Disclaimer: The following is fiction. The story’s content does not represent the writer’s beliefs, opinions, or attitudes. This story is intended for adult entertainment only. The characters and events depicted in this work are fictional. The author does not condone or promote unlawful activity as described in the story. By continuing to read this work, you acknowledge that you are an adult who wishes to read works of fantasy and fiction for the purpose only of fantasy. All the characters in this story are adults. They may play different ages for the fictional character they are depicting, but they remain at all times adults.
Writers: Anon / Augmented by Regis
Subject: WAR GODDESSES CHAPTER 8
Story Codes: Erotic Horror
War Goddesses 8
CHAPTER 8 — Queen Bees Battle
The lights snapped on in my prison cell with such violence I wet my pants. Not a lot. But a fifty-cent sized damp spot appeared on the fabric about fourteen inches down my left pant leg where my penis came to an end. I was horrified to see, sitting on a bench that ran along the far wall, Drew was looking at it too!
Her powder blue eyes snapped away and she ran a nervous hand through her mop of bleached blond hair. She was definitely the whitest white girl I had ever met. She was wearing white cotton panties with little pink roses printed on them. Her breasts weren’t huge, but really nice. I bet they were warm like muffins and safe to snuggle.
She saw me looking at her and she asked, “Hey, you got any cigarettes?” hopefully.
“Sorry,” I said swinging my legs off the bench.
My head was starting to throb like a motherfucker. “I don’t smoke.”
Her mouth tightened into an impression of an anus, I guess a nicer metaphor would be bee-stung lips, before she looked away, utterly miserable. Suddenly I remembered the nightmare of memories that had welled up in the pitched darkness, memories of my arrest in Hollywood, my Trial.
A lynching, fueled by an endless series of Justice Department leaks to the Press about how my Encryption Routines allowed gangs like the Russian Mob and the Chinese Triads to burgle America with impunity.
I remembered my last glimpse of Rossana laying apparently dead on the carpet of my hotel room, and then the drugged horror of my kidnapping, and the terror of the darkness that began in the back of the van … And I covered my face and wept. The trademark of Hell is that it won’t stop when you want it to … I wept with all my might.
“You okay, Mister?” Drew asked, my tears making her tears flow too.
I’d seen her fight gamely in a Boxing Match just yesterday. She had gone into the ring knowing she was intended to lose. She lost of course, but won a lotta hearts.
“You cried all night” She was here all night?
Then I remembered. I had come to in a total darkout.
“Yeah,” I pulled myself together, “Why have they got you?”
“I fucked up, and slapped one of the Bosses. You saw me Box that Canoli?”
I nodded.
“Well, a delegation of Japanese sales reps for the company that has the toilet seat cover concession over at the Coliseum-2000 bought me as a Party Favor from the California Department of Corrections. They bought out the Contract for my whole eighteen-month stretch, with first refusal for my twenty-four month parole.”
She picked at a pimple I couldn’t see but knew was blooming on the side of her mouth. She looked Utterly Bored. She looked over to me with a half stab at a Come Hither, the kind you got from a professional cock holster look.
“Wanna ball?”
“Gotta Mitt?”
I was a safety-first Boy Scout kinda guy. She shook her head and slumped, knees wide apart, totally disgusted.
“Drew?” I said.
She looked at me.
“Your Posture.”
Her eyes hissed at me, but she waddled her hips back, straightening up.
“Drew,” she studiously studied a booger under a fingernail, “Where the fuck are we?”
“The shoplifter’s holding tank behind the manager’s office in the Little Tokyo Mall.”
I was being held prisoner in a secured room off the vegetable section of a super market?
“This whole Mall is a Japanese-and-their-Guests-Only deal the Japs built to service the managers they brought over here to Baja California to run the docks they built for Sol City. We’re the only Gajaans in the whole fucking place. They got a Japs-only Sears, a Japs only Gap a Japs only Tower Records, a Japs Only … Everything. It’s like one morning Santa Monica woke up and everybody was Japanese. Or their fucking Chinese Gangs for hire! ”
Drew rolled her eyes. Life sucked. Great! I gingerly tested my bandaged foot. Someone had done a good job on the gunshot. Obviously it was cleaned, the bullet removed and a pain killer implanted. I could just about ….
CLICK.
Both Drew and I comically jumped and stared at the door.
Buxom, black leather motor cycle jumpsuit, black snub nose machine pistol, bone white Madoka strode in announcing: “New prizner, nobuh-ee moov or I’rr zoot!”
She stood aside as a stark naked five foot two, freckled and baby-faced white girl in her mid twenties with huge heaps of strawberry blond hair grimly plodded in, then came to a sudden halt, spotting Drew, face contorting in fury.
Drew came off the bench like a rocket, screeching: “Linda you cu …” But halfway through the word “cunt” Linda’s bare white knuckles caught Drew on the jaw, snapping it comically sideways to the right.
Madoka swung the machine pistol around, but I came off the bench too, and fired a field goal kick sideways into Madoka’s waist, bowling her into the white tile wall, causing bullets to stitch a path across the wall and ceiling, blowing out the double row of fluorescent tubes.
Both girls had their hands buried deep in the hair on either side of their enemy’s head, and were yanking lustily, jerking their upper bodies left and right. I desperate, threw my body onto Madoka as she struggled to regain her balance. Madoka and I pitched into the trash barrel, twisting.
I grabbed her shoulders as we fell to the floor, Madoka on top. Madoka had re-established control of her grip on the gun, but as we hit the floor, the barrel, which had been knocked sideways, tipped backwards, balanced on a rim, caught against the wall, and pointed back at her.
The movement drove the upper rim of the barrel square into Madoka’s forehead, which split horribly open as a bullet fired, cutting a grove, skin peeling back from her eyebrows to her hairline like a kicked throw rug, blood gushing as her eyes rolled up into their sockets!
I rolled the unconscious girl off only to find myself pinned down by furiously battling Hellcats! Turning my head, I saw the door had been knocked shut. Fuck! Drew had whirled her tormentor about, and drove the palms of her hands into Linda’s shoulders, pushing her, face first into the wall.
Linda shoved off backwards, blood streaming from her nostrils, and both girls staggered backwards on bare feet, cussing and grimacing furiously at each other. I got to my feet and tested the locked door. No joy.
“I’ll fucking kill you!” Linda screamed and clutched at Drew’s slender white neck.
Drew competently crossed her arms at her wrists and thrust upwards, knocking Linda’s wriggling fingers away, while stepping inward, driving her left knee up between her attacker’s thighs, into her exposed crotch.
Linda squealed at the blow to her moist flared exposed cunt.
“No fair!” she screamed, and went into a clinch with Drew.
Both girls traded flurries of sincere looking punches to each others naked ribs. I searched the ceiling for the tell-tail dimple of a video-camera, while the two fighting girls, legs tangled, collapsed into a writhing heap on the floor, rolling over and over.
Finally I spotted it and waved my arms toward it.
“Hey!” I yelled, “Send somebody before someone gets killed in here!”
Linda had straddled Drew and was extravagantly throttling her, Drew’s head bobbing like it were coming off, her eyes bugged out, with all four naked legs thrashing!
I manfully pulled Linda off before she could kill the strangling blond, but Drew sprang instantly to her feet and delivered two mean spirited blows with her fists to Linda’s pound eyes before I could let go of her elbows so she could defend herself.
“Help!” I yelled at the spy camera, “Break this up before they kill each other!”
I waved my arms some more for effect. Drew and Linda were engaged in a wild hair pulling match again, their tits flopping wildly, bare feet dancing. Both cute girl’s noses were bloody, and Linda’s right eye was beginning to swell closed.
As unobtrusively as possible I rolled the unconscious Madoka over onto her machine pistol with the tip of my foot while waving some more at the camera for effect. Now the fighting Queen’s of B-Movies were gasping for air, flanks wet with sweat. They couldn’t last long now! Hurry!
Just then the door burst open and Reiko and Mari stormed in, Reiko pushing me back to the wall with her machine pistol, Reiko striding over to the heap of sobbing and struggling girls. I can’t imagine where they had to come from, considering how the two were dressed.
Reiko was wearing a blue denim waist skirt and mini-bra, her hair piled up on her head. She could have been shopping for a picnic at the beach, I guess. But Mari was encased in a shiny black vinyl dominatrix outfit that went from neck to her open crotch, with black vinal knee boots and elbow length gloves!
Suddenly, as Reiko leaned over to shout orders at the girls at her feet, both rolled onto their backs, and, feet together, kicked upward into Reiko’s torso, as if on cue! Reiko dropped her gun, staggering backwards. As Mari turned to face them, I grabbed her gun and kicked the weapon under Madoka over to Drew, who snatched it up as Mari and I struggled for balance.
A deafening rattle of machine gun fire echoed as Drew emptied her clip into Mari, punching a line of holes in her black vinyl belly and breasts that immediately gushed blood as if fifteen faucets had all been turned on at the same moment. As Mari slumped dead onto the unconscious Madoka, Linda and Reiko became engaged in a for-real deathfight.
It was a horribly one-sided affair as Reiko’s attack cut through Linda’s defensive boxing stance like a chain saw through a wicker chair. A wheel kick from the left snapped the baby-faced American girl sideways from the waist up, then Reiko dropped into a crouch and did a leg sweep from the right, bowling Linda over!
Drew stumbled over her fallen friend with the trash barrel raised over her head to smash it down on pretty Reiko’s skull. Reiko, smirking, stepped into Drew’s advance as the trash can fell behind her shoulders, it’s lid popping off, spewing garbage, and stamped first on Drew’s right, then Drew’s left foot.
As Drew dropped to the floor, shrieking, the Asian girl brought her fists together onto both of the blonde’s temples, concussing her brains. Reiko stepped back, raising her foot to stamp Linda in the naked belly, but Linda grabbed the Oriental girl’s ankle and heaved UP!
Reiko immediately dropped onto her ass, cussing a blue streak, as Drew, on her butt, kicked the falling gang-girl away. Reiko then rolled, and sprang to her feet, ready to face the two white girls, just as Linda swung the trash can lid with all her might in a whack to Reiko’s skull.
The heavy blow crossed Asian’s almond eyes, and had her weaving backward mumbling. But to everyone’s surprise, Madoka shook her head and sat up, recovering from the shot she had made to her own forehead, pushed out her feet just in time for Reiko to topple backward over her legs.
As the two gang-girls took a few seconds to sort themselves out, I grabbed Drew and Linda and hopped through the door into the hall, and supporting my weight on their bare shoulders, I kicked backward with my good foot, slamming it shut. The door’s lock clicked satisfyingly!
We were free! Well, at least sort of. We stood shivering in the dark hall connecting the stock room with it’s shuttered loading bays and the produce department of the supermarket. Beyond translucent strips of plastic hanging like a gate in the door, diminutive shoppers pushed carts.
They were full of cereal boxes, six packs of sodas, packages of hot dogs, frozen TV dinners and fresh fruits and vegetables through the aisles as if this were in Santa Monica, not the Middle of the desert, and they weren’t all Orientals, but the standard L.A. Rainbow Mix of housewives, hurrying to get home to their Soap Operas.
That split second pause froze time, the two naked girls hugging and bird-peck kissing each other’s lips, tears streaming, me hopping on one foot wondering why whoever was minding the monitors in the security office didn’t unlock the door, so two pissed off gang girls could come roaring out to do us in for lumps and a loss of face.
To my utter amazement, Drew smiled apologetically as Linda grabbed a mop and swiped me behind the knees, which buckled my legs. Then Drew slapped her palm on a fire alarm on the wall by the time clock, setting off the alarms. I just sat, back aching horribly on the linoleum as they fled into the light beyond. I could see them disappear, dodging startled women, who seemed both nonplussed and confused.
Within moments uniformed security guard surrounded me, guns drawn, admonishing me for a whole list of God knows what in Japanese. One used a card to open the holding tank door, and between his legs I could see Reiko and Madoka laying on their backs on the floor, blood running from their chests, pooling on the floor.
One guard fetched the machine pistols they had used to kill each other in what was apparently a suicide pact. I guess being called on the carpet and getting a lecture was worse in their eyes then death. I sat, aching and dejected, alive, but unhappy at being the distraction allowing Drew and what was apparently a girlfriend make good a get a way.
Soon the bored guards were smoking and swapping lies. Probably talking down the dead women. I felt bad about everything just then, but felt much worse when a loading bay opened, and I was loaded into the back seat of a black stretch limousine, for a ride back to Sol City with Blank Frank.
He was my supposed “mission control”, but now was sipping a martini, and twisting a wet curl of hair on the back of the head of a youngish boy slut laying with his head in Franks lap, like he was his personal boy-cunt. Frank shook his Partition raiser-cut cranium in disgust.
“None of all this was really necessary,” was written in his eyes. At a stop light just before an on ramp to the freeway back to the Beach, he put his prick back into his pants, zippered up his fly, dismissed the boy to sit up front with the driver, and turned to deal with me.
“Talk to me, Frank, you could just kill me, but you don’t. I’m easy to confuse. I’m nobody. You could tell me anything, but why …”
He shooshed me with a white hand, and considered the view. Hot and Dry. Checked his Rolex: 9:00 am. It was then I realized Frank wasn’t gay in any conventional sense. He mounted Men to demonstrate to them that he was the Man, the one who does the “Mounting.”
Unmanning a man made him a Man. Inversely, his refusal to sleep with the droves of women who pursued him all the more fiercely because whenever moved on the bait they showed him, was his way of “un-womaning” them. Mac was in very real sense, inverted.
As Neon had said: “The guy’s a walking fucking upside down Pentagram!”
“You have some secrets left, Mr. Mark.”
He turned his head to smile for me. He was being Compassionate. He flipped open an old-fashioned file, and read scripture:
“Only Son of Ted Mark and Elisabeth Page, smart but stupid, young but on the edge of his own Grave …”
How Wise Frank was, with his own secret blend of smarmy ad-copy salesman and old school Tie British MOP at the Club.
“What have you and the Negro discussed?”
I smiled back at the husk sipping a drink across from me, and choked down my unholy fear.
“You,” I answered.
THE END OF CHAPTER EIGHT