Introduction:
Club Fatale, Pt. 4
Chapter Six – Enter Devon
I woke in the morning, my cock still inside Enya’s warm pussy. It was so tight that I could feel myself harden immediately.
I pulled out and rolled the girl onto her back. I quickly straddled her head and fucked her face until I got off. She moaned the whole time and I sprayed my jizm all over her youthful features.
Rolling off of her, I pulled my pants on and walked into the living room.
I stopped short. In the living room was Emmanuelle, seated on a sofa. With her was an unfamiliar dark-haired woman, sitting beside her. Jana knelt a few feet away: her eyes wet with tears.
“Emmanuelle?” I said, surprised. “Good morning! I didn’t hear you come in. Who’s your friend?”
She took a deep breath.
“I have some bad news. I’m afraid that Karina won’t be returning to you, Evan,” Emmanuelle said. Her voice was flat and slightly rushed. I could tell that she was trying to get some unpleasant business out of the way as quickly as possible. “The Commodore sends his regrets and a suitable replacement for your loss.”
She gestured.
The brunette beside her stood and I checked her out: long legs, large breasts on a slender frame. She was an older lady, perhaps Emmanuelle’s age, but still a very fine specimen. Beautiful features. Blue eyes. If older, she was clearly superior to Jana’s sister. A Grade-AA, unless I missed the mark.
“So,” I said. “The old dog went and offed her, did he? Or did he just not feel like returning her to me?”
“Things got a little out of hand, last night,” Emmanuelle said. “I apologize and offer my sincerest regrets for any inconvenience, Evan. I… You have to understand that these things happen from time to time.”
I realized that she was scared.
“What’s wrong, Emma?” I asked. “An accident like this hardly justifies such discomfort on your part.”
“She’s upset,” Enya said, as she emerged from my bedroom, “because according to the rules of conduct set down by father, you now have the opportunity to claim redress for grievances against him…”
“And that means?” I prompted.
“My life is yours, Evan,” Enya finished. “Your property has been destroyed by another. You now have the opportunity to use me as you see fit. You can do anything you wish to me and not even father can interfere.”
I felt a sudden thrill run through me. It wasn’t every day that a beautiful young woman informed you of something like that. I saw Jana sobbing on her knees: grieving over her sister. I looked at Emmanuelle waiting with bated breath. I stared at Enya: seemingly unafraid of what might come.
“It’s alright, Emma,” I said. “I don’t blame you or hold any grudges against the Commodore. Enya will return with you.”
Emmanuelle smiled, relieved. The tension ran off of her.
My attention was already turning to the brunette. “What’s your name, sweet thing?” I asked.
“Devon,” was the answer.
“Devon what?” I pressed.
“We don’t often tell our family names here, master,” the brunette said. She had a curious accent: part English, part something I couldn’t identify. “I am Devon: your woman. That is all that is important…”
I nodded. That much was true. “Inform the Commodore that I accept his gift, Emmanuelle, and thank him. There will be much pleasure in this one.”
I stared at Devon. Her return smile rivaled one of Emmanuelle’s.
Emmanuelle broke out into a grin and spoke. “I’ll take my leave, now. And thank you for taking care of Enya, Evan. I’ve rarely seen her so… satisfied.”
“We had good times,” I said.
Enya and I shared one last look before she left.
“Until next time, Evan,” the mother said. And the old Emmanuelle was back. I could see the sultry look in her Dresden-blue eyes. Whatever problem had been between us before, she had gotten over it.
“Until later, my dear.”
I watched Emmanuelle leave with Enya. Then I turned to my new acquisition.
“On your back,” I said.
Pushing Devon’s dress up, I entered her and took her upon my couch. I fucked her mightily for over an hour before coming in her pussy and leaving her spent. Afterwards, I went to seek out Angelique.
Chapter Seven – The Mistress of Snuff
The first day of snuff class came.
Mistress Angelique was my instructor. At five-foot-eight and a hundred and twenty pounds, she was a knockout with a dazzling figure. Raven-black hair curled about her muscular shoulders and mischievous blue eyes sparkled beneath dark, furrowed brows. She wore a tight corset of a lacy black that contained bulging breasts; black stockings that sheathed her toned, athletic legs.
Angelique had a riding crop and she used it like someone out of a fetish movie.
Behind her were three bound women: a blonde, a brunette and a redhead.
“Mr. Evan Anderson,” Mistress Angelique began. “You are here because you wish to know of the art form called snuff.”
I opened my mouth. The crop cracked me across the buttocks.
“That was a statement,” she said. “Do not speak until you are asked a question.”
I closed my mouth.
“Snuffing is an art form of unbelievable antiquity and lineage,” the dark-haired goddess said with conviction. “It was passed down from father to son through ancient days: unbroken, unsullied. It was hidden away from the eyes of mortal men, practiced by wicked priests, mighty kings and gods that walked among men. From ancient Egypt, Persia, Greece and Rome to the dark ages of medieval Europe, through the middle ages and the renaissance, it was performed in dark corners and secluded places. On the nights of Samhain and Imbolc, Beltane and Lughnasagh, Celtic bards would snuff the daughters of nobles and kings upon their pagan altars, slicing their throats with golden sickles and ejaculating onto the dying girls’ faces. According to their code, Viking raiders were required to fuck to death the first woman they captured every season, while her female kin were forced to stand by and watch. At wartime, the Samurai warriors and lords of feudal Japan would assemble every day to take the most beautiful peasant girl from their enemy’s lands and, together in a circle, drown her in gallons of their sperm…”
She stopped and I stared at her. Despite myself, I was growing intrigued by Angelique’s lecture.
“You wish to ask a question, Mr. Anderson?”
I shook my head.
“Then on to business,” she said.
“Firstly, Mr. Anderson,” Mistress Angelique continued. “If you are to become a full and respected member of Club Fatale, then you must have a first-class, working knowledge of the tools of the trade.”
Angelique rounded me, dragging the tip of her crop across my shoulders like a harsh caress; her lips close, her voice soft.
“There are three main implements of torture involved in the art of snuffing: the garrote, the knife and the whip…”
Angelique’s delicate hands pulled aside a tablecloth to reveal several examples of said implements: knives of every shape and size, garrotes of wire, silk and old fashioned rope and several whips, some barbed, some knotted, some made of the finest silk. Those would sting the greatest of all.
“There are three main devices of execution involved in the art of snuffing: the gallows, the guillotine and the pool…”
Angelique gestured to the far side of the room and the lights rose. There was a full length gallows with a long rope and a trapdoor, a monstrous guillotine with a shining, razor-sharp blade and a full tank of water just the right size and height for sinking a girl and drowning her in its icy-cold depths.
“But, more importantly, there is one main tool involved in the art of snuffing…”
With a thwack of her riding crop she smacked my cock.
“It is right there between your legs: the world’s most magnificent creation. It is the cock which gives you the ability to be the greatest artist. It is the cock that defines you, that drives you, that feeds your lust for destruction. And if there is one truism that I have learned in my lifetime, it is that man is the ultimate destroyer…”
She looked up at me. “Choose,” she said.
“Choose what?” I asked.
Angelique glared at me and gestured to the three bound women.
“Why, which one will die, of course,” she said. “All three of these women before you deserve that and nothing less. Not because of their crimes to this Club, nor by their economic fates that put them in such a tenuous position. No. They deserve their fates because of the virtue of their sex. They are women. What use is there for them but to please men? Always in life, even in dying.”
She turned and studied the three and I did as well.
“First we have Brittany: age 38, blonde hair, blue eyes, housewife from Kansas City. She was acquired when her husband sold her to a brothel while out of the country. She has proven incapable of following the rules as expected and must be disciplined and terminated. She has quite a chest on her and would scream long and hard as she expired.”
“Second is Mona: age 23, red hair, dark eyes, business student from Italy. She was kidnapped specifically for a Club member, but he tired of her and her rebellious streak. She has proven too difficult to train and tame. She is athletic and, so far, has been adept at surviving suffering. But she cannot last forever and it would be such a thrill and a challenge to break her.”
“Third is Natalie: age 31, black hair, brown eyes, a common whore from Russia. We purchased her from the Russian mafia for a mere thousand dollars. That was six years ago and she has proven herself quite the survivor. She was scheduled for snuffing once before, but she survived the ordeal and, in the process, made twenty men come.”
She turned to me: “Housewife, student or whore; which will it be?”
I met the eyes of each female in turn, weighing the possibilities. Angelique watched me decide.
“I want them all,” I said.
“Ah! I see that you are indeed a man of uncommon depth and desires,” the brunette mistress said. She stepped up to the blonde. “This one first, then,” she said. “How do you wish to do her, Master Evan? A fast snuffing or a slow one?”
“I want to know everything,” I said. “Teach me everything.”
The brunette mistress proceeded to teach me. First the whip. Mistress Angelique showed me how to place a blow upon the flesh for simple play or for maximum pain and maximum damage. Over several hours we used nothing but the whip upon the blonde. Brittany screamed and only when her screams rose to an intensity that Angelique approved of did the Mistress allow me to enter her. I fucked the blonde housewife from behind, pulled her head back, strangling her with my whip, and came inside her.
“Should I strangle her to death, mistress?” I asked.
“Now, Master Evan, where is the fun in the that?” she chided me. “The thrill of the kill must be savored.”
I released the blonde. She gasped desperately.
Angelique took up a second whip and together we scourged Brittany’s body into a bloody mess: back, thighs, stomach and breasts. A blow from Angelique struck the blonde’s sensitive pussy, making her cry out in abject pain. My next blow caught her across the face, nearly taking out her eye. The next drew a jagged red welt across her breasts. And so on and so on, until she was hanging limp and half dead.
“She’s finished, Master Evan,” Angelique told me. “Get behind her and enter her.”
I did as instructed. My iron cock went in smooth and tight. She was so ready for me. I started moving inside her. She moaned listlessly.
Angelique took a knife from the table: a long, straight medieval blade.
“Pull her head back,” she said.
I did, by the hair.
Angelique struck, slashing the blade across Brittany’s throat. Blood sprayed and the blonde cried out in indescribable agony.
“Pull back, harder!” Angelique cried. “And fuck her dying body, Master!”
A gout of crimson shot forth and coated Angelique. The brunette mistress pulled her corset down and bathed her breasts in Brittany’s blood. I humped the blonde with wild abandon, thrusting deep and hard. Brittany gurgled and convulsed for nearly a minute, spraying blood from her torn throat as she expired.
Angelique leaned forward, over Brittany’s shoulder and our lips met. We kissed, enflamed, and I rose. My cock slid from the dead pussy.
“That was the first kill I ever participated in,” I said, voice impassioned.
“Then fuck me in her blood!” Angelique said, desperately.
I threw the black-clad mistress to the floor in the pool of Brittany’s blood and swiftly mounted her. I fucked her deeply, my cock harder than I had ever remembered it. We panted together, like two predators after a hunt and a kill. Beneath me, she writhed in the crimson pool. She came, convulsing, on my cock. Crying out, I came as well, sending my burning semen deep into my delicious mistress.
“Take me to the beach and fuck me again,” she said. “Our training is done for the day. Leave this slut’s corpse to hang.”
I did as she asked. I fucked her in the sand before the ocean, coming inside her for a second time. The afternoon passed into night. We spoke like lovers and I found my attraction to her growing exponentially.
When midnight came, I took her to my beach house. Together we used Jana and Devon, hurting them for our mutual satisfaction and pleasure. While Devon licked Angelique’s pussy, I strangled Jana until she passed out. Angelique got behind Devon and caught her in a sleeper hold. As I fucked Jana’s pussy, I watched my dark angel choke the elder brunette beauty to unconsciousness.
We fucked for hours upon their unconscious bodies.
I rose in the morning.
My cock was as hard as an iron bar. Angelique’s firm fingers wrapped around it and she jacked me slowly.
“You need release, master…” Her eyes flicked to Jana. “Take her. She’s prime meat.”
I felt a raging fire rise in me. I wanted her, badly. I sat up and moved to straddle the blonde girl’s head. Jana woke as my cock pressed past her lips. Deeply, I throated her. Angelique held her head as I did, watching me with beautiful, blinking eyes. I fucked deeper and harder, punishing the girl.
It wasn’t long before I was ready to come.
Angelique moved to get behind me, straddling Jana’s chest. Her warm pussy pressed into my butt; her hips moved with mine. Whatever I felt, fucking Jana’s face, it was like she was feeling it along with me. “Take her, Evan… Now, here with me,” Angelique cooed softly into my ear. Her delicate chin rested lightly on my shoulder. “Make her the first… your first… our first, together…” She nibbled at my ear.
I knew that she meant it. I had never gone all the way. I wanted to. I wanted to do it with her. I wanted to make her proud of me.
I thrust my cock down Jana’s throat for the last time. Jana struggled upon me, realizing that this was the end. It was impossible for her to breathe with me sitting on her chest, cock buried in her throat. She couldn’t escape.
“Watch her Evan,” Angelique whispered to me. “Watch her while you take her, while you destroy her life. Even now, she clings to it. She wants to live. That is the beauty of snuff, my sweet. You hold sooo much power over her: ultimate power. There she goes… there she goes… just about…”
“NOW!” Angelique hissed. “COME DOWN HER THROAT, EVAN!”
The tightness of Jana’s throat and the arousal of her coming demise were too much. I cried out and came.
“Oh, yes!” Angelique said into my ear. “Oh, god! Look at her, baby! Look at her FUCKING DYING UPON your cock!”
Together, we watched as Jana drowned in my come. Angelique’s chin was on my shoulder and she watched in silence as I took my first kill.
I turned my head to kiss her.
“How did that feel, lover?” she asked.
“Indescribable. I’m glad that I could share it with you, my love,” I said.
My gaze turned down and alighted upon Devon. The brunette Brit had watched us the whole time without saying a word.
“See how she watches you,” Angelique said in my ear. “So patiently. She knows that it will be her, the next time. She knows that it will be you who ends her this way…”
I looked into Devon’s eyes and imagined her last moments while Angelique kissed my neck and shoulders…
The next day was the same. And the next. Three days passed and still we did not advance past the whip. Angelique set me about working upon Mona. It was only when I could draw a howl from the young redhead without marking her skin that Angelique agreed to continue to the next stage.
The day after that, Angelique taught me the secrets of the knife. Standing close to me, whispering sexily into my ear, she showed me the arts of pain and torture with the blade and how they could transform into pleasure. Mona screamed at first, and for several days, but eventually her cries turned to howls of indescribable pleasure as I learned to cut and thrust with precision.
Every once in a while, at least once a day, the Commodore would come by and watch. He seemed very intrigued about what we were doing. At times, I heard him muttering to himself, saying that I had promise, that I could be the one.
The one what, he never said.
People began talking about me; my intensity, my dedication, my concentration. I took little heed of them, lost as I was in my quest for perfection and my desire for Angelique.
My feelings for the dark-haired vixen grew by leaps and bounds. I knew that I had met a kindred spirit in her. When darkness fell, we would fuck on the sandy beach, teasing each other with pain or pleasure until the hours took us into the more erotic confines of my bedroom. During those erotic nights, I made long, lasting love to her and wished it would never end.
When we desired excitement, we would walk along the beach where the new girls were brought to be raped and snuffed. We would drink together while I received a blowjob from Sophia, the tanned Caribbean bartender. We sampled the cuisine prepared by Sonya, the Commodore’s personal chef.
We even dined with the Commodore and Emmanuelle on Bonfire Night, drinking thousand-dollar wine over generous cuts of finely cooked Patricia.
Jacob delivered the redheaded Cameron to me, as he had promised: my prize for unknowingly helping him acquire the beautiful Tori. Angelique and I broke the attractive young girl in like a prized mare. Together, we fucked her with the assistance of the darkly beautiful Devon and left her unconscious in a puddle of our combined juices.
It was a good life and I didn’t have a care in the world.
I had practically forgotten about my previous existence. But my businesses had been left in good hands and the one time I checked up on them, I found no problems. They were booming, even; my business model was pointing to a record year.
I called Jacqueline twice, but I found myself strangely distanced from her. I kept thinking of her in compromising positions.
I had fever-dreams of her; bound and whipped, with Angelique standing behind her, knife caressing her neck. I would step up to her, thrust myself inside of her and take her violently while she begged for release. Angelique would watch from behind and hump herself into Jacqueline’s ass. Then, at the moment of climax, the knife would slash and my daughter’s blood would gush onto my chest and cock.
And the last thing I would say to my young, innocent daughter before she died was that she had fulfilled her destiny.

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