The Complete Book of B.A.B.E.S.
Bioenergized Alpha Beta Electrolyte Stimulation
by
Jacob M. Drake
SMASHWORDS EDITION
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PUBLISHED BY:
Jacob M. Drake on Smashwords
The Complete Book of B.A.B.E.S.
Bioenergized Alpha Beta Electrolyte Stimulation
Copyright 2010 by Jacob M. Drake
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All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
Smashwords Edition License Notes
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FORWARD
This reformatted volume contains all the B.A.B.E.S. and S.T.U.D.S. stories previously published within the two volumes originally published. Now when the desire strikes you to read your favorite B.A.B.E.S. story you need only reach for one book - The Complete Book of B.A.B.E.S.
Completely unlike the previous series, The Many Worlds of the Solarian, this collection of short stories, The Complete Book of B.A.B.E.S., is placed within a realm that takes its heroes slightly less seriously. In this world where females are imbued with super powers that in turn endow the females with humongous mammaries that turn out to be not only one of their greatest assets, but their biggest liability as well, anything can and does happen.
Sure, perhaps the villains of this world are worse in many ways than in any other realm where heroes and villains co-exist, seeing as how the first thing (and perhaps the only thing) on the minds of these villains once they have captured one or more of these seductive and sexually stimulating femme fatales is to strip them of their clothing and partake of the luscious attributes with which these powered beauties are summarily endowed - after all, what self-respecting villain wouldn't want to partake of the luscious flesh so stimulatingly over-displayed by these heroine beauties, since each of them does tend to array herself in action outfits that are, to say the least, the least that can possibly be worn and still be legal in most counties and cities in these United States. Quite a bit different from those realms where the villain merely ties the heroine up and waits for her to awaken so he can gloat over her capture until she manages to find a way to free herself and overcome the villain, eh?
No, this world is not one of those. This realm exists for the pleasure of villains and heroines alike, seeing as how often the abducted and captured heroine discovers she actually enjoys what the villain does to her in a sexual manner. Although certainly each story does ultimately turn out for the best interests of the story's particular heroines, regardless of the circumstances she is overcome by throughout the majority of the story. Each heroine ends up on top - er, if that happens to be the position which flips her switch and she enjoys the most, at least; otherwise she might just end up on the bottom and actually like being on the bottom.
Here then is the complete collection of the B.A.B.E.S. and S.T.U.D.S. stories. Be assured, there are new stories in the planning and writing stages even as you read these words, though I'm thinking the next B.A.B.E.S. book published will be a full-length novel, which will be forthcoming soon enough. I promise. Maybe with a werewolf, eh? Until then, sit back, open your e-reader and enjoy the over-actively frolicking sexhibitionistic sexploits of the babes of, er, B.A.B.E.S.
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One last note: I hope each reader enjoys the various acronyms as much as I had in developing them. It wasn't always easy starting with a chosen word I wanted for representing a particular part of the B.A.B.E.S. organization, and then searching for hours until I finally located just the right word to fit any particular letter in that acronym (Such as the word Kallikrein in the acronym M.I.L.K. - Molecularly Infusive Lactose Kallikrein - who knew that Kallikrein was defined as: "any of a group of proteolytic enzymes in the glands, lymph, blood, urine, etc. that release a kinin from various globulins"? I sure as hell didn't until I needed a word beginning with the letter "K" that would fit the definition I was trying to develop into an acronym. I still don't understand what it all even means. Anyone even know what a kinin is?
So there you have it - the realm of B.A.B.E.S. Enjoy it as much as I do and remember - it isn't a realm of reality, but fantasy - so please, all you feminists out there, don't get upset with me. If you want something to relate a different set of values and morality, write it yourself. I only put my fingers on the keys of my keyboard - the stories all wrote themselves through my fingers. Yeah, uh-huh, that's as good an excuse I can come up with at the moment, ok?
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Contents Page
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The Complete Book of B.A.B.E.S.
Bioenergized Alpha Beta Electrolyte Stimulation
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IL DIAVOLO
PART ONE
“Good morning, Mrs. Mason,” the cheerful voice of Sandra mason’s private secretary greeted her as the curator of the Chicago Rare Antiquities Museum entered her office, right at nine o’clock, just as she did every morning.
At twenty-seven years of age, one-hundred and eleven pounds of gorgeously arrayed curvature displayed beneath the expensive Italian and French suits she preferred to wear to work each day, her shoulder-length hair a deep brunette that was naturally lustrous without ever having to have the beautician at the salon she frequented apply any type of coloration or highlights, this museum curator had arrived at the peak of her career. As far as she was concerned there was nothing she lacked.
Even her husband, who worked at this same museum, being in charge of the overseas excavations and procurations, agreed that this exquisite beauty he had married was the epitome of womanly perfection. He would be the one to know; he had been the first and only man to ever sample her "womanly wares" and had taken her cherry from her at the ripe old age of twenty-four, that being the year the two had met while on an excavation and had fallen madly in love with one another.
“There’s a package for you on your desk. Postmarked Africa.” The gleam in the secretary’s eyes told Sandra Mason it was most likely something for the museum. An artifact rare and unusual enough that one of her contacts in Egypt or one of the other parts of Africa where they sometimes ran across ancient artifacts she liked, must have sent to her, even though her husband, Andrew Mason, generally handled acquisitions of this type. Some of her older contacts were loathe to send rare finds to anyone other than her.
“This early in the morning?” Sandra paused briefly, stopping with her left hand resting on her secretary’s desk. “That’s odd. Deliveries don’t usually arrive until later in the morning or early afternoon.”
“It was on my desk when I came in this morning, Mrs. Mason.”
“On your desk? But how…” Sandra stopped midway in her sentence, her eyes narrowing as she furrowed her brow deep in thought.
“No, there weren’t any late deliveries yesterday after you left, and I was here until almost seven.” Without another word, the curious curator moved swiftly on, determined to get to the bottom of this minor mystery.
She opened the door to her office and strode inside, placing her small clutch purse on the table to the right of the door. Looking forward she noticed the package Marie had told her about. It was approximately two feet high by one foot wide on each of the four sides. Not an unusual size or shape for an artifact from Africa. The secretary had placed it on the corner of Sandra's desk, that being the normal spot for delivering packages of this type to her employer.
Sandra scrutinized the package carefully, her fingers running all along its outer contours, the package was covered, as most of them were, in plain brown paper wrapping with twine doubled around in both directions from top to bottom. The address for this museum was right on the top, also normal for these packages.
Everything seemed perfectly normal, perfectly average, not one thing unusual for this package except for the fact that it had arrived without anyone seeing who had delivered it between seven last night and eight-thirty this morning when Marie had arrived at work.
So why did Sandra Mason feel a prickling sensation at the nape of her neck?
Mumbling to herself something about not being so silly and to just open the damn package, Sandra’s long, slender fingers effortlessly untied the knot holding the twine together. She then reached toward the middle top of her desk and retrieved the scissors setting within the container she kept there, what she always called her pencil cup; though it also held pens, a short ruler, these scissors and a few other small odds-and-ends she had general use for on a daily basis.
Sandra spread the blades and inserted the tip of one blade beneath the tight edge of the wrapping. She then snipped, making a cut that allowed her to take hold of it and peel the wrapper off, setting the scissors aside, back in the pencil cup where they belonged. Everything on her desk had its place.
As her fingers tore at the wrapping her lips curled up. The main mystery forgotten for now, the act of unwrapping this package caused her to feel like a small child on Christmas morning, excited, giddy, wondering just what it was she was going to find once she got it completely unwrapped.
The wrapping simply revealed a cardboard box, as Sandra had expected. This once more was perfectly in keeping with how several of her contacts shipped such artifacts to her office. She found the edge of the flap was sealed with wrapping tape and retrieved the scissors once more, sliding one blade beneath the edge and cutting the tape. Replacing the scissors once more according to her meticulous habits, Sandra pulled the flap back and opened the box.
Inside she found and removed a compact layer of straw, placing it all within the trash can that set at the end of her desk. She certainly didn’t need straw getting all over her desk. Not as clean as she liked having her office.
With the straw removed, she found a wooden box inside the cardboard box. She reached in with both hands and managed to find a purchase on either end of the box, lifting it out of its shipping container.
Oof. This was heavier than it looked. She actually felt the strain in her shoulders from lifting the wooden box from the cardboard one. There was a time in her life when she had lifted much larger and heavier boxes than this, although that time in her life hadn't been so many years past. Perhaps it was simply all the sitting around here at the museum, rather than actually venturing forth into the field, the archeological sites, the way Andrew often did, that caused the atrophy of her muscles. She decided she would need to begin working out at a fitness center sometime soon.
Not having room on her desk to set the dark wooden box, she carried it over and set it upon the short coffee table against the far wall of her office. This allowed her to sit on the business-style sofa behind the table while she inspected the wooden box.
There were six brass clasps holding the box closed; two on either of the long sides and one each on the ends. Sandra easily unfastened the clasps and carefully took hold of the lid, lifting it more easily than she had the entire box. The lid wasn’t what had supplied the weight of the package.
She set the lid beside her on the sofa and peered within the box. An oblong cask of what appeared to be ivory was within, obviously holding something else within it. This was beginning to be like trying to open up nesting eggs, where each one contained another smaller version of what had already been opened.
Unperturbed, and in fact growing more intrigued by the second, since this also was not in the least unusual for this sort of packaging, Sandra Mason lifted the ivory cask from within the wooden box and placed it beside the container, scooting herself over a bit on the sofa so she was once more directly in front of what held her attention.
Her fingers felt along the outside of the cask, seeking anything that might be holding the lid onto the main body of the simple, smooth, oblong object. Finding nothing, she grasped the outside of the lid with her fingers and applied pressure as she pulled upward, careful not to apply too much pressure. She had no idea how fragile this object might be and although the cask itself wasn’t the main artifact of interest, still, it was itself old enough to warrant special care and attention.
As the lid came free apprehension seized her once more, only she knew this was simply because she was unconsciously wondering if there might be yet another container within this one, just as with the nesting eggs. There wasn’t.
Inside the oblong ivory cask she discovered a beautiful statuette that appeared to be carved from pure ivory. She knew immediately that this was one of those objects that were carved from the same piece of ivory as the cask that contained it. Such artifacts were common from a certain time period in Egyptian history, though Sandra had never encountered one in person.
The fact of such a rare find itself caused her to become giddy all over again, just as when she first removed the wrapping and opened the cardboard box.
With extreme care Sandra reached within and removed the cleanly carved artifact, noting that although the main box was nearly two-feet long, this artifact was no more than fourteen inches high. She examined it carefully, keeping a firm grip upon the smooth, off-white surface as she turned it about in her hands, her attention fixed to the intricately carved statue that was very obviously of Egyptian origin, since it depicted the form of a woman, completely nude, her legs bent up under her body as she was kneeling, her arms outstretched above her head, allowing her breasts, which were full and firm, to stand out from the front of her chest.
The only thing that seemed unusual to Sandra Mason was the fact that this figurine of a woman had a bird’s head, possibly a falcon or a hawk, since these were the most prominent of the hunting birds in ancient Egypt, where a woman’s should be. It wasn’t unusual for a god to be depicted with the head of a falcon, but it was unusual for a goddess to be depicted in this manner.
The falcon most commonly referred to Horus, the son of Isis, who later ruled all of Egypt, according to legend and mythology. His father was Osiris, who was killed by Set, another of the gods, most commonly depicted with the head of a long-snouted animal, no one was ever certain exactly which animal it was, though some thought it might possibly be that of an Aardvark, a jackal, greyhound or one of many animals with similar features. Truly, no one knew for certain.
But to have a goddess displayed with Horus’ head was extremely uncommon, the first unusual thing about this package, besides the fact that it had arrived mysteriously.
Sandra continued studying the figurine and noticed that on its back were two wings, folded, signifying that the goddess was at rest. This also was unusual, since the only goddess she could recall with wings of this type on her back was Isis, the mother of Horus, which only increased the mystery. There was always Nekhebet, but she was represented by a vulture, not a falcon or hawk. If this was Isis, why would she have been carved with the head of her son? It made no sense to Sandra’s orderly mind.
As she continued on with her inspection of the figurine Sandra turned it over and discovered that on each of the two soles of this goddess’ feet an inscription had been made. A single word on each foot indicated the possibility of the name of the goddess, but these were too small for even her well-trained eyes to see clearly.
Rising from her seat, Sandra carefully carried the figurine over to a workbench set against the back wall of her office. She didn’t do too much work in here, preferring to relegate that task to the actual workrooms set aside for such, but once in awhile, such as now, she had occasion to use the short table, which held only a few tools necessary for inspecting artifacts such as this.
With one hand firmly grasping the figurine so she couldn’t drop it, the other hand flicked the switch on a large magnifying lens that was set on an adjustable arm. The light aided in seeing any object placed beneath the lens as it magnified the object and enabled the viewer to see every aspect of it more clearly and easily.
Sandra held the figurine so that the bottoms of the feet were beneath the lens. She turned it slightly until the hieroglyphics were enlarged and more easily read.
She noted with satisfaction that the right sole held the name Isis inscribed upon it, confirming her conjecture that this might be that goddess. The left foot held the name Horus inscribed, which only served to baffle her further. Why would anyone carve an image of Isis merged together with her son Horus? She had never heard of such an artifact, though she held one in her hands now and had no question as to this object’s authenticity. Everything else about it bespoke the ancient Egyptian origins of the figurine as being as real and unobjectionable as so many hundreds of others that existed within this museum and many others she had personally seen and inspected over the years.
Still, why was this one a merger of both god and goddess? It was a mystery even more perplexing than the method of delivery for this piece, which she might never discover and no longer cared all that much about. All that mattered to her now was understanding the nature of this particular carving.
Perhaps her husband, Andrew Mason, himself a noted archeologist and historian of Egypt as well as more than a dozen other ancient civilizations, would know the answer.
Sandra had met Andrew Mason on a dig in Mesopotamia many years back, when she was still studying for her doctorate. He had only completed the studies for his own doctorate a year prior to their meeting and had been more than happy to assist this woman he viewed as so incredibly beautiful as well as intelligent and exciting to achieve her own goals in that direction.
The two had quickly fallen in love and gotten married while yet in the ancient land, much to the consternation of her parents, who didn’t object to who she married, since both of them were archeologists, only to the location and timing of her marriage. They had always envisioned a large ceremony in the states where all their family and friends could attend and take part in. The decision to be wed in one of the lands their daughter loved so much was understandable, though still Stephen and Marjorie Rayford couldn’t wait for their daughter and her newly acquired husband to return to the states so they could stage a large reception for them at least.
It was her father, Stephen (pronounced Ste-fen not Ste-ven) Rayford, who had built and opened the Chicago Rare Antiquities Museum, serving as the first curator and passing that title and office along to his only daughter when he had become too ill to carry on with the duties.
Andrew Mason, Sandra’s husband, assumed another role within the museum, not in the least perturbed by being under the authority of his wife. He loved her at least as much as she did him, and besides, he often ventured out into the field, visiting digs which might unearth artifacts suitable for display within the museum which was their home. That was Andrew's true love - cultivating archeological sites and unearthing ancient lost artifacts - not sitting behind a desk, stuck in a stodgy museum.
Currently Andrew was in America. He had in fact driven to work with his wife, as he most usually did when he was at home and should be busy in one of the many workrooms. Sandra firmly grasped the figurine in her hands and went in search of him.
Andrew Mason himself was busily engaged in inspecting a statue that had arrived just this morning. No one seemed to know when the large wooden crate that held the statue had arrived, since it was sitting on the loading dock out back when the first of the caretakers had arrived at seven o’clock. That in itself was a most unusual happenstance, since artifacts of this type always had multiple invoices that had to be signed before they were released into anyone else’s care. The employee had taken it upon himself to move the crate into one of the workrooms most commonly used by Andrew Mason, since the label on the crate identified the associate curator as the recipient.
Upon arriving at work and learning of the unexpected package Andrew had immediately gone into the workroom and opened the crate, discovering a large box nestled inside a thick bedding of straw. The box was smooth on all sides and seemed to be comprised of a singularly large piece of onyx. Though it wasn’t unusual for a cask of this type to be comprised entirely of one piece, finding a piece of unflawed onyx large enough to carve something of this size was.
Inside the cask Andrew found something which oddly enough was shaped much like an ancient sarcophagus, not in itself unusual, but the sarcophagus suggested Egyptian origins. The artifact within the cask was anything but Egyptian.
The statue within the sarcophagus was itself nearly four feet in height and at its base was a good two feet wide. The depiction carved into yet another singular piece of onyx was more that of Greek design or perhaps Early Roman. The carving displayed a muscular male image, defined especially by the large phallus that protruded from between the legs, though the head was that of a ram with the two curved horns such a creature would have displayed prominently upon its head.
The legs of the creature were only slightly hairy and resembled those of a goat more than anything else, with cloven hooves, only unlike normal cloven hooves, these portrayed claws that seemed to extrude from the front of each hoof, the claws splayed wide with a sharp talon in the front of each, somewhat reminiscent to Andrew of the statue of Lucifer which depicted him in chains and having toenails long enough to be portrayed as talons. On the dark statue’s back, oddly enough, were wings shaped more like those of a bat or dragon, leathery in design and edged on the bottom, the way a mythological dragon might have.
Although certain depictions of Lucifer had been made in centuries past wherein the fallen angel was portrayed as a satyr, complete with an enlarged phallus as this statue had, there was nothing at all usual or normal about this carving. Andrew had never seen anything like it before and in fact had never heard of anyone else unearthing anything of this type. Had it not been for the shipping label identifying it as one of his most trusted contacts in the archeological world, he might well suspect it of being a fraud, something someone was attempting to foist off on him as genuine when it most certainly wasn’t.
The oddity of the piece only cemented his curiosity, making him want to inspect it more thoroughly in order to determine exactly what society and era it might have derived from. Something this odd, if in fact it was truly authentic and not the fraud he yet considered, would prove to be a valuable find for any museum, let alone one as low-key as the one he and his wife presided over.
He was just examining the long, curved, forked tail quite common if this was a depiction of Lucifer or one of his many incarnations throughout history, when the door to the workroom opened and his wife entered, an air of excitement about her so thick Andrew couldn’t help but give her his full attention, in spite of what he himself was inspecting.
"Andrew," Sandra almost gasped breathlessly as she entered the workroom where she knew her husband would most likely be found. "You have got to look at this statue I received this morning. It's the most exquisite piece of its kind I've ever seen."
After examining the small figurine with his wife, and agreeing that this piece was indeed authentic Egyptian from perhaps the Rameses II era, sometime between 1279 and 1212 B.C., Andrew brought Sandra’s attention to the larger statue he had been inspecting, pointing out the similarities of delivery between his statue and hers.
“Why on earth would anyone send each of us a statue we weren’t expecting?” Sandra queried, moving toward the larger onyx carving that even her husband was having a difficult time authenticating.
“I have no idea,” Andrew replied, walking up behind the bizarre carving of what most likely was the dark god of the underworld in one of his many forms, seeing as how Lucifer was noted as being “the dragon” in certain sources.
As Sandra approached the larger statue that was situated upon the concrete floor of the room, an electric discharge leaped between it and the smaller figurine she yet held within her hands. The singular arc of dark blue electricity flowed within the museum curator, causing her to momentarily lose consciousness. She fell toward the floor, her eyes closed, her mind temporarily shut off.
“Sandra!” Andrew shouted in alarm, seeing his wife stricken in such a manner and falling toward the hard surface which would certainly hurt her severely. The dutiful and loving husband rushed to her side and caught her just before her head could strike the floor. Oddly, the figurine she held was safely enwrapped within her hands. Most likely the muscles of her hands had contracted upon contact with the electricity, causing her hold to tighten upon the artifact and preventing it from falling from her grasp.
“Sandra, are you all right?” Andrew lifted his wife and was about to carry her toward a long divan off to one side of the room, but the action of lifting his wife had caused her once more to turn closer to the large dark statue of Lucifer. Yet again dark blue electricity sparked between the two artifacts, this time, with Andrew bearing his wife within his arms, his muscles themselves contracted, halting him mid-stride so that he found himself unable to move. The electric arc continued unabated for several long minutes before abruptly ceasing. At the cessation of the display of energy Andrew gazed down upon his wife even as she was still unconscious and became overwhelmed by a deep-seated lust for her beauty unlike any passion he had ever held for her before.
Carrying her quickly to the waiting divan, the befuddled archeologist unceremoniously dumped his wife, still unconscious, upon the furniture and proceeded to tear her clothing away from her body, quickly leaving her as naked as when she stepped from the shower each morning.
Overcome with lust for this beauty before him, he then stripped his own clothing away as greedily and hastily, not caring at all that buttons flew off and material was torn.
All garments cast aside from both living occupants of the room, Andrew, seized by a force he could neither identify nor understand spread his wife’s legs and impaled her vagina with his erect penis that was far larger than he had ever exhibited before. The size of his organ was lost on him, however, since he never stopped to look at it. His full attention was solely riveted to the naked beauty he currently pumped his full manhood within as ferociously as he had ever witnessed a starving canine devouring a chunk of raw, bloody meat.
While he was yet in the midst of his passion, Sandra came out of her temporary unconsciousness, horrified to find that while she had been unconscious her husband had seized the opportunity to force himself sexually upon her. They had never once kept themselves from one another in the area of sexuality, but to find him rutting upon her like a savage, mindless beast without any care or concern for her wellbeing, seeing as she had been knocked unconscious and could have suffered severe injuries, both to her nervous system and her brain, appalled the sensitive woman of a proper nature and upbringing.
“Andrew,” she tried calling out to him, but he seemed not to hear her in the least. “Andrew, please stop it. You’re hurting me, Andrew. Please, stop!” She almost screamed the last word, but was yet mindful of where they were at this moment and no matter how he was treating her by virtually raping her unwilling body, she couldn’t in the least accept being discovered by any of their employees, people under her authority, in such a compromising and unprofessional position.
Just as Sandra was about to beat against her husband with her fists, she felt his body stiffen with a final thrust inside of her and knew he had just climaxed.
His body remained motionless for a long moment then fell heavily upon her, pushing her helplessly against the cushions of the divan, trapping her beneath his heavier, stronger body.
“Andrew, please get off me,” she begged, now nearly whimpering, tears forming in her eyes and trickling down her face. But before he could show any signs of having heard her pleas, a sudden burst of flickering light directly behind their conjoined bodies caught her attention. Sandra glanced past the prone and unmoving form of her husband only to discover a fire had somehow broken out in the room and was even now raging out of control.
Fear of being consumed by the flames overcame her fear of being found in this position and she began to scream at the top of her lungs even as her hands pushed at the still unmoving body of her husband.
Was he dead? The unreasoning fear suddenly overcame her. Why else would he lie on top of her this way? What else could possibly cause Andrew to simply fall on top of her and not move, regardless of her cries, pleadings and screams?
Unexpectedly it seemed as though the fire had spread somehow between the two of them as a sudden outburst of heat, followed by flickering, ravaging flames that further came between and separated husband from wife.
“My god, Andrew!” Sandra screamed louder than she already had. If anything was going to bring help from the others in the building, that scream should do the trick.
But before anyone could respond and prove they had indeed heard her scream, an explosion occurred between the two, blowing Andrew off her body and separating them. Sandra screamed loudly once more, but that was the last thing she recalled before waking up in a hospital room two days later.
At first no one would answer her queries concerning her husband, but then finally, a doctor entered her room and introduced himself as Dr. Henry Nelson, someone she didn’t know until then, but who had been assigned to her case.
It seemed she had suffered severe burn injuries all across her body, especially the front of her body and it was falsely assumed, since the burns were as severe as they were, that the fire that consumed her had been the cause of burning her clothing completely away from her, leaving no trace of the clothing on her body.
She had been wrapped head-to-toe, just like an ancient Egyptian mummy, in treatment for her burns and was expected to remain in the hospital for several months at the very least.
Sandra continued to ask about her husband and was finally told by Dr. Nelson that Andrew had died in the fire, consumed by the flames so that only his skeleton remained by the time firemen had been able to get to him.
Remarkably enough, Dr. Nelson brought the subject back to Sandra herself, not wanting her to dwell on the loss of her husband, she would have more than enough time for that later, as severe as her burns had been, she had at least suffered only surface wounds. The flames had not burned through to her muscles or bones, leaving her in far better condition than anyone expected her to be in under such an intense fire.
“One more thing I think you should know, if you don’t already,” Nelson smiled slightly, indicating that this bit of news at least should be more pleasant than anything else he had given her.
“We ran tests and discovered you are pregnant, at least three months along now.”
Sandra stared dumbfounded at the doctor beside her bed. How could this possibly be? She had been on birth control pills, Andrew and her both in agreement that they weren’t yet ready to bring children into the marriage equation just yet. She hadn’t missed any of her periods and had just finished the latest one last week.
She mentioned this to Nelson, who merely shrugged and replied, “God works in mysterious ways, Sandra. Many of them we can’t understand in the annals of medicine, but they exist nonetheless.”
With that he had left the room, leaving her both grieving, over the death of her husband, and joyous, over the fact that if she had to lose her husband from her life at least God, or fate, she wasn’t sure what she believed in just now, something had decided to leave a portion of her husband with her in the form of a baby, Andrew’s last legacy in this world. How ironic that she should have woken to find him mindlessly raping her and now to find that several months ago his seed had managed to take root inside of her and bear fruition.
Then another thought nagged at her until she paid attention to it.
Three months ago Andrew had been in Cairo. He had been there four months back and remained there until almost two months ago when he had returned. Given that fact, how could she possibly be three months pregnant? Andrew wasn’t anywhere near her three months ago and she certainly hadn’t had sex with anyone else, hadn’t even looked that way at another man since falling in love with Andrew.
The mysteries continued piling up in her life. How was she ever to continue on under such bizarre circumstances?
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IL DIAVOLO
PART TWO
On the seedier side of Chicago, in a dark alley adjacent to more dark alleys just as filthy and cluttered with garbage that had been pulled from various dumpsters by stray dogs and homeless people alike, both species of creature looking for anything worth eating that had been thrown out, the city sanitation engineers, nee, garbage collectors, disdaining to pick up the strewn about refuse, that not being in their job description, a small group of shapes moved about amongst the darkness and trash. The reason for their being in the alley was less altruistic than that of either the canines or transients.
Without speaking a word to one another, one of the participants in this midnight melodrama lifted a standard size briefcase he had brought with him. He set the case up on top of several boxes recently stacked against the wall by the owner of the small shop whose access door to the alley was next to the boxes. The man worked the combination lock on the case, then flipped the latches free and opened the lid. Inside the case was revealed a collection of small, clear, packages that were full of a white, powdery substance.
The man stepped back from the case, one hand yet holding onto an edge of the lid, as though he was afraid one of the others meeting with him might decide to abscond with his valuable possession. Considering the meeting place and time of night, that risk had a high probability of materializing.
Another of the participants moved forward. He lifted one of the small bags in his hand and felt the contents through the cellophane wrapping. He then withdrew a knife from the back pocket of his soiled jeans and flicked the blade open with ease, proving he had practiced this maneuver many times over. The long, slender metal of the blade gleamed even amidst the darkened alley, catching the faint illumination of the streetlights out on the nearby sidewalks. The man inserted the point of the blade against the bag, piercing the thin material. The blade pushed deep within the white contents, then was extracted, a small amount of the powdery substance held upon the flat of the blade.
Another of the participants of this unseen drama moved forward. He held out a small test tube, which the man with the blade accepted. He tapped the powder off the blade and into the tube, and then took a small vial from the man next to him and twisted open the top, tipping the vial over the opening of the test tube. Several small drops of a clear liquid fell within the tube. The man swirled the contents of the tube, mixing the powder and liquid together. He held the tube up to catch the miniscule light, peering into the glass at the transformed contents.
Satisfied that the substance within the bags was exactly what he expected it to be, the man handed the test tube back to the man next to him and tossed the punctured bag back within the briefcase so it once more joined with the others of its kind.
He then reached within the pocket of the long coat he wore. When he extracted his hand, he held a weapon in it, a gun, a nine millimeter Berretta. This he pointed toward the man who had brought the case of drugs with him.
“What the fuck, man!” are the first words uttered this night during this meeting. The man who uttered them reacted by leaping back several steps from the case he eyed jitteringly, his gaze moving back between his yet open case and the gun pointing menacingly at his chest.
“You think you gonna rip me off, homey? Me? You better think again, mother-fucker. Look around you.”
The man with the gun in his hand and the other man who came with him both glanced to the sides of the alley as the boxes and other items of trash piled about moved. Several until-then unseen men showed themselves; in their hands each one carried a rifle that upon closer examination would reveal each weapon to be an XMB lightweight assault rifle, an automatic weapon that was gas operated and capable of delivering seven hundred and fifty rounds per minute. Each of the three weapons pointed squarely at the chest of the men who had conspired together to “rip off” the drugs from the man who had brought them to this clandestine meeting.
“I guess the shoe’s on the other foot now, isn’t it mother-fucker?” The owner of the drugs affected a swagger to his gait as he sauntered forward. His left hand grabbed hold of the Berretta the supposed buyer of the drugs held. He twisted the handgun and pulled it easily from its owner’s grip, then swung the weapon like a club and back-handed the man before him in the face.
“I guess now we reverse this rip-off and I take the money you brought with you to buy my merchandise, eh, homey?” The man holding the other’s Berretta laughed, then changed his grip on the handgun so it pointed toward its previous owner. “How you like that, mother-fucker?”
Without a warning, the Berretta discharged. A single round erupted from the barrel of the sleek weapon and pierced the chest of the would-be drug stealer. The victim’s eyes widened in shocked surprise. He knew this night had turned bad, but he still hadn’t expected it would end in his death.
The man’s legs gave out from beneath him and he slumped to the ground, the last sight his bleary eyes took in was the wrapper of a discarded Big Mac that rolled over in the slight breeze running through the alley, the wrapper came to rest next to the dying man’s nose.
As the man with the Berretta began to kneel next to the now lifeless form, his hands already starting to search the corpse for the money that he was supposed to have brought with him, the others in the alley, those with the XMBs as well as the former co-conspirator of the deceased lying on the ground, all found their brains growing fuzzy. Those wielding the weapons pointed the shortened barrels of the machine guns toward the ground, their attention waning as each man faltered in his stance and stumbled, swayed, as though having perhaps imbibed too much of the very product they sought to sell in this alley this night.
The man kneeling beside the corpse found his mind turning to mush as well. He slumped over the body he was searching, his hands yet stuffed within the inner pockets of the deceased’s long coat.
From atop the shortest of the buildings bordering the alley, another dark shape dropped; it plummeted toward the ground in slow motion, as though it moved through thickened Jell-o until the feet of this newcomer touched the substance of the pavement that formed the alleyway.
The slow motion ceased suddenly, the newcomer, much smaller than those others who now slumped all about, the automatic weapons they once wielded now dangling loosely from their fingers, sauntered forward. A bit of light caught the newcomer, revealing this to be a slender young woman barely clad in a tight-fitting costume that left nothing to the imagination as to what her body would look like completely naked.
The costume consisted simply of a continuous strip of two-inch cloth that crisscrossed the front of the girl’s breasts, barely covered her nipples and made her almost legal to walk the streets of this city. The strip of cloth began in its center behind her neck, over her clavicle and straight down her front where they covered her nipples and her breasts, then crossed just beneath her breasts and ran around the back where the cloth merged together in order to cover the crack of her ass between her cheeks, then ran between her finely toned thighs and up in front, still as one strip, covering the pubic region, which upon closer examination revealed she had shaved this region completely free of the fine hair that normally grew there. The singular strip was held in place just above where her pubic hair should be, had she not shaved it away, with a special adhesive she used that wouldn’t allow the cloth to be removed without her applying a solvent that was safe to use against human skin.
The only other way to remove the cloth would be to rip it forcibly from her body, tearing off the top-most portion of her skin in the process.
One long strip of two-inch cloth of deep red material was all that comprised the action outfit this self-styled heroine wore.
The deep red mid-thigh boots and the long gloves that extended up past her elbows contained far more material than that which covered the rest of her body.
Upon the girl’s face, framed by her soft, blonde hair that was cut and styled in such a way that it curled and fluffed out, adding a small amount of width to a form that had little width of its own, set a mask of the same material as the “costume”, obstructing the perfect, beautiful features of her face, allowing her the sole bit of anonymity that kept others from knowing who she was in this guise.
Walking slowly forward, this intruder in the midst of a failed drug buy glanced from one participant in this melodrama to another. Her eyes squinted as she briefly took in each nearly unconscious thug present. The power within her mind allowed her to control the minds of others, causing them to submit to her will in various forms. In this case she chose to merely cloud the minds of these thugs, deprived them of their ability to think rationally, though as she took in those she now controlled, she doubted seriously that any of these had ever had a rational thought in their entire lives.
“Men,” she exhaled the word quietly, as though to speak it more loudly would disturb the Zen tableau surrounding her. “They always think they have to hold such big weapons. Nothing more than phallic symbols; replacement penises for the tiny stub of flesh that they are embarrassed to admit is all they have dangling between their legs.”
She reached toward the nearest thug and easily pulled his XMB from his hands. Lifting the weapon up in her own hands, the girl examined the weapon, turning it about so she could easily look it over.
“Not a bad weapon at all,” she smiled and nodded her head, though no one else about was able to see how she appreciated the weapon she held. “I can see why you hoods decided to choose this particular weapon as your replacement dick. It’s got a nice heft to it.” In response to her words, she lifted the weapon up and gazed down along the barrel, sighting in the head of the eerily quiet and still thug under her mental control who shot the other man in the chest.
Her index finger squeezed back on the trigger the tiniest amount and the XMB erupted in a brief bark of staccato laughter. The girl’s face exuded the surprise she felt from having inadvertently fired the weapon.
“Wow, that really is a sensitive weapon,” she laughed uncaringly. She looked over toward the two men slumped together on the ground and realized that her aim had been perfect. The head of the drug dealer no longer rested atop the neck which had become a bloody stump. The brief expenditure of rounds from the XMB resulted in demolishing the skull, brain, hair and flesh so that what once was the head of a man, now lay scattered and strewn about this dirty alley with the rest of the refuse; indiscernible from the rest.
“Oooo,” she cooed easily and nonchalantly, her eyes wide open, displaying the whites as perfect orbs, as perfect as the much larger orbs which set atop her ribcage, the nipples on the breasts acting as the pupils of her “chest-eyes”.
“I bet that didn’t even hurt, did it?” she asked the now lifeless man, as though he who no longer had a head could possibly answer her.
In the background the girl noticed a faint wailing of sirens as police cruisers finally responded to the gunshots someone in the neighborhood, most likely an elderly person, since none of the younger variety of human beings inhabiting such a wasted neighborhood as this would even bother, called in as having heard, interrupting the sleep that person was trying to get.
“Oops. Cops on the way,” the girl chirped in a cheerful, singsong voice that would sound more at home from a high school student singing in a school concert. She quickly searched the remainder of the still subdued men slumped about her, extracted anything of value, money, jewelry, credit cards. She searched the two corpses last, ignoring the blood that covered them from the exploded head, then tossed everything she had gathered inside the briefcase to join the drug contents before closing the lid and snatching the case up by its handle.
“Thanks for the fun evening, guys,” she called flippantly over one shoulder as her body began to levitate upward. Within seconds she reached the roof of the building she had dropped down from earlier and stepped forward onto the solid material of the building just as the first of the two police cruisers came to a screeching stop at the mouth of the darkened alley.
From atop the building the girl stooped to a crouch and leaned forward on the briefcase, watching as the police officers, their own weapons drawn and held before them, cautiously entered the alley to find two corpses amidst the garbage. At this point she relaxed her mind. Those she had been controlling moaned as though they had just awoken from a night of far too much drinking, their heads splitting as though they needed a “hair of the dog that bit them” to clear the cobwebs.
“What the fuck…?” one of the thugs muttered, his XMB still looped about his index finger, pointed down toward his feet.
“Freeze, asshole!” one of the cops shouted before bringing his weapon to bear upon the moaning thug, who reacted instinctively by lifting his weapon up into his arms. It was the last conscious movement he made in this wasted life as the cop discharged his handgun. A single round buried itself within the chest of the thug.
“Ooo, this could get exciting,” the girl whispered to herself with a childish smile. “But, I suppose I’ve had enough fun tonight.” She moved back from the edge of the roof even as she stood to her full height of five feet-four inches, six inches with the heels she wore on her boots. She lifted the briefcase in her hands and patted the side several times. “Besides, someone I know is waiting to pay me quite generously for what’s inside you, baby,” she spoke now to the case, though it rudely refused to respond in kind.
With her legs swinging forward in a leaping fashion, as though she actually was only a young girl at play, the blonde centerfold material dressed in almost nothing at all skipped merrily along the rooftop until coming to the next alley which separated the building she was on from the next building over. She continued skipping, her legs leapt high so that she sailed evenly and smoothly across the expanse of the alley.
“Wheeee,” she called out more loudly now, no longer concerned about being heard. “This has been one hell of a fun-filled night.”
* * * * *
At six o’clock the next morning Sandra Mason exited her bedroom and walked the short distance down the hallway to another room. She knocked lightly only twice, then opened the door and peeked her head within the room. The morning sun had just begun to filter through the lacey pink curtains adorned with Hawaiian floral themes (her daughter’s current obsession), casting the room into a softly-lit rosey coloration.
“Hey, sleepyhead,” Sandra called out to her daughter, entering the room and crossing over to the bed. She sat down on the edge of the mattress and placed a hand on the head of her eighteen year-old daughter, gently tussling the teenager’s vibrant brown hair, almost identical to her own hair color. “Time to wake up, my little angel.”
“Mmm, leave me alone.” Angelina Mason mumbled into her pillow, her face buried deeply within the luxuriously soft head rest. “Don’t wanna get up.”
“I know you don’t, sweetie,” Sandra singsonged cheerfully. “But it’s a school day and sleeping in won’t make it any easier. Up and at ‘em, Atom Ant.” Sandra slapped a hand down with minimal impact upon her daughter’s blanket-covered posterior, then stood from the bed and crossed over to the open door.
“I’ll have orange juice and English muffins ready by the time you get dressed and join me downstairs,” she called out cheerily before closing the door behind her.
For another few moments Angelina remained in the same position, her face buried in the pillow, before rolling over and “staring” through yet-closed eyelids at the ceiling. Her eyelids fluttered open and the teenager flung her covers back. She sat up and looked down at herself, surprised to find she was still wearing the strip of cloth she chose as her “action outfit”. Her eyes opened wide in shock.
“Shit. Good thing Mom didn’t pull my covers back,” she chastised herself harshly. “Next time change out of the outfit before going to bed, asshole.”
Still shaking her head at her stupidity, Angelina climbed off her bed as though it was the hardest thing she’d ever done. Too many long nights out on the town, fragging bad guys and pawning off pilfered goods to fences and other drug dealers had begun to take its toll on her youthful mind. Even the extra-sensory psychic abilities she’d had nearly her whole life weren't enough to keep this energetic and over-active youth from wearing herself out with so much strenuous rooftop frolicking.
Angelina stripped off her costume, tossed it into her closet where hopefully her long blonde wig should be, her luscious and firm teenager’s body revealed for only herself to see. She stood before her full-length mirror and turned about, examining her sleek musculature, ensuring that she didn’t come home with any new bruises she wouldn’t be able to explain to her mother. Satisfied she hadn’t caused harm to her body, the self-styled anti-heroine entered her bathroom, turned the water in the shower to almost too hot to handle and climbed in, closing the pebbled clear glass door behind her.
Once she finished showering, she dressed in a more normal teenage schoolgirl outfit, which for her meant a loose long-sleeved shirt that she tied in the middle beneath her breasts so that it perfectly revealed the cleavage from her firm and pert thirty-six CC cup breasts. The push-up bra she always wore, which also showed from the too wide gap left between the sides of the shirt which are not buttoned together, make her full breasts look even bigger than they already are. Just the way Angelina liked her breasts to look. It drove the boys at school completely crazy.
The skirt she chose to wear was considered a mini, but it wasn't the shortest skirt she owned. Today she felt as though she needed to obey her mother’s dictates about not looking too much like she’s selling herself on an open market, so she decided on a skirt that extended a good three inches past her pubic region, as opposed to the other skirts she liked better and barely covered her pubic region at all. Even in this skirt, each time she bent over a water fountain at school – which she does more than she actually needs to just so she can entice the boys with what she’s not about to give them – all activity in the hallway at school ceases while the entirety of the male student body pauses to admire the deeply tanned flesh between her thighs that prove she visits the tanning salon totally nude. She has long since taken to wearing string thongs instead of more conventional underwear, for the very reason listed previously, though even in such thin panties as she had always chosen, her firmly rounded ass would stand out in sexual enticement.
Shunning pantyhose or any other type of nylons, Angelina decided today she would wear calf-high white rayon socks, that for some reason known only to the male psyche, cause more erections in the boys ogling her than would happen if she were wearing full-length nylons that made her legs appear nude. Go figure.
Assuring herself that she looked spicy enough to set the boys at school completely on fire, as well as most of the male teachers and a few of the female teachers, Angelina skipped down the stairs to the kitchen and grabbed up the English muffin her mother set out for her next to the glass of orange juice. She took a bite of the muffin and chewed only a couple of times before swallowing then took another bite and another until the muffin was gone. She then washed her “breakfast” down by gulping the OJ, barely managing to not leak it down her chin.
“Bye, Mom,” she called out before turning toward the door that led out to the carport. Her mother entered the kitchen from the laundry room where she was folding clothes that were in the dryer when she went to bed the night before. Being a full-time mother as well as the curator of a museum had its disadvantages.
Not seeing what her daughter was wearing today, Sandra Mason caught only the briefest glimpse of her daughter’s backside as the door closed behind her.
“Bye, sweetie. Remember you’re coming by the museum after school. We’re going out for dinner tonight.” She doubted her daughter heard her call out that last. She made a mental note to text her daughter’s cell phone later in the day before Angelina got out of school, then turned back to folding clothes.
Late in the afternoon Sandra Mason was busy in her office at the museum, reading over the text of a document that was sent to her earlier in the day. The document was only a copy, but it’s of an important document that dated back to the pre-Christian era at the beginning of the Roman occupation of Jerusalem. It’s not what she normally specialized in, not being of Egyptian origin, but the person who sent it to her valued her expertise in ancient documents, so she agreed to examine it for authentication purposes.