funny thing for a woman barely into her thirties. uh...or something thereabouts...
must be i'm an old soul.
whatevah.
my recollections of killing harry (don't mean to give it away, but yes, harry died) have got me thinking. i do so love to think.
i savored harry. his slow, delicious death. which i'll pick up, but not right now.
it had me thoughtful about the lady who taught me how to savor 'le kill'.
okay, i just throw phoney french phrases around to be fun. i know it makes me sound like the ultimo valgirl. but hey, underneath the garottes, the glocks, the yum yum of murderrr...i am just your shopaholique valgal. tres declasse.
back to the point dahlings.
madlena explained to me how she devoured, and savored, her kills as they slowly asphyxiated in front of her
i enjoyed snuffing harry so much, because of madlena (ok, not her real name, but totally the flavor of it). a hot older bulgarian woman (and i do mean woman) who over our week together (yeah yeah, we were...luvahhhz) schooled me in fully enjoying the work we are so privileged to do!
what 'madlena' taught me was how to relax. kind of a zen and the art of...you know...archery. or whatever. except with moi, there's a man instead of a target at the arrival point of my arrow.
arrows. .22s. garottes. pillows on a tied up dude's frightened face. the arrow is metaphorical. who uses an arrow anymore? well, there's...oh, that's for perhaps another time...
anywhat...madlena explained to me how she devoured, and savored, her kills as they slowly asphyxiated in front of her. she used a frightening but delish schooling technique to teach moi. i am totally and foreverrr in debt to this luvalicious lady.
she was a teacher extraordinaire.
this mistress of 'the kill' had a tasteee sense of the nasty. she had no qualms about taking down a female mark, unlike me. even children were fair game.
at first i hated her for such brazen amorality. then she seduced me, and i couldn't care less if she was the devil herself. i loved her. i fucked her. i craved her.
i licked the sweat from the beautiful high arched soles of her perfect feet. and the cum from her wet inner flesh. ooooh...!
compose yourself misty! ok. composed.
oddly enough i'd met this bulgarian 50something beauty in lalaland. lost angeles. a city so surreal and inane, one has to love it.
especially if you're a sick chick like meee.
it was a three-month break between very well paying jobs. and i just wanted so to live recklessly. girls just want to have fun, wasn't it once said?
so, holed up in the chateau marmont (i'm the queen of taste, remember?), i spent my first week in vapidity. hiking up to the hollywood sign. strolling around freaksville sunset blvd. drinking dry dry mahhh-tinis at night on the marmont patio. eyeing the starlets. deciding who'd be my first fuck in L.A.
madlena, a bulgarian hitwoman who bound me,
and pleasured herself as i strangled
turned out, while i was hunting pussy, i was being hunted.
after two nights of eyeing bimbettes, i felt a pair of eyes on me. normally i sniff it out right away, which should have been a clue that whoevah was scouting me...was good.
i pretended not to notice, and made my way to the little girls' room, planning to strike a glance at the eyes in the shadows on my way back. not to be.
my cunt immediately went wet, my body limp. i'm one of those chix who can fall in love with a woman for her feet. and i was in love.while visiting the facilities i entered a stall to make room for more mahtinis. without pulling it shut, the door closed and i felt strong, womanly arms clamping my own limbs to my sides.
"kill me. just kiss me before you do," i uttered. completely meaning it.
i could have fought, but as i looked down i saw the most stylish pair of prada 60s black perforated leather stilettos, pointeee tips, strappy straps around strong gawgeous ankles, and high, strong, heavenly arches exposed in the midsection of the pradas.
my cunt immediately went wet, my body limp. i'm one of those chix who can fall in love with a woman for her feet. and i was in love.
"kill me. just kiss me before you do," i uttered. completely meaning it.
"kill you dahling! i'm going to fuck you. and fuck you. and fuck you..." she said in a deep voice that had been tempered on a lifetime of 'queen zara premium' bulgarian cigarettes and cognac.
she spun me around and without even looking at her, my open mouth clamped onto hers like a lampray eel's. tongues entwined. our salivahhh mingled.
my cunt exploded without being touched.
when she pulled away i saw the darkest, sultriest, meanest, Godliest, most hellish face i'd ever seen.
i was in love.
the chateau marmont bed where
madlena did...many...many...things to me
somehow we made it from the bathroom to madlena's second story suite. accomodations are the fifties timewarp at la marmont. sooo l.a.
she threw me down on the bed, pulled her skirt off, walked into the bathroom, spread her longgg legs over the open toilet and pissed like a man. she had been wearing no undies.
when she came back into the room, her cunt was still moist with piss. wearing her prada pumps, a clingy top, and nothing else but a sick nasty smile, she climbed on the bed and sat down on my face. she told me to "lick my pussy clean".
i did.
i won't go into what else happened, or i'll never finish. and i've got files to go over...if you get my drift.
cut to the chase, it rained for the next week. those unremitting rains. where hillsides burned away in the late summer fires a week before now washed away, stripped of vegetation.
in the 70 degree downpours. city streets turned into aqueducts. volvos and corvettes, and everything in between, washed away. madlena and i snuggled, ate, drank, fucked, sucked, watched trash tv, and talked, for days on end. was it day? was it night? who cared.
completely in her charge, i meekly sat folded on my knees as she used one of her seamed stockings to knot around my neck, then down to my ankles, so i strained to sit at an angle far back enough so i wouldn't strangle to death.
of course, she turned out to be a hitter. like me.
she'd spotted me the moment i'd shown up at the marmont. and decided she'd have me. sexually, not as a kill.
unlike me at the time, she was sophisticated. several or more masters degrees. 13th century theology of birdgod religions. art history of matriarchical societies of medieval europe. 20th century paganism on the major continents.
and of course her unofficial masters in killing. assassination. sweet murder for hire. she would be my professor.
when we had intimized so much our bodies could have been one, she proposed we go further.
"Now, for the deepest intimacy of all. i shall kill you," she said in her deep, tobacco and cognac soaked bulgarian rumble.
my eyes jolted like in an ungrounded socket. weak in the knees, wet between my legs at the thought of it, i responded.
"oh...kay."
she laughed heartily. "you vould, vouldn't you." i nodded yesmam.
"little fool. i don't mean for actual. but you be my kill. i show you how i would do you. but of course, you will live. this is not a how to kill. but a how to enjoy a kill."
when you are ready, they say, the teacher will appear.
they were right.
i was already naked. so was she.
madlena first secured my wrists, then my ankles, together with beautifully crafted italian leather straps she pulled from nowhere, it seemed. then she folded me down like an accordian, on my knees, to the floor in front of the bed. not unlike i had done times before to my own kills. but she did it with so much more...panache.
after that, nothing she did was as i had ever done. i was in class.
completely in her charge, i meekly sat folded on my knees as she used one of her seamed stockings to knot around my neck, then down to my ankles, so i strained to sit at an angle far back enough so i wouldn't strangle to death.
an idea what i looked like
as madlena prepared to watch me die
eventually i had to give up and flopped over on my side, much as a caught fish asphyxiating once landed and splopped onto a boat deck.
she had expertly done the stocking knot so i wasn't so much strangling for air, but rather for blood.
the large arteries in my neck were pressed by the silk of her legwear. my asphyxia was virtually painless...the lack of oxygen to the brain summoning me to a dreeemy sleep.
less painless, but mucho moro deadly than an air passage strangle. so easy to drowse your way to death. the lack of arterial blood cuts oxygen to the brain. verrry peaceful. like going to sleep.
it also brings a sexual ecstasy. asphyxia triggering an autonomic response in the body. equal opportunity...for either a male or female.
the popularity of public hangings in the 19th century, i've read, having in part to do with seeing the victim's stiffie upon death...so wonderfully nasteee we humans are!
as for the lovely madlena...she was enjoying my sweet suffering. stroking, fingering, herself with each writhe and succulent twist of my bound body.
i trusted she hadn't intended to snuff me. but i didn't trust she could stop enjoying the show in time to rescue me. she seemed too intent on pleasuring herself as i slowly...died.
'i had so much to live for.so many chanel blouses to buy. manolo calfskin pumps to purchase.so many men to kill.'
her long, well shaped legs spread. she sat on the bed, feeling herself.
i felt love. the love caviar feels on a cracker as it's going down the throat of a hungry rich bitch with an arrogant smile on her face.
i didn't want to die.
i had so much to live for.
so many chanel blouses to buy. manolo calfskin pumps to purchase.
so many men to kill.
'don't kill me, madlena,' i thought, as the life so sweetly drained from me.
feeling the sugar between my legs...the orgasm coming...the eternal sleep building...swarming me like a beckoning, murderous, tsunami, that i ached to yield to.
and yet, struggled futilely to escape from...
madlena stroked herself as i
asphyxiated to 'death' in front of her
as madlena became a blur...her spred long legs the gates of Heaven...her cunt the tunnel towards the light...i faded...swoooned...
died...
it all went milky black...a warm sexual release filled and washed over every cell, every molecule, every atom, electron, proton, neutron, in my dead body...
and then black...became light.
i was staring up at her. she was undoing her stocking. the fine italian leather straps (had prada made them?). maybe i was in Heaven.
no. i was alive. she had let me nearly die. then pulled me back. pulled my head back to release the blood in my arteries. she, indeed, was an expert. a mistress of the kill.
we didn't speak again that night. i laid like a daughter in her arms. pliant. incestuously. the daughter. with mommy.
the beautiful eastern european mommy who had shown me how to kill.
how to love.
how to live.
and how i want to die...someday...
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