Trophy 25

Councilman Drew Zima awoke caught between the gentle nuzzling of lips and the sultry licks of a tongue. He looked down and saw that they met at his rising erection, two women having their way with his body in his sleep. Beautiful women. His balls swelled, filling the wrinkled flesh the two were arrayed over. His reddened cock jumped up as if trying to escape the passionate kisses that had happened to have it in the middle.

“Who are you?” he demanded. “What’s going on?” But he did nothing to stop them from what they were doing.

“Relax, Councilman,” one said, while the other took his engorged cockhead totally into her mouth. “We’re presents from the Beluccis. I’m Dis. That’s Tat.”

Tat continued her efforts, while Dis bent her head over his bloated scrotum. Her mouth engulfed some of it while her long red hair brushed against his tightening belly.

“The Beluccis!” Zima gasped. “I thought—Jesus—unh—thought they were pissed at me… didn’t give the contracts to them… thought they’d be…”

Tat shushed him as she came up off his knob. “No hard feelings, Councilman. There’s always next time. This is just a little reminder of what we can give you that you won’t get anywhere else…”

She and Dis switched places with girlish enthusiasm, continuing their lively appreciation of his full-blown erection. Zima hadn’t felt so appreciated in years. Not by his wife, not even by his secretary…!

The only drawback was, just at the edge of climax, they drew back, leaving him hanging. But even that wasn’t so bad, because then the girls began to undress.

Large breasts burst into view, petal-white with pink nipples and areolas like medallions. They swung in frenzied undulations as the girls sought to rid themselves of anything between their skin and Zima’s. The councilman almost came without being touched. His throbbing erection scorched the rest of his body with waves of heat. He would’ve looked down in disbelief at the hardness he was capable of generating in his old age, only his eyes could not leave the spectacle placed before him.

“Wait, sugah,” Dis breathed. “We’ve got even more to show you. Tat, bend over…”

Licking her lips, Tat drifted down onto the mattress and reached behind herself to separate her pert buttocks. Dis reached between her cheeks and grasped something, a small cord. Then she pulled.

Tat’s beautiful face became even more lovely as it distended in little coos and gurgles, pleasure clearly traipsing its way through her body, spiced with a little pain. As Zima watched in disbelief, a length of cord came free of Tat’s asshole, followed by a bead the size of an egg. At having the bead through her and out of her, Tat practically orgasmed. Dis laughed and continued to pull, gently relieving her of another of the beads.

It was like a symphony, all the sounds that Tat made, how she moved as the pleasure mounted and dipped, shot through with pain. She writhed and she gasped. She cried out and she whimpered. She moaned Dis’s name and something about how this woman said another woman’s name filled Zima with even more voyeuristic excitement than simply watching them. Dis seemed equally turned on, huffing and puffing while she watched the hypnotic vision of her pink sphincter spreading wider and wider as the beads emerged, then pulling back together into a loose circle, lazily mouthing the string before the next bead stretched its way out of her.

It seemed to take hours, but finally all of the anal beads were freed from Tat, leaving a wonderfully splayed anus behind. Zima was filled with lust for it, desperate to try out such an experienced asshole, but when he tried to rise, Dis pushed him firmly back down.

“You ain’t seen nothing yet, sugah. Now that it’s, heh, on hand, just look what does with those beads.”

“Uh-huh,” Tat cooed. “Will you help me with ‘em again, Dis?”

“I thought you’d never ask, Tat.”

The string hung from Tat’s fingers. Dis undid a knot at the end of it and the beads came loose, spilling off the cord to roll all over the floor. Zima was puzzled. Without the beads, the toy was no more than a length of twine, right?

Dis took hold again of the bottom of the string. Tat held tightly to the top of it. They looked into each other’s eyes and counted down together: “Onnnnnee… twwwwoo… THREE!”

As one, they were on him. Zima’s body so hungered for the touch of their flesh, their lips, their fingers, that he almost didn’t notice the cord. It notched around his throat. They both pulled it tight. It was strong, tough. It cut into his adam’s apple. His hands went up to pull at it, but the cord was small, slippery. It bit into his neck, out of reach of his fumbling fingers.

“Dis!” he groaned, as if to ask for help, not grasping that she was the one attacking. “Tat…”

“Ooh, baby, say my name!”

Dis rubbed against his quivering form as she tightened the makeshift noose. Tat pressed her tits into his side. The cord pulled tighter, shrinking, clawing its way so deep into the skin that it reached blood. Zima keened, pain now accompanying his lack of breath. He pushed at Tat, at Dis, but they held on tight to the cord—shoving them away only pulled the cord tighter, turning its pressure into a slickened sheet of blood pouring down his front, soaking into his sheets, a scream turned liquid.

Zima’s bloodshot eyes rolled up in his head. Blood-flecked drool foamed in his mouth. He had no more strength, no thoughts to put toward a plan, only an animal need to relieve the strangling pressure. He clawed at his own throat, but there was no getting to the breath his body needed.

Dis and Tat only needed one hand now to keep the cord taut. With the other, they caressed their own glowing bodies—then their long, slender fingers went to work on each other. Passion lit up their eyes and their faces went soft with passion. As Zima’s flowing blood caressed them, they reached down to caress each other’s wet mounds.

Zima’s last sight was of their lovemaking. It struck him as gorgeous—like the doubled racing of their heartbeats was more than enough to make up for the stilling of his own.

***

Bella cried herself to sleep. She knew she wasn’t anything but hormones. Her period was coming in soon and Frank still hadn’t gotten her so much as a Midol and she’d tried reading one of the books he’d gotten her. It was actually fairly involving, but there was no escapism in it. It was all some fantasy nonsense about a young, inexperienced witch and a black knight—all the stuff about her yearning for him and wondering how he felt about her and wishing he would kiss her made Bella feel like an idiot.

She’d offered herself to Frank. He’d rejected her. She’d begged him to fuck her and he hadn’t. She couldn’t tell now whether she’d been trying to manipulate him or not. She’d been so turned on, it was like being high. Which had never stopped her from being able to use her body before.

But the whole fucked up situation made her wonder if she had any feelings at all, anything to her. Hell, having a crush on the guy who’d taken her hostage, at least that was original. It was kinky. But maybe she was just programmed by this sick society to see a brutal bastard like that and decide he was a good fuck, a good man, a good father waiting to happen. The Beauty And The Beast thing. Only at least when the Disney princess fell in love, she got laid.

She awoke, a charge in the air. Frank was there and the knowledge that they had just about fucked—had gone right up to the precipice and backed down—was in every look, every word, every second they were in the same way.

He was quietly setting down grocery bags by her bed. “Sorry,” he said when he noticed her staring at him. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“More books?” she asked.

Frank pushed a bag her way. “Clean clothes. Goodwill. They should be your size. I took them to the laundromat before coming here; that’s why I was gone so long.”

“You mean you weren’t slaughtering any criminals?”

“I did,” Frank said, “but it was while the clothes were in the wash. So I would’ve been away in either case. And I got you your Midol.” He pressed the other bag her way. “Pads, tampons, a bin, some chocolate, a heating pad—”

“Heating pad?” Bella interrupted. “This isn’t your first rodeo.”

“I was married,” Frank said simply.

Bella moved on quickly. She didn’t like thinking about that. She knew enough about him that it had to be someone like Vito responsible for the fact that he’d said it past-tense.

Not that it was past-tense. Oh no, he was very much still in relationship with her. And at least faithful enough to deny himself any of the pleasures Bella offered.