Getting Head
#1 of Chris Bridges, Twilite Cop
This story is somewhere in the middle of a larger tale. If you find things are too unexplained, you might have a look at the back and forestory here: http://foofus.com/cgi-bin/wiki/wiki?Twilite On with it.
Getting Head
- * * * * * Copious splatters of the warm, pungent fluid soiled her face, glittering prettily beneath the rapid flicker of frost blue light. "Aw fuck," Chris' beastly face scrunched into a grimace. He got up and hastily found some paper towels to soak up the coffee which was making a mocha-colored marsh of the messy heaps of old documents and candy wrappers and other, empty mugs strewn across his desk whirlwindishly. He dropped a few squares of absorbant upon the puddle forming as the accident spilt over the edge and mopped it about with his boot, as he frantically shoved the helpless papers out of harms way. "Why the hell do they use paper anyway," he vaguely grumbled in the back of his mind as he held the picture in his paw, wiping the stains from her face. Victim #5. Serial number 395304-388046-772990. She was gorgeous when she was alive, he lamented. But there was no tombstone to etch upon, or tears shed by loved ones at her funeral on a cool autumn afternoon. Forgotten. He dropped heavily back into his chair, rubbing his weary, bloodshot eyes before drawing his attention across the office. Pictures of ghastly, horribly mutilated bodies, faces, apartments, sharp and bloodied objects, a birds eye view of New Aurora City, scatterplotted with thumbtacks and notes. But the dreary and increasingly sleep deprived dreadnaught could not seem to draw the line of regression, the dots refusing to connect. He opened the book, the format and binding disquietingly resembled a child's picture book from kindergarten. Though no child could have committed such horrifying acts. Chris cringed mildly as he browsed through it again, unconsciously avoiding touching the pages as much as possible, as if they would somehow soil his fingers and infect. Intestines ripped out and wrapped around body from shoulders to ankles. Victim's arms removed and skinned, bones of arms missing. Lungs sliced open, heart removed and replaced. The corpses appeared to be toys, dolls with which Severin entertained himself and created his art. Death as art - thanatology, yes, as Alexandre would say. Thrill killer, definitely, Chris classified. Collages: an image of Jesus with a flaming red swastika tatooed into his forehead. A picture of crutches in one corner and in the other corner a picture of cough syrup with the words "Exterminator" etched at the bottom. Ah. Heavily oppressive, religious upbringing, overbearing parents, the works. "You cannont understand my variation of skin Chameleon's efforts to reduce the gates of hell Satan is by far the kindest beast" Definitely. The monitor flickered as his machine drank in the data from the observation device that he'd used in Severin's apartment, archaic text whirred up the screen like rewinding credits, and slowly, the machine filtered out the useful data. Digital versions of those soiled faces laying on Chris' desk popped up like playing cards, one at a time as their amino acid patterns left on the cutting implements matched those in the city's database, the previous 3 victims, just as expected, the fingerprints registering with Chris' new obsession. His heavy lidded eyes twitched, narrowing, just the faintest beginnings of a wild grin touching his lips. But aside from interests and some murky generalities, Chris could not get down to anything substantial. "Who are you, Kyle?" the words echoed through his mind as that green spectre with the long ebon hair remained vivid at the front, and continued to elude the frustrated ASA. The scattered pictures, the lost documents, the crime scenes, the dots on the map, the neon data... it all started to bleed together and swirl into a cyclone of chaotic thought and frustration, and he could feel the dull pain pounding in his big overworked head. He leant back and tried to rub away the ever increasing exhaustion away again. He looked up. 1:05. Shit. He'd been working on the case for 16 hours straight. Cracking his neck, the bull-morph got up for another dose or 2 of caffeine. Stripped of the heavy leather duster down to a white undershirt and boxers, Chris' body was an Atlas of outlandishly massive, rippling proportions, the thick russet mane and strong jawline giving him a faint resemblance to the Beast from "The Beauty and". One hand poured another cup as the other held the cell phone that played back the beckonings of the outside world to his ear, that he'd switched off for almost the whole day. "Chris, hey. Boss wants to see you tomorrow, we're doing a sweep of that warehouse down on Hattan. Take it easy man, don't kill yourself in there. Later" BEEP "Ever wanted to increase your size? Now, with Nanomed's groundbreaking advances in nanotechnology, you can easily and safely increase the size of your penis 3-5 inches or more in a matter of minut-CLICK" BEEP "Hey asshole," a small, heavenly voice, that Chris knew all too well, was like an angel's hand, holding the dagger of her words, stabbing gently the poisoned tip into his heart. He closed his eyes and held his forehead in his fingertips, lowering his head as he slunk against a wall of death as his daughter twisted it. "I need my guitar back, it's lying around in your living room I think, so if you can drop it off before World War 4, that'd be nice. Even though you probably won't even get this message since you've got that long fucking list of 'more important stuff to do'. Just to keep you up with current events, Johnny's joined the Fangs, and will probably get himself killed shortly. God... And you wonder why mom left you? You're fucking pathetic, you know that? Chris? Fucking pathetic." Chris stifled and suppressed the stinging surge of tears welling up in his bloodshot, dark ringed, sleep deprived eyes. A raging snarl exploded from Officer Bridges, "Hey, fuck you, FUCK YOU, you unappreciative little shit!!" throbbing veins stood out on his forehead and arms as he blasted back at the voice, thrusting an accusing finger out at nothing. "-I- payed for that fucking guitar, and the lessons, and your education, and the fucking hospital bill when you baked that underdeveloped brain of yours with the heroine, and the rehab when you decided to starve yourself into a fucking Nazi camp survivor. You think it's easy making a decent living to give your kids a chance to survive in this cutthroat wasteland? You're so fucking smart, why don't you give it a try?" and with that, the metal and plastic shattered between the steely vice of Chris' clenching fingers. "Shit.." Chris' massive barrel chest heaved as the blood slowed and cooled in his veins. "Where did I go wrong?" Chris gave a slow shake of his head. He fished the family picture from among the miscellaneous faces. Daddy, mommy, holding brother and sister after a happy, blue skyed day at Disney Universe under the rollercoasters. A wistful smile breezed over the weary beast... how long had it been now... a month? two? He never realized how much he needed them, his wife, her touch, until now, cooped up in this maddening, stuffy room. He put it away, and his mind began to sprout thoughts of Severin, and the investigation. But this was not working. 1:05, jeez... I gotta get outta this office... 105... "...one of them little studios around the bend here, #105 I think it was. Yeah" sang that husky, breathy voice in his head. "I've got to get inside Severin's head" Chris decided firmly. Though, "I've got to get head," slipped Freudily from his lips, he didn't even notice. "I'll walk in his path... see how he works..." as subconsciously he saw those big jiggling hills, and that tired, lovely face, and those long, luscious legs... and he felt the a renewed gust of heat wash over him. He threw a coat on and left. Chris recalled his research as he strolled down Cwelan... The first phase - The Fantasy. The desire to kill emerges, though remains locked within the mind. He pondered what might cause this, be it trauma, neglect, media influence, pornography, something had to go dreadfully wrong in the inner workings of the human consciousness. The second phase - The Hunt. Choosing the "perfect" victim, location. The ever increasing level of technology, and ever decreasing level of privacy allowed by the countless monitoring systems throughout the city made finding the victim in the right place and right time exceedingly difficult. But the advances of technology were always skewed by social status. The underground was minimally policed, seeing as how people are weighed by their economic status in the modern age. Yes, a great degree of freedom from the Eye of Justice was available in the underworld. And so back into hell it was. Though the purpose was more foggy this time. Just like the air, putrid and cancerous as he remembered it. Chris strode swiftly through the Asylum, sifting through the shit-hole for his estrogen oasis; racing past the old mage and the babblers and the sinister gazes and the trash can fires, no time to stop and smell the roses....no, he needed to smell his Violet. And there she was, standing in that same spot. A single, glossy indigo nail was raised in the direction of a couple men wandering past: a jive for them to go fuck themselves, seeing as how whatever they'd done resulted in them not having it done by her, "fuckers" she cursed in a whisper. Turning back around, she was greeted with an equally tired looking 300 pounds of dense male, letting out a quiet, startled gasp before looking up to the face on top. A warm, sultry smile pulled back over those succulent purple lips as she gazed into those deep hazel eyes, well, she seemed happy to see him, "Hey, you again. Chris. was it?" He gave a nod as he drank of her presence... that voice, that flowery lavender decorating her natural aroma... that face... there was something oddly almost familiar about her but he couldn't quite put his finger on it... though he could certainly do with putting his fingers on a great many other things. His pointed-tip digits twitched at the thought as he felt the initial dizzyness and then a flux in the Heat coursing. At the front of his mind though, he still held to the intention of picking her up simply to try and operate as Severin would, think his thoughts. "Yeah. Violet right?" he tried, though the imprint of his last encounter had left him certain. She nodded, "so what brings you down to this shit-hole? You ever catch that bastard you were looking for?" Chris grinned with a silent chuckle as she'd used the same fond term he'd been thinking. "Nope, still working on it. He's a slippery one." He hesitated then, for a moment. He was quite certain she dealt in pleasures of the flesh, and he'd known many in his time, yet, he couldn't quite figure out just how to ask a woman to "come have sex with me for money". Though it was all a part of his job (as he justified quickly), the whole idea of it was slightly repulsive to him. He was also recovering from the recent divorce, and there was a natural feeling of guilt. His enflamed Id quickly spoke up for him, "So... I'm looking to 'relax' a little, been a long night. Know anywhere I could blow off some steam?" he lowed, in his smooth, cello-like voice, his eyelids sinking slightly in a piercing gaze of suggestion. Her long lashes fluttered open, and he could've sworn he'd heard a faint squeal as she returned the look. "Mmmmm... yeah, I think I can help you out." Her eyes narrowed to lusty cocoa crescents, letting her soft pink tongue slide across the moist cleft between those pouty lips, as though charming a snake. They started back out of the asylum, she held him hotly entranced by the sensual wiggling of her firm, cream colored ass globes, bobbing rythmically up and down beneath the illegally short silver miniskirt, delectably curvy thighs flexing with each click of her black heels against the cement. Peeking from between those thighs, her purple lace panties were pressed out by the plump, peach-shaped bulge of her womanly treasure, and her means of getting by in the cutthroat wasteland. lush auburn sheets of hair flouncing against her shoulders in counterpoint to the bounce and jostle of her melon sized breasts within the straining confines of her pvc halter. The apartment was fairly nice, royal compared to any hole in the wall beneath the dirtwalk. A few articles of furniture, a few magazines, a fridge, it was pretty tidy, mostly cause Chris spent a negligible amount of time in his "home away from work". Dust was collecting. Violet turned to face him, once overing his immense, virile frame with an approving grin. "Just so you know, I have a flat rate of 500 an hour, anything goes." She took a slow steps forward, closing the distance. He quickly undid his coat, sliding it off the mountainous layers of muscle of his back; wide, boulderish shoulders rising and falling like ocean swells increasing in magnitude, spurred on by his ever ascending lust. Fleeting thoughts of his wife lingered in the background of his flaming desire. He shoved them further aside, "She's gone now." he told himself, and signed the deed as he sunk his tongue through those beautiful violet lips, monstrous hands cradled her back and neck as her slender fingers slipped beneath the thin cotton of his shirt, sliding over the hot, rippling hills and valleys of machismality, drawing the stretched shirt over his head. She tasted exquisite. He drank her essence as a man dying of thirst, for a good 2 months now, and it tasted that much better as he lapped the dew from the pink satin leaf of her tongue, murrs of delight fluttering up from deep in her chest... her chest... monstrous hands paulsied with sexual excitement fumbled madly for the zipper, finally managing their goal after several tries. Her huge breasts swung free; ponderously fat, creamy upthrust churchbells, the soft pillows mashing against his thick pecs, large pink nipples branding his chest. He put his fingers on them, filling his hungry hands with her abundance of mammary excitement, feeling it squish lewdly through the cracks between his digits, gasping at how they nearly overflowed even hands of his size as she gasped in pleasure. He left her lips to brush his eyebrows and forehead as he kissed down her chin, her sweet swanly neck, his lips sinking deeper and deeper as he reached her breasts, then lapped sensually at the hardened juts of her nipples, each eliciting a breathy woman moan to float to the ceiling. The big bull sat on the edge of the bed, causing it to dip a good deal beneath his great weight. They exchanged carnal looks as she knelt between his legs with a surprising eagerness, eyes locked on the heavy-duty looking package the Officer was packing in his boxers, wafting the intoxicatingly heady musk coming from his crotch. Chris leant back on one arm, his other running his fingers through her lush tawny locks, watching the gleaming specularity run up and down beneath the warm lighting. She giggled playfully, grabbing his ass as she drew his drawers down, grinning devilishly as his semi-hard, and indeed proportionately large penis flopped out over heavy, furry balls appearing massively swollen with weeks worth of semen, parked between his thighs, the muscles coiled together like taut steel cables. Damn... it had been longer than he thought, he actually blushed a little. "Oh my..." she whispered to it as she leant forward, squishing her breasts into the canyon between his inner thighs. She cupped and gently kneaded his big shifterly nuts, drawing her long nails at first along the underbelly of his thick shaft, tickling. The alien sensation tingled through his heated body igniting a soft, pleasured grunt, and she nuzzled her cheek against his inflating cockhead kinkilly, revelling in its heat and steady pulsation. As he reached a full, massive erection, she finally arced his shaft up, the gaping cum slit winking back at his face as she traced with her tongue tip over the intricate network of thick, throbbing veins then swirled the flat pad of that warm, silky tongue along the sweet spot just below the tip. Chris' face screwed up in an ecstatic wince, groaning as his anus tightened and a plentiful gush of heavy cream burbled out of his cock and drizzled down the sides, splatters of the warm, pungent fluid glistening pretilly across her face. She mewled like a kitten and lapped up his salty sweet confection with ardour before finally applying a lingering kiss to the head, tonguing his pisshole eagerly for all the precum she could get, then finally let her lips descend down his cock. Holy fuck she was good. She was exceptional. It was the best fucking head he'd ever had in his life, beautiful sensations he'd never felt, dormant neurons connected, hidden nerves lit - she fanned the slow burning coals within the moist, velvetty confines of her mouth and tongue as he ensnared his hand in her hair, rapt, bloodshot eyes watching her head bob diligntly over his 9, bloated inches of meat, hummmmming over them. And her throat.... he groaned in pleasant surprise as she suddenly burried her nose into his pelvis, her swan neck bulging as she swallowed heavily, repeatedly over his glans, fingers massaging his balls, dancing over the sensitive area behind his sac, playing the big sleep and sex deprived man like a concert pianist, his hips bucking to her face to her tempo. He had to be inside her, though. With -great- reluctance, he gently drew her tired, lovely face off of his crotch, her serenely content looking face glistening with his pre as she licked her lips. A dark stain had spread across the near entire front of her magenta panties, the thick petals of her womanly flower clearly visible, engorged, ready. Her steaming pheromone spiked his brain drunk as he peeled them down her hips. He held her hot gaze as she hovered her puffy vulva over his wagging fuckpole, the throbbing organs seemed to enflame greater as they sensed one another's presence. Shegrasped it with one hand to steady it as he held a round butt cheek in each hand, helping to guide her. Harmonic moans resounded as she sat slowly on his lap, her flower blossoming lusciously around his shaft. Wrapping her arms about his neck, she began a slow, intimate bouncing, his strong arms doing most of the work, her breasts smushing against his blissed face. She seemed to be just as if not more talented with her vagina, her inner muscles powerful and adroit, the hot, tight flesh rippling over his length as it repeatedly bulldozed her so deeply, he could feel himself bumping her cervical ring, which seemed to drive her mad, letting out high pitched, wanton "unh! unf! uh! uhuh!". They did the billion year old dance, his hips thrusted back, grinding wet pelvises together to the beat of wantonly slapping thighs, holding a good medium pace, just letting those slow burning coals glow. God damn, this was great. But he returned what he could manage of his sex-clouded thoughts to Phase 3 - The Kill. The moment of ecstasy. Once lured to a place of apparent safety, the fantasy becomes reality. Torture, mutilation, necrophilia, perhaps in Severin's case, the sheer excitement, dismemberment certainly. They changed to doggy, nearly mid thrust, he wrapped a hand in her hair again, pulling back, riding her. The other hand gripping her waist, pumping her, breeding her from behind. And between waves of endorphins he considered how he might do it... with a knife? No... too messy. Drugs perhaps. Strangling... Through sex glazed eyes he gazed down at his whore, at that graceful ivory neck, exposed vulnerably as her auburn tresses were pulled up by his hand. How easy, how simple it would be, to do it, to deny her of her life giving breath, and watch, as she panniced in terror, convulsing slowly into the cold embrace of death, to prey upon her. It could have been the lack of sleep, the lack of sex, the investigations, the sleeping regions of his psyche newly awaken, or some combination thereof, did it really matter? But as the artificial thoughts swirled through the primal ecstasy stew permeating his mind and body, as the beast mated this beautiful creature, somehow, they seemed to become real. The thought of taking her life as he took her became mind-shatteringly arousing, a new chemical seemed to triple the pleasure he already felt, the new sensation was decidedly different from anything before, this was searing, raging, reptilian almost, it seemed to set him on fire. He fucked her with an incredible want and urgency, pounding his thighs into her jiggling rump at a frantic pace, several strokes per second, and he heard her ascending wails of pleasure crescendo rapidly, the animalistic fervor of his pistoning drove her quickly sprawling into orgasmic spasms, he could feel her insides vice, her honey flow, her sex milking, wanting his sperm. He hadn't even noticed the hand holding her hair release it, drifting down the nape of her neck... those thick fingers enclosing slowly about the silken skin, taut over her windpipe as her head arched for the cieling on cloud nine, feeling the vibration of her rapt screams in her voicebox... He squeezed. Suddenly, forcefully, ruthlessly, silencing the siren of her ecstasy, replaced with the desperate cough and gag, her eyes flashed open in true terror, small hands uselessly clawing at Chris' iron deathgrip, his other massive arm wrapped her waist as her legs kicked and flailed like a fish out of water, and that feared caged animal was released, he jackhammered her at inhuman speed, tremorous feral growl-roars bellowing out between clenched hunters teeth grinding the very enamel away, sabre fangs glinting, till at last he felt the coital warmth spread - but it was scalding in it's utterly unprecedented intensity this time, as the concentrated, raging flames licked then devoured his groin and belly, searing every fiber of his being in the furious bonfire of this new and indescribably awesome yet terrifying kind of climax. As he extinguished her, the sweltering ocean pent up for so many womanless nights exploded with a prodigious power unlike any before, the molten sheets of seed blasting in waves, the reproductive vulcan of heady sterling-ivory overflowing her, squirting in half-second pulses from betwixt her trembling thighs as she came again, just before her struggles ceased, her body growing limp as the river flowed into and back out of her. For several moments, he could not distinguish what he was doing from what he might have done, what he thought from what he had acted out, though almost instantly after his orgasm subsided, he came to a full, horrifying realization of what he had indeed done, the waves of pleasure replaced by waves of disgust and fear, and more horror, at himself, how he could have done such things, more importantly, how he could have felt so wonderful doing them. He flipped her over. "I'm not a killer. I'm not a killer!!" he yelled at himself, trying to bury those abhorrent animalistic sensations and urges, lock them away, stifle the demons. These were not his, he denied, as his softening shaft slipped from her creamed sex. "Violet!" He screamed, cringing at the red and blue bruises painting her neck in the shape of his fingers, her mouth agape, eyes rolled away into her skull... he leant over her mouth... thank god, she was still breathing, if faintly. He covered her mouth in his to help her along, till she began coughing and wheezing... "What... what happened?" He smiled in great relief, as she was alive and alright. "Jeez, I musta cum so hard I passed out.. you're a real animal you know that!" He chuckled gallows laughter. Despite the incident, and the sex for money, he thought he liked her, as juvenile as it felt. Maybe he could help her out of her situation? Lift her out of the hell she'd fallen into, for whatever reason, get her a job. "Heh... you're a damned tigress yourself. Say, could I get your number?" His head didn't hurt anymore.