Club Fatale, Pt. 2

Club Fatale, Pt. 2

Chapter Three – Rise and Shine

I woke with an extreme discomfort in my groin. Something was encasing my cock. I rolled over and my cock slid from Karina’s mouth. Her head flopped around, limply, and her eyes were open and lifeless, staring at me.

“Good morning, sleepyhead!” came Jana’s chipper voice.

She came to my side of the bed and kissed me on the lips.

“What the fuck happened?” I asked Jana.

“To my sister, Karina? I’m afraid that you snuffed her in the night without knowing after you fell asleep with your cock in her throat. You silly man!”

Snap. I awoke with start.

I was in bed and a pair of red lips was wrapped around the base of my cock. The shaft was buried in Karina’s throat. She was sucking on me and struggling for breath, but was, most definitely, alive.

Too bad, I thought.

I shook my head to clear the dream. My cock was a hard as a rock and I was on the verge of ecstasy. I held Karina to me as I cried out and came, hard. I could feel her swallowing around me for several seconds, downing my seed and then she shuttered and went still.

I pulled out of her unconscious throat. Checked her pulse. She was alive.

The water in the bathroom was running. I got up and investigated. Jana was in there and I joined her. She offered to wash me and I took her up on the offer. Halfway through, I couldn’t stand it anymore. I grabbed Jana, pressed her face to the tiles and fucked her brains out in the steaming shower.

As I was getting dressed, there was a knock at the door.

“Yes,” I called out.

The door opened and I turned to see a knockout.

The woman who entered was lean, with a rangy frame and slender, athletic legs. Six foot tall if she was an inch — she could almost look me directly in the eyes. Long, blonde hair cascaded down her shoulders and Dresden-blue eyes stared into mine with a delicious feeling of intimacy. She wore a white blouse, a tan skirt and a red hat.

The hat was an absurd thing for this day and age, hopelessly outdated, with a wide brim, but she wore it with such panache and style that I felt as if I were the one out of time.

She was, all in all, a glorious sight.

Immediately, images of the things I could do to her started popping into my head.

“Good morning, Mr. Anderson,” the lady said, in a voice rich with emotion. “I trust you slept well, last night?”

“Um, ah, yes,” I stammered.

She held out her hand: “Emmanuelle.”

I took it and held it, delicately. Smiling at her, I couldn’t help but say: “Please tell me that you are another of my gifts, Emmanuelle.”

She smiled and I thought I saw a flattered look.

“I’m afraid not, Mr. Anderson,” she said, fingering something about her neck.

It was then that I realized she was wearing a white collar.