textfiles/sex/EROTICA/A/acidrain.txt

"Acid Rain"
by Frank T. Gilson

     I pulled up to the curb and switched off my car, just as it
started to rain. I'd listened to the morning news so I had made
sure to put on my environment suit before leaving the Federal
Building.  As the auto-valet pulled my car into the hotel's car
storage area, I climbed the short flight of stairs.  The annoying,
but necessary rinse off over, I removed the suit and went over to
the check-in desk.
     "Clean skies to you, sir. How may I assist you?"
     The clerk attempted to hide a cough behind a gloved hand as
I looked him over.  I flashed him my ID and badge.
     "I need to know what room Dana Maris is staying in and
whether or not she has received any calls or messages since
yesterday afternoon."
     As the clerk called up the relevant data on his terminal, I
checked the screen's reflection in the polished marble wall behind
him. I was unsure whether she was still in her room.
     "She's in room 4005. No messages since yesterday, but she
did receive one phone call at nine P.M. last night."
     He had neglected to add that the call lasted only 30 seconds
or that she had made three calls of approximately 45 seconds each
immediately afterwards. The 'client present' flag was blinking, so
unless Dana had unusual pull with the hotel, she should be up
there.
     "Thanks. I'm now going to go up to her room. Don't signal
her or you will be in violation of federal law. Don't call anyone
she may have told you to."
    The clerk looked nervous and coughed again. I gave him that
stern, commanding look they tell you to use.  It never works so
I slipped him 50 dollars.
     The elevator had an attendant, in keeping with the expensive
room rates. I told him to take me to the 40th floor. The hum of the
elevator was almost inaudible and it accelerated and decelerated
smoothly. The doors slid open and I left to find room 5.
     After a foyer of the same marble as the lobby desk, a long
hall with nine doors stretched out before me. With four doors to
either side, any reasonable numbering sequence would put hers at
the end. One sane numbering sequence later, I was facing her door.
I knocked, not using the palm plate signal. I didn't want her to
know who it was, yet.
     I could almost imagine the click of her heels as she walked
towards the door. I could almost smell whatever perfume she would
be wearing. I unfortunately was not prepared for the door to snap
open and a taser to be jabbed in my gut. Brief flashes of black
stiletto heels and an expensive Chanel perfume stabbed into my mind
as I collapsed to the floor. My head hit the doorframe, my
consciousness left with my breakfast.

     A swirl of pain and blurred vision greeted my return to
to the waking world. I could taste vomit, and blood from a split,
swollen lip. It felt as though I was on a soft surface, like a bed.
My wrists and ankles testified that I was tied down. As the visual
details of my surroundings sorted themselves out, my conjectures
about ties and a bed proved true. Since the decor matched the
hotel's, I surmised the bedroom to be the one in room 4005. I
couldn't have been out longer than about 30 minutes, judging from
the state of the cut on my lip.
     "Ms. Maris, I assume you are still here. I must inform you
that assaulting a federal agent is punishable by imprisonment and
forced reeducation."
     She walked in from the living room, a smile on her face, a
glass of wine in her hand.
     "You aren't in a position to arrest me. My previous crimes,
which I assume brought you here, outweigh this little one. I'm
afraid I would be in for more than reeducation."
     She wore a tight, leather dress. It ended quite a bit above
the knee. Her color appeared to be black, from hair to eyes, from
dress to stockings to heels. That damn Chanel scent only helped to
drive home her beauty.
     "Then I assume you intend to leave me here and make good your
escape?"
     She laughed. I hate that. It means they've got something they
want to do to you. She walked around the bed, to the left side, and
brushed some of my hair from my forehead with her hand.
     "Isn't that a nasty bump you have? I hope you don't mind the
pain. I enjoyed using the taser on you. In answer to your question,
I intend to enjoy myself. I intend to enjoy you."
     On the bedside table I could see my gun in its holster. She
opened one of the drawers and removed one of those new
plasti-knives. They can score steel plate. They cut flesh like
butter. Dana then proceeded to cut my clothing from my body. What
she intended to do finally percolated through my pain fogged mind.
     "Rape? Are you trying to compensate for an oppressive father?
failed relationships?" The sarcasm evoked a frown from her. "But
tell me one thing. Will you kill me afterwards?"
     "Psychoanalyzing me won't work, Mr. Federal Agent Man. I may
kill you, or I may not. If it feels very, very good, I could let
you live."
     Testing my bonds, I felt that the left bedpost, securing my
left wrist, was somewhat loose. Dana had finished cutting the
clothes from me. She stood up and unzipped her leather dress,
letting it fall to the floor. It was tough not to get a raging hard
on at the sight of her nearly naked body. Taut, toned muscle
revealed itself, dispelling any mystery of how she had carried me
to the bed. She wasn't wearing a bra, or panties. Just a garter
belt to hold up her stockings. As she reached down to unhook one,
I spoke, figuring I should play along.
     "Don't. I'll like it better if you leave them on. Please?"
     She gave me a suspicious look, but left the stockings on. The
bed was long enough for her to kneel between my legs. She lowered
her head to my cock, her hair cascading about my thighs and
stomach. Taking the head of me into her mouth, she caressed it with
her tongue. Any thought of holding back, any attempt at resistance,
melted away. A stone cold corpse's limp prick would have stood at
attention for her.
     Satisfied at my reaction and my hardness, she left the bed to
return to the table. Out of that same drawer came a little jar of
lubricant. I was confused, surely -she- could get wet enough. Dana
got back on the bed, straddling my thighs. She applied a thick coat
of the lube to my cock. Then, one hand behind her aiming me, the
other supporting her weight, she took me into her ass. She just sat
right down and took the length of me inside her with one stroke. To
my surprise, my erection didn't shrink. If it could have gotten
harder, it would have.
     Bringing the hand she'd used to aim me around to her front,
she plunged a finger into her pussy. Then two fingers, then three.
Her thumb buzzed her clit like an angry insect. She slid up, then
down, up, then down, her short strokes insuring I didn't fall out.
Driven by what I was feeling, by the warm, soft walls of her ass
around my cock, I began to thrust up to meet her, to move away when
she did. Retaining something of my rational self, I also began to
pull at my bonds in time to our movements.
     Her motion got faster. Her lips pulled back from clenched
teeth. She shuddered, eyes fluttering, and threw herself forward,
nails raking my chest, and bit my split lip, tasting my blood.
     "Don't worry dear, don't worry. Ohhhh, we're almost finished,
almost."
     I'd slipped out of her, but she didn't seem to care. Her
concern was wholly for her own pleasure, not mine. She was stealing
it from me, bit by bit. She knelt over my abdomen, on leg to either
side, and slid a finger up her ass. She pinched one of my nipples
with her other hand and rubbed her pussy against me. She stopped
and looked me in the eyes.
     "Are you a good little pussy eater? Hmmmmm? Maybe if you eat
me real good you can live."
     I didn't feel much like eating pussy, with the remains of
vomited breakfast and blood still in my mouth, but I resolved to
eat her like no one had before. She moved, on her knees, towards my
mouth. She took the bed's headboard in both hands, and kneeling in
front of my tied-back arms, pushed her pussy into my face. The
salty-sweet wetness of her stung my wound. I took one of her pussy
lips between my teeth, gently nipping her. She convulsed and she
moaned. My tongue took on a life of its own, tasting her, licking
her. I went as deep in her as I could, licking, using my lips on
hers. Her hips bucked against my face and her juices flowed freely
down my chin, dripping onto my chest.
     "Ohhhhhhhhhhhhh, Ohhhhhhhhhh, Yes, yes yes yes. So good."
     My tongue left, for the moment, the depths of her, to move its
attentions to her clit. At that change of targets, her hands moved
from headboard to head, fingers entwining in my hair. I licked her
clit, I sucked it, I nibbled it. I flattened my upper lip against
my teeth and rubbed that clit as I again tongued her insides.
Almost a river of cum poured out of her. She shuddered, back
arched, eyes closed.
     "I've, I've really never.. Ohhh.. never had it.. Mmmm.. quite
so good."
     Dana got up and moved back down between my legs.
     "My, my, the federal agent's penis is still hard. I can't let
that condition continue."
     She again straddled me, but this time a little farther back
than before. She rose up over me, and with one hand guided herself
onto me. Slowly she took me into her pussy, torturously inching
herself down, until finally, I was hilted inside her.
     "Ahhhhhhhh. You've been in my mouth... in my ass... I'll bet
this is better. Yessss."
     And it was better. It was like her pussy was made to fit me.
Her ass had been tight, her pussy wasn't, but it wasn't loose
either. She continued in long, slow strokes, absentmindedly playing
with her clit and one breast. I felt a pressure building within me.
My breathing quickened, I pushed up to meet her downstrokes. She
sensed I was going to cum and slowed.
     "Not yet, Mmmmmmm... I, I... Ohhhhhhh! I'm not ready.. not
yet..."
     Even over my orgasm she maintained control, not letting me cum
until she was finished. She leaned forward, over me, and while
continuing to work her clit with one hand, used the other to pinch
and twist my nipples and scratch my chest. She was barely moving on
me, using a circular movement of her hips. I pulled on my bonds in
time with her motions. I could feel the bedpost my left wrist was
tied to weakening, loosening.
     "You've been... Oh!... good. Ahhhhh. I.. Oh!.., I have.. I'll
have to kill you... Oh!.. anyway, sorry. Ohhhhhhhhhhhh!"
     Her nails ripped furrows in my flesh as her body straightened,
back arched, shaking. As I came, flooding her, matching her orgasm
with mine, I ripped the left bedpost and thus my arm, free. I threw
myself forward, flipping her off me and onto the floor. The gun on
the bedside table beckoned. I answered its call. She recovered
almost instantly, the plasti-knife in her hand. I brought the gun
around to cover her.
     "Don't do it, Dana. Your life is still worth something, no
matter your crimes."
     She hesitated, I'll give her that, but in the end, with animal
fury, she flung herself at me. I fired the gun into her, I fired
again. Her arm, outstretched with knife in hand, hit me first, the
knife opening a shallow gash from belly to shoulder. She wasn't
moving, just laying on top of me, not breathing. As our blood
mixed, I lost consciousness again.