The Murdered World 12 (Patreon)

Thick brocades covered the walls, giving fine maroon and white tones to the classic red and gray of bricks and mortar. The dying sunlight flooded the diamond-paned windows, making them seem like fonts of color from which the rest of the room flowed.

Frank set a handful of plastique behind a Breguet sympathique clock on the mantel.

“Hey, what are you doing?” a man demanded, coming down the stairs.

This Cubano held traces of Mestizo in his face. His skin was dark, his brown hair so thick it was reddish. His bristling goatee matched his overfull lips, rendering the expressions on his mouth far more exuberant than his small, beady eyes with their poker player’s glare.

Frank resisted the urge to snatch his hands back, instead giving the clock a small adjustment. “It was off-center. That kinda thing drives me nuts.”

“Oh yeah?” the man looked over Frank’s coveralls. “What are you, the cable guy? There’s no TV in here. What are you doing here?”

“Looking for a snafu in the electrical system. Something that would derail your internet connection.”

“Yeah, Idel,” Reinaldo said, deferential enough that Frank figured this man had to be a step above him in the organization. “He’s just trying to get the internet working again.”

“Yeah? Why hasn’t he checked the router?”

“Our system shows the router is fine,” Frank answered glibly, like he had no reason to be nervous—something the cocaine in his system wasn’t helping him with.

He felt sweat rolling down his brow, but it wasn’t anxiety, it was anticipation. A part of him dearly wanted this Idel to blow his cover and give Frank an excuse to tear his head off.

But that would be the end of his campaign against crime, without even claiming Angel as a last trophy. No matter how many henchmen he killed, it would be nothing to the big man but a cleaning bill.

“Your system, huh?” Idel persisted. “If your system knows enough about the router to say it’s fine, why can’t we get fucking Netflix?”

Frank sighed. It wasn’t hard to pretend to be a long-suffering blue-collar worker, afflicted by the unreasonable demands of his privileged clients. He just had to recall some of the officers he’d served under.

“Look, if you want me to check the router, I’ll check the router, but you’ve probably already rebooted it, because that’s the first thing the geniuses at the call center tell everyone to do. If I’m here, it’s not the router. So I can waste time finding out what it isn’t or find out what the problem is.”

Idel ignored him, wheeling on Reinaldo. “Has this cabron just been roaming around here, free as a goose?”

“I’ve been with him!” Reinaldo protested. “He’s not gonna swipe anything, he knows this is Angel Mercador’s place.”

“Oh, he does?” Idel looked Frank over, scrutinizing his face, clearly running it through his mental Rolodex to see if any bells rang. “You call the cable company, you double-check with them that this is their guy?”

“The cable company called us, they said it was this guy or maybe we wait all week for a repairman.”

“Call them,” Idel told Reinaldo.

Frank reached behind himself. First thing he’d done, walking into the room, was clock where the fireplace poker was. Now he confirmed its location, blindly touching the handle with his index finger. He could have it up and swinging into this asshole’s head at a moment’s notice.

“Can I keep trouble-shooting this while you make sure I’m really a cable guy or do you wanna pay me to just sit here for a while?”

The other man sneered, about to say something when his radio crackled. “Hey, Idel, you in the east wing?”

Idel slid his walkie-talkie out of his jacket pocket. “What is it, Marcos?”

“You got your binos?”

“What is it?”

“Just look. There’s a boat, not even a mile out… you gotta see this!”

Idel set his walkie-talkie aside and drew a set of pocket binoculars out. “Reinaldo, watch him,” he ordered.

“I’ve been watching him,” Reinaldo groused as Idel went to the window, looking out over the water with his binoculars held to his eyes…

“Mi madre!”

***

Now sliding a hand underneath her panties, Lucy playfully petted the curls of her pubic hair. It was soft, as sweet to the touch as the hair growing from her scalp, but it was its nearness to her slot that made her loved playing with it. Reverberations of her touch seemed to tremble their way to her sex, as though those delicate hairs were vibrating antennae, picking up the lust in her hand for her own pleasure.

But as luscious as it felt, Lucy didn’t play with herself long. Not that way. She was excited now. She needed more than the tremulous foreplay of being teased. No, she needed to be satisfied, as Frank had done after he’d ripped away her bikini to get at the offerings of her body. And her satisfaction was waiting for her in her clit—she could feel it throbbing.

She settled her fingertip onto her erect clit and pressed down until her pelvic bone rose up and pressured her clit as well, allowing it to give her nothing but all-encompassing delight.

“Oh! Yes!” she sobbed as the first artillery shell landed, a jolt of pleasure that reminded her of the head of Frank’s cock lodging inside her. Lucy wanted the rest now—the entire unbearable mass fucking its way inside her, until her orgasm tore its way out of her and left her close to fainting.

She had never masturbated to such a point before, but now she knew it was possible.

Lucy knew she couldn’t, but she had to try and give herself the ecstasy Frank had.

***

“Pinche puta,” Idel continued, leaning forward until his binoculars almost touched the window glass. “The little slut’s pleasuring herself right out on the deck!”

“Que?” Reinaldo gasped, turning his head so fast Frank was surprised it didn’t unscrew.

“Si, look for yourself! You have your binoculars?”

Reinaldo patted his pockets, just in case. “Why would I have binoculars, I work the door… wait!” He took out his phone, opened the camera, and ran up to the window to hold it up. Zooming in on the boat Idel was focused on until he could at least see a grainy approximation of what Idel was seeing.

Frank glanced at the phone’s screen. He’d grown familiar enough with Lucy’s body to recognize it, even as a mass of pixels. Good girl: she’d managed to distract the guards. Always a good add to an infiltration.

Surreptitiously he picked up the plastique from the mantel and moved it to the inside of the fireplace, on the other side of the facing where it’d be invisible to anyone but a chimney sweep. It might be set off if someone started a fire in the fireplace—he would just have to chance that no one did that between now and when he made his raid.

That done, he strolled up to the two voyeurs. Reinaldo noticed him.

“You seeing this?” he asked, shaking his phone.

“Yeah. Good shit. You mind if I finish up here? I’ve got some pussy to get to myself once I’m clocked out. Better to lick it than to look at it, right?”

Idel elbowed Reinaldo in the ribs. “Go with him, get this internet shit sorted out, then get him outta here.”

“Ay, come on,” Reinaldo whined. “Look at her, man!”

“You got your phone out, perezoso, take a picture! You can look at that when you’re done.”

“Ostras!” Reinaldo breathed gently. “At least let me take a video.”

“I could take a piss if you need a minute,” Frank said.

Idel nodded absently. He pointed without looking: “Shitter’s over there. But get back here quick, okay?”

“Yeah,” Frank grunted, and went to the bathroom, where all he left was a pound of plastique stuck under the tank lid.

***

With a twist of her hips, Lucy began rubbing her palm at her clit, frictioning it into the same kind of forceful rapture that Frank would demand for her. Her bottoms were long since kicked away and her top was still on, but could barely contain her heaving breasts. She started squeezing the tender button between two fingers, using the fingers of the other hand to rub her pussy.

Pinching herself that way, so harshly it verged on pain, she twisted and turned and pulled until the feeling was almost too intense for her, swollen too big to fit inside her. She didn’t know how much it hurt or how good it felt, only that it felt so good and hurt so much.

With her pleasure almost at its pinnacle, regardless of the pain she was giving herself alongside it, Lucy darted her middle finger into her sex. It was nowhere near as much as Frank would fuck her with, but at least it was in her. She couldn’t take going without anything in her pussy a moment longer.

“Fuck me, Frank!” she wailed softly as her finger tripped in and out of her sex, grinding the heel of her hand into her clit as she diddled herself. Her hips spiked up of their own accord, like her body wanted even more of her finger than her mind had decided to give me. “Fuck me, yes, please, please… Frank!”

Her pussy squeezed tight around her finger and as though to work herself against that yearning tightness, like it was a sex toy instead of part of her body, Lucy arched her back, her breasts straining in their far-too small top. Her eyes shut even tighter.

White-hot heat was streaming from her pussy, pushing out all along the curves of her hips like Frank’s hands had done as he ate her out. Then her folds electrified, sucking with real hunger at her own finger. As though to reassure her of the delicious thrills Frank would know when he was inside her.

Always Lucy jerked as she orgasmed, screaming out the wet fire within her before it could tear right through her. Now, though, she struggled to control her body, her rapturous enjoyment. She wanted to save it for Frank. When he fucked her, then she would let loose like the Devil himself was inside her.

She slumped down as her climax dimmed, finger still inside her sex, feeling how it pulsed as it slowed down from the rushing convulsions of her crescendo. Lucy enjoyed knowing how Frank would feel after he’d made her come—as she cooled and yet still worked to sate him in the afterglow. He would end up addicted to her, with any luck. As per usual, her finger and most of her palm was drenched with how aroused she’d been.

Lucy stared at her wet hands. For years she’d been drawn to her own taste, but her curiosity had never been satiated. She always backed down at the last moment, going from total debauchery to just a bit of taboo naughtiness.

Now, though, thinking of that glistening moisture as a mix of herself and Frank, she brought her fingers close to her face. She sniffed them and there definitely seemed something distinctly him intertwined with her own scent. This was usually the moment when she’d lose her nerve.

She didn’t lose it now.

Lucy whimpered. Then, as if to shut herself up, she pushed her finger into her mouth. Her tongue shot against it fast, racing her hesitant mind, tasting the wetness before she could think better of it.

The cream was warm. It tasted supple, sweet. With another whimper, this one muffled around her finger, Lucy shut her lips tight around the digit and sucked on it.

Her. And Frank. His taste thick on it from invading the core of her, where she’d just barely touched with one finger. Guilt and shame flushed her cheeks, but she didn’t stop.

This was how his cock would taste after it had been inside her.

Her face grew hotter.

Lucy sucked harder.