Drop Dead Gorgeous
by Donald Allen Kirch Genre: Horror
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"Would you like to hear a story?"
The man couldn't help himself. His captor was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. Her powerful eyes held his attention and made him forget that she had him confined in a basement; his hands and feet bound with duct tape. His heart raced as he meekly nodded his head 'yes' to the question.
After getting past the terror and discomfort, he reasoned that there was nothing to worry about. He would be missed. He had loved ones who would call the police. All he had to do was wait. Letting this woman tell him a story was as good a stall as any.
The mysterious woman weaved a tale of betrayed love and unwanted, unnatural experiments placed upon her. Of a loving wife, working on a top secret government program. Of a husband searching for love in all the wrong places. The prisoner couldn't believe what he was being told. A descent into insanity, fueled by a jealous rage, ended with using the tools of science for torture and revenge.
With every blink of her lovely eyes, licking of her full lips, and heaving of her perfect breasts, the captor entertained a story most bizarre. Of a woman bent on teaching her cheating husband a lesson.
PROLOGUE Addison, Kansas - July 7th - 4:18 A.M. - Present Day:
Ray opened his eyes to one hell of a headache.
"What the f..." He blinked trying to clear his eyes of what seemed to be caked on blood. His eyelids wouldn't cooperate, and the pain coming from the back of his head took away all common sense.
His girl, Tammy, had been trying to keep him from swearing, and since he loved her, he censored himself. Most of the time that is.
The pain increased, and he felt as if he wanted to vomit.
Ray tried to move and realized his hands were tied behind his back. "What the...fuck?? Hey!" he yelled, his breath causing a small dust storm on the dirt floor where he lay face down – he had no idea where he was, but could sense that he was not alone. He could hear movement upstairs, whoever it was probably reacting to his voice. "Hey! Come down here, right now! You fuckers! I don't need this shit."
In the back of his mind, he knew that Tammy would not approve. She was a "Jesus Crispy" and did not condone the use of profanity. He had often discovered that those who condemned the use of dirty words were proficiently good at sucking dick. That alone gave Tammy power over him. He caught himself smiling at the irony before reality brought his mind back into focus. She had been about to leave him but hadn't found the heart to tell him. He frowned; it was his own damned fault. Prince Charming, he was not!
Ray struggled to adjust himself, fighting the bindings holding his hands behind his back, and noticed that he was in a basement of some kind.
"How in damnation did I get down here?" he squinted, blood still running into his eyes.
Above him, footsteps went from one end of the room to the other. He could hear, faintly, the sound of a water faucet turning on and off. The owner of the footsteps seemed unhurried, moving slowly, and without concern.
"All right, Ray, who did you piss off this time?" His thoughts, such as they were, turned to the events of the night before. "I can't remember a damn thing." He was starting to panic and struggling against his bindings worked against him.
He tried to get up and fell, face down, in the dirt.
He struggled some more and managed to roll onto his back. He saw his feet, ankles, and knees had several wrappings of what appeared to be duct tape.
His frustration was maddening. "Hey!" he yelled, focusing on the unfinished wooden ceiling. "You! Up there. What's with all of this? Come on, man. The joke's over."
Was it a woman?
Inching his way across the dirt floor of the basement, Ray surmised that he was in a farmhouse of some kind. Modern houses had concrete flooring in the basement, and he saw nothing but riverbed rock lining the walls.
"Definitely an old house," he huffed.
It took a considerable amount of time, but Ray was able to prop himself up against a support beam, sitting up. He imagined that he must look like Harry Houdini in one of those old-fashioned filmstrips showing the master escaping from a straightjacket. Gasping for breath, he was quite proud of his accomplishment.
"What the hell happened?" he asked himself.
He remembered he had waited all week to go out with his co-workers to Diamond Jane's – a local strip club. Although most went there for the tits and ass, Ray thought that they made the best bacon quesadillas in the universe. That and a few beers were his only vice. Of course, hanging out with the guys and looking at a few naked women wasn't bad either. Tammy was wonderful, but she had the tits of a twelve-year-old boy. She knew he went every Friday, but tried to ignore the fact. Sex with her hadn't been stellar as of late – one more reason he suspected that there was trouble in paradise.
Vaguely, he remembered someone buying him a drink, it had been a rather fruity mix, and he was certain that a girl had kissed him. Caught between remembering and guilt, Ray adjusted his butt so that he sat up more comfortably.
What if this weren't a joke or had nothing to do with the night before?
Ray paused, thinking. How could he be sure that he had been out for only one night? Was this actually Saturday? He didn't know.
What if he had been taken by a serial killer?
The basement, although quite small, was neat and practically appointed. An old toolbox sat with its lid propped slightly open by the wooden handle of a hammer. As he looked closer, he thought he saw a substance that resembled blood dripping from it.
An old card table stood at the room's center. The table reminded him of the type his pain-in-the-ass grandmother had forced him to sit at while he played hours and hours of Yahtzee. Damn! How he hated that game. On the table were a small desk lamp that lit a medical kit, and a plate of food.
Ray was starving. He hadn't felt this hungry since he had gotten sick at fifteen and hadn't been able to eat for three days. His stomach grumbled, and he found himself sniffing at the air and licking his lips. Was the meal meant for him?
Ray turned his attention to the sounds of more footfalls from the floor above him. Music – jazz – was softly playing. It sounded like Billie Holiday, but he wasn't sure. The voice sounded too pure. Was it his captor's? Was his captor a... woman?
"Hey, up there!" he shouted. Ray bit his bottom lip to keep himself from sounding scared and to keep from crying. "What's going on, please?"
The singing stopped. The music turned off. There was silence as if his host were listening to him struggling. He imagined they were pleased to have him under their control.
"Jesus!" Ray pleaded, his hands were starting to fall asleep. "I have a woman who's worried about me. I will be missed." Ray suspected that was far from the truth, but they didn't need to know that.
The footsteps moved, and they sounded like they were heading for the basement's entrance.
A sliver of light invaded the semi-dark basement as the door to the upstairs opened.
"I love it when a man says 'please.'" The voice was female, but something was odd about it, he thought, it was just too female – if there was such a thing.
Two long and heavenly legs started down the staircase.
"Holy..." Ray found himself whispering. Then, cutting his thoughts short out of tact, he simply stared. From a singularly male perspective, he couldn't have been in lovelier hands.
"That's it," the woman jeered, as she reached the bottom of the steps. "Take me all in."
The woman slowly turned in a circle making sure Ray got the full effect.
He found himself gasping for breath, not to mention fighting down a full erection. Simply put, she was the most amazing woman he had ever seen. Venus had nothing on her!
The woman was about five foot one. She had a rather healthy olive complexion, long hair that hung down to the small of her back, and sharp, green eyes. She wore a tight-fitting red dress that could distract a blind man, well-manicured hands, full lips, and a healthy hourglass figure.
"38-28-36," she giggled, clearly reading Ray's mind.
Caught staring, Ray lowered his eyes.
"Oh, come, now," she purred. "If I didn't want you to look, I wouldn't have worn this for you."
Ray cleared his throat. "What's going on here?"
She shook her head, her long hair swished like a sultry tide hitting the beach, softly covering her left eye. God! She looked fantastic. "Wrong question, love," she said, waving a finger in the air.
Ray paused, thinking.
"Then, who are you?"
The woman sighed with happy relief. "Wonderful. He can be taught."
Ray's mysterious captor bent down, exposing cleavage from her ample breasts, and stared him in the eyes, smiling. "Others failed to get as far as you have come. Bravo!"
Ray's eyes squinted in curiosity. The others? He thought.
Again, as if reading his mind, the woman giggled – her laugh soft and perfect – she pointed toward a darker corner of the room.
"The others cared only for their fate." She paused, staring at Ray longingly. "I feel you're not like that, are you...Ray?"
From that corner of the basement wafted the smell of raw meat and decay. She stood and moved to the lamp on the card table. She lilted it to shine into the dark corner to show off her work. She looked back at him, studying his reactions, testing him.
Ray remembered the blood dripping from the hammer. Now he saw the source. Several dead bodies, stacked one on top of the other like old books in a forgotten library, lay rotting in the dark. They were men of all ages and races. Swallowing panic, Ray counted at least seven. He was lucky number eight. All showed evidence of having been bashed between the eyes, probably with the hammer. Each set of eyes stared blankly out at Ray with a potent warning. Do not ask or say the wrong thing!
Ray held himself perfectly still, fighting the simultaneous urges to scream and fight to break free. He was dealing with a mad woman, it was best to help play her hand. Ultimately, someone was bound to find him. He had friends who would worry. Tammy would demand that the police help find him. At least he hoped that she would. All he needed was time.
Then it hit him...she had called him Ray.
He stared with surprise at the woman.
"Come on, honey. Do you think that I would go through all this trouble to get you, tie you up, and not look in your wallet?"
"Well...who are you, then?" Ray started to shake with terror. What kind of crazy world had he fallen into?
Sensing his fear, the woman sauntered back across the room and, crouching down in front of him, did the last thing in the world Ray expected. She kissed him.
And...damn, what a kiss!
Despite the circumstances, he felt himself responding. It had almost been three weeks since he and Tammy had found the time for sex. This woman knew her way around a man's tongue. She was passionate and soft, yet hard and knowing. She almost made him blow a load in his pants.
"Mmmmm," she said appraisingly, running her fingers through his hair. "You taste wonderful."
Ray's eyes bulged with fear.
"Oh, no, no, no, no, no," she said, soothingly. "I'm not Hannibal or anything like that. Besides, I hate fava beans." she backed away, laughing.
Ray fought his bindings. His face twitched.
"Honey," she knelt down taking his chin in her hand. "I am not going to eat you."
"Who...are you?" he softly repeated.
"Quite right. A man has a right to know the name of his woman."
In response, Ray let out a little gasp of a nervous laugh. It was not meant to be an insult.
All emotion left the woman's face. Her hand, with its long and razor-sharp fingernails, moved to his neck and he thought he felt the prick of nails on the skin over the arteries there. All it would take would be a slight flick of her wrist, and he would be gone. Bleed out drop by drop, until nothing but blackness and unanswered questions remained.
"Not a laughing matter!" she screamed, suddenly furious. "If you want to live, never laugh at me again."
Ray cleared his throat. Did he have to repeat himself?
"Eve Doe," she stated, her eyes dropping to the ground as if being forced to recall a bad memory. "Please...address me as...Eve."
There was an awkward moment. The kind where neither party knew how to break the silence.
Ray's stomach grumbled considerably, and they both broke into nervous laughter.
"Someone is hungry," Eve said, finally flipping the strand of hair out of her eye.
"A bit," Ray confirmed, on the verge of panic.
"Well, then, let's prepare you a meal." Eve moved with the grace of a cat. She opened a nearby drawer of a dusty cabinet and took out some tableware. Several times, as she set the table, she bent over just enough to show off her breasts or wonderfully heart-shaped ass. So tight was her skirt that as he admired her rear, he could see that she was not wearing any type of undergarments. This goddess was going commando.
With each leer, stare, and silent, covetous look, Eve seemed to grow in confidence.
"This is what will happen," Eve explained. She lit a single candle and placed it at the center of the table. "You will eat, we will fuck, and then I will decide your...fate."
"My fate?" Ray looked in the direction of the rotting corpses in the corner. She turned and saw the transparent expression of concern on his face. He struggled to contain his silent panic.
"Would you be more comfortable if I were to share with you...a...story?"
"A...story?" Ray repeated, almost in disbelief.
"Good," Eve beamed. "You cared not for the fuck I promised you. I'll make doubly sure you enjoy yourself. I know my way around a man's body." Her eyes focused on his crotch.
Ray closed his eyes, mortified at the tent that was obvious there. Damn, this bitch is hot!
As if sensing his thoughts, Eve pulled down the top of her dress, revealing her breasts. I could have sworn she was wearing a bra.
"I don't need one," Eve explained, again, as if reading Ray's thoughts. "My breasts were created to hang this way. Firmly." With the last word, she pushed the velveteen mounds into Ray's face. "Suck them," Eve ordered softly, almost begging.
What would any man do in similar circumstances? Once they forgot, of course, about being a hostage and in a room with corpses rotting in a corner. Ray closed his eyes and opened his mouth.
Eve let out a long moan of ecstasy. She knelt in his lap and rubbed her sex against his, which did all that it could to reach her through the thin layer of denim. A dust cloud started to rise, and Ray had wished that he were in a chair and not on the basement floor.
"Mmmmm," was all he could bring himself to say.
Then, as quickly as it had started, Eve pulled herself away, replaced her top, and was off of her captive. She shook a little as if fighting back emotion. Disgust, perhaps? The scene was unnatural.
"I am in control," she said, pointing a firm finger at Ray. "Always remember that."
Like a pouting child, Ray stuck out his bottom lip. Suddenly ashamed, his thoughts turned to Tammy. Where was she? Was she out looking for him? Did she even care anymore?
"Can I eat now?" he asked, almost crying.
"Of course, honey. You can eat."
Eve went to the toolbox, opened it, and took out a small bright orange plastic box cutter. She bent over Ray, and warned, "I'm only going to say this once: do not try and escape. If you do, you will die."
Ray shook his head, eyes wide and pleading.
Eve sliced through the layers of duct tape, freeing his legs. She took hold of his arm and with surprising force, helped him stand.
He was at least a foot taller.
"Oh," the woman exclaimed, obviously excited, "You're a big one."
As she guided him to the table, Ray's curiosity piqued. Wouldn't she know how tall he was, what he weighed, and all of that? After all, she had kidnapped him.
The woman ventured into the dark of the basement and produced a chair. Eve ordered him to sit in it – smart, a plastic molded chair was hard to break free from. She duct-taped his feet, legs, and waist to the chair before using the box cutter to free his hands. She then taped his ribcage and neck. He dared not struggle but could feel sweat breaking out all over.
"You will have need of those, later," she teased, slowly licking her lips and winking at him seductively.
"Pardon my French, lady," Ray said, swallowing hard. "But, you're fucked up."
Eve paused for a minute, thinking.
Ray waited for an attack of some kind. Wasn't this what he was supposed to do as a prisoner? Test his boundaries?
The woman just laughed.
Ray caught himself looking at her wobbling breasts as she laughed at him. Her tits were...perfect. Almost too perfect.
"Mister," Eve whispered, looking at Ray through long and seductive bangs. "You have no idea. Now, as promised, would you like to hear a story?"
DONALD ALLEN KIRCH lives in The United States of America. He is an avid reader of history, Sherlock Holmes Mysteries, the paranormal, and is a "hardcore" Doctor Who fan. After spending two weekends in the famous "Sallie House," a "haunted house" in Atchison, Kansas, he is one of the only authors of his craft who can claim to have been attacked by a ghost!