turned together and went back into the shop.
A few minutes later they reappeared and returned to standing in their previous positions. Around twenty seconds passed. It was Marcus who spoke first this time.
"I propose that we conceal that native's corpse. We must allow as much time as possible to elapse before it is discovered and attention is brought to the issue."
"Agreed."
"Further, we should appropriate all the readily accessible financial reserves present. This will give a false indicator of motive for the event when the native's body is discovered."
"I admit to being impressed. You are displaying an enhanced plane of strategic planning sophistication."
"Your suggestion to eliminate the native provided the inspiration."
"You are too kind."
They turned once again and re-entered the shop. Later, when they exited the shop, the pair proceeded down the street at an unhurried pace, heading toward the richer sector of the town.
They spent the rest of the day silently walking and observing.
After confessing all to her most dependable confidante - her diary, Elizabeth had spent her afternoon at her crochet, though mostly she stared out the window.
"Life can be a very odd thing," she remarked to Fluff the cat, "it seems for ages nothing happens, or looks like it is going to happen, and then - bam! Everything is turned on its head."
Fluff rolled onto her back and stretched languorously in the last of the afternoon sunlight. Elizabeth obediently scratched under her furry little chin and Fluff began to purr.
"Well, thanks for being so understanding," she said to the cat. She stopped scratching and returned to her needlework. Fluff rolled on to her side and gave Elizabeth a betrayed look, as cats are wont to do when their humans display a lack of devotion to their happiness.
Soon it was time for dinner, which passed largely in silence. At intervals she was interrogated by her parents as to Father O'Connell's health ("he's bearing up"), how her walk went ("ahhh, it was quite...stimulating, actually") and what she was going to wear to Jonathon Braxton's twenty-first next month ("Ummm, I don't think my blue dress - I have rather grown bored with it. I might give it to the poor, perhaps?"). For the most part, however, her parents said nothing or talked to each other, a fact for which she was grateful because it seemed that every time she spoke to them now she had to tell some sort of lie.
Dinner finished and as the plates and cutlery were cleared away, she asked to be excused, saying she felt quite tired. Permission given, she fled to her room and tried to think what to do next.
A tall, broad-shouldered figure made his way through the gathering gloom of the early evening, his feet crunching the gravel underneath them as he walked. The figure paused, looked left then right. After a moments stillness it hurried on, moving at a brisk, purposeful walk.
Marcus and Flin peered out from behind the hedge they had sheltered behind.
"Definitely suspicious."
"Definitely."
"Did he perceive us."
"I do not believe so."
They waited a few moments more before leaving the cover of the hedge and proceeded after the figure now disappearing into the gloom.
Elizabeth changed into her nightgown. The dress she had given to their maid, Gwen, to clean - with some explanation about the bloodstain coming from a poor dog that had been run over in the street, and to "not worry Ma'ma and Pa'pa with it."
Gwen had looked at her dubiously before taking the dress away, but she'd been looking after Elizabeth for many years now and was not in the habit of informing on Elizabeth to her parents. It was Gwen's opinion, unspoken of course, that it would do the poor girl a world of good if she got out into the real world and got herself dirty more often - shagging one of the local lads would probably help too. The moneyed classes, she thought, turn up badly because they coddle their children for too long and fill their heads up with silly ideas. The sooner she experienced real life the better, before she went completely silly.
But her new master would see to sweet Elizabeth soon enough, she reminded herself.
Dear Lord! Elizabeth thought after Gwen had left. I am quite the liar these days aren't I? She couldn't decide whether that was a good thing or not. Most likely it was a bit of both.
Some of the undergarments she had been wearing that morning were a bit ripped and she decided to dispose of them. She considered chopping them up there and then but on reflection bundled up and hid them in her wardrobe. She didn't want to get rid of them just yet, in fact she found herself looking at the ripped material and remembering. She tested how much strength was required to rip the material that easily and concluded that it was quite a bit. More than she had anyway. She grinned and hugged the slip to herself before packing it away. It was all perfectly safe, she told herself, as it was highly unlikely that that scoundrel would show his face around here again. And if he did, well she'd give him what for again! Her brow furrowed as she tried to remember how she'd given him 'what for' the first time.
The figure was harder to spot now in the gathering gloom but Flin and Marcus, despite concluding they had lost him on two separate occasions, managed to keep on his trail.
It stopped outside one of the large, well-constructed houses that populated this area. Marcus and Flin stepped back into the cover they had been careful to always stay near. The figure moved with a silky speed to the house and, upon reaching it, seemed to almost fly up the side of the building and on to the roof. It disappeared from sight over the other side of the roof, clearly attempting to move stealthily.
"Hmmmm."
"Yes," said Flin.
"The church. That organism disappeared so quickly."
"Yes," repeated Flin.
"The church also possessed a roof."
"Yes," repeated Flin.
"It is curiously difficult to think in three dimensions in this plane of existence."
"Yes, it is," said Flin.
"I feel a strange sensation. I believe it might be called embarrassment."
"Yes, it is," repeated Flin.
"It is of little consequence. And it is inefficient to overanalyze prior operational performance envelopes."
"Agreed," concurred Flin.
"We can however, conclude that the target dwells within that domicile. And I assert that we can be almost certain that she is the target because..."
"...That is not a human being," finished Flin.
"Indeed," said Marcus, after a pause.
Elizabeth lay on the bed in her peignoir, one of her pillows clutched to her chest. She had this horrible feeling that life was going to return to its former dreariness. Not that she'd been that unhappy with her life before the events of the last few days, but now it definitely seemed... dull. Back to the inevitable Braxton family union she suspected, and a life as a rich merchant's wife. There were worse fates to be sure, but she doubted any were quite as... dull. Dull. Dull. Dull.
Assuming Jonathon would even take her.
Take her. The phrase floated through her mind. She wondered how Jonathon would "fuck" her when the time came. Probably strictly according to tradition and decency - certainly not up against the back wall of the local church, she giggled!
Her thoughts lingered on that encounter, and her hand drifted down her body. Slowly she undid two of the buttons at the front of her nightgown, slipped her hand inside and slid it down over her groin. She stroked the inside of her thigh and thought of the sensation of Will's rough jacket rubbing against that delicate flesh. She felt herself begin to moisten.
"Mmmmm..."
The figure sat with a preternatural sense of balance on the railing of the balcony outside Elizabeth's room - lost in thought. "Shit!" He started and just about fell off backwards when he realized what was happening inside the bedroom. He watched, hypnotized, as Elizabeth's body began to writhe under her own touch.
"Watching young ladies get themselves off is one of the things I like the mostest," Azrael muttered under his breath, "next to me getting them off, of course."
He leaned forward, observing intently.
Elizabeth adopted roughly the position that Will had had her in against the church, except she was lying on her back on a nice soft bed, rather than being slammed into a rough wooden wall. That's the joy of fantasy, she though vaguely.
She pressed the pillow down the length of her torso, and her hand worked within her pussy. Her clitoris was engorged now and she stroked it slowly, trying to reproduce that feeling of controlling power that Will had given off. All the fear and discomfort she had experienced was filtered from her mind as the fantasy took over. She moaned softly, and clenched her teeth to silence herself. She feared her parents might hear her, as they had not gone to bed yet. Normally she waited until late at night and she was sure they were asleep before doing this.
She ground the pillow in circular motions over her breasts, imagining his body press against her. She visualized him now ripping open her dress down to her navel, exposing her to his lustful gaze. Her other hand abandoned the faithful pillow and began to unbutton the nightgown some more, this time beginning at her throat and moving downward.
Her full breasts were exposed now, as was her body from her chest to her groin. She pushed the nightgown away from her, resenting the restricting feel of the material against her skin, wanting to be exposed, open to anyone that wanted her. She fondled her breasts roughly, imagining his powerful hands upon them. Her other hand was quite slick with her juices now and she could feel the tension building within her. She prayed she didn't cry out when it happened, but the sensation building between her legs felt stronger than anything she had experienced before.
In her mind he was inside her now, she could feel the sensation of his cock thrusting within her - over and over again. The sensation of her body being filled and then abruptly emptied - only to be deliciously filled again in an unending cycle of pleasure she was helpless to deny was the only thing that existed in her universe. She was joined with him now; they were as one - united by passion.
Her hand left her breasts and reached up to grasp an iron railing of the bedstead, her ankles reached out towards the foot of the bed. She imagined the sensation of bonds upon her wrists and ankles, stretching her out, in her mind utterly exposed to the lustful depredations he began to practice upon her. Her back arched as the orgasm built within her, she thrust her hips to meet the imaginary penis violating her virginal sanctity, and felt the icy tang of the cold night air on her nipples, burning as they were with passion.
Night air?
She started - her head snapped to her right toward the balcony windows. The man was standing there watching her! Behind him the open French doors let in the crisp night air and scents of both nature and of the city. They stared at each other for a long moment, she still on her bed, legs still spread. She was propped up on one elbow, half-twisted to look in his direction, exposing her young body to his gaze - a sheen of sweat visible upon the length of her.
"I'm sorry," Azrael asked innocently, "have I come at a bad time?"
She gave a strangled yelp and, becoming aware of her exposed condition, clasped the peignoir to her and began trying to hastily button herself up, while simultaneously backpedaling. She had failed to secure a single button when she ran out of bed and disappeared backwards with another cry. Her flailing legs were the last Azrael saw of her as she disappeared from sight with a thump.
Now that, he thought, is how to make an entrance.
It was Marcus that broke another of the interminable silences between the pair. Standing at the edge of the street, gazing up at the house opposite them, he said, "It is settled then."
"Apparently, as no supplemental plan has come to light."
"Then we will wait until the early hours of the morning, at which time all local indigenous personnel will be unconsciousness, and we will secure the target, taking her to a safe location."
"We do not really have a safe location."
Marcus almost sighed.
"Fine then, to our lodgings."
"Agreed."
"At which point we will appraise her condition and determine an appropriate response based on that condition."
"I vote for immediate liquidation."
"You are ahead of yourself again. First the nature of the subject must be analyzed before a comprehensive response plan can be finalized. Clearly this is why I am responsible for action plan development, and you merely critique."
"What do you mean 'merely critique'? Any moron can come up with some half-witted outline but it takes superior analytical skills to hone that plan into an effective and comprehensive plan!"
"Patent misinformation! I am sick and tired of your constant whining tone, it is unbelievably that..."
Marcus stopped in mid-sentence and they stared at each other.
"We must be careful."
"Yes - our task-focused orientation is starting to degrade," observed Flin.
"We are at the limit of our mission range," Marcus agreed.
"True. Come then, we will retire to a safe location before returning to complete the mission."
"Agreed. Where shall we retire to."
There was a pause as they considered.
"What did that retailer say about the waterfront."
"Are you implying we should spend our time here constructively by engaging in some participant-observation research."
"Affirmative. I suggest while we have this flesh form we use the defunct retailer's fiscal reserves to purchase copulatory rights with one of the females referred to during our interaction."
Marcus paused to evaluate the proposal, but only for a short time.
"Agreed. It is better to conduct research than stand around being inactive. Let us go. We will also hire a method of conveyance, as I grow tired of walking everywhere."
"Agreed."
Elizabeth's head appeared from behind the bed, her eyes round like great saucers, hair covering half her face. For a moment she said nothing.
"W-what do you think you are doing?"
"Watchin' the show, baby!"
"Please don't call me a child. I assure you I am quite grown up." The response was reflexive, as she tried to build a shield of dignity between herself and the intruder.
"Yeah, I saw the evidence."
"Ohh!" the squeak of humiliation escaped her before she could stop it
All the while Elizabeth was fumbling with her clothing, frantically trying to button her nightgown. She froze as the sound of movement came from downstairs, and her father's voice called for her. Her face bearing the expression of a persecuted rabbit, she dashed from behind the bed to her bedroom door, holding her partially buttoned sleeping wear together with both hands. She arrived at the door and opened it a crack with one hand, while the other tried to keep her clothing from revealing anything of her. It required a tricky contortion, and one that Azrael thought to be a bit too late. He had already, after all, had an eyeful. Her movement to sweep the hair from her face was abruptly cut short when she realized she used the wrong hand.
"S-s-sorry, Pa'pa?"
The voice floated up to her, closer now as her father reached the base of the stairs. "I said what was that noise? Sounded like a right crash!"
"Oh. Oh, sorry, Pa'pa, I was reading and I didn't realize how close to the edge of my bed I was and I fell off. I am quite all right though, I was just a bit startled."
She finished the explanation with a short laugh that sounded to her to be horribly false. Her status as a skilled liar was on display again - instinctively she told a lie with as much truth in it as possible.
"Are you sure you're all right?"
"Of course I am; it sounded a lot worse than it was. I'm fine, really."
"Well, all right then," her Pa'pa's voice said, "but it's just about time you were in bed."
"Mmmm, that's what I was thinking," came Azrael's mocking voice from behind her.
"What was that, Elizabeth?"
"I said that that was what I was thinking. Good-night, Pa'pa."
"Good-night, pumpkin. We love you."
"I love you and Ma'ma too, Pa'pa."
She closed the bedroom door and leaned against it, breathing hard. Then the cold-night air on her skin highlighted the tenuous state of her modesty and she spun round, facing the wall and buttoning frantically.
"You have no right to be in here."
"Why? I suspect you were using my image for you own personal gain - surely I have a right to be in on that."
"You are disgusting, sir!" she hissed, "and I would ask you to keep your voice down! Or my father will come flying up those stairs and thrash you within an inch of your life!"
"And you wouldn't want that would you?"
"I am sorry?"
"Well, then I'd have to stop being in your bedroom at night. And you," he continued mockingly, "Do. Not. Want. That. Do you?"
Finished with her buttoning, she turned again and stared at him, breathing heavily through her nose, her breasts rising and falling in a manner she was patently unaware of. Azrael was aware of it.
"That is possibly the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard. You are clearly the most conceited egotist in the colonies and I would ask you again to - Keep. Your. Voice. Down," she hissed furiously at him, imitating his punctuated delivery style.
He grinned at her mimicry; she had some life in her then. He sauntered to a chair, collapsing into in. He was closer to the bed now, she noted, but not unacceptably so.
"So why have you not called your dear Pa'pa up to save your pure and virtuous self from little old me?"
She bit her lower lip and stared at him, silent.
"I thought so."
"Because," she said, finally breaking her silence, "I wish to spare you from a frightful thrashing and myself from a certain amount of... embarrassment. So it would be best for both of us if you would just leave now. By the way you came." She glanced at the French doors, her eyebrows furrowed. "However that was."
"Oh, Elizabeth," his tone changed, abruptly, "I am so sorry. I have upset you. My entrance was poorly timed and I apologize."
She flinched slightly at the mention of timing and looked away.
"But," he continued, his voice like sugary syrup "I just want to talk. Really. My earlier behavior was utterly inexcusable and I wish to apologize and explain. Please, you sit on your bed and I will sit here and we shall talk. And that is all."
She considered for a moment, but saw no immediate way of getting rid of him without making a lot of noise. If Pa'pa found a man in her room she wouldn't be able to go anywhere for the next fifty years without an armed guard of the local militia! Besides, it was kind of exciting, and he did seem much nicer now. She stood in what she thought was a forthright and determined pose, with her hands on her hips.
"All right then. But one attempt to fuck me, as you would say, sir, and I'll...I'll...well, you know. I shall have you ejected."
He raised his eyebrows and looked up at her, it was a gesture she didn't quite follow but he looked cute doing it, so with that thought she went and sat down on the edge of her bed, hands in her lap.
Azrael regarded her as she walked to the bed. She really didn't have a clue, did she? He had half a mind to tell her that when you are trying to warn a man off, don't do it while standing there with your legs spread and your hips slightly stuck forward.
Now where to begin? He saw an opener.
"You missed one," he pointed.
"Pardon?" She looked down and saw one of her buttons was not done up. Hastily she rectified the omission.
"Oh! Thank you," she said, a slight smile on her face.
He withdrew a metal flask from his inside his jacket, opened the metal stopper and took a swing. She watched, saying nothing.
"You see," he began, "I really don't know what came over me behind the church. I remember it was a lovely day, and of course you are a very beautiful young lady, if I may be so bold. Has anyone ever told you that?"
"Of course," she replied haughtily. Well, Pa'pa had but she was fairly sure that's not what the intruder meant; she wasn't going to admit to the truth. She was thrilled at the complement though but tried to hide it. "Many times in fact," she finished.
"Of course," said Azrael, doubting very much that this was so. It wasn't that it was not true - she was a very fine sight. It was her slight blush that gave her away. Besides, her could smell her innocence. "It's just that..." He paused and took another swig from his flask, then seemed to notice her. "Oh, how rude of me. Would you like a drink?" He proffered the flask.
She looked at it doubtfully.
"I don't believe so."
"But you do drink, you are twenty-?"
"Two," she filled in the blank.
"Of course. You are twenty-two - that's a grown up age. Surely you drink."
"Well," her eyes remained on the flask, "I sort of do."
"Elizabeth," he said. Her eyes flicked up to meet his.
"It's perfectly safe, Elizabeth. There's no reason to be afraid."
His green eyes were deep and limitless and somehow safe. His voice, like honey, continued on.
"It's a rather fine Bourbon. You'll enjoy it." Well, a rather fine Bourbon if you know nothing about Bourbon, he thought. That old priest was too tight to even buy decent liquor. He had it coming to him.
"Don't play me for a fool, sir. I told you I am not some innocent child, you know. If I choose to drink then I shall drink because I feel like it, not because of your tawdry manipulations."
Damn it, she was bouncing off his mind-whammy. He had suspected that might happen but didn't really have a back-up plan. Complex plans weren't his strong point. Oh well, just have to resort to violence. Like usual.
"However," Elizabeth continued, "as I do feel like a drink then I shall drink."
He looked at her blankly as she took the flask from his hands and put it to her lips. Yup, he thought, good ol' fate intervenes again.
Elizabeth took a swallow that would have impressed most heavy drinkers, and dissolved in a fit a gasping and spluttering - simultaneously trying to breathe and yet not make any loud noises at the same time. She turned bright red almost instantly and Azrael wondered if she might be about to die.
How interesting, he thought. Then he remembered he needed the girl alive and so moved over to the bed to comfort her. As comforting human beings was an area he had little experience in he made do by gently slapping her on the back and whispering platitudes about her going to survive. He had observed others doing this and it seemed to find acceptance with Elizabeth.
When she had recovered a bit she looked up at him with tears in her eyes. She wiped the liquid streaming out of her nose with her sleeve, in one of the least romantic gestures Azrael had been party to.
She croaked, "I think I swallowed a bit too much."
"Oh, no, my dear, it just went down the wrong hole. It could've happened to anyone." He smiled reassuringly. He hoped she swallowed cock better than she swallowed bourbon.
"Indeed," she croaked again, gulped and sniffed. "You're right, it is a good year, isn't it?"
"Ah huh." The smile remained fixed. Elizabeth looked straight ahead, seemed to steel herself and put the flask to her lips again. This time she swallowed a much smaller amount of the fiery liquid.
Azreal throught, By a Balrog's scrotum, look at the depths I have sunk too. The smile was still firmly affixed to his face. I have to get a girl drunk on - alcohol - before I can have my pleasure of her. This is humiliating. If they saw me now I would never... With that thought he feverishly scanned the shadows in the room, and out the French doors. There was nothing. He sunk down again, relaxing.
Elizabeth was looking up at him, saying something.
"What dear?" he said, catching up. "Oh, no it was nothing, I just suddenly though I might have left the gas on at home."
He rubbed her back in a friendly fashion, trying to decide whether he was disappointed that she didn't have a bra on - they were wonderfully flimsy and terrific fun for ripping off.
"Gas? Oh, too complex to explain. And I don't really understand it myself. Let's talk about something more interesting - like you! Tell me about yourself. Say, could I have a swig of that after you? Thank you, you are too kind."
He took the decent shot of the Bourbon, his first of the night, the other swallows being faked.
I might well be needing a bit more of that before this night is out, he thought as Elizabeth launched into what proved to be a long and tedious recital of her childhood experiences. A lot more.
The whore was on her hands and knees, a man working at each end of her. The bubbling sound of voices floated up through the wooden floorboards, the sounds of drunken reveling and lively debate typical of a drinking house. The only noises that came from within the dirty, dimly lit room were wet slopping noises of flesh sliding against flesh, and the intermittent groans and muffled squeaks of the young lady.
As if on cue the activities of the two men built up in their vigor - one slamming her cunt, one fucking her mouth. She made cries in her throat in response to each powerful thrust now, and struggled to avoid gagging as the cock in her mouth threatened to push itself too deeply within her. They climaxed in unison and she swallowed the hot semen being pumped into her. At last! They had been fucking her for nearly the entire hour - she'd never experienced anything the like! Her body was aching from the penetration and her repeated orgasms, never had she cum while performing any of her 'duties' and now... she collapsed in a sweat-sodden heap on the bed as they released her.
Marcus and Flin stepped away to confer.
"Interesting."
"Yes."
"We still have time?"
"Yes."
"Then I suggest we continue this line of research. It is proving fruitful."
"I agree. We will swap ends."
"I concur."
They returned to the prostitute, she was still breathing heavily and her eyes looked upon them with a vacant, glazed expression. Flin positioned himself near her head while Marcus lifted her hips up.
"Hey..." she began as she realized what was happening.
"Do not be alarmed, you will be fully compensated for your services."
Without any preamble he smoothly mounted her, pulling back on her hip as he slid the full length of his shaft inside her in one flowing motion. She gasped and arched her back, a cry escaping her lips. Marcus used that moment to thrust his member into her mouth.
"For optimum results encourage her to employ her tongue," suggested Flin, as he began to rhythmically pleasure her. Marcus nodded acknowledgement.
"Do you hear that? Use your tongue."
Shit, thought Melissa, as she summoned the exhausted muscles of her mouth to action, I don't want to be compensated - I wanted to be bloody well paid! And I was hoping to finish early tonight. Oooh!
They both lay on the bed now, Elizabeth on her back, looking at the ceiling. Azrael lay beside her on his side, one hand supporting his head and looking down on her, the other tracing lazy circles on her stomach. His face held an expression of warm attentiveness and he appeared to be hanging on her every word.
"And then last year that duplisch-a-tish," her bourbon sodden brain struggling over the word, "cow, Meridith Gibbins, said to me..."
It occurred to him then that perhaps she was deliberately torturing him, because she knew what he had in store for her. His eyes flicked upwards and took in a painting on her bedroom wall of some appalling pastoral scene as he considered the possibility.
No, he thought. This is genuinely her pathetic excuse for a life. If he had actually been capable of feeling pity for anyone he would have felt that emotion for her right then.
"...but all I had shaid to her wash..." she droned on.
This is a sad reflection, he continued thinking to himself. On what can happen to a promising young girl's life if they don't get their brains fucked out at an early age. He drew this conclusion because that was pretty much his only way of understanding the issues and motivations of human females. Right or wrong, he couldn't take any more of this and made his move.
His hand slid down her stomach and across her right hip, flowing around her groin without touching her most private region, and down her thigh. His hand now gently stroked up and down her upper leg, the fingers resting on the sensitive skin of her inner thigh.
"...such a kerfuffle over such a shimple mish-understanding...oh!" She looked up at him, confused. "What ever a-aaaare you doing?"
"Oh sorry, does that bother you? My hand was getting tired and I though I'd move it. You have lovely thighs, did you know," he beamed.
She smiled happily up at him, absorbing the compliment, and then tried to look stern.
"Well, I should shink it would be besht for both of ush if you moved your hand," she paused to consider the phrasing, "away from down there."
"But of course, my beauty. Whatever you ask."
His slid hand up over her hipbone, she felt his finger brush her pubic hair and she suppressed a squeak. The hand traveled languorously across her stomach and...kept going. Oh dear, she thought, trying to catch up with the sudden change in events. His hand brushed against the bottom and side of her left breast as it traveled up to her left shoulder - and once again she felt that delicious electric tingle run through her. It ended its uninvited journey with his finger gently playing with her earlobe. His arm now lay across her body, running diagonally from left to right, she could feel his bicep against her breast - a large part of her consciousness wanting it to press more firmly. He was over her now, looking almost straight down, his left arm still propping up his head, the sweet smile still on his face, calm and relaxed. She began to feel relaxed again just looking into those deep green eyes.
"I...I...ummm..." her mouth moved like a goldfish, nothing coherent coming out.
"Shhh," he said, his finger on her lips, his forearm now lying across her breast, meeting her unspoken desire for more pressure, "you really are a very, very beautiful young lady."
"No!" she giggled. She looked into his eyes and the laughter left her, her face becoming serious, intense.
"Yes," he corrected her.
With that his lips moved down, seeking hers. She advanced and met him halfway, greedily seeking the pleasure of his lips and tongue. They mutually stroked and massaged each other in increasingly frenzied movements. He broke away and looked down upon her, his hands massaging her breasts. She arched her back, feeling the juices stir between her legs.
"Ohhh, yes!" she implored as the floodgates of need opened within her, while some part of her remembering to keep her voice down.
About fuckin' time, thought Azrael.
With that he moved between her legs, repositioning Elizabeth's body effortlessly, as though it were nothing but a rag doll. Grasping the nightgown at her throat and with two powerful actions, he ripped it open - exposing the length of her body to his gaze. He pulled the top of the gown over her shoulders, pinning her arms behind her back. She felt his powerful hands grasp her around the waist and pull upwards - then the sensation of his lips and tongue licking and nuzzling her stomach and navel. She lay there for a moment, arms pinned, back arched, head back and staring at the darkened ceiling as he worked on her, and felt the changes occurring within her body.
Gosh! was the only thought she could conjure up from her befuddled brain.
Her mind cleared startlingly as he moved down and his tongue began exploring her nether lips. She stiffened and gasped.
"Fuck!"
Elizabeth pressed the pillow to her face, her mind beginning to function again after the orgasm. The intensity of her climax had taken her by surprise, and she had only just grabbed the pillow in time before the scream escaped her. As she lay there, a delicious feeling of relaxation overcoming her body she idly hoped that her parent's had not heard. But to be honest, right now she didn't give a fuck.
As Azrael began to work his way back up her body she released her pillow, letting it fall to one side, and reached her arms out above her, wrapped her hands around the iron railings and stretched herself out, her ribcage pressing against her skin. He was at her stomach now, approaching her breasts - lips working over her sensitive skin. Her nipples ached for his touched and she arched her back, anticipating.
"Mmmm, Azrael," she murmured.
Azrael heard the change of tone even as he caressed her body. He smiled.
"Wilhelmina," he said, nibbling around her ribcage, "are you feeling better now?"
"I've worked out what you've done," her voice was different, the English accent gone, but it was still languid. She shifted slightly before continuing. "You've put me in someone's else's fuckin' body. Woah, was I confused for a while back there! But I've worked it all out - the whole enchilada. You sack of shit."
He was licking the underside of her breasts now.
"Which reminds me," she looked down at him, "I believe this young lady wanted you to suck her titties just before. I have to agree."
He smiled up at her and moved his mouth over her right nipple and began to work on it. She groaned again and wrapped her legs around him in an active movement that had not yet been attempted by Elizabeth.
"Now, where was I? You know, I am starting to suspect that I am fuckin' smashed here. How much did you give her to drink?"
He paused and considered.
"More than you'd think for a young lady that size," he reflected. "She sure did knock it back."
"I hope she pukes on you." Wil giggled.
It was Azrael's turn to glance toward the bedroom door.
"Shhhh," he hissed, "you'll wake her parents."
"Shush your shhhsh-ing, prick. I will do what I fuckin' well like. And you, your treacherous piece of shit, will suck my, or her, nipples. Whoever they belong to. What is this bitch's name?"
"Elizabeth."
"Right. 'Lizabeth. Now suck while I try and remember what I was saying."
He returned his attention to her breast and waited for her to speak.
"Ah, yes. I know exactly what you did. You have stuck me in some stupid young woman's body, and hidden me away in some pissant country town in some pissant backwater state."
"Oh, no, we're still in Boston. It's just the 18th century."
There was a long pause, which he filled by playing with her left breast.
"You fuckin' what?" she said eventually. "The 18th fuckin' what?"
"The 18th century; 1765 to be precise."
"You mean as in Mozart an' shit?"
"A-huh."
Wil had to wait a bit for this to sink in to her alcohol and now shock dulled brain.
"Sure, that fits, yeah. That fits. Oh, fuck I'm gonna...oh, fuck. Am I gonna..." She slapped her hands over her face. "Ohhh, shit!" She let a long stream of air.
Azrael looked up at her. You know, it really looks like she is going to cry, he thought. He'd hoped she'd take it better than this. Well, he more sort of just assumed she would.
"Hey, Wil, baby," he soothed, "you've had a stressful time. Nothing a good hard screwing won't fix. Just lay back and let me take care of it."
"Shut the fuck up." Wil considered things a bit more. "So...so where's my body at?"
"How am I supposed to know?"
"You are the most worthless, sack of extra-dimensional...hey, wait - something's changed. I can't feel your... the link!"
"Uhhh, yeah - the shift broke our union, our linkage."
Wil began to laugh softly. "I fuckin' bet you didn't expect that!"
"Well, no - but it'll only be a temporary thing. We'll get back together, eh, Wil? Just like before."
"Dream on, sucka! If you think I'm gonna do that shit again..."
Azrael snarled and lunged up her body, toward her face, ending inches from hers, teeth bared.
Wil was startled by the instant change, "Woah, woah, woah! We can maybe work something out, baby!"
"Accept me!" he hissed.
"Fuck you, Az. I'm going into the game with my eyes open this time," she hissed back.
He wrapped his arms around her, holding and stroking with his powerful arms, as though he could possess her with physical presence alone. She put her arms around him in turn, stroking his back, massaging the muscles arrayed there. It was like she was soothing an upset child as he nuzzled her neck. But no child would have spoken in the chilling voice he now used.
"Do I have to break you again, Wilhelmina? Because I can - and I will. Only next time I may not be so patient with you. Next time I could be... rough."
"Yawn," she said.
"You cannot begin to understand what I could do to you," he was looking into her face again now, "I could..."
Without warning her fingernails dug deep into his back and her eyes went wide.
"She's coming back!"
"Who? The parent's?!" Azrael hissed, looking over towards the bedroom door.
"No, her. Her! My sight's fading, it feels like I'm falling asleep and I can't stop it happenin'!"
"Fight it!"
"This is a very weird sensation."
"Shit!"
"Azrael," her voice was dreamy now.
"What?"
"Don't damage this body this evening, right? Medical facilities were..." she had to struggle to focus on her words, "not shit hot way back in the olden days. Got that?
"You don't mind if I break this body in then?"
"Like I can fuckin' stop you..."
And she was gone.
"Good point," said Azrael to the blank, unseeing face. Then he had an idea.
Elizabeth looked up at Azrael.
"I sorry," she stammered, "what was that?"
"Nothing. Hey are you all right?"
"Of course." She paused to think. "Oh, did I nod off there? Oh, gosh, I'm so sorry." She gave a small smile of contrition.
He smiled. "No problem, baby. Now where were we?"
"I am not a child so could you please not call me a baby."
His eyes flicked toward the ceiling. This was almost too much to make it worth going on with it, he thought. Then he remembered the feel of her soft, yielding flesh underneath him and he looked back down into her eyes. She looked up at him; he saw her throat move as she gulped.
"Ummm, I think we were up to the bit where you fuck me?"
He thought he'd have to explain the difference between making love and being fucked to her one day - or, on reflection, maybe not. Ignorance is bliss after all. A wicked grin spread across his face.
"Of course. But first we have to...warm you up again, hmmm?"
She smiled and blushed.
Continued in Chapter 4
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