Lynn Simms slumped in her chair. Behind her, the computer monitor glowed in the darkness of her office space, set aside in one of the bedrooms of Karen’s apartment. She had stared into that hard luminosity for two hours, seeking any information about Crimson Flare’s whereabouts; she met only with failure. It was as if the earth had swallowed up the heroine.
Her blonde hair had been tied into a ponytail to keep it out of her face while she worked, but the shorter strands had an hour ago been loosed from the binding and now hung down over her blue-grey eyes. Lynn stared out through the windows of Karen’s apartment, off to the southwest where flashes of lightning announced a coming storm. The red dawn visible in the clear skies over Mitropoulos and to the east would soon be swallowed up by the heavy thunderheads seen in the distance.
Where could she have gone? Lynn kept asking herself. Crimson Flare had left the apartment only a few hours ago to pay off the blackmailers who had found videos of the torture and humiliation of the heroine. She was to go to Centre Park, to a copse of trees, and deliver the payment. It was all a ruse, of course. Crimson Flare would never submit to blackmail. But this was an opportunity to catch the criminals red-handed.
There had been a brief telephone conversation before she had entered the park. The place had looked entirely deserted. But the Maiden of Mitropoulos had sounded optimistic about this episode ending quickly with the capture of a couple of would-be criminals who got in over their heads.
But since then, there had only been silence.
Three hours.
‘To hell with this!’ Lynn said. She stood up and made her way toward the door. She had to get to the park. If she could see where Crimson Flare had gone, maybe she could find some evidence of what had happened to her friend.
Lynn’s blue van pulled into a parking space on Mitropoulos’ famous Monroe Avenue. Across the wide sidewalk stood the poured concrete barrier, shaped like a series of Ionic columns that protected the edge of Centre Park. Beyond the barrier was the dark green open expanse of the Meadows. And a quarter mile beyond that, barely visible at this distance, was the stand of trees and shrubbery where the drop was to have been made.
Lynn stepped from the van. There was no one in sight. At this hour, even a city the size of Mitropoulos was only awakening from its sleep.
Well, it was mostly asleep. In the distance a police siren sounded.
She followed the sidewalk to an entrance where a wide stairway dropped down into the esplanade. A bike path and a walkway led toward the thicket probably more than a half-mile distant, if one followed either path, a quarter-mile, if one walked directly across the lawn. As she quickly walked the ground leading toward the trees, her ankle boots crunched on the gravel of the hiker’s trail.
The small stones crushed beneath her soles were much too loud in the still air. Distant thunder rumbled announcing the coming storm. Lynn broke into a trot, hurrying her way toward the trees, worrying, a little, about getting caught in the shower.
By the time she got to the grove, the wind had kicked up, shaking the greenery noisily. The lithe blonde moved to her left, looking for an entry into the coppice. Eventually, having failed to find anything, she simply plunged into the blowing stand of trees.
It was dark there. Behind her she could still see the lights illuminating the street, far distant, and the landscaped parkland. But here, beneath the canopy, it was much darker, an eerie darkness that sent a chill up her spine, a chill amplified by the cool breeze now whipping across the open space of Centre Park.
The cold front just passed right across me, Lynn thought to herself. She plunged deeper into the trees.
About twenty yards from the edge of the park she saw a clearing in the midst of the grove. Rushing into the open space, she noticed how utterly quiet the area was. That is, until she stopped her frantic rush, and brought her panicked breathing under control.
‘MMMMmmmmmpppphhhh! MMMMMMmmmmmmmmmppppppphhhhhh!! MMMMMMMMMMMMMMmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm!!!’
Off to her right, hidden by a single-standing spruce, someone was offering muffled cries. Even in the dim light, Lynn quickly recognised the figure and uniform of Officer Maria Blakeman.
The svelte blonde college student quickly covered the distance to the evergreen and, in a single motion, pulled, not exactly gently, the tape from the policewoman’s mouth.
Maria tried to expel a piece of cloth from between her jaws, but dry mouth prevented her. Now acting delicately, Lynn turned the uniformed figure onto her side, and plucked out the fabric, tossing it aside with disgust.
Maria breathed in deeply while Lynn went to work on the ropes securing her wrists. ‘Thank god you finally came, Lynn,’ she said finally, her voice raspy.
‘Where’s Ka-, er, Crimson Flare?’ Lynn was in no mood for small talk.
‘I don’t know. I was unconscious, drugged. When I came to, I was alone. The only thing I can figure is that she was captured by the same men who grabbed me.’
‘Did you hear anything? Do you know where she is?’
‘I didn’t see anything,’ Maria said softly as Lynn freed her hands. ‘But I do know that Fareed Gouyannou is behind this.’
Lynn’s jaw dropped. Gouyannou! She and Crimson Flare had thought this was the work of a couple of cops trying to make a score. This made Crimson Flare’s disappearance all the more dangerous. She had difficulty breathing for a moment. ‘Are— are you sure it’s Gouyannou?’
‘Before I was knocked out, I heard one of the men mention him. You usually don’t drop his name unless…’
‘Yeah, I know.’
As Lynn freed Maria’s hands, she stood straight up. Maria quickly began to undo the ropes around her ankles. Meanwhile, Lynn stared into the distance, feeling more helpless than she had ever felt in her life. Her vision clouded and tears ran down her cheeks.
Fareed Gouyannou watched appreciatively as Dr. Callahan prepared the second injection. Crimson Flare lay helpless on the floor, her wrists now freed from their bonds. As he gazed at the powerless woman, he could feel himself salivating at the defeat of Mitropoulos’ Masked Maiden.
Her arms now lay by her sides, their great strength no longer contained by the ropes. Crimson Flare’s mind had no awareness of the fact that she now possessed the great strength she needed to free herself from her captors. That mind had, in fact, been seized by a single desire: the desire for sex. Unconsciously, her hips rotated and pressed down upon an imaginary lover’s prick, which she felt had penetrated deep inside her.
And yet, she felt no satisfaction. The emptiness of the act confused the hapless girl. She saw her lover, in her mind’s eye, emerge from shadows surrounding her, glistening sweat covering his naked body, his powerful, taut muscles hovering above and just beyond contact with her own aching, sensing body. Her eyelids fluttered and she tried to peer into the darkness to see his concealed face, a face she expected to embody her dreams and desires. She tried to raise her arms to embrace that form, that hovering form, but the instant she did so, he seemed to disappear from her view, only to return as she dropped her arms helplessly to the floor.
Jan Leathers maneuvered his body to untie the ropes at her ankles, a task made more difficult by the hard-on brought on by his stimulation of the girl. But he removed the bonds with surprising ease. He watched as her hips circled slowly, provocatively, the sweet-smelling scent of her musk filling his nostrils. He felt a shudder pass across her naked torso as he released her booted ankles and he sat up, prepared for Gouyannou’s next command.
Dr. Callahan was busily injecting the first dose of the heroin concoction into Crimson Flare’s bared arm. As he removed the needle, he placed a small cotton swab over the puncture. ‘Now, sir,’ he said softly to Leathers, ‘you must penetrate her.’ Callahan understood that the climax forced from the heroine would fix the identification of sexual gratification with the warmth of the drug cocktail. The desire created by the aphrodisiac was to be sated temporarily, only to be reinvigorated by a new injection of the love potion, which would alternate with the heroin mixture. Her strength would permit Crimson Flare to endure injection after injection of both drugs without real danger of loss of life. Each set of injections would be accompanied by a male suitor who would penetrate her and bring her to climax.
Jan Leathers looked from the kind doctor’s face toward his boss. Gouyannou gave him only the smallest of nods.
Crimson Flare’s breathing became shallower and more ragged as Leathers gently placed her body fully on the polished wooden floor. Her masked face swung slowly from side to side, as if she were trying to vainly clear her vision. She moaned softly. ‘Oooooooohhhhhh, god,’ she barely whispered. ‘OOOoooohhhhh, god, p-plea-sse. Fffffuuck me! P-p-plleeaassse, I… I n-neeed a… a f-f-fuck!’ The thug stood up and dropped his pants as quickly as his fumbling fingers permitted.
The girl moaned again weakly, the great strength in her body fighting the triple threat of Leathers’ earlier stimulation of her sexual appetite, the powerful aphrodisiac still coursing through her veins, and the newly-introduced drug cocktail. Behind her glistening black mask, her eyelids fluttered, and Leathers saw that her eyes were completely unfocused. He did not know that she saw only the grey cloud enveloping her dark lover, mysterious and powerful, as powerful as she. In the brightly lit ballroom, though no one heard the Masked Maiden’s whispered pleadings except him, all could see her helplessness.
Leathers took hold of the famous uniform and pulled it unceremoniously from the heroine, exposing her to the crowd. He could hear the smiles forming on the faces of the men who watched, but it was the chorus of women’s voices that was audible across the ballroom. The heroine’s last defense had been removed and she now lay naked to her enemies. Many of the ladies present turned away, fearful of seeing what was to follow. He next grabbed the colourless tights and viciously tore them away from her hips and nether regions, the tatters still visible on her gloriously shaped legs. As Leathers, Gouyannou, Sealing, and all the others gathered in the ballroom stared at her now-exposed sex, the large man clearly saw the dampness formed on the short, dark hair at her entrance, and a dribble of the syrupy honey ooze from her, rolling languorously down her smooth flesh toward the floor.
Spreading her legs a little wider, he placed his already engorged prick at the entrance to the helpless Champion of Women. All across the ballroom, the ladies of the evening who had been the guests of Gouyannou’s employees audibly choked back gasps and cries as they watched the first rape of Crimson Flare.
Ominously, distant thunder rolled into the room.
Maria and Lynn walked quickly back toward Lynn’s van, raindrops beginning to fall heavily on the sidewalk. Although Maria ran to get out of the storm, Lynn walked dazedly toward the vehicle.
The two had covered the quarter mile from the stand of trees quickly, avoiding the park’s pathways, but neither had spoken. Maria, however, had seemed concerned about getting shelter from the storm, while Lynn seemed utterly uninterested in anything around her. Her mind raced, filled with innumerable questions, but all stemming from the same point: Crimson Flare was the prisoner of Fareed Gouyannou.
She climbed into the driver’s seat and sat staring out the windscreen. Lynn seemed to be barely breathing, when, all of a sudden, she collapsed, in tears, onto the steering wheel.
‘Jesus Christ,’ she wailed. ‘Jesus Christ,’ she shouted again, ‘what the hell am I supposed to do now?’ Tears poured down her face.
Her small breasts were as hard as marble, the nipples perfectly erect. Her back was arched almost to a ninety-degree angle as her hips slid up and down on Leathers’ erection. The perfect thighs clung to his hips as he knelt on the floor, while the black-booted calves pressed brightly polished black leather hard against his backside. The thug’s powerful arms supported her sweating, naked back above the wooden floor at a point just above her naked, perfectly formed ass. The vaulting curve of her back placed her cowled head mere inches from the polished wood on which the couple were locked in this embrace. Behind the glistening black mask, her eyes were closed, her face covered with beads of sweat. Her mouth was open, though she was now silent, the pleasure of the penetration sending waves of ecstasy to the very core of her being. Her gloved hands held tightly to those strong arms, and her hips stroked him strongly, up and down, up and down, desperately seeking fulfillment. Each time she plunged, the tip of his penis penetrated deeper into her, creating sensations of delight all through the lovely masked maid. Rivulets of sweat rolled down her chest onto those perfectly shaped mounds, from there curving toward her sides where her ribs were clearly visible pressing against her flawless flesh.
The only sound in the room was the agitated breathing of the two who were coupled in this dance. Even the pending storm seemed awed into silence. The crowd of onlookers, including Fareed Gouyannou and Officer Bruce Sealing, stared, transfixed, almost unbelieving. For the principals themselves, it was as if they were only now discovering the heights of bliss that could be scaled in the act of sex. For Jan leathers, his prick felt as if it would not gush forth with his seed, but rather was on the verge of rupturing, the pain-pleasure carried all the way from its tip to his spine.
For Crimson Flare, who happily pushed herself down onto that hardened organ, she only sought to drive him deeper, deeper into her to satisfy the desire that now enveloped her whole being. In her mind’s eye she continued to seek out the dark and handsome man of mystery who had conquered her. She could not yet see him, but she did feel him inside her, reaching up from her entrance into her womb.
‘MMMMmmmmmmnnnnnnnnnn!! Guh!! Oohh! OOOhhh!! OOOoooHHHhhh!!!’ Her rapture became audible.
His voice joined hers in a fugue of desire, frenzy, and bliss. ‘NNNNNnnnnnngggggggggg!! Uuhhhlll! Ah! AAAhhhkkk!! AAAaaaHHHhhhKKKkkk!!!’
The Champion of Women felt the hard muscles of his body. She looked deeply into her mind to see the face of this conqueror, and each time she sought the details of this powerful lover, clouds snatched away his countenance, leaving only an intimation, a hint of the nature of this desired mate.
‘UUUUgggggghhhhhhhhaaaaaggghhhhhh!!’ she screamed, raising her body upright. Then she wrapped her powerful arms around his chest, pushing herself against him, so that the sweat on their bodies mingled. The sweet smell of love that rose to her nostrils only served to further stimulate her.
Leathers licked the sweat from her neck, then nibbled on the spot where he had done so. A droplet of perspiration rolled from the back of her head down against his lip; it was blocked there, but then he gaped open his mouth to receive the globule. His tongue traced its path upward toward the tight-fitting cowl that helped to protect the identity of Mitropoulos’ Avenger. His progress blocked now by the shining leather, he reached one hand up to the hood, easily pulling it from the heroine’s head. Underneath, her short, dark brown hair was askew and soaked with sweat, which now rolled freely down the sides of her face and across her glistening mask. Meanwhile, the man’s tongue searched for her ear and, finding it, penetrated deep into its interior; at the same time, he nibbled at the lobe, his stubble brushing seductively against the soft skin of her neck.
As he did this, she pressed herself even more tightly against his manhood, seeking to drive him further into her body. When this failed, a moan of such forlorn sensuality passed through her lips that all who heard it were freshly stimulated. Leathers slid his hands up her sweat-soaked back. Then, bending his elbows beneath and behind her shoulders, he brought his hands forward from behind her, allowing them to wrap themselves across her face. The little and ring fingers of both hands lay on top of the brilliantly shining black mask.
‘Do not remove her mask,’ Fareed Gouyannou cautioned.
Jan Leathers was not about to do any such thing. The secrecy of his victim’s identity was too great a prize—and too significant as a turn-on right now—to wish to lose it. The softness of her flesh under his ministrations, the delicacy of her own gently moving hands across his back, the mystery offered by the mask concealing her features, the sense of her vulnerability conveyed by the costume and delicacy of this diminutive heroine, and the sensation of the leather boots against the small of his back, even the latent power he felt coursing through her arms as they pressed against his back: all these things contributed to Leathers’ enormous and raging erection, the greatest sensation of pleasure-pain he had ever experienced. His wildly pounding heart, the sweat pouring down his face and torso, his effort to penetrate as far into this remarkable Champion of Women as he was able: this was the evidence of the completeness of his sexual and sensual arousal. Never had he felt so enraptured as at this moment.
Bruce Sealing watched in amazement, as the pairing seemed to become one creature. The slow rolling of the single body that was the two conjoined lovers, the symbiotic rising and falling, the twisting and turning of this entity that had been created from these individuals served to draw his awe… and his anger. He had given Gouyannou the secret to capturing Crimson Flare to see her destroyed, to have her become what the police always knew she was: a slut working against law and order. Yet, here she was, giving voice to ecstasies he had never experienced, or even was aware of. His purpose had been to torture the cunt. Not… this!
‘Mr. Gouyannou, sir,’ he said quietly, approaching the short, dark man from the crowd.
‘Yes, my boy,’ the drug kingpin said cheerfully. ‘What is it?’ The two stepped away from the centre of the room. To most observers, they appeared to be discussing a most secret affair.
‘Well, uh, sir, you see, uh,’ he stammered.
Gouyannou wasn’t angry when he urged Sealing to speak his mind. ‘Come, come, what is it? You know you have my good will.’
‘Oh, yes, sir, I certainly am aware of that. But aren’t you going to destroy her, like you said you would? I mean, we agreed that both the police and your organisation wanted her out of the way. I don’t see how….’
Fareed Gouyannou laughed. ‘Surely, you understand that the ultimate goal hasn’t changed, don’t you?’ He continued chuckling. ‘The destruction of Crimson Flare will happen in any event. We each have our own idea about how we should attain our goal. You, Mr. Policeman, would prefer the direct route.’ He smiled at his newest employee.
‘That is good, and the way you understand the world. For a policeman, things are always black and white, no pun intended.’ The words flowed freely in his accented English. ‘But for me, and in our organisation—’ Sealing was pleased with the use of ‘our’—‘every opportunity such as this must serve as a lesson to others. “Men are ruled by the appearance of things,” Louis XIV said. Here—’ he indicated the defeated heroine, ‘we have our greatest enemy. It will not be enough to defeat her, for a mere defeat would not linger in the imagination. She must be disgraced, humiliated.’ He smiled. ‘Humbled.’
The policeman turned to look at the Masked Maiden of Mitropoulos. She was now laying on her back. Her uniform was gone, lying several feet from her. Her colourless tights had been torn from her, the tatters of that violent act visible just above her boots. Jan Leathers had just spent himself and was withdrawing from her. The utter exhaustion on his face spoke volumes about his experience. He was still on his knees, but most of his weight was now on his arms, which straddled his victim. Those who saw the scene from the proper angle saw his surplus seed dripping from the girl, rolling slowly toward the floor.
Gouyannou nodded toward Dr. Callahan. Immediately, the healing hands dipped into his medical bag and he prepared his next series of injections for the heroine. In a moment, the first of the two needles had pierced her, and the aphrodisiac’s power over the helpless heroine was redoubled. The second injection, finding the same vulnerable spot in a vein, quickly followed.
‘Would you like to experience America’s Darling?’ Gouyannou asked Sealing.
In a matter of moments, a naked Bruce Sealing had impaled the hapless avenger.
Crimson Flare could feel nothing. Or perhaps, more accurately, her sensibilities were overwhelmed by a single sensation. It might be called ‘desire’, but that word would imply a singularity of focus. In fact, Gouyannou and Callahan’s plot did not allow the hapless girl to isolate such an exclusive yearning. Their purpose required that her mind would be unmoored from any semblance of stability, and forced to confront separately waves of stimuli. Each would seize control of her, only to be overwhelmed by a new sensation as soon as it did so.
It could be termed ‘longing’, for Crimson Flare had had experience with this sensation in the past. The days in the abandoned subway station, in the power of the Normans and of Cos. Now reawakened in her sensual memory, these feelings rushed to overwhelm her: the warmth and comfort of a drug-induced haze, blocking out the harsh reality of the world; the strong embrace of a man, protecting her from those who would do her harm; the frenzy of sexual passion, which flooded her being with but one demand, a demand that she be penetrated and satisfied.
However, the Maid of Mitropoulos could not be satisfied. The superhuman lust she felt could not be quenched by mere men, however driven those men might be to surfeit their victim. With each renewal of Dr. Callahan’s bill of fare, the heroine’s demands would escalate, and the capacities of a mere mortal would fall further and further short of her requirements. Each penetration, however large the manhood of her attacker, would be insufficient. Regardless of the rapist’s ability to sustain his erection, Crimson Flare, whose orgasms were both manifold and extravagant, felt empty and unfulfilled. Only the dark, mysterious stranger of her imagination would be able to meet her expectations. Why, she wanted to know, did he not oblige her?
She felt his arms on her. Powerful muscles stretched tight beneath his rough skin. His unshaven face rubbed against her own silken neck, his stubble adding a staccato to the swelling harmony of their embrace. He knew all the ways to seduce a woman: his hands showed a familiarity with her anatomy, innately knowing the places where her response would be heightened because of her heightened sensitivity. Sometimes tender, sometimes agitated, he moved knowledgably from one hypersensitive locus to the next, the progress raising the increasingly helpless Champion of Women to a higher and higher plane of exaltation. Why would he hold her but refuse to satisfy her cravings?
Those cravings were heightened by the drug-induced image of the hero who embraced her, the hero who had rendered her powerless. Through their influence, she saw more details of this man, though his face continued to elude her. She saw the muscular arms and the powerful chest, powerful enough to challenge even Crimson Flare’s strength. As his massive limbs pulled her body to him, she felt her own strength slip away, and she felt a weakness wash over her body. She lifted her legs to encircle his hips and she pushed herself toward his massive prick, which she could clearly see through the haze that encompassed the lovers. But he denied her. The sensation of the penetration did not match her expectation. It was not his! And the masked Maiden, the emptiness of the experience seizing her, groaned. She groaned her dismay again and again, and still she sought the hero.
Crimson Flare was able to find him, for he did not hide from her. She saw his form moving through the fog, and she heard him. Through the smoky whirl surrounding them she heard his laughter, like a hundred voices laughing at once. ‘Come… back…’ she whispered huskily. He only laughed louder.
The avenger reached out and felt him. His powerful legs were directly in front of her. She could see them, the rippling muscles of his thighs and calves naked before her. Her gloved hands brushed gently against the sturdy, upright limbs. Even with so light a touch, she could feel the latent power in him. She pulled herself toward him and pressed her face against the sweaty flesh of his legs. As she did so, she felt the familiar warmth rush over her again, the warmth that seemed to be coursing through her body, but which was obviously radiating from him. She felt it every time she came near him. The masked Maiden licked the perspiration rolling down the thighs and pressed herself closer to him. If only he would impale her on his mammoth cock. Then, she was sure, she would achieve the satisfaction she so desperately desired. Her hands reached up between his legs, tenderly searching for his balls, rubbing the backs of both hands against the underside of his scrotum. There, before her eyes, she saw his manhood emerge, as large as she had imagined it to be. Rigid, elevated, it stood there, inviting her. America’s Darling reached up with her tongue and licked his member, beginning at the root and running the entire length of the shaft, inviting him to enter her. As she did so, she gazed upward, almost desperately now trying to discern some part of his features, a countenance she imagined to be of godlike beauty and perfection.
Nick Napolitano, one of Gouyannou’s ‘heavy lifters’, could not believe what Crimson Flare was doing to him. All his life, he had been laughed at for his squat, hunchbacked posture, and yet, now, here was Crimson Flare, the object of so many of his fantasies, licking at his mean little prick. The laughter that had so often been directed at him, in part because of his looks, in part because of his intellect—or lack of it—rolled across the ballroom, but this time it was not directed at him. It was the Maid of Mitropoulos who was the object of the uproar. The play of her gloved hands against his package sent chills running uncontrollably up and down his spine. He raised up on his toes and arched his back in an effort to contain his exhilaration.
‘Love… me...’ he heard her whisper. Her voice was of such a sensual sweetness, such as he had not heard in many years—a woman speaking to him as a lover, not as a whore—that once again he felt a tingle rush through him, beginning at his crotch and spreading outward with a speed he had never experienced.
Oh, god, she was licking his cock! Oh, god!! Nick had never experienced anything so sensual! The smooth lapping of his manhood by this woman, this heroine, naked before him, was more than he could take.
He ejaculated into her face.
Crimson Flare, naked except for her mask, gloves, boots, and holster, still containing her baton, had knelt abjectly before one male after another. And one after another, all five that Gouyannou had summoned had penetrated her, each time using the most available orifice. Her perfectly shaped ass was encrusted with cum, and the excess that still rolled from inside her passed across a crusty orgasmic mixture, formed of her own making, as well as that of her partners, now flaking from the insides of her flawless thighs.
Napolitano, the sixth in the line, had been intended as comedy relief. The others had been high-ranking figures in the criminal world, but when the kingpin had summoned a mere thug, it demonstrated that soon Crimson Flare would be open to all comers. Each had been preceded by Dr. Callahan’s potions. Each supplement had increased the haze surrounding the helpless girl. As each of the crime world’s leaders had penetrated the now-defeated crimefighter, cunt and ass, the audience was less in awe and more given to the revelry that Gouyannou sought. He wanted to shatter the myth of Crimson Flare, to destroy her mystique in the minds of his underlings, so that she would never again represent anything more to them than she did on this night.
That was why Napolitano was to be the climax, so to speak. Mitropoulos’ drug lord smiled as he thought of it. Crimson Flare, America’s Darling, the Champion of Women, Defender of Mitropoulos, reduced to providing enjoyment to the least of Gouyannou’s men. Napolitano had never been with a woman he hadn’t paid for. The sight of his clumsy efforts, peaking in his penetration, would be the end of her.
But this was even better than he had anticipated. To have the powerful heroine submissively on her knees before Napolitano, stripped of her uniform and her glory, desperately trying to get her luscious red lips around his prick… licking the entire five inches and seeking to embrace him…. This would be a night for all to remember.
The men’s raucous laughter rang out everywhere in the ballroom. It even overwhelmed the rising storm outside, which rattled the French doors with its fury. The women had been silenced, their prayers unanswered. The men, previously dumbfounded by the awe that surrounded the heroine, now voiced their disdain for Crimson Flare: Crimson Flare had become their bitch.
When Nick Napolitano suddenly came, streams of fluid spurting into the face and onto the shoulders and chest of the defeated Champion, the ballroom sounded more like a sports stadium than a gangland conventicle.
Gouyannou couldn’t have been more pleased.
Crimson Flare’s mind begged for satisfaction. As she gripped the mammoth prick in her hands, licking the tip, her mind told her to stand in order to impale herself on the monstrous entity. But the warmth she felt radiating from the body of her hero wouldn’t allow her to separate herself from him. She needed to press her face and body against the warm hard limbs. It was somehow comforting. All that she wanted was to have that glow continue to permeate her being. The flame of his presence heated her and made her feel secure in this fog that surrounded her. His laughter reassured her that all was safe. Besides, as she gripped his manhood, she felt the surging in him. She wasn’t about to release that. But the frustration of her own desire still nagged at her.
Oh, god, he was cumming. I must save it, she thought. This is meant to be mine, it’s meant for only me! It must be preserved!
She pressed her body against his legs, in order not to lose the contact that was so important to her safety, and, with her satin-gloved hands, she pushed her lover’s seed into her. She opened her mouth and swabbed her face, enjoying the taste of his manhood. Then, seating herself and leaning back, she pushed and scooped the deposits on her chest toward her anxiously-awaiting sex.
End of Chapter Three