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And here is your next assignment:
Write a short story or a scene with the following opening:
The ships in the harbor danced in the tropical heat.
She was looking at them through the narrow slit in the donjon wall, wishing
she could sail away on one of them. A heavy chain leading to her shackles
declared it highly unlikely.
Any genre. No word limit. :icon176:
Happy writing:)
The ships in the harbour danced in the tropical heat.
She was looking at them through the narrow slit in the dungeon wall, wishing she could sail away on one of them. A heavy chain leading to her shackles declared it highly unlikely. A key rattled in the lock of the dungeon door. She hoped and prayed it was him. Tommy burst through the door and Michelle cried with relief. His bulging arms grabbed her chain and he snapped it like a twig. She was free at last. They embraced passionately their lips entangled. His long blonde hair glistened in dim light, brighter than anything else in the dungeon. It got brighter and brighter until the whiteness enveloped the whole room. Then he was gone.
Michelle lay back on her bed, tears rolling down her cheeks. She had been dreaming of Tommy again. She’d had that very dream before. But Tommy was never coming back to rescue her. Six months before, Tommy had been riding his motorcycle in a road race when his bike left the road, smashing into a wall. Michelle was there at his bedside when they turned off the life support machine, after only a few hours. The doctors said it amazing that he had even survived that long. He and Michelle were supposed to be married that Summer.
Wiping the tears from her face, she sat up in bed and tried to figure out what it all meant. She believed that dreams meant something. Opening the drawer of her bedside locker, her Encyclopaedia of Dreams was the first book at hand. She perused the book, unsuccessfully looking for elements of her dream among the well thumbed pages. Finding nothing, she threw the book to the floor and pulled the duvet over her head, the quilt soaking up more of her tears. Then, it came to her what it all meant.
Michelle believed that the shackles in the dream represented her grief filled life. She had become withdrawn since Tommy’s death; unable to escape her own sadness. She knew that she had to have him back. If it were impossible to bring him back, then she must go to him, for Michelle believed in an afterlife- a paradise where lovers were reunited. Michelle knew what she had to do. To be with Tommy, she had to end her own life.
Michelle Casey was twenty two and unremarkable; good looking, but not strikingly so. Her long brown hair complemented the graceful, slender figure. Long legs didn’t just give the illusion of height, she was genuinely tall. Growing up, her choice of dark clothes led many to believe she was of the Gothic persuasion. That was not so. She was just an ordinary girl, who, like so many others, felt that black was the only colour classy enough to be seen in. Michelle really wasn’t all that special.
When she smiled though, that was a different story. Michelle didn’t smile often, but when she did, it was a smile that could drive any man crazy. With that smile, they were in her power. The rarity made it all the more alluring.
Tommy, like her was born and bred San Franciscan. They met at college where she was studying Computer Science and he, Psychology. He was her first and only love and they wanted to be together forever. They scraped together enough money for a deposit on a dingy apartment in the Mission District. It wasn’t big, but it was theirs. They were utterly devoted to each other. He took pleasure in her smile and she adored his sparkling, happy go lucky manner.
One May afternoon, everything changed. Michelle went to watch him race his bike at a road race up in Washington State. She saw the whole accident. The images would never leave her. Her one true love had been taken from her forever. In memory of him, Michelle had worn black every day since his passing. Whenever she thought of him, she felt the pricking of tears in her eyes. All her friends said that she’d changed and that since the accident she had become relentlessly melancholic. This drove some people away, but her true friends stuck by her and would be there for her, no matter what.
Michelle quickly threw on some clothes and walked the few hundred yards down to the local hardware store. She bought a length of stout rope and went back home. Most days, she felt like wearing make-up was a waste of time, but today, she thought as she deftly applied her austere mascara, was different; today it was worth it. With a fluttering in her stomach, she slipped into the black dress that she hadn’t worn since her prom. It was simple, but elegantly so.
Sitting on the bed, Michelle wound and tied rope into an effective hangman’s noose, according to the book about knots at her side. She took a pair of pink fluffy handcuffs from her bedroom drawer, knowing that she would probably struggle to escape from death’s iron grasp. This was something she had to follow through with. Tommy had bought them for her as a joke, but they had seen plenty of use in the bedroom.
The shower rail seemed strong enough, she thought. Standing on the edge of the bath, she tied one end of the rope tightly around the rail. After putting the noose over her head, she lifted her hair out of the way and tightened it. The handcuffs clicked behind her back and Michelle was ready to depart.
It was a big decision. She was nervous and standing there, she began to tremble. With eyes shut tightly, Michelle stepped off the edge of the bath and felt the rope grip her neck sharply. What happened next would have been comical had it not happened in such tragic circumstances. It turned out that the shower rail hadn’t been nearly strong enough. When Michelle stepped off the bath, it collapsed almost instantly under her weight. Now, she lay in a heap on the floor, shaking and sore, but quite alive.
She could have done it another way, but hanging was the only death she had ever seen herself having. The thought of the electric chair was appealing to her too. In those brief few moments between when the guard threw the switch and her passing out, she would feel more alive than she ever had, or ever would. It played it out in her mind a hundred times. To be shot on a misty morning, like a femme fatale spy was the other ending she desired. She didn’t see herself going out quietly. In order for her to do it right, she would have to hire someone to do it for her.
Wearing a turtleneck sweater to cover her bruised, chafed neck, Michelle sat in a quiet corner of a café near her apartment, waiting on her sister Elaine to arrive. Elaine was nearly forty. She had, in a sense, been Michelle’s mentor, teaching her the ways of the world. Like Tommy, Elaine’s husband had met an untimely end. She hired a contract killer to take care of her husband, so she could collect a huge life insurance policy. He was a consummate professional, not leaving any incriminating evidence. Elaine collected her money and, the next day, she had a new Mercedes.
This all happened around a year ago. Elaine was never even considered a suspect in the shooting of her husband, such was the skill of the hitman. She never told a soul about her involvement in the affair. Except of course Michelle; It was their shared secret.
Michelle saw a Mercedes convertible pull up in front of the café. Tossing her chestnut brown hair Elaine stepped out of the car.
“Wow, this place is great! How’d you find it?” asked Elaine in her usual hurried manner.
“I live like a block away.”
“Of course you do dear. How could I forget that?” replied Elaine incredulously.
“Never mind anyway, what did you want to talk to me about?”
“Remember you hired a guy to take care of a little problem of yours?” asked Michelle in a hushed voice, leaning over towards Elaine as she spoke. They were both on the same wavelength.
“Sure, why?”
“Can I get his number from you?”
“You need someone taken care of? Who is it?”
“I’ll tell you when the job is done.”
“See, I can’t give you his number. The way he works is, I call him and then he calls you and arranges to meet you at a location of his choosing. These guys have to be careful.”
“Can you call him for me? Ask if we can meet up.”
“No problem, I’ll go home and call him now.”
“Thanks Elaine, you’re a big help.”
“No problem kiddo. By the way, his name is Gene.”
Michelle sat at home watching the evening news. Her phone rang and she picked it up.
“Is this Michelle Casey?” asked a male voice.
“Yes, who is this?” she replied cautiously.
“Elaine told me you require my services. Can you meet me at the café that you met Elaine at earlier today?”
“How did you know where we met?” demanded Michelle defensively.
“She told me. Elaine’s a good friend of mine.”
“Ok“ she said, her fears allayed, “when should me meet?”
“How’s twenty minutes from now?”
“I’ll be there.”
Gene was waiting in the café for her. There weren’t many people around at this time of night. She saw a handsome man, in his mid thirties sitting over an empty coffee cup.
“You’re the guy, right?” she asked him.
“I’m a guy. As to whether I’m the guy, it depends on who’s asking.”
“I’m Michelle.”
“Ah. Then I think I’m the guy.”
“Want another coffee?” Gene smiled with gratitude.
“Why thank you! That’s very sweet of you. I’m Gene by the way.”
Michelle returned after ordering the coffee. They sat and made small talk while the waitress delivered two espressos. When she left, Gene spoke.
“I understand you require my services in solving a problem, if you’ll pardon the euphemism. So, if you’ll give me the who, where, when and how, we’ll discuss the finer details.”
“I notice you don’t require a why.”
“It helps if I don’t know. I don’t like to let emotions get in the way of a job. So, continue.”
“The where, when and how don’t matter to me. It’s the who.”
“Oh yes? Who is the who?” he asked in a curious manner.
“It’s me.” Gene was silent for a moment.
“Okaaay.” he said, “How would you like the job done?”
“However you see fit. I was thinking execution style shooting in my apartment.”
“I see.” he said gravely. “When would you like the job done?”
“As soon as you can. How about tonight?”
“No.” was the blunt reply.
“When then?”
“You’re making a very serious decision. It’s not simply a matter of changing your mind the day after. Death, if you’ll pardon the expression, is for life. I’m going to give you my card. I want you to call me back in a month, when you’ve had time to think this over. If you still want to go ahead with it, I’ll do it. Thanks for the coffee.” The suave hitman stood up and left the café. He felt a crisis of conscience brewing.
Ever since Gene Trenton was a kid, he’d wanted to be a doctor. One night in 1990, that all changed. His medical school roommate, Chris Donahue was a small time dope dealer with delusions of grandeur. A deal was going down in a dark alley beside a bar. Something must have happened to make the deal go bad, because in a split second, Donahue had shot one of the guys. The other guy- the only one that could have identified the shooter managed to run away.
Chris Donahue wasn’t the kind of guy that would survive in prison. The only way to avoid the pen was to silence the fugitive. He wasn’t cut out for dirty work either. Waking his sleeping roommate at two in the morning, he told Gene the whole story. He said there was ten grand in it if Gene would track down the escaped witness and finish him. Donahue had a rich father.
Gene was completely strapped for cash. Here was an opportunity to pay off some debts and maybe have a little left over for himself. He knew everyone’s haunts. It wasn’t long before he had tracked down his guy. After following him to the bathroom at a club, he took a kitchen knife and slit the guy’s throat from behind as he took a piss. He got out of there as fast as he could, visibly shaking. He was a rookie and he’d made rookie mistakes, but he would learn in time. No one was ever arrested for the murder of the guy in the bathroom. It seemed an easy ten grand.
Word must have gotten round through Donahue that Gene was the man to go to if you wanted someone taken out of the picture, because within a month, he had an offer of twenty grand from a lady who wanted her lover’s wife dead. It wasn’t long before Gene realised that there was more money in taking life than there was in saving it. He dropped out of medical school and invested his money in schemes abroad. It made him a very nice living and, as far as the anyone knew, it was all completely above board.
Gene was distracted by his earlier meeting with Michelle, as he sat at home in his Marin Highlands home watching an old movie. He wasn’t married. It didn’t help to be tied down in his business. All the women that he loved had were beautiful and passionate, yet each one was merely a one night fixation.
Not since the very first kill had he felt bad about a job. He thought Michelle beautiful, yet he felt somehow protective of her. The mere image of shooting her, made Gene feel sad and angry at himself. Yet, he was a contract killer and he couldn’t let feelings get in the way of his work.
But killing Michelle was not yet his work. Maybe, in a month or so it would be. He felt pity and sorrow for the girl that saw no other way to escape from her problems; a pity and sorrow that he had never felt for anyone before. Unless something happened in the mean time, this girl would come back and ask this man to end her life- a fact that made Gene wonder if there was anything he could do to stop her. Maybe if he showed her that there was still beauty and joy in life, it would make her want to live on. If he could show her that there was someone that loved her, maybe she would love back. He picked up the phone and called her.
“Is this Michelle?”
“Yes, who is this?”
“It’s Gene. Remember me? We met earlier.”
“Oh yes, of course. Have you revised your plans? Can you do the job sooner? Oh, we never spoke about cost, did we?”
“Eh, no. I wasn’t calling about that. I still won’t do the job for a month. Look, I was wondering if maybe you wanted to meet me tomorrow. We can go down to Carmel, have lunch maybe?”
“I hired you to kill me, not try to love me.”
“I know, but I did give you a month to think about it.”
“And?”
“Between now and then I’m just an ordinary guy trying to seduce a girl to have lunch with him. When the time comes, I’ll be the professional. Besides, I think I felt a real chemistry between us.”
“Oh you did, did you?” said Michelle smiling on her end of the phone. “Sure. Why not? What’s the worst that can happen?”
“Excellent. I’ll pick you up tomorrow morning about ten.”
“I can’t wait.”
Gene rang Michelle’s doorbell, just before ten..
“Good morning.” he said as she opened the door.
“Wow! Nice car,” she exclaimed, seeing Gene’s red roadster. “What is it?”
“It’s a Jaguar XKE. You like it?”
“I love it. Look at it; it’s beautiful.”
“I’m glad you think so. Will we go?”
The sensuous curves of the roadster glistened in the sun as they took the Cabrillo Highway south towards Carmel. The straight six engine purred beneath the hood that seemed to stretch further than the eye could see. All the while, Gene and Michelle sat back, the wind ruffling their hair and they talked about everything except business.
Just north of Monterey, they branched off the highway and took the seventeen mile drive along the coast road. The sea crashed gently on the rocks and beaches below and Michelle was enamoured with the gorgeous vistas over the ocean. Gene took the tight corners vigorously which gave them both a visceral thrill as the back end stepped out just a little. They passed by golf courses and mansions as they wound their way closer and closer to Carmel By The Sea.
They ate lunch in a small expensive restaurant near the beach in Carmel. Gene tried fruitlessly to persuade Michelle to have oysters. He was even paying. In the end, they both had lobster. Over a glass of wine, Michelle gazed across the table at Gene, wondering if there really was a chemistry between them. He certainly made her happy and she enjoyed being around him. Her thoughts invariably came back to Tommy. Surely no one could make her as happy as he could. She’d probably just be grateful to Gene for the good time he showed her.
“A friend of mine has a place around here. I told her we’d drop in. Do you mind?” he asked her.
“Not at all. Who is she?”
“Her name is Jane. I’ve something to ask you Michelle.”
“Shoot.”
“Would you be willing to hand over total control to me for a little while?”
“How do you mean?”
“Would you do everything I asked and let me do anything I wanted to you?” Michelle mulled the thought over. She thought of her impending demise and knew that it couldn’t hurt to let Gene take control of her, for one last little while. She never thought that he could hurt her, only give her love and tenderness. Besides, she was tired of making her own decisions. She had even chosen the restaurant. It would be a nice change to be dominated, however he might do it.
“Sure, I’ll let you.”
Gene drove to a mansion on the outskirts of town. Arriving at a pair of tall electric gates, he stepped out and spoke into the intercom on the wall. The gates parted and the car sped up the drive, arriving at a mock Georgian manor. A blonde girl of no more than twenty opened the large, heavy front door. Her lips were scarlet, her hair platinum blonde. She was dressed in a French maid’s outfit.
“Good afternoon Mr. Trenton.”
“Hello Sadie!” He gave her a peck on the cheek.
“Lady Jane isn’t here today. One of her clients from LA called her and said there was a helicopter on it’s way to pick her up. Apparently she’s needed.”
“Of course. I understand.”
“But she did say you know what to do; that you called ahead. I left the dungeon unlocked. Would you and your friend like a drink before starting?”
“No, thank you Sadie. Could you show us to the dungeon?”
The dungeon was a warm, dim, comfortable room on the second floor. This was where Lady Jane, the professional domme operated. Today though, she had given Gene free reign to do as he wished. A fire usually burned in the fireplace in winter, but this was summer and it was too hot for a fire. Various items of pleasure and pain sat all around the floor- spanking benches, St. Andrew’s Crosses and a chair with all kinds of restraints attached. Chains hung from the high ceiling, each serving any number of purposes.
“Now, remember you said that you’d do anything I said?“ Gene asked, “I want you to get naked while I fetch a couple of things.” Michelle obeyed unquestioningly. She felt turned on at the thought of what Gene might be about to do. Would he deliver the final coup de grace now? She let the red dress fall to the floor at her feet and her underwear soon followed. When he returned from the little room to the side of the dungeon, he too was naked. He placed a blindfold over her eyes and tied it at the back. Suddenly, all her senses were sharpened
“Trust me” he whispered and then nibbled gently on her earlobe. She felt a leather collar being fastened around her neck, tightly but not uncomfortably so. She was all his to do whatever he wanted with her. Putting his finger through the ring at the front of the collar, he coaxed her over to one of the spanking benches. He told her to kneel.
Michelle knelt on two soft pads, while Gene manipulated her to the position her wanted her. He held her ankles in place with the pair of leather straps on the bench. Her head and wrists rested in a pillory. He closed the top half of the pillory and Michelle heard the unmistakable click of a padlock. She was now completely immobile. Her ass pointed upwards, giving Gene plenty of access.
He felt the firm, pert rear in his hand. With a long strip of leather, he swung back and slapped Michelle firmly but tenderly across her rump. A little cry of pain was followed by a giggle and a request for him to do it again. He obliged. Each crack of the strip was harder than the last and Michelle was getting wetter with every stroke. She no longer had a care in the world because there was no longer anything else in the world; just her, Gene and the strip of leather that brought joy with each stroke.
When Gene stopped, Michelle was breathless. She felt the restraints being loosened and she begged him not to stop. He pulled her to her feet and turned her around, making her recline on the bench. This time he did not bind her ankles. He put the pillory over her neck and wrists again, this time with her face upwards. She thought the best was yet to come.
Gene left her for a couple of minutes and returned with a pair of bulldog clips and a peacock feather. As Michelle felt him approach, she knew the excitement was about to start again. Unexpectedly for her, Gene placed the clips on both her nipples.
“Owww!” came the squeal. He could see her grimace but she did not ask him to remove the clips. She gritted her teeth until she became accustomed to the pain. Gene ran the feather lightly over her breasts and pulled it between them. He worked his way down her body, teasing her with each brush over her pale, goose pimpled skin. A shiver ran through her as he brushed it over her moist pussy repeatedly.
Kneeling down, he put his head between her legs. He began a rhythmic movement with his tongue, caressing her hard clit. He enjoyed knowing what pleasure he gave her as she moaned with delight.
“Oh please fuck me now.” she shouted. Gene stopped what he was doing and whispered venomously in Michelle’s ear.
“I’m the one in charge. I’ll do it when I feel you’re ready.”
“But I am ready! I am ready!”
“For daring to question me, I think I’ll hold off a little bit longer. I think more punishment is in order.” Gene went to the equipment room and returned with a row of clips attached to a chain. He clamped her skin in three inch intervals, starting on her right thigh working his way towards her neck and across her breasts, zigzagging across her stomach and working his way back down towards her pussy, ending on her left thigh. She did not know what he was doing. The clips were painful, but not overly so.
Gene pulled her legs apart and began to penetrate her, but alas this was just another tease. He barely brushed the inside of her, just enough to drive her wilder and elicit more begging. With this, he quickly ripped the clips off in the order that he attached them. The sensation was unique. Once more, Michelle let out of playful squeal. Gene lifted the leather strip and cracked it once more across her stomach.
“Now my dear, we are ready to continue.” He removed the bulldog clips and began to massage the now sensitive nipples with his lips. Michelle began to gasp and moan once more as shots of joy ran through her body. After a while Gene stopped.
Pulling her legs apart again, he rubbed both her thighs up and down with his hands. Gene plunged his hard rod into the tight moist abyss. Michelle’s howl of ecstasy ran through the dungeon. Her body began to writhe and she tried to buck against her bindings, all the while Gene just kept pumping, bringing more pleasure to them both with each and every thrust. He managed to stop himself coming, just long enough to completely satisfy Michelle. The wait had been worth it.
Michelle’s head lay in Gene’s lap as they sat on the beach in Carmel. He stroked her hair lovingly as they watched the sun going down over the ocean in all its fiery glory. For those few hours, Michelle hadn’t thought about Tommy once. Ever since the accident, almost every waking hour had been spent thinking of him. At night, she dreamt of him. She had not been able to escape her past until now.
Gene had come along like an angel of mercy and tapped into her very soul. He touched every nerve softly and made her feel happy again. Maybe with him in her life there would be more joy and happiness. Did she now have something to live for?
“Gene?” she said in a quiet voice.
“Yeah?”
“I want to live again.” He kissed her on the lips and their tongues, like their very souls became entwined.
Okay, I'm making the first step...
Here are not many stories about suicide around, so it's surely something new. (Everytime a reviewer doesn't know where to start, he or she uses terms like "new", "different" or "interesting"...:) )
So I'm just throwing in some thoughts:
I like the melancholic-romantic atmosphere in this sentence: "To be shot on a misty morning, like a femme fatale spy was the other ending she desired."
The scene when the hitman invited Michelle to have lunch with him: has he already fallen in love with her or is he only asking to make her think over her decision?
In general: a girl weary of life falling into a BDSM-relationship due to her mixed up emotions is an interesting approach...
I presume you are referring to the scene in which he gives her a month to think about her decision. If that's the case, he had not yet fallen in love with her, but was using his professionalism to ensure that she was perfectly happy with the decision and it wasn't just a passing mood. I imagine even a hitman might feel pity for a girl that sees no other way to escape her misery, so he is not yet in love with her. Only when he thinks the decision over himself at home does he begin to feel pity and some sort of love. He invites her to lunch in Carmel so that he might try to persuade her to abandon her plans by showing her that life is still worth living. I hope that clears up that question.
"Interesting" might be one way of putting it :)
It was not the first but the second "date" that had confused me a little bit, but you cleared it now, too.
Well done! You have a well written piece with some really interesting ideas.
I can see it won't be long till I am seeing you up in level 2!
I have not read the story - I just saw it today. Due to my schedule I will not be offering any help soon. However, Viper's quote should make you think.Quote:
Originally Posted by Venom
Aussie - if that long winded prick gets to your level soon, keep him busy. His stories are too fucking long for me to read. I have no attention span.
LOL Anything for you honey!Quote:
Originally Posted by H Dean
It is always a pleasure to see my intentionaly ambiguous opening turn into something surprising and different.
Very nice romantic piece. Romantic in the original 19th Century sense, although the ending is very modern. Appropriately, melancholic, its meandering narrative in the first part of the story matches the working of her mind and her mood. The theme of atonement thought BDSM is also very interesting and gives ample space for thought.
You hitman is certainly not an ordinary one which is another highlight of the story. I have a couple of questions about him: He planned the scene if she agrees to it. He has some experience in BDSM? It seems obvious. Or was he was inspired just be her? Is he doing this only for her, on this special occasion, or is it something he practices, maybe regularly? In addition, most importanty: how does he feel about it?. Since he kills people – how does a relatively tame BDSM scene ‘ring’ in his mind? What does it mean for him? This is a Michelle’s story first of all, so going on at length on this would be a sidetrack but some of it would connect the scene with the rest of the story even more tighty.
Very well done.
Please be consistent in the formating. Some minnor comments:
Quote:
The ships in the harbour danced in the tropical heat.
She was looking at them through the narrow slit in the dungeon wall, wishing she could sail away on one of them. A heavy chain leading to her shackles declared it highly unlikely. A key rattled in the lock of the dungeon door. She hoped and prayed it was him. Tommy burst through the door and Michelle cried with relief. His bulging arms grabbed her chain and he snapped it like a twig. She was free at last. They embraced passionately their lips entangled. His long blonde hair glistened in dim light, brighter than anything else in the dungeon. It got brighter and brighter until the whiteness enveloped the whole room. Then he was gone.
Nice visual.
Michelle lay back on her bed, tears rolling down her cheeks. She had been dreaming of Tommy again. She’d had that very dream before. But, Tommy was never coming back to rescue her.
Six months before, Tommy had been riding his motorcycle in a road race when his bike left the road, smashing into a wall. Michelle was there at his bedside when they turned off the life support machine, after only a few hours. The doctors said it amazing that he had even survived that long. He and Michelle were supposed to be married that Summer. (any particluar reason for that captial?)
Wiping the tears from her face, she sat up in bed and tried to figure out what it all meant. She believed that dreams meant something. Opening the drawer of her bedside locker, her Encyclopaedia of Dreams was the first book at hand. (it is Rosemary Ellen Guiley’s book? That book goes with Mchelle’s charater and it would be a good idea to use a specific book.) She perused the book, unsuccessfully looking for elements of her dream among the well thumbed pages. Finding nothing, she threw the book to the floor and pulled the duvet ( I found the ‘duvetyn’ variant) over her head, the quilt soaking up more of her tears. Then, it came to her what it all meant.
Michelle believed that the shackles in the dream represented her grief filled life. (no need for this and you would avoid using ‘belive’ too many times.) She had become withdrawn since Tommy’s death; unable to escape her own sadness. She knew that she had to have him back. If it were impossible to bring him back, then she must go to him, for Michelle believed in an afterlife- a paradise where lovers were reunited. Michelle knew what she had to do. To be with Tommy, she had to end her own life.
Michelle Casey was twenty two and unremarkable; good looking, but not strikingly so. Her long brown hair complemented the graceful, slender figure. Long legs didn’t just give the illusion of height, she was genuinely tall. Growing up, her choice of dark clothes led many to believe she was of the Gothic persuasion. That was not so. She was just an ordinary girl, who, like so many others, felt that black was the only colour classy enough to be seen in. Michelle really wasn’t all that special.
When she smiled though, that was a different story. Michelle didn’t smile often, but when she did, it was a smile that could drive any man crazy. With that smile, they were in her power. The rarity made it all the more alluring.
Tommy, like her, was born and bred San Franciscan. They met at college where she was studying Computer Science and he, Psychology. He was her first and only love and they wanted to be together forever. They scraped together enough money for a deposit on a dingy apartment in the Mission District. It wasn’t big, but it was theirs. They were utterly devoted to each other. He took pleasure in her smile and she adored his sparkling, happy go-lucky manner.
One May afternoon, everything changed. Michelle went to watch him race his bike at a road race up in Washington State. She saw the whole accident. The images would never leave her. Her one true love had been taken from her forever. In memory of him, Michelle had worn black every day since his passing. Whenever she thought of him, she felt the pricking of tears in her eyes. All her friends said that she’d changed and that since the accident she had become relentlessly melancholic. This drove some people away, but her true friends stuck by her and would be there for her, no matter what.
Michelle quickly threw on some clothes and walked the few hundred yards down to the local hardware store. She bought a length of stout rope and went back home. Most days, she felt like wearing make-up was a waste of time, but today, she thought as she deftly applied her austere mascara, was different; today it was worth it. With a fluttering in her stomach, she slipped into the black dress that she hadn’t worn since her prom. It was simple, but elegantly so. (elegant).
Sitting on the bed, Michelle wound and tied rope into an effective hangman’s noose, according to the book about knots at her side. She took a pair of pink fluffy handcuffs from her bedroom drawer, knowing that she would probably struggle to escape from death’s iron grasp. This was something she had to follow through with. Tommy had bought them for her as a joke, but they had seen plenty of use in the bedroom.
The shower rail seemed strong enough, she thought. Standing on the edge of the bath, she tied one end of the rope tightly around the rail. After putting the noose over her head, she lifted her hair out of the way and tightened it. The handcuffs clicked behind her back and Michelle was ready to depart.
It was a big decision. She was nervous and standing there, she began to tremble. With eyes shut tightly, Michelle stepped off the edge of the bath and felt the rope grip her neck sharply.
What happened next would have been comical had it not happened in such tragic circumstances. It turned out that the shower rail hadn’t been nearly strong enough. When Michelle stepped off the bath, it collapsed almost instantly under her weight. Now, she lay in a heap on the floor, shaking and sore, but quite alive.
She could have done it another way, but hanging was the only death she had ever seen herself having. (simpler “she ever imagined’ seems better unless she is having visions) The thought of the electric chair was appealing to her too. In those brief few (few brief)moments between when the guard threw the switch and her passing out, she would feel more alive than she ever had, or ever would. It played it out in her mind a hundred times. To be shot on a misty morning, like a femme fatale spy was the other ending she desired. She didn’t see herself going out quietly. In order for her to do it right, she would have to hire someone to do it for her.
Wearing a turtleneck sweater to cover her bruised, chafed neck, Michelle sat in a quiet corner of a café near her apartment, waiting on her sister Elaine to arrive. Elaine was nearly forty. She had, in a sense, (In a sense, she had, ) been Michelle’s mentor, teaching her the ways of the world. Like Tommy, Elaine’s husband had met an untimely end. She hired a contract killer to take care of her husband, so she could collect a huge life insurance policy. He was a consummate professional, not leaving any incriminating evidence. Elaine collected her money and, the next day, she had a new Mercedes.
This all happened around a year ago. Elaine was never even considered a suspect (suspect) in the shooting of her husband, such was the skill of the hitman. She never told a soul about her involvement in the affair. Except of course Michelle; It was their shared secret.
Michelle saw a Mercedes convertible pull up in front of the café. Tossing her chestnut brown hair Elaine stepped out of the car.
“Wow, this place is great! How’d you find it?” asked Elaine in her usual hurried manner.
“I live like a block away.”
“Of course you do dear. How could I forget that?” replied Elaine incredulously.
“Never mind anyway, what did you want to talk to me about?”
“Remember you hired a guy to take care of a little problem of yours?” asked Michelle in a hushed voice, leaning over towards Elaine as she spoke. They were both on the same wavelength.
“Sure, why?”
“Can I get his number from you?”
“You need someone taken care of? Who is it?”
“I’ll tell you when the job is done.”
“See, I can’t give you his number. The way he works is, I call him and then he calls you and arranges to meet you at a location of his choosing. These guys have to be careful.”
“Can you call him for me? Ask if we can meet up.”
“No problem, I’ll go home and call him now.”
“Thanks Elaine, you’re a big help.”
“No problem kiddo. By the way, his name is Gene.”
Michelle sat at home watching the evening news. Her phone rang and she picked it up.
“Is this Michelle Casey?” asked a male voice.
“Yes, who is this?” she replied cautiously.
“Elaine told me you require my services. Can you meet me at the café that you met Elaine at earlier today?”
“How did you know where we met?” demanded Michelle defensively.
“She told me. Elaine’s a good friend of mine.”
“Ok,” she said, her fears allayed, “when should me(we) meet?”
“How’s twenty minutes from now?”
“I’ll be there.”
This whole segment (Gene calling) might not be necessary at all.
Gene was waiting in the café for her. There weren’t many people around at this time of night. She saw a handsome man, in his mid thirties sitting over an empty coffee cup.
“You’re the guy, right?” she asked him.
“I’m a guy. As to whether I’m the guy, it depends on who’s asking.”
“I’m Michelle.”
“Ah. Then I think I’m the guy.”
“Want another coffee?” Gene smiled with gratitude.
“Why thank you! That’s very sweet of you. I’m Gene by the way.”
Michelle returned after ordering the coffee. They sat and made small talk while the waitress delivered two espressos. When she left, Gene spoke.
“I understand you require my services in solving a problem, if you’ll pardon the euphemism. So, if you’ll give me the who, where, when and how, we’ll discuss the finer details.”
“I notice you don’t require a why.”
“It helps if I don’t know. I don’t like to let emotions get in the way of a job. So, continue.”
“The where, when and how don’t matter to me. It’s the who.”
“Oh yes? Who is the who?” he asked in a curious manner.
“It’s me.” Gene was silent for a moment.
“Okaaay.” he said, “How would you like the job done?”
“However you see fit. I was thinking execution style shooting in my apartment.”
“I see.” he said gravely. “When would you like the job done?”
“As soon as you can. How about tonight?”
“No.” was the blunt reply. (replied blutly?)
“When then?”
“You’re making a very serious decision. It’s not simply a matter of changing your mind the day after. Death, if you’ll pardon the expression, is for life. I’m going to give you my card. I want you to call me back in a month, when you’ve had time to think this over. If you still want to go ahead with it, I’ll do it. Thanks for the coffee.” The suave hitman stood up and left the café. He felt a crisis of conscience brewing. (is it conscience?)
Ever since Gene Trenton was a kid, he’d wanted to be a doctor. One night in 1990, that all changed. His medical school roommate, Chris Donahue was a small time dope dealer with delusions of grandeur. A deal was going down in a dark alley beside a bar. Something must have happened to make the deal go bad, because in a split second, Donahue had shot one of the guys. The other guy (space) - the only one that could have identified the shooter managed to run away.
Chris Donahue wasn’t the kind of guy that would survive in prison. The only way to avoid the pen was to silence the fugitive. He wasn’t cut out for dirty work either. Waking his sleeping roommate at two in the morning, he told Gene the whole story. He said there was ten grand in it if Gene would track down the escaped witness and finish him. Donahue had a rich father.
Gene was completely strapped for cash. Here was an opportunity to pay off some debts and maybe have a little left over for himself. He knew everyone’s haunts. It wasn’t long before he had tracked down his guy. After following him to the bathroom at a club, he took a kitchen knife and slit the guy’s throat from behind as he took a piss. (as he was taking a piss.) He got out of there as fast as he could, visibly shaking (shaking visibly) . He was a rookie and he’d made rookie mistakes, but he would learn in time. No one was ever arrested for the murder of the guy in the bathroom. It seemed an easy ten grand.
Word must have gotten round through Donahue that Gene was the man to go to if you wanted someone taken out of the picture, because within a month, he had an offer of twenty grand from a lady who wanted her lover’s wife dead. It wasn’t long before Gene realised that there was more money in taking life than there was in saving it. He dropped out of medical school and invested his money in schemes abroad. It made him a very nice living and, as far as the anyone knew, it was all completely above board.
Gene was distracted by his earlier meeting with Michelle, as he sat at home in his Marin Highlands home watching an old movie. He wasn’t married. It didn’t help to be tied down in his business. All the women that he loved had were beautiful and passionate, yet each one was merely a one night fixation.
Not since the very first kill had he felt bad about a job. He thought Michelle beautiful, yet he felt somehow protective of her. The mere image of shooting her, made Gene feel sad and angry at himself. Yet, he was a contract killer and he couldn’t let feelings get in the way of his work.
But killing Michelle was not yet his work. Maybe, in a month or so it would be. He felt pity and sorrow for the girl that saw no other way to escape from her problems; a pity and sorrow that he had never felt for anyone before. Unless something happened in the mean time (meantime) , this girl would come back and ask this man to end her life (space)- a fact that made Gene wonder if there was anything he could do to stop her. Maybe if he showed her that there was still beauty and joy in life, it would make her want to live on. If he could show her that there was someone that loved her, maybe she would love back. He picked up the phone and called her.
“Is this Michelle?”
“Yes, who is this?”
“It’s Gene. Remember me? We met earlier.” (I doubt he would need to remind her who he was.)
“Oh yes, of course. Have you revised your plans? Can you do the job sooner? Oh, we never spoke about cost, did we?”
“Eh, no. I wasn’t calling about that. I still won’t do the job for a month. Look, I was wondering if maybe you wanted to meet me tomorrow. We can go down to Carmel, have lunch maybe?”
“I hired you to kill me, not try to love me.”
“I know, but I did give you a month to think about it.”
“And?”
“Between now and then I’m just an ordinary guy trying to seduce a girl to have lunch with him. When the time comes, I’ll be the professional. Besides, I think I felt a real chemistry between us.”
“Oh you did, did you?” said Michelle smiling on her end of the phone. “Sure. Why not? What’s the worst that can happen?”
“Excellent. I’ll pick you up tomorrow morning about ten.”
“I can’t wait.”
Gene rang Michelle’s doorbell, just before ten.
“Good morning.” he said as she opened the door.
“Wow! Nice car,” she exclaimed, seeing Gene’s red roadster. “What is it?”
“It’s a Jaguar XKE. You like it?”
“I love it. Look at it; it’s beautiful.”
“I’m glad you think so. Will we go?”
The sensuous curves of the roadster glistened in the sun as they took the Cabrillo Highway south towards Carmel. The straight six engine purred beneath the hood that seemed to stretch further than the eye could see. All the while, Gene and Michelle sat back, the wind ruffling their hair and they talked about everything except business.
Just north of Monterey, they branched off the highway and took the seventeen mile drive along the coast road. The sea crashed gently on the rocks and beaches below and Michelle was enamoured with the gorgeous vistas over the ocean. Gene took the tight corners vigorously which gave them both a visceral thrill as the back end stepped out just a little. They passed by golf courses and mansions as they wound their way closer and closer to Carmel By The Sea.
They ate lunch in a small expensive restaurant near the beach in Carmel. Gene tried fruitlessly to persuade Michelle to have oysters. He was even paying. In the end, they both had lobster. Over a glass of wine, Michelle gazed across the table at Gene, wondering if there really was a chemistry between them. He certainly made her happy and she enjoyed being around him. Her thoughts invariably came back to Tommy. Surely no one could make her as happy as he could. She’d probably just be grateful to Gene for the good time he showed her.
“A friend of mine has a place around here. I told her we’d drop in. Do you mind?” he asked her.
“Not at all. Who is she?”
“Her name is Jane. I’ve something to ask you Michelle.”
“Shoot.”
“Would you be willing to hand over total control to me for a little while?”
“How do you mean?”
“Would you do everything I asked and let me do anything I wanted to you?” Michelle mulled the thought over. She thought of her impending demise and knew that it couldn’t hurt to let Gene take control of her, for one last little while. She never thought that he could hurt her, only give her love and tenderness. Besides, she was tired of making her own decisions. She had even chosen the restaurant. It would be a nice change to be dominated, however he might do it.
“Sure, I’ll let you.”
Gene drove to a mansion on the outskirts of town. Arriving at a pair of tall electric gates, he stepped out and spoke into the intercom on the wall. The gates parted and the car sped up the drive, arriving at a mock Georgian manor. A blonde girl of no more than twenty opened the large, heavy front door. Her lips were scarlet, her hair platinum blonde. She was dressed in a French maid’s outfit.
“Good afternoon Mr. Trenton.”
“Hello Sadie!” He gave her a peck on the cheek.
“Lady Jane isn’t here today. One of her clients from LA called her and said there was a helicopter on it’s way to pick her up. Apparently she’s needed.”
“Of course. I understand.”
“But she did say you know what to do; that you called ahead. I left the dungeon unlocked. Would you and your friend like a drink before starting?”
“No, thank you Sadie. Could you show us to the dungeon?”
The dungeon was a warm, dim, comfortable room on the second floor. This was where Lady Jane, the professional domme operated. Today though, she had given Gene free reign to do as he wished. A fire usually burned in the fireplace in winter, but this was summer and it was too hot for a fire. Various items of pleasure and pain sat all around the floor- spanking benches, St. Andrew’s Crosses and a chair with all kinds of restraints attached. Chains hung from the high ceiling, each serving any number of purposes.
“Now, remember you said that you’d do anything I said?“ Gene asked, “I want you to get naked while I fetch a couple of things.” Michelle obeyed unquestioningly. She felt turned on at the thought of what Gene might be about to do. Would he deliver the final coup de grace now? She let the red dress fall to the floor at her feet and her underwear soon followed. When he returned from the little room to the side of the dungeon, he too was naked. He placed a blindfold over her eyes and tied it at the back. Suddenly, all her senses were sharpened.
“Trust me” he whispered and then nibbled gently on her earlobe. She felt a leather collar being fastened around her neck, tightly but not uncomfortably so. She was all his to do whatever he wanted with her. Putting his finger through the ring at the front of the collar, he coaxed her over to one of the spanking benches. He told her to kneel.
Michelle knelt on two soft pads, while Gene manipulated her to the position her wanted her. He held her ankles in place with the pair of leather straps on the bench. Her head and wrists rested in a pillory. He closed the top half of the pillory and Michelle heard the unmistakable click of a padlock. She was now completely immobile. Her ass pointed upwards, giving Gene plenty of access.
He felt the firm, pert rear in his hand. With a long strip of leather, he swung back and slapped Michelle firmly but tenderly across her rump. (A strip of leather? A belt? It is a well-equipped dungeon – maybe he would use a more sophisticated instrument, or he has some special reason to use a strip of leather.) A little cry of pain was followed by a giggle and a request for him to do it again. (The situation is brand new to her – would she ask for more at this point?) He obliged. Each crack of the strip was harder than the last and Michelle was getting wetter with every stroke. She no longer had a care in the world because there was no longer anything else in the world; just her, Gene and the strip of leather that brought joy with each stroke.
When Gene stopped, Michelle was breathless. She felt the restraints being loosened and she begged him not to stop. He pulled her to her feet and turned her around, making her recline on the bench. This time he did not bind her ankles. He put the pillory over her neck and wrists again, this time with her face upwards. She thought the best was yet to come.
Gene left her for a couple of minutes and returned with a pair of bulldog clips and a peacock feather. As Michelle felt him approach, she knew the excitement was about to start again. Unexpectedly for her, Gene placed the clips on both her nipples.
“Owww!” came the squeal. He could see her grimace but she did not ask him to remove the clips. She gritted her teeth until she became accustomed to the pain. Gene ran the feather lightly over her breasts and pulled it between them. He worked his way down her body, teasing her with each brush over her pale, goose pimpled skin. A shiver ran through her as he brushed it over her moist pussy repeatedly.
Kneeling down, he put his head between her legs. He began a rhythmic movement with his tongue, caressing her hard clit. He enjoyed knowing what pleasure he gave her as she moaned with delight.
“Oh please fuck me now.” she shouted. Gene stopped what he was doing and whispered venomously in Michelle’s ear.
“I’m the one in charge. I’ll do it when I feel you’re ready.”
“But I am ready! I am ready!”
“For daring to question me, I think I’ll hold off a little bit longer. I think more punishment is in order.” Gene went to the equipment room and returned with a row of clips (what kind?) attached to a chain. He clamped her skin in three inch intervals, starting on her right thigh, working his way towards her neck and across her breasts, zigzagging across her stomach and working his way back down towards her pussy, ending on her left thigh. She did not know what he was doing. The clips were painful, but not overly so.
Gene pulled her legs apart and began to penetrate her, but, alas, this was just another tease. He barely brushed the inside of her, just enough to drive her wilder and elicit more begging. With this, he quickly ripped the clips off in the order that he attached them. The sensation was unique. Once more, Michelle let out of playful squeal. Gene lifted the leather strip and cracked it once more across her stomach.
“Now my dear, we are ready to continue.” He removed the bulldog clips (ah, those clips!) and began to massage the now sensitive nipples with his lips. Michelle began to gasp and moan once more as shots of joy ran through her body. After a while Gene stopped.
Pulling her legs apart again, he rubbed both her thighs up and down with his hands. Gene plunged his hard rod into the tight moist abyss. Michelle’s howl of ecstasy ran through the dungeon. Her body began to writhe and she tried to buck against her bindings, all the while Gene just kept pumping, bringing more pleasure to them both with each and every thrust. He managed to stop himself coming, just long enough to completely satisfy Michelle. The wait had been worth it.
Michelle’s head lay in Gene’s lap as they sat on the beach in Carmel. He stroked her hair lovingly as they watched the sun going down over the ocean in all its fiery glory. For those few hours, Michelle hadn’t thought about Tommy once. Ever since the accident, almost every waking hour had been spent thinking of him. At night, she dreamt of him. She had not been able to escape her past until now.
Gene had come along like an angel of mercy and tapped into her very soul. He touched every nerve softly and made her feel happy again. Maybe with him in her life there would be more joy and happiness. Did she now have something to live for?
“Gene?” she said in a quiet voice.
“Yeah?”
“I want to live again.” He kissed her on the lips and their tongues, like their very souls, became entwined.
Level 2? hmm hmmm :cool:
It is hinted that Gene’s involvement in BDSM may be through Lady Jane, the domme that he seems to be friends with. He frequents her dungeon regularly which might explain why Sadie, the maid knew at first sight. His job is simply a hitman. He’s not a hard hearted man. In fact, he’s the kind of guy that you might like to have as a friend. His claim that he and Elaine are friends isn’t some glib euphemism, they actually are friends. Outside of work, he’s a perfectly normal guy. He has hobbies which include old cars and being dominated by Lady Jane. The BDSM session with Michelle is outside of his work. It’s a personal rather than a business issue. With Lady Jane, he is usually the sub. In order to use his “best powers of persuasion”, he must be the dom in this session with Michelle.
I hope this clears up a few issues and I hope to elaborate on a few of these points in my second draft.
Regarding the formatting, the line breaks indicate a new scene. Elsewhere, I've just used simple paragraphing.
The ships in the harbour danced in the tropical heat.
She was looking at them through the narrow slit in the dungeon wall, wishing she could sail away on one of them. A heavy chain leading to her shackles declared it highly unlikely. A key rattled in the lock of the dungeon door. She hoped and prayed it was him. Tommy burst through the door and Michelle cried with relief. His bulging arms grabbed her chain and he snapped it like a twig. She was free at last. They embraced passionately their lips entangled. His long blonde hair glistened in dim light, brighter than anything else in the dungeon. It got brighter and brighter until the whiteness enveloped the whole room. Then he was gone.
Michelle lay back on her bed, tears rolling down her cheeks. She had been dreaming of Tommy again. She’d had that very dream before. But, Tommy was never coming back to rescue her.
Six months before, Tommy had been riding his motorcycle in a road race when his bike left the road, smashing into a wall. Michelle was there at his bedside when they turned off the life support machine, after only a few hours. The doctors said it amazing that he had even survived that long. He and Michelle were supposed to be married that summer.
Wiping the tears from her face, she sat up in bed and tried to figure out what it all meant. She believed that dreams meant something. Opening the drawer of her bedside locker, Rosemary Ellen Guiley’s Encyclopaedia of Dreams was the first book at hand. She perused the book, unsuccessfully looking for elements of her dream among the well thumbed pages. Finding nothing, she threw the book to the floor and pulled the duvet over her head, the quilt soaking up more of her tears. Then, it came to her what it all meant.
The shackles in the dream represented her grief filled life. She had become withdrawn since Tommy’s death; unable to escape her own sadness. She knew that she had to have him back. If it were impossible to bring him back, then she must go to him, for Michelle believed in an afterlife- a paradise where lovers were reunited. Michelle knew what she had to do. To be with Tommy, she had to end her own life.
Michelle Casey was twenty two and unremarkable; good looking, but not strikingly so. Her long brown hair complemented the graceful, slender figure. Long legs didn’t just give the illusion of height, she was genuinely tall. Growing up, her choice of dark clothes led many to believe she was of the Gothic persuasion. That was not so. She was just an ordinary girl, who, like so many others, felt that black was the only colour classy enough to be seen in. Michelle really wasn’t all that special.
When she smiled though, that was a different story. Michelle didn’t smile often, but when she did, it was a smile that could drive any man crazy. With that smile, they were in her power. The rarity made it all the more alluring.
Tommy, like her, was born and bred San Franciscan. They met at college where she was studying Computer Science and he, Psychology. He was her first and only love and they wanted to be together forever. They scraped together enough money for a deposit on a dingy apartment in the Mission District. It wasn’t big, but it was theirs. They were utterly devoted to each other. He took pleasure in her smile and she adored his sparkling, happy go-lucky manner.
One May afternoon, everything changed. Michelle went to watch him race his bike at a road race up in Washington State. She saw the whole accident. The images would never leave her. Her one true love had been taken from her forever. In memory of him, Michelle had worn black every day since his passing. Whenever she thought of him, she felt the pricking of tears in her eyes. All her friends said that she’d changed and that since the accident she had become relentlessly melancholic. This drove some people away, but her true friends stuck by her and would be there for her, no matter what.
Michelle quickly threw on some clothes and walked the few hundred yards down to the local hardware store. She bought a length of stout rope and went back home. Most days, she felt like wearing make-up was a waste of time, but today, she thought as she deftly applied her austere mascara, was different; today it was worth it. With a fluttering in her stomach, she slipped into the black dress that she hadn’t worn since her prom. It was simple, but elegant.
Sitting on the bed, Michelle wound and tied rope into an effective hangman’s noose, according to the book about knots at her side. She took a pair of pink fluffy handcuffs from her bedroom drawer, knowing that she would probably struggle to escape from death’s iron grasp. This was something she had to follow through with. Tommy had bought them for her as a joke, but they had seen plenty of use in the bedroom.
The shower rail seemed strong enough, she thought. Standing on the edge of the bath, she tied one end of the rope tightly around the rail. After putting the noose over her head, she lifted her hair out of the way and tightened it. The handcuffs clicked behind her back and Michelle was ready to depart.
It was a big decision. She was nervous and standing there, she began to tremble. With eyes shut tightly, Michelle stepped off the edge of the bath and felt the rope grip her neck sharply.
What happened next would have been comical had it not happened in such tragic circumstances. It turned out that the shower rail hadn’t been nearly strong enough. When Michelle stepped off the bath, it collapsed almost instantly under her weight. Now, she lay in a heap on the floor, shaking and sore, but quite alive.
She could have done it another way, but hanging was the only death she had ever imagined herself having. The thought of the electric chair was appealing to her too. In those few brief moments between when the guard threw the switch and her passing out, she would feel more alive than she ever had, or ever would. It played it out in her mind a hundred times. To be shot on a misty morning, like a femme fatale spy was the other ending she desired. She didn’t see herself going out quietly. In order for her to do it right, she would have to hire someone to do it for her.
Wearing a turtleneck sweater to cover her bruised, chafed neck, Michelle sat in a quiet corner of a café near her apartment, waiting on her sister Elaine to arrive. Elaine was nearly forty. In a sense, she had been Michelle’s mentor, teaching her the ways of the world. Like Tommy, Elaine’s husband had met an untimely end. She hired a contract killer to take care of her husband, so she could collect a huge life insurance policy. He was a consummate professional, not leaving any incriminating evidence. Elaine collected her money and, the next day, she had a new Mercedes.
This all happened around a year ago. Elaine was never suspect in the shooting of her husband, such was the skill of the hitman. She never told a soul about her involvement in the affair. Except of course Michelle; It was their shared secret.
Michelle saw a Mercedes convertible pull up in front of the café. Tossing her chestnut brown hair Elaine stepped out of the car.
“Wow, this place is great! How’d you find it?” asked Elaine in her usual hurried manner.
“I live like a block away.”
“Of course you do dear. How could I forget that?” replied Elaine incredulously.
“Never mind anyway, what did you want to talk to me about?”
“Remember you hired a guy to take care of a little problem of yours?” asked Michelle in a hushed voice, leaning over towards Elaine as she spoke. They were both on the same wavelength.
“Sure, why?”
“Can I get his number from you?”
“You need someone taken care of? Who is it?”
“I’ll tell you when the job is done.”
“See, I can’t give you his number. The way he works is, I call him and then he calls you and arranges to meet you at a location of his choosing. These guys have to be careful.”
“Can you call him for me? Ask if we can meet up.”
“No problem, I’ll go home and call him now.”
“Thanks Elaine, you’re a big help.”
“No problem kiddo. By the way, his name is Gene.”
Michelle sat at home watching the evening news. Her phone rang and she picked it up. It was Gene. He told her to meet him in the café down the street in twenty minutes.
Gene was waiting in the café for her. There weren’t many people around at this time of night. She saw a handsome man, in his mid thirties sitting over an empty coffee cup.
“You’re the guy, right?” she asked him.
“I’m a guy. As to whether I’m the guy, it depends on who’s asking.”
“I’m Michelle.”
“Ah. Then I think I’m the guy.”
“Want another coffee?” Gene smiled with gratitude.
“Why thank you! That’s very sweet of you. I’m Gene by the way.”
Michelle returned after ordering the coffee. They sat and made small talk while the waitress delivered two espressos. When she left, Gene spoke.
“I understand you require my services in solving a problem, if you’ll pardon the euphemism. So, if you’ll give me the who, where, when and how, we’ll discuss the finer details.”
“I notice you don’t require a why.”
“It helps if I don’t know. I don’t like to let emotions get in the way of a job. So, continue.”
“The where, when and how don’t matter to me. It’s the who.”
“Oh yes? Who is the who?” he asked in a curious manner.
“It’s me.” Gene was silent for a moment.
“Okaaay.” he said, “How would you like the job done?”
“However you see fit. I was thinking execution style shooting in my apartment.”
“I see.” he said gravely. “When would you like the job done?”
“As soon as you can. How about tonight?”
“No.” he replied bluntly
“When then?”
“You’re making a very serious decision. It’s not simply a matter of changing your mind the day after. Death, if you’ll pardon the expression, is for life. I’m going to give you my card. I want you to call me back in a month, when you’ve had time to think this over. If you still want to go ahead with it, I’ll do it. Thanks for the coffee.” The suave hitman stood up and left the café. He felt a crisis of conscience brewing. Maybe it was something more.
Ever since Gene Trenton was a kid, he’d wanted to be a doctor. One night in 1990, that all changed. His medical school roommate, Chris Donahue was a small time dope dealer with delusions of grandeur. A deal was going down in a dark alley beside a bar. Something must have happened to make the deal go bad, because in a split second, Donahue had shot one of the guys. The other guy - the only one that could have identified the shooter managed to run away.
Chris Donahue wasn’t the kind of guy that would survive in prison. The only way to avoid the pen was to silence the fugitive. He wasn’t cut out for dirty work either. Waking his sleeping roommate at two in the morning, he told Gene the whole story. He said there was ten grand in it if Gene would track down the escaped witness and finish him. Donahue had a rich father.
Gene was completely strapped for cash. Here was an opportunity to pay off some debts and maybe have a little left over for himself. He knew everyone’s haunts. It wasn’t long before he had tracked down his guy. After following him to the bathroom at a club, he took a kitchen knife and slit the guy’s throat from behind as he was taking a piss. He got out of there as fast as he could, shaking visibly . He was a rookie and he’d made rookie mistakes, but he would learn in time. No one was ever arrested for the murder of the guy in the bathroom. It seemed an easy ten grand.
Word must have gotten round through Donahue that Gene was the man to go to if you wanted someone taken out of the picture, because within a month, he had an offer of twenty grand from a lady who wanted her lover’s wife dead. It wasn’t long before Gene realised that there was more money in taking life than there was in saving it. He dropped out of medical school and invested his money in schemes abroad. It made him a very nice living and, as far as the anyone knew, it was all completely above board.
He separated his professional and his private life well. No one could ever guess upon meeting him that Gene was a hitman. He was the kind of guy that at first seems cold and aloof. Once people got to know him though, they discovered his warm side. Everyone that knew Gene liked him. He was funny and a good listener. In short, he was the kind of guy you wanted to be friends with.
Gene was distracted by his earlier meeting with Michelle, as he sat at home in his Marin Highlands home watching an old movie. He wasn’t married. It didn’t help to be tied down in his business. All the women that he loved had were beautiful and passionate, yet each one was merely a one night fixation.
Not since the very first kill had he felt bad about a job. He thought Michelle beautiful, yet he felt somehow protective of her. The mere image of shooting her, made Gene feel sad and angry at himself. Yet, he was a contract killer and he couldn’t let feelings get in the way of his work.
But killing Michelle was not yet his work. Maybe, in a month or so it would be. He felt pity and sorrow for the girl that saw no other way to escape from her problems; a pity and sorrow that he had never felt for anyone before. Unless something happened in the meantime, this girl would come back and ask this man to end her life - a fact that made Gene wonder if there was anything he could do to stop her. Maybe if he showed her that there was still beauty and joy in life, it would make her want to live on. If he could show her that there was someone that loved her, maybe she would love back. He picked up the phone and called her.
“Is this Michelle?”
“Yes, who is this?”
“It’s Gene.”
“Oh. Have you revised your plans? Can you do the job sooner? Oh, we never spoke about cost, did we?”
“Eh, no. I wasn’t calling about that. I still won’t do the job for a month. Look, I was wondering if maybe you wanted to meet me tomorrow. We can go down to Carmel, have lunch maybe?”
“I hired you to kill me, not try to love me.”
“I know, but I did give you a month to think about it.”
“And?”
“Between now and then I’m just an ordinary guy trying to seduce a girl to have lunch with him. When the time comes, I’ll be the professional. Besides, I think I felt a real chemistry between us.”
“Oh you did, did you?” said Michelle smiling on her end of the phone. “Sure. Why not? What’s the worst that can happen?”
“Excellent. I’ll pick you up tomorrow morning about ten.”
“I can’t wait.” she said with a touch of sarcasm.
Gene rang Michelle’s doorbell, just before ten.
“Good morning.” he said as she opened the door.
“Wow! Nice car,” she exclaimed, seeing Gene’s red roadster. “What is it?”
“It’s a Jaguar XKE. You like it?”
“I love it. Look at it; it’s beautiful.”
“I’m glad you think so. It’s something of a hobby of mine. Will we go?”
The sensuous curves of the roadster glistened in the sun as they took the Cabrillo Highway south towards Carmel. The straight six engine purred beneath the hood that seemed to stretch further than the eye could see. All the while, Gene and Michelle sat back, the wind ruffling their hair and they talked about everything except business.
Just north of Monterey, they branched off the highway and took the seventeen mile drive along the coast road. The sea crashed gently on the rocks and beaches below and Michelle was enamoured with the gorgeous vistas over the ocean. Gene took the tight corners vigorously which gave them both a visceral thrill as the back end stepped out just a little. They passed by golf courses and mansions as they wound their way closer and closer to Carmel By The Sea.
They ate lunch in a small expensive restaurant near the beach in Carmel. Gene tried fruitlessly to persuade Michelle to have oysters. He was even paying. In the end, they both had lobster. Over a glass of wine, Michelle gazed across the table at Gene, wondering if there really was a chemistry between them. He certainly made her happy and she enjoyed being around him. Her thoughts invariably came back to Tommy. Surely no one could make her as happy as he could. She’d probably just be grateful to Gene for the good time he showed her.
“A friend of mine has a place around here. I told her we’d drop in. Do you mind?” he asked her.
“Not at all. Who is she?”
“Her name is Jane. I’ve something to ask you Michelle.”
“Shoot.”
“Would you be willing to hand over total control to me for a little while?”
“How do you mean?”
“Would you do everything I asked and let me do anything I wanted to you?” Michelle mulled the thought over. She thought of her impending demise and knew that it couldn’t hurt to let Gene take control of her, for one last little while. She never thought that he could hurt her, only give her love and tenderness. Besides, she was tired of making her own decisions. She had even chosen the restaurant. It would be a nice change to be dominated, however he might do it.
“Sure, I’ll let you.”
Gene drove to a mansion on the outskirts of town. Arriving at a pair of tall electric gates, he stepped out and spoke into the intercom on the wall. The gates parted and the car sped up the drive, arriving at a mock Georgian manor. A blonde girl of no more than twenty opened the large, heavy front door. Her lips were scarlet, her hair platinum blonde. She was dressed in a French maid’s outfit. Gene knew the girl well. He had been attending Lady Jane’s dungeon every month for a couple of years now. Lady Jane liked to dominate him for he was prepared to do anything she wished. She loved to inflict pain on his toned, muscular body, knowing that with each electric shock, each slap in the face, she brought joy to her favourite client. It was just one more of Gene’s hobbies.
“Good afternoon Mr. Trenton.”
“Hello Sadie!” He gave her a peck on the cheek.
“Lady Jane isn’t here today. One of her clients from LA called her and said there was a helicopter on it’s way to pick her up. Apparently she’s needed.”
“Of course. I understand.”
“But she did say you know what to do; that you called ahead. I left the dungeon unlocked. Would you and your friend like a drink before starting?”
“No, thank you Sadie. Could you show us to the dungeon?”
The dungeon was a warm, dim, comfortable room on the second floor. This was where Lady Jane operated. The room was comfortingly familiar to Gene. Today though, she had given him free reign to do as he wished. A fire usually burned in the fireplace in winter, but this was summer and it was too hot for a fire. Various items of pleasure and pain sat all around the floor- spanking benches, St. Andrew’s Crosses and a chair with all kinds of restraints attached. Chains hung from the high ceiling, each serving any number of purposes.
“Now, remember you said that you’d do anything I said?“ Gene asked, “I want you to get naked while I fetch a couple of things.” Michelle obeyed unquestioningly. She felt turned on at the thought of what Gene might be about to do. Would he deliver the final coup de grace now? She let the red dress fall to the floor at her feet and her underwear soon followed. When he returned from the little room to the side of the dungeon, he too was naked. He placed a blindfold over her eyes and tied it at the back. Suddenly, all her senses were sharpened.
“Trust me” he whispered and then nibbled gently on her earlobe. She felt a leather collar being fastened around her neck, tightly but not uncomfortably so. She was all his to do whatever he wanted with her. Putting his finger through the ring at the front of the collar, he coaxed her over to one of the spanking benches. He told her to kneel.
Michelle knelt on two soft pads, while Gene manipulated her to the position her wanted her. He held her ankles in place with the pair of leather straps on the bench. Her head and wrists rested in a pillory. He closed the top half of the pillory and Michelle heard the unmistakable click of a padlock. She was now completely immobile. Her ass pointed upwards, giving Gene plenty of access.
He felt the firm, pert rear in his hand. With a short riding crop, he swung back and slapped Michelle firmly but tenderly across her rump. A little cry of pain was followed by a giggle. He did it again. Each crack of the crop was harder than the last and Michelle was getting wetter with every stroke. She no longer had a care in the world because there was no longer anything else in the world; just her, Gene and the strip of leather that brought joy with each stroke.
When Gene stopped, Michelle was breathless. She felt the restraints being loosened and she begged him not to stop. He pulled her to her feet and turned her around, making her recline on the bench. This time he did not bind her ankles. He put the pillory over her neck and wrists again, this time with her face upwards. She thought the best was yet to come.
Gene left her for a couple of minutes and returned with a pair of bulldog clips and a peacock feather. As Michelle felt him approach, she knew the excitement was about to start again. Unexpectedly for her, Gene placed the clips on both her nipples.
“Owww!” came the squeal. He could see her grimace but she did not ask him to remove the clips. She gritted her teeth until she became accustomed to the pain. Gene ran the feather lightly over her breasts and pulled it between them. He worked his way down her body, teasing her with each brush over her pale, goose pimpled skin. A shiver ran through her as he brushed it over her moist pussy repeatedly.
Kneeling down, he put his head between her legs. He began a rhythmic movement with his tongue, caressing her hard clit. He enjoyed knowing what pleasure he gave her as she moaned with delight.
“Oh please fuck me now.” she shouted. Gene stopped what he was doing and whispered venomously in Michelle’s ear.
“I’m the one in charge. I’ll do it when I feel you’re ready.”
“But I am ready! I am ready!”
“For daring to question me, I think I’ll hold off a little bit longer. I think more punishment is in order.” Gene went to the equipment room and returned with a row of bulldog clips attached to a chain. He clamped her skin in three inch intervals, starting on her right thigh, working his way towards her neck and across her breasts, zigzagging across her stomach and working his way back down towards her pussy, ending on her left thigh. She did not know what he was doing. The clips were painful, but not overly so.
Gene pulled her legs apart and began to penetrate her, but, alas, this was just another tease. He barely brushed the inside of her, just enough to drive her wilder and elicit more begging. With this, he quickly ripped the clips off in the order that he attached them. The sensation was unique. Once more, Michelle let out of playful squeal. Gene lifted the riding crop and cracked it once more across her stomach.
“Now my dear, we are ready to continue.” He removed the bulldog clips and began to massage the now sensitive nipples with his lips. Michelle began to gasp and moan once more as shots of joy ran through her body. After a while Gene stopped.
Pulling her legs apart again, he rubbed both her thighs up and down with his hands. Gene plunged his hard rod into the tight moist abyss. Michelle’s howl of ecstasy ran through the dungeon. Her body began to writhe and she tried to buck against her bindings, all the while Gene just kept pumping, bringing more pleasure to them both with each and every thrust. He managed to stop himself coming, just long enough to completely satisfy Michelle. The wait had been worth it.
Michelle’s head lay in Gene’s lap as they sat on the beach in Carmel. He stroked her hair lovingly as they watched the sun going down over the ocean in all its fiery glory. For those few hours, Michelle hadn’t thought about Tommy once. Ever since the accident, almost every waking hour had been spent thinking of him. At night, she dreamt of him. She had not been able to escape her past until now.
Gene had come along like an angel of mercy and tapped into her very soul. He touched every nerve softly and made her feel happy again. Maybe with him in her life there would be more joy and happiness. Did she now have something to live for?
“Gene?” she said in a quiet voice.
“Yeah?”
“I want to live again.” He kissed her on the lips and their tongues, like their very souls, became entwined.
This is definitely a better story now. Introduction of Sadie creates a smoother transition to the main scene. There could be more nip picking, but you got the essence and that is what matters.
You are ready for Level two. Up you go.:) Hey, Aussiegirl, here he comes.:icon176:
Quote:
Originally Posted by pejanon
Thanks, it has been very quiet in level 2 for the past few weeks. I look forward to having Horatio keep me company for a while! lol