The Fifth Blonde free porn video

The Fifth Blonde

(by Eve Adorer)

Chapter 1 - Muffled

Spindon, the Midlands, England, once upon a time?.

The presto staccato clatter of high heels echoed the lonely all-but empty street: the tympani of an erotic symphony played solo by a duet of dainty feet.

Spindon was as warm as Spindon ever is. Rain had reigned not long since, with Thor?s bass drum rolls aperitif to jagged strokes slashing the sky blinding blue-white.

Prolific litter, latterly scattering the sidewalk, now cluttered the gutter, washed there by nature?s hopeless attempt to power-hose the Spindon Soho district clean.

The northern hemisphere sun claimed ascendancy over the town?s slatternly summer season. To be this dark therefore needed the early hours, with dawn, borne on and born of the earth?s rotation, starting its post gestation parturition.

There were lights, street, jaundice-yellow, apologising for their inadequacy. There were lights, shop, palsy-white, left on for security and to display the tawdry wares of this locale of despairs.

Boarded windows said shops that did not pay protection money, or else had died of market force?s divorce from custom, and custom?s practice of now going elsewhere.

In such shoes she could not run even though she wanted to. So she made onwards, head down.

By her not looking up, her hallow haloed blonde head played ostrich without the sand for such an inward outlook.

In a doorway ahead: silent shadows shouted their threat and shivered her spine. The hairs on her slim neck rose in reflex ripple. Thank god it was only two drunken girls drinking each other?s kisses.

But fear had demanded she assess if threat threatened, so she had dared to look up.  The girls she saw in the doorway, would be called ?fat? by unflattering standards that did not see the cream of their complexions, and did not sympathise that to be so tired of life so young spoke of society?s deepest evil.

In so looking up, she saw that, shadows despite, it was safe; but stayed too long in stare, so the call echoed before her as she hurried toward the kissed-in doorway:

?Whadda you fuckin? starin? at??

And the call echoed behind her as she hurried by:

?Seen enough den ?ave yer?!?

?????..

Spindon Police had taken this one here as a summer casual: her and her equally pretty friend. They were still at university. Just nineteen. She was innocent of so much of life and, more so, of so much of love.

Why me; I don?t know.

She was tall, when I like them petite. She was blonde when I like them brunette. She had pale blue eyes, when I love them brown. She had a full bosom for a girl with such a slim frame, when I prefer them to contrast, not more than match my own. But she had the cutest bum, and she knew I could not help but watch her swing that thing when she was busy-bee about the office floor.

Plain clothes were allowed civilians like her. Me too now I was a detective sergeant in the Criminal Investigation Department ? the CID.

She was a sunny honey, with love in eyes that gleamed dreams.

Why me; I don?t know, but I knew from the fact that she and her redheaded fellow-student silenced their chatter when I came near, only for its sweet music to charm the air when I had gone by, that electricity was current.

It was DC, one-way, till the day she wore the dress.

Angelina, for this was she: Angelina in her tight cotton, blue cotton, cool cotton, dress. The station house echoed bedlam as we busied with our business, but still the hush of Angelina?s dress? hem on her sin-black nylons, as she slinked past my desk, charged me with ecstatic static.

On she wasn?t it trying, when she delivered my mail. Perhaps that was because she was shy without her friend to goad her to exceed her confidence?s certain competence.

Her voice was bright silk-honey with a tease of giggle.

?Only two letters today, Miss Winsome: you must be losing your popularity?.

In that instant she blushed scarlet. She was so embarrassed that the intended joke she had rehearsed, had sounded so rude now it was delivered, that she duly flushed pink dew rose from her forehead to her nape, and dropped her sweet eyes to say ?sorry?.

Acutely shy in pink-faced consequence, she lingered only momentarily by my desk, but the brisk soft swish of her black nylons brushed by her dress? tight skirt, was scent-in-sound in the sensuality with which the noise of its silence rose above the office fray?s bray.

?Truly?, I said. ?Please call me ?Truly?; not ?Miss Winsome??

I was disappointed at being so prosaic. DC was translating to AC currently. I was eleven-years older than this honey-pie, but she still made me shy, and my words thus stupidly inadequate.

As she turned away: ?Thank you for the letters Angelina?, I said, following-up one inadequacy with another even worse, for which I mentally kicked myself again.

She turned and her bottom-of-her-bottom blonde flow, momentarily curtained one shy eye as she whispered: ?You?re welcome Miss?.. Truly?, and blushed again. And a name I had always hated, mine, had just sounded heavenly.

?????..

Angelina was, next day subsequently, both wrong and right in her assessment.

Subliminally sublimely she had sounded out, she thought, what had aroused my senses. That it had been the shush of static from her tight dress on her stocking tops topped thighs that had sent ?scent? to my ears, she had not realised.

She now stood, talking to her redheaded co-conspiratorial co-concupiscent, the titian tease Emma Eyeful.

As I walked by, Angelina stood chatting self-consciously with her friend and fellow student. Angelina stood in a miniskirt with her long slim legs displayed from her ankles all-but to her nave. She stood in what I guessed must be the first ever pair of heelless tiptoe-walk en-pointe-shoes she had ever worn. She stood thus on tiptop tiptoe with her legs, her calf muscles not least, in a tension of taut curves impossible to give inattention.

Angelina was thus both wrong and right in her assessment. Sublimely subliminally she had sounded out, she thought, what would arouse me. That it would be and had been the hush of the hem of her tight skirt on her nyloned thighs that had sent sweet music to my ears, she had not realised; but she was not wrong in concluding that I was a legs girl.

A significant silence descended over the vacation students? chatter as I got closer.

As I drew close: ?Good morning Truly?, an angel whispered, with a voice that spoke too of longed-for greater confidence.

?Good morning Angelina?, I answered, as I caught her eyes, eyes that said ?please don?t hurt me?.

The two student-girls? silence continued as I carried on by to my desk. Then a sigh, Angelina?s, and a sympathetic giggle, Emma Eyeful?s, told of love?s leaning to keening longing.

???????..

What courage it took for Angelina to come to my desk later that morning, I only thought about in retrospect.

She lingered by my desk, till I looked up at her shy eyes avoiding contact with mine.

?Please could you spare a moment Truly?? Angelina concerned.

From the nervous tone of her voice, I thought she had made a huge error in her work, and my heart went out to her.

?Of course Angelina. How can I help you sweetheart?? I asked.

I think I might have misplaced them somewhere in the historic records storeroom, Truly. Honestly, I?ve searched high and low! ?..? Angelina honeyed. ?I thought maybe with fresh eyes on the job we might find them? It?s so stupid of me: they were there earlier this morning?. I?d swear they were! ??..?

I pushed aside the files I had been prioritising on my desk, and followed her willow wand wonder, as she wove and weft her mystery before me, her breathtaking slim legs a little unsteady, because she was constantly tiptoe topped like a ballerina in the heelless pirouette shoes she was not yet used to wearing.

Her sensuousness was sensational to my nose and my ears. The scent from her burnished blonde rippling fresh washed hair, blessed the air. The ?scent? of her miniskirt caressing crisply on her nyloned thighs sent a swish wish to my aural nerves and my clit.

Angelina let me go ahead of her into the storeroom where she had been working alone, filing.

When within, turning to the sound of a well-ordered well-oiled ?click?, I enquired: ?What exactly is it that we are looking for Angelina??

Of course she had locked the door. It should never have been left unlocked in the first place. She should have locked it for security after she had broken off from her work in there to come to my desk.

Angelina started shyly, seeming startled a little, taken by surprise.

?I?m only too happy to help; but we are very busy at the moment as you know. What exactly are we looking for sweetheart?? I asked again of Angelina, who still stood with her back to the locked door, and with her head momentarily lowered.

When Angelina looked up, the huge black pupils middling her China-blue eyes, were compellingly demanding of tutelage, as she whispered, sidling slowly leggilly shyly toward me, while she blessed the air with her sensuous sweet soprano supplication, offering me her mouth: ?I think I?ve lost my panties. I?m not sure if I?m still wearing my panties. Will you search me Truly? ?? Please ??

?????..

It was time for me to return to full duty. My twisted ankle, the ankle that had held me deskbound, was now mended. I would like to claim injury in the line of fire, but my tomcat would call me liar.

I love to wear heels. ?Tom? loves his fish. He got his wish that day, a month ago, after I had winced with the sharp pain. He had run and purred and weaved between my ankles as I was walking in my kitchen with his opened food can. And, in my fear of stepping on him, I had stumbled in my 12-inch-heeled sandals. Such is the risk for a girl paying the dues due to her beauty.

It was time for me to return to full duty. I woke just before the aid of the alarm sounding. It being no longer needed, I pressed it to ?off?.

Bar panties, I was already naked for the shower to baptise me. Being but for butt naked, I was cool without the bedclothes too. Perhaps that was what had awoken me before the alarm went off.

As I moved to leave the bed, Angelina, deep asleep though she was, mumbled protest at the disturbance, and snuggled the duvet she had already monopolised, further over her exquisite body. Yet half her bottom was still cheekily bare, so I leant over and gave it another kiss, and she sleep-talked a slurred, ?MmmNo!?, that even yet confirmed, ?Yes?.

I left my love tumbled in the crumpled bed. It was not that she needed any beauty sleep. But she did have her first day back in her new term at college to face that day.

?????..

Later that same morning, at the police station ?.

?Welcome back to full duty Detective Sergeant Winsome?, the Chief Inspector called from the front of the briefing room.

?Thank you ma?am?, I answered, controlling my hatred of that jumped up tart.

Fucking university graduates. What did they know about real policing? Book bashers! Frigging useless the lot of them! Had they ever tried to control the girls in the crowd when Spindon Vixens were playing Muncester Dikes in the soccer premiership? Had they seen the unemployed minegirls hanging around the street corners, living off handouts since the last colliery closed two years back? Had they walked the beat in Spindon Soho, and seen the skinny drug-dazed prostitutes, desperate for the money for another fix, being eyed-up for being ripped-off by the rich bitches out for a fling with ?a bit of filth?? No. Of course they hadn?t. The cushy pen-pushers never went out unless it was in a chauffeuse driven car!

She could have been a catwalk model too. Perhaps that added to why I hated Chief Inspector Sonia Berkley-Hunt. She had graduated MSc at only sixteen of course. Her doctorate had followed six-months later. Her mind was sharper than a laser razor and her beauty could have centred the fold of ?Pussy Cat? or ?Slit? or any other of the nudey girls? magazines that were top-shelf back then.

But I begrudged her flight to height without the shite I had had to plod through. The shite had started for me as a mere constable eight-years since. My mother could not afford to send me to college. I had worked behind the counter at Woolmart?s from leaving school till I was twenty-one, and old enough to sign on with the police force.

?Now listen up please!? Sonia called, and an attentive silence, punctuated only by Constable Divine Legges-Walker?s nervous cough, descended on the collegiate collectivity.

?Operation Moist Quim: you all know what it is about, and you all know its gone total rats?, Monica began, using the condescending ?common touch? phraseology that I found another reason for my unreasonable hatred of her.

?Operation Moist Quim. Three girls have disappeared now. We know the pattern. They are all under thirty-five, all around five-nine, all of them blonde, all with blue eyes, and all very beautiful??.

?And all well endowed ma?am?, a sweet voice called from the back.

?Just so Constable Legges-Walker: an important common factor. Indeed, none of the girls gone missing was less than a thirty-eight double-D or E-cup?, Sonia agreed, with a look of embarrassment that this point ? these points? ? had been raised, when she would have preferred it ? them? - inferred rather than actually said.

?Of course, they were all in their majority?, Sonia went on. ?I mean they were all old enough to vote, and thus to vote with their feet and leave Spindon behind them.?

?But we know this is more than a mere ?missing persons? matter. We know, because all these girls were either happily married, or had a close partner. And we know, because the wives or girlfriends they left behind, are bereft shocked and distraught from the inexplicable disappearances.?

?A French girl, one Papillon Etalage, is the latest lovely to disappear. And this time we have fallen slightly lucky. We have got two witnesses who saw a girl answering her description, walking through the Spindon Soho area at three yesterday morning.?

?But first, her wife has loaned us footage, so we can see what Ms Etalage looks like?.

?Constable! ?.? The constable thus nodded to by Sonia Berkley-Hunt, began to play a wall-screen projected DVD of a stunning girl playing basketball.

Sonia added commentary to break the eerie silence: ?As you?ll see, Ms Etalage perfectly fits the common description of the uncommonly beautiful girls that have disappeared in their turn before her?..?

??..She is keen on indoor sports ??

?If that means lovemaking, my god I bet she is!?, I thought, as I watched the brief flickeringly visitation of the vision of loveliness that flashed onto the screen, leaped high sky, and netted the ball, before being surrounded by the other girls in her team, who seemed just to long to kiss her, as she shyly giggled, putting her sweet fingers on her lovely mouth.

?Unfortunately, the footage of Ms Etalage is very brief?, Sonia confirmed, stating the obvious, ?So the constable will replay it in slow emotion ?. I mean slow-motion ? for you.?

Of course Papillon?s face was adorably lovely, but we all watched open mouthed, as her long strong legs loped slowly on to the screen. And too as the bounce of the ball that announced her approaching the net, was trounced by the double dive, and double-rebound-rise, of her heavy heaving breasts, in the effortless flow of these, her prodigiously provocative prominent eminences.

And the power of her legs when she leapt to basket the ball, shaped her calves to curves beyond categorisation, bar that they were the curves of a girl.

Papillon?s breasts flowed up to heaven with her leap, and dived and bounced within her top when the angel disappointed heaven as she reappointed heaven on earth by landing kitten cat with her svelte lightness.

The look of joy on the faces of her teammates as they ran to kiss her, showed how deeply she inspired love, despite that her beauty shaded every other girl in the arena.

?Thank you constable?, Sonia?s curt tones intoned as the film clip ended again, and as: ?Thank you Papillon!? went through my mind.

?Common factors with the previous two to Ms Etalage?, Sonia announced, indicating with a pointer, a list she had, pinned on a wallboard.

?Each received a gold garter through the post, addressed to them by name and with a letter with the epithet: ?To the most beautiful girl in the world?, accompanying it.?

?The letter included a phone number, a different number each time, inviting the recipient of the garter to call for an appointment at a model selection interview.?

?The condition for admission was that the garter be worn on the left thigh, and that it be displayed for the purpose of absolute certainty of recognition by the interview team?.

?The phone numbers were untraceable beyond Buenos Aries, which they reached through god knows how many circumlocutions, and were anyway, dodo dead by the time we got that far round the world.?

?The interviews were at a restaurant. The restaurant was always the ?La Belle Filles?, in the French quarter, and, lets face it, nobody in this room could afford to dine there unless she could spare a year?s wages!?

?You could, you fucking overpaid overrated tart!? I thought.

?The letter also included free admission to a cinema. The cinema was always ?Les Demoiselles?, also in the French quarter, and, as we all know, on the edge of the Spindon Soho area.?

?The victims wore their garters, dined with their interviewers at the restaurant, and went with their interviewers to the cinema afterwards, presumably to relax and get to know each other with the film as a mere backdrop.?

?The reason for the invitation was stated in the letter to be: ?The celebration of your exceptional loveliness. And, above all, the honour of your overwhelming beauty gracing the pages of our magazine?.?

?They were from non-existent addresses. A different fake address, and a different unheard-of magazine title each time.?

?We?ve checked out the restaurant. A different name footed the bill every time. The bill was always paid with cash, long since banked, and well beyond forensics being able to get anything from it by now, even if we could trace any of it.?

?As for the cinema, they have a twenty-seater room they hire out regularly to cine-enthusiasts, at one-hundred dollars a night, for a private showing of a chosen film. Whoever hired the IntimMateLips Studio on these two occasions, now three, did so over the internet, and left no traceable traces.?

?The films shown there are on DVD. There is no projectionist. The customers play the film as and when they choose. They can watch it ten times over if they wish to, as long as the room is on hire to them for the time it would take. Meanwhile there is a bar as a place to chat and network.?

?The pattern has been the same. The girl with the garter went into the cinema with a gaggle of other girls. These were, presumably, her so-called ?interviewers? for the modelling assignment for the new start-up magazine. The garter girl never came out.?

?I say ?never?, but of course we have the security-cam footage of Ms Etalage coming out of the cinema. We also have footage of other areas around the cinema and restaurant, but none that positively identifies, the previous girls, the mock-interviewers, or Ms Etalage. The locations seem to have been chosen for the minimality of camera surveillance.?

?Ms Etalage must have somehow evaded the girlnappers. Maybe she excused herself to the ladies? washroom, and evaded their security by simply not returning to her seat. She is the only one not somehow disappeared inside the cinema itself. But they clearly got her later, in the street.?

?Only after the second disappearance did we get told. With the first one, the partner of the missing girl concluded that her love had wanted to disappear for some unknown reason.?

?The first two happened a week apart. This latest, only two days after the second.?

?Till we came on the scene, nobody saw that there was a pattern.?

?Unfortunately, the report of these events happening, and our investigation and conclusion there was a connection, came too late for a warning to have gone out that might have saved Mademoiselle Etalage.?

?Now: our new witnesses?, Sonia went on. ?Our new witnesses are two public spirited citizens of Spindon Soho. I?ve promised them anonymity, as they are married; but not to each other.?

?Unfortunately, our new witnesses can tell us little. They saw a girl matching the description of Ms Etalage walking very nervously through Spindon Soho, coming from the direction of the French Quarter of Spindon. That?s all.?

?The route Ms Etalage was on, was her way home. She never made it home. The girlnappers must have caught up with her.?

?We appear to be talking girlnapping to order: hence the similarities in the hair-colour complexion height and vital statistics of these gorgeous young women.?

?The constable on the beat there was asked to retrace Ms Etalage?s route from the cinema. She did so, and had the good sense to look for evidence, in the unlikely places as well.?

?In a trash-can on one of the lampposts not a quarter-mile from the ?Les Demoiselles? movie house, she found some panties. They were thoroughly impregnated with the dried evidence of heavy petting.?

?Even as I speak, these are being flown to France for the intimate DNA they contain in abundance, to be profiled against that of Ms Etalage?s mama, a retired supermodel, now living in Paris. We expect confirmation that the discarded panties are indeed Ms Etalage?s.?

?We have no idea who cast them into the trash-can?, Sonia concluded.

?Any ideas about the case?? she queried.

?Ideas?! ?. Anyone?? ?.

There was a pregnant silence, till ?.

?How about the Midnight sisters, ma?am?, I called out.

?I thought their name would come up?, Sonia dismissed.

?As we all know, Eve and Dawn Midnight flew in from New Edingow in the USA a year since, and have had the former Manor House in the Spindon Soho district refurbished, to make it into a home.?

?As we all know also, Eve and Dawn have a reputation for big-time crime. But the FBI assure us that they are cleaner than a hound?s tooth. Reputation is just that and nothing more. Besides, and, okay we did check it as a precaution, all the evidence is that they were out of town on every occasion of one of these occurrences. So, reputation or no reputation, Eve and Dawn Midnight are out of this.?

?And, as for you, Detective Sergeant Winsome: you keep off the Midnight girls? grass. They?ve complained about you snooping around near the Manor House. If you want to continue a fine career, cut that out?, Sonia warned.

?Any worthwhile ideas? ?.. Someone? Anyone??

If shop dummies could have turned their heads to give each other dumber looks than my colleagues had on their faces at that final invitation, I would have been surprised to see it.

The briefing fell into a shambles, and we all shuffled out, dispirited.

Meanwhile, Sonia Berkley-Hunt called me to her office, and had me read a warning letter from Mesdames Grimm, Gavel, and Grave, Eve and Dawn Midnight?s solicitors, complaining of harassment by an off-duty plain-clothes police officer: to wit, me.

?Whatever you think you can achieve by poking around near the Midnight?s patch, forget it Truly?, Sonia insisted gently. ?Forget it; or if this letter gets a follow-up to the Chief Constable herself, on the same theme, I won?t be able to save your career?, she warned.

?????..

Home after the day, feeling ultramarine, tired, and weary, I turned the key in the door of Angelina?s apartment, only to have my heart mind and deepest soul lifted by Angelina rushing to kiss me.

?Guess what?? she giggled and teased, without being able to wait for me to answer her, as she danced around and spun like a top in her hyper-high excitement, and instantly answered her own question:

?Tonight! This very night!! What do you think of ?La Fille Aux Cheveux De Lin? the original movie, as directed by Eutille Joanbergen her very self; not the American remake but the rediscovered Eutille Joanbergen silent original!!??

?Preceded ?.. wait for it ?..?, she pleaded, as she put her pretty forefinger on the tip of my nose to tease me, taunting me with her sweet touch to give punctuation to the point she wished to make in her lovely playful way, and telling me thus that I risked spoiling her joy if I even so much as tried to answer.

?Wait for it!? she teased again, this time putting her lovely finger to shush my mouth, even as I felt tears come to my eyes for my love of this wonderful girl prancing excitedly around me.

?Preceded by dinner at ?? ?tara?, ?tara?, ?tara?, she trumpeted, in silly imitation of a triumphant fanfare, ?Preceded by dinner at ?La Belle Filles?!!?

?I?m going to be a model! ?I?m going to be a model! ?I?m going to be a model!? she sang as she jigged about the room flashing a letter, she teased me by not letting me fully see.

Her angelic face frowned a little as she saw my serious look.

But then she brightened and frightened the sun?s supremacy, as she whispered: ?Isn?t it just so gorgeous?!!?, as she innocently whisked up her pleated miniskirt to reveal a pure gold garter gently pressing the supreme wonder of her bare, unbearably lovely, slim left thigh. Then she teased me by dancing a silly knees-high foot wiggle cancan, before purposely falling helplessly into my arms.

?????..

?What we got here then??

It had been totally stupid of me to go it alone.

I had left Angelina to get ready. I had kissed her, and lied to her, that I was going into work later, adding that I was sure she would bowl them over at the interview.

?Hope you?ll still want to know poor little me, when you?re rich and famous!? I teased.

She hugged me, kissed me, and sighed with surrender.

Back in my own apartment, three floors up from Angelina?s, it had been decision time.

Did I tell Angelina not to go to the interview, or did I let it go ahead so we could get the bitches carrying out this girlnapping?

How certain was I that the Midnight sisters were behind what was going on?

If I was sure I was sure, there was no use in my telling Chief Inspector Sonia Berkley-Hunt. My boss had already warned me to keep away from them. I would get no support from her. Yet, if I was convinced of Eve and Dawn Midnight?s involvement, this was my chance to prove it for once and all.

I had, of course, not been prepared to risk my love. I had made an anonymous call to a police helpline, and followed it up with a call to a trusted colleague.

Constable Divine Legges-Walker assured me that they had had a tip-off and would be following it up.

The word they had received ? the word I had passed on anonymously ? was that another beautiful blonde would be abducted that very night:

?You might recall her?, Divine prompted, ?In fact you must have come across her since she left us to go back to college. She lives in the same apartment block as you do, sarge. Remember those two student tarts that filled their vacation working in our offices. The redhead and the blonde. Well, it?s the blonde of course. The tall one? The one that seemed to have the hots for you. Angelina Dream??

?How are you going about it?? I enquired, trying to disguise my anxiety, and change the subject, as consciousness of the risk for Angelina struck me with fresh doubts about what I was doing.

?We got everything on it we?ve got available. That includes you sarge. The Chief Inspector wants you here pronto or sooner. We?ve been trying to raise you this last hour or more. Where the hell have you been??

?You?re not going to believe this, Divine, but that bloody ankle of mine has gone on me again, damn it!? I lied.

?I?m sat here with a pack of friggin frozen peas over the swelling. I can hardly get to the bathroom, let alone out of this apartment?, I elaborated.

?Bloody hell sarge! We need you here right now!? Divine moaned, as much because she preferred others to do her thinking for her as to think for herself; unless she was being called upon to think with the mind she had between her superb thighs that is of course.

?No can do?; I answered, ?It?s bloody agony. No more high heels for me. That?s twice I?ve twisted the same damned ankle?, I further lied.

?Okay sarge. I?ll tell Sonia, but she ain?t going to like it. For god?s sake, can you at least be ready by the phone?? Divine pleaded.

?Yes. Yes of course. I?ll help in any way I can. You?ll have to get me on this landline though. My mobile?s gone too. Battery won?t take a charge. I didn?t take a police-issue radio with me either?, I was heading for a ?best unsupported actress? award with these further elaborations of my fundamental lie.

It was true that I had not got a police radio with me. My mobile I had merely turned off so it wouldn?t give me away.

I had a plan. Now I was as sure as I could be that Angelina was safe, I had a plan.

I had the highest regard for my colleagues. I would trust Angelina to them. I had been on such operations before. The maybe-victim was bate and no more. There would be cops in the restaurant and hidden in the cinema. Angelina wouldn?t be touched. The pincer would close in before anyone so much as laid an eye on one of her lovely legs, or so I assured, and then reassured myself.

But the pinch was bound to be in the locality of the French quarter. My colleagues would therefore probably only get the monkeys. The organ grinders could only be tracked if one of their dogsbodies cracked in interrogation. That could take hours or, more likely, days.

The chances of the Midnights being nabbed by my colleagues I rated slim to scintilla. I was going to get the bitches I was certain sure were the mistressminds behind what was going on. I was going to nail Eve and Dawn Midnight myself, before they got word they?d been rumbled, and fled the country.

?????..

?What we got here then??

The Spindon Town Hall clock was chiming half-past the hour as I struggled unavailing in vain with my captors.

The familiar peaceful sound of that clock knelled the end of my freedom as I was frog-marched into Spindon?s old Manor House, the house refurbished as a home by the Midnight sisters in an attempt to gentrify the sewer that was the Soho district of Spindon.

?What we got here then??

I had been grabbed from behind. I had been snooping in the garden of the Manor House, and had been grabbed by two gorgeous strong and fit negresses keeping guard on the Midnight girls? English residence.

I was now kneeling. My arms were out straight behind me. Each of the guard girls had a wrist and had twisted that wrist with one strong hand, while she held me above the elbow to keep my arm locked straight with her other hand. I had then been smart-marched into the Manor House, and my arms levered up behind me, to make me kneel.

As I knelt leaning forward, my long blonde hair had cascaded around my face, my heavy breasts were plunged within my white blouse to point profoundly to ground, my micro-skirt was ridden up my strong thighs, thighs given enormity by my squat, thighs revealing my sin-black stocking tops, and my blind-bat-black suspenders.

?What we got here then??

With my dark-blue micro-skirt having sighed high, I felt pleasured-eyes admiring the feminine flow of the lines of my folded legs. Somehow I then felt them stop at the tops of my wicked-widow-black-stockings, and the exposure of my suspender clasps on the fronts of my thighs. The eyes, I sensed stopped to ponder if I wore panties, before adoring my breasts as they heaved heavy huge within my shirt with my fear.

?Let?s have a good look at her?, silked the same voice as before.

One of my captors pulled my corn crop into a stook on top of my head, and forced my face up, despite my pulled-up arms forcing my shoulders down.

?Gorgeous! Absolutely gorgeous!?

I looked up at the feline source of the purring voice, and saw to adore, the long slim exquisitely shapely legs of Eve Midnight.

Eve wore a black leather micro-skirt and a black leather jacket. The jacket zip was open and her size thirty-eights D-Deed the insides of a tight black tee-shirt, testing its tensile-strength to the precipice of asunder-rip. Her nipples were prominent nibs, readied for scribbling love-notes in white ink, if only her breasts had been charged with milk. The hem of her tee-shirt was fashionably tatty, torn-off at a 45-degree diagonal, so that her smooth firm belly was half bare.

Her cute concave navel guided my eyes up between her deep cleavage to her imperious face. Her dark-brown eyes shone with vitality and viciousness in competing measure. Her raven hair tumbled in helix ringlets, in the ordered disorder that could only have originated from the most exclusive of hairdressers. Her Everest-high cheekbones poured scorn on lesser majesty. And, oh god, her mouth, with its negress? lips, posies pout-poised in permanent pose proposing: ?kiss me?!

A door opened behind this astounding vision, and another girl walked in, talking on her mobile phone: ?They?re all three sedated, bubble-wrapped, and crated. All we need now is Angelina Dream, and we can get then on the truck for the airport. That lucky Russian bitch will soon have her matching team of four blonde ponygirl-prancers?.?

This speaker purred kitten too. This was Dawn. This was Dawn Midnight, the perfectly identical twin, of the equally perfect Eve.

These astounding girls were twins of twenty-two, but had different birthdays. They had been born either side of midnight, two minutes apart. Eve had been born the day before Dawn and after dawn. Dawn had been born after Eve and before eve.

Never had the surname ?Midnight? been given more wonderful meaning and reason. It was in their genes. The Midnight family had its genealogy, and their tree told of many midnight births, giving the derivation of the surname of these stunning beauties the same validity as the surname ?Day?. One or both of the Midnight girls? parents bore the gene, and they had been born around midnight as a consequence.

Dawn and Eve Midnight, both now stood before where I was still in enforced kneel, as if in worship of them. And I saw the full majesty of the truth that was beauty, and the beauty that was truth, as the white Eve in her black, stood alongside the negress Dawn in her identical clothing of contrasting white. For that too was true of these vixens of the demimonde, that they were completely identical twins, save the grace that had granted that Eve was white and Dawn a negress.

?What we got here then?? whispered Dawn?s divine lips, echoing her sister?s rhetorical interrogative, as she clicked off her mobile.

?What a beauty. If I didn?t know better, I?d have thought they?d delivered blonde number four.

?You don?t have a chance the place is surrounded by cops!? I painfully clich?d.

?I don?t like to see you getting hurt like this?, Eve whispered as she cupped my chin in her gentle hand, and ran her thumb sexually inquisitively over the soft lips of my petulantly pert, firmly closed, love longing, mouth.

?I?m going to tell my heavies to let go your arms Truly, but I don?t want no trouble from you: Okay??

I felt the pain in my shoulders increase, as my arms were forced further up, and me further down, to remind me of the power held over me and: ?Okay, okay, okay!? I gasped, my tone intoning: ?Oh god let me go!?.

I was then released. As I rose to stand on my twelve-inch heeled booties, two exceptionally lovely hands, one black and one white, took one each of mine.

After the twins had helped me rise, I stood, rubbing my arms, in alternate turn, at their respective triceps, to ease the ache from my being girlhandled so forcefully.

?I am Detective Sergeant Truly Winsome of Spindon CID. I am spearhead of a raid on this house. You would be wise to surrender yourselves to me!? I winced unconvincingly.

Then the rest of my intended words were lost in an intense mumbled struggle followed by a silence enforced by a gentle black hand that caressed my face, and then held my neck at back to force me to kiss Dawn Midnight, and by my melting utter butter, as she moulded her mouth around my unwillingly willing lips, till the thrilling tingle in my racing pulses made my eyes close in complete surrender, and my mouth answer with all my heart?s passion.

?You?re a girl first and a copper way second?, Dawn taunted, confident in her alarming sexual charms, as she let me go and Eve took over the kiss. And the wanton wetness in my tunnel of love told the tale of my feminine betrayal, even as my clit tolled too like a wedding bell?s knell.

I was losing it fast. I had to get a grip on my physical and spiritual body. I had to have command over my heart from my head and not from between my legs.

Anaesthetised by their kisses I was in serene stun, as Dawn ran her inquisitively enquiring hands over my blouse and then patted my buttocks.

?She?s clean. She?s only got her girl?s weapons?, Dawn teased, as she looked at my eyes: eyes misty with mystification that I could so surrender at the behest of two of the best kisses I had ever tasted, and more so at my longing for more such, and a tonguing.

?You are under arrest?.? I reflexed from somewhere in my subconscious, only to have Dawn lean forward and gently kiss my forehead to keep me poleaxed.

?Of course we are sweetheart?, she teased.

?What about the snatch?? Eve pointedly reminded, ?She might have a shooter hidden up her.?

?Yea? Dawn agreed.

?Okay Truly, I want you to lower your panties, and no quick moves, cos if you do got a gun holstered up there, we?ll use it on you for sure?, Eve drawled.

As I slowly lifted the hem of my skirt up my thighs, to reveal my potent-purse-pouched translucent white thong, I watched the twins exchange affirmative glances confirmatory of their admiration of the longing of my legs, the sighs of my thighs, and their joy at seeing, through my panties, that there was nothing to see, but that I was shaven as smooth as a pre-pubescent innocent.

I was now proud that my body was arousing these heavenly satans to the parallel of the passion that their compassionate kisses had encompassed me hopelessly lost within for them.

As I stepped out of my thong after lowering it to my ankles, I prayed they would not feel me to find if or not I had a pistol hidden in my she, as I knew they would find the moisture, portrayal of my muff?s betrayal, as it prayed I might fall prey to these delectable devils.

?Are you packing a rod in your cunt, Truly?? Eve insisted.

?No? I answered.

?Shall she show us her pink, so we can be sure?? Dawn asked her elder twin.

?No. I think she knows where we?re at. You wouldn?t be so stupid as to lie, would you Truly?? Eve insisted.

?No. I?m not armed?, I hoarsed with my passion for another kiss unbidden unhidden.

?Why don?t we give her the old ?spit-roast?? She?s begging for it? Dawn drawled, licking her lips to moist beacons beckoning for the reckoning of reckless reconnoitre of my betraying body.

?Yea? smoothed Eve, as she eyed me top to toe and toe to top, while I shook my blonde mop to let her see the grace of my face, and lowered my light-blue lamps in shame at the fevered feelings I was fermenting.

?You?ve got it coming you horny bitch. We?ll teach you not to nipple-in where you?re not wanted,? Dawn sneered, but with a slur inferring her own desires were as aroused as my own, even though, with me, it had taken the actuality of my captivity to make me realise my sexuality?s fullest capacity had this category of catalyst.

?Get yourself stripped bitch, but leave the heels on, so we can see your fucking beautiful legs at their very best?, Dawn ordered.

I was slow to obey. It was not out of rebellion or lack of wanting to be their slave. It was out of need to savour the flavour of the moment: the moment of my realising that I was submissive, and longing for a lesson to be taught me.

But new fervour entered my fever as my dilatoriness caused Dawn to rip my blouse asunder so that, with buttons ballistic, my gentle breasts were flung softly wide aside and side-to-side, exposing the super-erect stature of my nipples, confirming my growing arousal.

?One each?? whispered Dawn, and their mouths were on me and suckling on my virgin-firm breasts, even as I gently put my trembling hands on the backs of the exquisite raven curls of the twins? pharaoheon heads, while I sexually mothered their desire for my body, by letting them suck my nipples to new lengths of height, and new heights of length, new peaks of stiffness, and new stiffness of peaks.

They could take the time they wanted in sucking my nipples. It would never be too long or too short a time for me. If they went on long or short it showed they had mistressy over me, and that was what I wanted in deed, and needed indeed.

I wanted these girls to rape me. I needed these girls to rape me. I wanted them to use me, abuse me, and discard me. I needed them to use me, abuse me, and discard me. If they wanted to slap me around, all the better. I wanted the rape to last forever and yet, at one and the same time, for it to be nasty brutal and short.

If they wanted to give me pleasure I would cum. If they wanted to deny me pleasure I would enjoy it just as more.

I wanted to be broken by them. I wanted to be soiled and sullied and slapped like a slattern slapper.

As Dawn undid the buckle of my belt to drop my skirt to my ankles and rip off the remnants of my blouse, I longed that she might whip me with the buckle across my bare back till it bled, but I was silent other than to utter the moans that utterly uttered the true meaning of me, as my nipples were sucked to eternity?s rapture by their second suckling from the eager Eve?s capture.

?Let?s have her mouth then? came Dawn?s honey purr from behind me, as Eve bade me step out of my ankle encumbering dropped skirt, and turn.

Somehow, despite my impassioned irrational arousal, even as I turned in eager eyes-closed dream, I heard the Spindon Town Hall clock chime the present hour, only to cream as I screamed with astonishment when I saw Dawn?s hugely erect cock.

Dawn had fifteen-inches of erect cock she was masturbating to attention, whilst gorging on the glory of my body! She wanted me bent forward so her cock could taste my hot virgin mouth.

Oh god I had not known this! I had not known the Midnight twins were hermaphrodite! They were girl-boys, more girl than boy except where it mattered right now. I was an all-girl girl, and, faced with Dawn?s massive matter, I backed away in shock and awe, but to no avail.

Eve took my hair and grabbed it to hold my head till Dawn?s cock was on my lips, and I was, microseconds later, choking as Dawn rammed it over my tongue and deep down my throat.

I struggled for air but my fight only excited Dawn the more as she worked my mouth with her cock, whilst her sister spat in my anus, to ready it for her cock?s intern in turn.

As Dawn grabbed my hair and twisted it to a knot in her fist, to hold my head steady so she could use my mouth as a tool for her sole pleasure, never had I felt such pain as Eve?s fifteen-inch penis forced open the tight ring of my sphincter. But my scream was muffled and only served to service Dawn?s end?s ends, as her end was still deep down my throat.

I was being ?spit-roasted?. I was on the ?spit?. I had one cock down my throat and another in my anus, and it was, and I was in, ecstasy.

Eve and Dawn took my hands and gently hammerlocked my arms at my shoulder blades as they played seesaw in slow session in their possession of my passion holes, with first Dawn down my throat and back to my tongue, and then Eve up my bum and then back to the rim of my sphincter.

And then they united to fill me in unison, so that I had their cocks down me and up me in union, and up me and down me as two and one, using me as a classic ?spit-roast? host.

I tried so to tell them I had lied, but my cries were muffled by my garbled gargled gurgles, as I choked and garble gabble gargled in reflex with Dawn?s huge cock with its rolled back foreskin filling my glottis with its throbbing head, so that its withdrawal drew the wind from my lungs, and my pretty nostrils flared in despair of air.

Yet, even as Dawn?s withdrawal drew up vile bile and I wretched with the shear size and length of her invasion, I wanted my mouth to please.

When my bile was sucked up, I wanted her cock out of my mouth so that I could spit this sickening salty saliva out. But I knew she was still going to ride inside me despite my protests, and even more so because I fought. So I must suffer as my hot tongue caressed the endless length of Dawn?s penis when it pumped back into me and drove my hot bile out of my nose.

My tears teetered brink my eyes as Dawn rode me without mercy let alone a chance to say what needed to be said about my lie.

With Dawn?s cock past my tonsils, I rose above the fear I would choke, even though she held my head hard up with her cock right down my neck so that I began to fight for my right to breath, as my tits shook and shuddered with my leaving of consciousness.

But, even as I thought I was dying, my tongue knew new pleasing measure for Dawn?s pleasure, as my head swam and my mind floated to knew heights of consciousness of the treasonous pleasures treasured by my sexual-self from my asphyxiation.

I knew I was being deliberately choked to a half-death to make me compliant with pleasuring the client that was using my mouth as if it were a she, so that my tongue would dance like an ululating snake on Dawn?s erect state as it plunged and plundered down and up, and down and deeper down my helplessly willing throat.

?Oh fucking shit, she gives great head!!? Dawn said as she wiped my wet and willing mouth lips with her dark red warhead, before plumbing new depths of my throat to choke me once more.

My mind blown by my slow asphyxiation, I felt the heaven of Eve?s cock sliding measuredly within my colon as balm and bliss as against the blitzkrieg kiss of the cock in my mouth.

Eve?s love was elemental and gentle as her cock savoured the chocolate flavour of the hole she favoured in me.

My bum had not known love before, and my sphincter was tight, even after it had given up the fight to stop the persuasion of Eve?s pleasure-ground bound fifteen-inch invasion.

My lovely bum had always excited the girls. And how jealous they would be to see that Eve had the tool with which to take toll on the hole that all of my girlfriends had lingered long in, longing with finger, as they wished they had Eve?s pole with which to rule and tell my bum not to be so sexy, if it didn?t nextly want to have a shit coated cock forced into my mouth to punish me for my wanton wriggle wiggles when I walked.

But even as Dawn fucked my mouth as if it were the she of a streetwalking trollop she would use without concern as a depository for her sperm, I longed for Eve?s more gentle penetration in my oral orifice and Dawn to slap my bum with her balls as she raided my anus like an irate pirate.

My bum and my mouth were not made for this kind of love. And yet, because they were not made for what they were being used for, they were just the right holes two too for the Midnight?s to take, to teach me my mistake of thinking I could take them alone: a thought I had soon forgotten as they continued to savage my mouth and my bottom, raking me with rape for my mistake?s sake.

The second round of bile pulled up by Dawn?s plunder of my mouth, was viler than the first. And yet the state of my surrender by now was such that I welcomed the foulness, as her cock syringed my throat again, and the bile pissed nauseatingly out of my nostrils.

And I began to wretch and my tongue to flicker like a dervish at death?s door.

?Oh god she?s a fucking horny whore!!!? Dawn hollered.

?Ride her cowgirl!! You got your cock in her saddle! What?s her beautiful fucking bum like for fucking? Fucking beautiful?? Dawn gasped between-whiles as she enjoyed my half-death choking on her poking pole far down my throat hole.

Eve?s cock still made cockhorse whore of my anus as she rode the range spurred on by her longing to jerk and spurt inside my sexy pert bum with her potent seed cum.

?She?s as smooth as satin and silk. She needs to be rode fucking bucking bronco pronto!!? Eve opined to insult my mind.

?You take her saddle while I feed her chocolate sauce as her next course!? Eve sneered, intentionally for me to have heard every word, so as to turn me on to the slut I was being taken for and used as: to abase me, and rouse me as they knew now my want to pleasure, was from my massive submissive need to please.

My need to tell that I had lied was forgotten as my plunderers withdrew, and I gasped for air: air that had never had more wonderful fragrance, as my swimming head was still filled with the circling sparkling stars that danced before my eyes from Dawn?s penis throttling me with its relentlessly deep and ever deeper choking poking.

I was unphased by the switch around. I was only too eager to taste my brownie.

As, lubricated by my spittle and bile on her hugely distended cock, Dawn slid slap deep into my bum to ride me hard, bareback bronco break, holding my hips, as Eve let me know what she intended, and what it impended, by up-ending her cock so I could smell my fresh shit on her shaft.

Eve swung her hips side to side and her cock slapped my face cheek as she hissed: ?Lick it you whore. Lick your shit off my shaft!?

And where once I would have recoiled with nausea, I now moaned with joy.

Eve did not need to order me to be eager, for my tongue was on the tense tautness of her issue tissue, and my lips kissing the brownie off its tip, finishing with an extra succulent kiss to suck the shit out from the recess of her septum.

?There?s a good girl?, Eve menaced, to knowingly arouse me more, as she slid her now pristine clean shaft down my throat, and the twins once more seesawed and jointly worked me ?spit-roast? once again.

As Eve and Dawn Midnight rode me, time stood still; for what bestrode me was more compelling than love alone. I had grown to thirty-years and yet only now discovered that I needed this. This physical hell was physic of heaven. All I wanted now was that they cock my she.

All I wanted now was that they cock my cunt. I was pouring my musk in excess of largesse, but I knew I had no right to ask that they enter my sin.

In the hour for which the Midnight twins had been ?spit-roasting? me, an hour I knew only as an eternity I wanted to have endlessly without end, I had learned that mine was to be used and abused, and that the divine rights belonged only to these hermaphrodite queen-kings.

I could not define what I wanted. I had to pray they would divine what I wanted, and that what I wanted coincided with what they decided I needed divided, in their free choice of my three tight orifices.

?????..

At the bursting open of the doors, and the shout of: ?Armed police: Freeze!? an angelic beauty with a gold garter around her tear-rendingly-beautiful slim left thigh, saw me eagerly bent over, in just my devil-black-suspenders, blackguard-black-stockings, and twelve-inch heels, with Eve?s fifteen-inch cock right down my eager throat, and Dawn?s just withdrawing from my red-hot bum-pot.

?Truly! Oh god Truly! How could you?! How could you?!? Angelina screamed, as she saw, and then ran straight back out of the door and into the distant shiver of the velvet night.

?Armed police: Freeze!? Chief Inspector Sonia Berkley-Hunt shouted once more.

At which call, as Dawn reflexed upright, her hugely erect enormity, held on the verge of at long last entering my she, slid into my sluts slaverings and met with the cold resistance of the butt of my secreted one-shot derringer: the illegal pistol I carried for self-defence: the seat and site of my lie. And the muffled sound of the explosion within my muff, told of the lead-semen that had instantaneously ejaculated from the barrel of that pistol, its cock-sure hair-trigger all too eager to complete my intense intercourse, by deflowering me with a bullet, so that I fell to the floor screaming, writhing my beautiful legs eye-compelling orgasmically erotically, in agony, even as I rode the rough road of my unrivalled unbridled unbearable cums: a cum for every stroke of the Spindon Town Hall clock, as it chimed out the coming of, and my cumming too, to murderous midnight?

?????..

Outside in the background-silent cold distant, the presto staccato clatter of high heels echoed the lonely street: the tympani of an erotic symphony played solo by a duet of dainty feet, as Angelina, her face an ocean of tears for her emotionally imagined miserable years, wonder-wiggled, wandering lonely into the bite of Spindon?s empty night?

[To Be Continued]

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Alessandra

• 06.05.2021
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