Chaos Angel Spanner — Chapter 2: Sex Drive
Part 6: The Dangerous Type (Final Revision)
Part 6: The Dangerous Type (Final Revision)
27 august 2014.
hotel. The Harborside, downtown Bremerton’s newest, is almost completely booked like all the others by the U.S. Navy for the seemingly infinite number of private contract workers doing all shifts in the Puget Sound Naval Shipyard. Because National Security Is At Stake, the Law requires all hotels in Bremerton to soundproof their rooms. By the Law of Unintended Consequences, no one can hear foreign spies plot sabotage, terrorists plot treason, or respectable men get adulterous with slutty schoolgirl prostitutes. Sparks takes Shira to a newly vacated room he has managed to reserve, a top-floor suite with a panoramic view of Sinclair Inlet.
Just in case the usual cheapskate contractors made the soundproofing less than perfect, they turn on the TV and turn it up loud. Conveniently, The Civet is on (she flicks the book onto the TV stand). Annoyingly, the publishers, the network, and the FCC have censored out all the juicy parts, leaving just a typically slick, loud, and empty costumed-hero actioner. The series plot follows not the novels, but some badly programmed marketbot’s idea of what fits the commercials best.
Teaser: one of the usual suspects kidnaps the mayor’s daughter, and the cops are too afraid of the bad guys to go after them. This is a job for — Our Heroine! Meanwhile, Shira and Sparks rip each other’s clothes off and launch themselves at each other like duelling barbarians.
Act one: The bad guy owns the cops like the losers they are. COPCO keeps suing the networks over this decrepit cliché of formula hero shows. Shira fellates Sparks so hard and so expertly that he convulses in an uncontrollable frenzy of pleasure almost immediately; she holds the knuckles of her fist against the base of his cock so that he comes again and again and again.
Act two: The police commissioner lights up the Cat-Signal — oh wait, that’s a show on another network. Never mind, right now Sparks hungrily bites and sucks Shira’s pert breasts for the longest four minutes in history, then switches downward to delicious overflowing cunt, biting her nether lips and her hypersensitive hard clit and jamming his tongue inside her as all the while she screams for more.
Act three: Oh no! Our villain’s threatening to kill the damsel in distress, or otherwise make life unpleasant for her as usual. Sparks mounts Shira’s body, gets inside her, expertly tortures both clit and G-spot; she crushes his hard penis over and over, keeping him in agony at the razor’s edge of pleasure, yet refuses to allow him the release of extreme orgasm till almost the end.
Act four: Our Heroine’s caught up to our villain yet again, and takes him down yet again. Curses! foiled again! Now Shira’s the aggressor, molesting Sparks from behind with her strap-on, punishing his secret sensitive spot till it can’t take any more and explodes in unbearable pleasure so that she has him trapped in ultimate ecstasy.
Tag: The post-coup networks don’t like surprises anymore, so Our Heroine gets commended by the cops as usual (“Thank you sir may I have another,” Sparks moans deliriously), and next episode’s villain shows up in the last frame and promises to ruin the day for everybody next week as scheduled. As the two exhausted lovers shuffle off together into the shower, Leo the Lion tries and fails to scare them and the shrunken credits blip away preempted by the usual evening-news advert featuring pretty presenter Amanda Currie. Sparks rolls his eyes and sighs. “Now there’s one pretty face I didn’t wanna see.”
“But she’s got a great body that looks great naked,” Shira purrs mischievously. “What I’d do to molest her.”
He smiles knowingly. “Again.”
Shira gasps. “Who told you?”
“She did.”
4 july 2012...
red house. Amanda Currie lies naked on the twins’ double bed. Her long brown hair covers her pillow. Shira and Kira, hard wills laser-focussed on carrying out their desire, lustfully caress her body. She was hired to babysit the twins, but she never expected this. “Stop this, you two,” she pleads.
Shira gently touches her finger to Amanda’s parted lips. “We can’t, Amanda. We love you too much.”
Kira says, “Please let us make love to you, or we’ll tell.”
Amanda gives up with a sigh. Shira presses her soft lips to hers, kisses her deeply, flicks her tongue in — Amanda jerks wide-eyed with a muffled squeak. Shira smiles at her, then lets Kira tongue-kiss her lips while she tongue-kisses her ear. Amanda moans through Kira’s kiss and does not resist. Shira kisses down her ear and nibbles the sensitive lobe...
One twin at each breast, sucking hard, like not babies but lovers hungry with lust. They kiss, suck, nibble, squeeze; Amanda moans helplessly; they bite her hard nipples, hurt them till they spurt milk, lick it up; she screams —
Amanda’s sweet soft arse on the face of Kira rimming and penetrating her anus with her tongue; Shira lies atop her sister, bites Amanda’s nether lips and hard sensitive clit, reaches her tongue deep into her slit — Amanda overwhelmed with unbearable pleasure, helplessly screaming — they’re finished, she collapses in a wet limp heap. But they refuse to let her rest; they switch —
Kira howling rocking on Amanda’s face, Amanda drinks deep; Shira mounted atop her hips torturing Amanda’s clit with hers — hot salty sweat rivers merge and tickle — extreme pleasure tortures her — she loses all sense of reality — her body explodes — once again, her mind collapses. Her body is so exhausted, she feels like she’s about to die. But they refuse to let her rest; they switch —
Amanda cries sleepless on her bed, her arms caressing the sleeping twins draped over her body happily dreaming. Wet skin dries to salt, wet sheets turn cold in the evening air. The warmth of their bodies comforts her. But she cries in the humiliation of knowing that what these beautiful dark girls have just done to her has made her utterly, totally, irrevocably theirs.
red house. Amanda Currie lies naked on the twins’ double bed. Her long brown hair covers her pillow. Shira and Kira, hard wills laser-focussed on carrying out their desire, lustfully caress her body. She was hired to babysit the twins, but she never expected this. “Stop this, you two,” she pleads.
Shira gently touches her finger to Amanda’s parted lips. “We can’t, Amanda. We love you too much.”
Kira says, “Please let us make love to you, or we’ll tell.”
Amanda gives up with a sigh. Shira presses her soft lips to hers, kisses her deeply, flicks her tongue in — Amanda jerks wide-eyed with a muffled squeak. Shira smiles at her, then lets Kira tongue-kiss her lips while she tongue-kisses her ear. Amanda moans through Kira’s kiss and does not resist. Shira kisses down her ear and nibbles the sensitive lobe...
One twin at each breast, sucking hard, like not babies but lovers hungry with lust. They kiss, suck, nibble, squeeze; Amanda moans helplessly; they bite her hard nipples, hurt them till they spurt milk, lick it up; she screams —
Amanda’s sweet soft arse on the face of Kira rimming and penetrating her anus with her tongue; Shira lies atop her sister, bites Amanda’s nether lips and hard sensitive clit, reaches her tongue deep into her slit — Amanda overwhelmed with unbearable pleasure, helplessly screaming — they’re finished, she collapses in a wet limp heap. But they refuse to let her rest; they switch —
Kira howling rocking on Amanda’s face, Amanda drinks deep; Shira mounted atop her hips torturing Amanda’s clit with hers — hot salty sweat rivers merge and tickle — extreme pleasure tortures her — she loses all sense of reality — her body explodes — once again, her mind collapses. Her body is so exhausted, she feels like she’s about to die. But they refuse to let her rest; they switch —
Amanda cries sleepless on her bed, her arms caressing the sleeping twins draped over her body happily dreaming. Wet skin dries to salt, wet sheets turn cold in the evening air. The warmth of their bodies comforts her. But she cries in the humiliation of knowing that what these beautiful dark girls have just done to her has made her utterly, totally, irrevocably theirs.
“She cried out your name, Shira.”
“Did she.”
“Sure did. In the heat of passion she cried your name, and that’s when I know I had to know you.”
“And here we are.” Sparks’ body lies draped over Shira’s They stare deeply into each other’s eyes. She slowly runs one ticklish finger along one of the barely visible scars of his reconstructed face. “You know I’m only fourteen,” she purrs.
“So?”
“It’s illegal.”
“Same as miscegenation, fornication, adultery, sodomy. But cops are above the Law, remember?”
“Moral Enforcers and church ladies could lynch you anyway.”
He smiles mischievously. “Hey, darling, everybody knows America requires the absolute moral purity of all white people if it wants to keep its empire eternally supreme.”
“You mean the same way Aztec priests need to keep feeding the sun fresh beating human hearts so it won’t go out?” She winks.
“Bingo.” They laugh. “You know what crime we’re really committing, don’t you.”
“What’s that?”
“Treason.”
She flashes him a beautiful smile. “I like that.” They kiss long, their tongues caress. “Say, Jim, you ever make love to a loli?”
“What makes you say that?”
“Do you realize how rare they are?”
“Most people have never even heard of ’em. You wanna know the truth?”
“Shoot.”
He smiles mischievously. “I just did.”
She smiles ironically. “Seriously.”
“Shira baby, you are that loli.”
dreamspace. Sparks stands naked and erect smiling wickedly into the big monitor facing him. Rebel Styles, nine in body but thirty in mind (such anomalies being logical in dreamspace) smiles back cockeyed and dangerous. “I know how much you want me,” she coos.She continues to shower while he shaves. “There’s another I didn’t mention,” he says.
“I’m here just to get you.”
“You could end up dying for me.”
“I could kill for you, and I know just who.”
“You’ll be lost in my world.”
“Baby, the whole world is yours.” To her surprise, he reaches in, grabs her by the hand, pulls her out through the screen until she finds herself on the floor looking up at him with her eyes and mouth wide open in shock.
He magics up a squeeze bottle to drip a stream of hot oil down onto his penis. She answers with a mischievous grin, leaps up into his arms, wraps her arms and legs around his body, impales herself on him, and together they howl —
“Boy do you have all the luck. Who in the world could that be?”
“You already know her.”
She pokes her wet head through the shower curtain. “You mean Leila Shelley?!”
Sparks grins. “Amanda told me about your obsession with sweet Leila. She showed me pictures of the stalker shrine you built for her. Every single naked picture ever taken of her, some of ’em taken from her dead boyfriends while their corpses were still warm.”
“First Amanda, then Leila, right? I bet they both had something to do with losing your face...”
21 june 2012...
Sparks kneels over young Leila lying back with her legs around him; he pistons her, she crushes him, they battle together screaming to a sweet violent annihilation —
She’s draped over his knees, he spanks her soft bare buttocks harder and faster, she begs him to hit harder and hurt her more —
He bites the hard red cones of her nipples, bites them hard, she screams for him to bite harder and make them hurt —
She lies on her back on the bed. He sticks needles into her body where she tells him to. The needles are connected by wires to a small electric generator. She shakes with dread and fierce longing. When he has placed the last needle, she says, “Now turn me on!” He switches the generator on, she convulses, arcs her back hard, screams in pleasurable pain —
Sparks kneels over young Leila lying back with her legs around him; he pistons her, she crushes him, they battle together screaming to a sweet violent annihilation —
She’s draped over his knees, he spanks her soft bare buttocks harder and faster, she begs him to hit harder and hurt her more —
He bites the hard red cones of her nipples, bites them hard, she screams for him to bite harder and make them hurt —
She lies on her back on the bed. He sticks needles into her body where she tells him to. The needles are connected by wires to a small electric generator. She shakes with dread and fierce longing. When he has placed the last needle, she says, “Now turn me on!” He switches the generator on, she convulses, arcs her back hard, screams in pleasurable pain —
Shira sits nude on the living room couch watching Sparks get dressed. She flings the Civet book atop her clothes piled in the nearby recliner. “Shouldn’t you be getting dressed too?” he asks.
“Not till I’m ready to leave, darlin’. I prefer it this way.”
He finishes tying his necktie. “Nudist. Figures.” He takes a good long look at her tight dark body. She uncrosses her legs and opens them up to improve his view. “So how come you don’t see people walking naked down the halls like at other hotels?”
“Oh, you won’t be seeing that at any hotel anymore.”
“Why not? What happened?”
“Haven’t you heard? The Mormons just secured a permanent Empire-wide monopoly over the hotel business, so enjoy it while you can. Ain’t Free Enterprise grand?”
“So we’re defying the Mormon hierarchy now?”
She squeezes her breasts and grins. “Hey, it’s perfectly cool to spit in the face of the Man who spits in yours.”
“If you can keep him from biting your head off and eating your brains. I always keep that in mind when dealing with the old man. Speaking of which, how come you guys think we can get away with killing all those people?”
Shira laughs. Sparks stares at her, confused. “And why not? He knows they all got backups.”
“Even so—”
“Obviously you don’t understand Corporatism.”
“What don’t I understand about Corporatism?”
“Those Corporates who got squashed? They can afford huge clone banks full of backup bodies.”
“Boy howdy. I bet they came back fucking pissed.”
“Sweet thing is, they never knew what hit ’em.”
“Better hope they stay stupid, babe. Now for the million-dollar question...”
“Why do it? what for? that?”
“Bingo.”
“You know what ‘anarchy’ means?”
“Those Klownz were trying to pull it on you and your cousin up there, right?”
“Not even close. Just look at the word. What’s it mean in Greek?”
“Everybody knows what—”
“‘No leaders.’ All gangs, by the way, have leaders.”
“You mean, total chaos.”
“You mean ‘battle royal of the leaders.’” She laughs. “They call themselves ‘anarchs’? They’re lying the same way Corpos do when they cry their big fat crocodile tears over quote-unquote ‘freedom.’ It’s Tournament and all they wanna be is king of the hill, got it?”
Sparks looks away in frustration and sighs. Shira sneaks behind him and glomps him from behind. “What are you doing.”
“You wanna understand Spanner, right? No leaders without a hierarchical System. We hack the System. But we can’t choose for anybody else whether they get led or not. It’s that ‘sanction of the victim’ thing they don’t teach in cop school.”
She reaches into his jacket pocket and steals his badge. “Hey!”
She backs away slowly, flirtatiously. “This badge. You know how Spanner sees it?”
“That’s my license to fight crime, be care — .”
“bzzzzzzt — Wrong! Target.” She flips the badge back to him, runs into his arms, and kisses him hard on the lips.
“That’s a real police badge, Shira. COPCO property, Homeland Security authorized.”
“Sure it is.” Shira puts her finger to his lips. She runs over to a box, opens it, dumps a pile of police-type badges out of it.
His heart plunges through the floor. “Oh. my. god—”
“Russia, Romania, Nigeria? The Mobs mass produce these things and sell ’em on the black market. You can never be sure they’re legit, even if COPCO gives ’em out.” She strides back to him, kisses him, and starts unbuttoning his shirt.
He looks at her suspiciously. “You know I can have you arrested for that.”
She smirks back. “You forget you’re fornicating with miscegenated jailbait, officer.”
“I thought you loved me, Shira.”
“Love’s a crime and I’m the godfather.” She flashes him a wicked wink.
He stares at her skeptically. He struggles to break away, but she’s holding him too tight. “How do I know you won’t leave me alone and let Leila destroy you? She’s dangerous!”
“You know I can’t resist the dangerous type.”
“Y-you think you can throw yourself into that black hole and survive?”
“Maybe she can’t plunge into the heart of chaos and survive. Same thing, darlin’.”
“Girl, you’re scaring me.”
“Do you think I’d stand by passively while old Doc Becket plays Samson and brings the whole fucking empire down on all our heads?”
“And Leila plays Delilah. Get real, Shira.”
She digs the black crystal out of her clothes and holds it in front of his face. “Leila’s mine no matter what anybody says. You still wanna save the world? We’d better stay friends.” She silences any further protest from him with a kiss.
dreamspace. Shira dreams of her heart’s deepest desire: Leila on her bed, in her arms, her smooth white body pressed against hers, their soft lips locked together, tears streaming down that beautiful pale face, her tender heart burning with the all-consuming desire to annihilate herself in Shira’s body and soul so that they become one...boston. Mrs. Della Abernethy luxuriates in the style of richly woven robes that rich old women wore back in the 1930s, when she was young. The plushly upholstered living-room chair in which she patiently weaves a baby’s sweater is covered in shimmering fabric intricately woven like an abstract tapestry. A knock on the front door of her Beacon Hill Victorian interrupts her weaving. The knocks become more insistent, but Mrs. Abernethy takes her time, patiently gliding across the floor through the obstacle course of objets d’art, Egyptian idols, and ominously occult gothic statuary, so unlike the usual knick-knacks one would expect an eccentric old lady to hoard. She stands on tiptoe to look through the door’s peephole. Satisfied that it is her third son, she opens the door. “Hello, Harry. You look troubled tonight.”
Henry Becket replies, “Hello, Mother. This is urgent.”
Mrs. Abernethy was once a legend in high society, when she was Delphine Dolores Drake, the heiress and socialite whose languid serpentine beauty and strange exotic glamour enchanted the dashing and much sought-after shipping heir Roger Steele Becket and a young Russian refugee who called herself Ayn Rand, whom she inspired to create her greatest heroines, including herself, before Delphine’s occult obsession repelled her. Delphine’s father, the ruthless Boston banking tycoon Robert Putney Drake, saw her marriage to a Becket as his way into more ancient European noble bloodlines and, more importantly, the occult circles revolving around them and in which she was heavily involved, spreading their mystical notion of aristocratic government called “synarchy” to such a point that rumors of connections with the sinister Thule Gesellschaft swirled around her like a dark and seductive miasma. Roger Becket saw his marriage to Delphine as his way into a sophisticated world of art, culture, and ambition at the very heart of wealth and power, a world forbidden to mundanes.
She would bear him eight children and poison them with her belief that they were inherently better than the ordinary man. But eventually their marriage broke apart when he fell for the younger and more psychically gifted woman who would give birth to his ninth and youngest child, Drusilla. She did not resent young Drusilla, though; she treated the child as her own and infected her too with poisonous ambition.
Now she lives a modest life as a charming and eccentric old seer. She wants no part of her ex-husband’s life as King Patriot I of the American Empire, but she still insists on playing a major part in the lives of her children.
She ushers her son in, then closes and locks the door. “What troubles you, son? Does it have to do with that terrorist incident down in New York?”
“I am afraid so. I have an idea as to who and what the terrorist is, but I need your help.”
“You want me to look into the soul of the terrorist.”
“You may be the only one who can. The psychic agents at Crime Prevention encountered a precognitive anomaly that is driving them to madness. The Division is hemorrhaging precious agents and funds. It is my hope that you may identify what it is.”
She frowns. “I shall see what I can do. Come, son.” She leads him to the room where she does her scrying. On the table in the center, she sometimes tells fortunes with cards or runes; but, anticipating her son’s request, she has placed a large crystal ball in its center. They sit down and focus on the ball. “Before I can answer you, I must tell you that I get nothing from your terrorist’s image or name. I need you to name a specific person. Who do you suspect of being this ‘Spanner’?”
Without hesitation, he answers, “Shira Thomas. She is a juvenile delinquent who has somehow managed to repeatedly elude justice. I have a strong suspicion that she may be the one.”
Suddenly she gets a clear vision of a young woman with bronze skin and wild red hair — “A Wilder?”
“Yes. It is confirmed in the records that she is indeed the great-granddaughter of our old enemy.”
Shira’s image has mocking eyes. In a deep voice she speaks the words: Knight B4 to D5. Checkmate. Mrs. Abernethy says, “Shira Thomas is the one you suspect because you are entangled with her.”
“She has succeeded in entangling her fate with that of the Revolution itself.”
“And this is what you need help with?”
“Yes, Mother. So what is her fate? The fate of our Revolution depends on the answer.”
Mrs. Abernethy peers deeply into the crystal, letting go of her ego so she can look into Shira’s soul. Finding nothing she can latch onto, she looks into her past; she finds much to be disgusted with, but suppresses her disgust and keeps seeing. She finds a twin — but then, all of a sudden, she finds nothing but anomaly — she goes rigid with terror, but succeeds in regaining control of herself and ends the vision. She stares hard into her son’s eyes.
“Shira Thomas has no fate at all—”
“What —”
“Her fate ceased at the precise moment of the Revolution! I can see why you are disturbed, dear son. We have reason to fear for our lives, even our very souls. She is the anomaly!”
Becket rises from his chair. “You mean Shira Thomas is Spanner?”
“You must free yourself from that woman immediately!” she shrieks. “That is not Shira Thomas! That is the dark angel of Chaos!”
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[Revision 2.1, 6/14/11: corrected in-scene continuity error (changed “act three” for consistency with “act four”).]
[Revision 2.1.1, 6/22/11: Text errors corrected.]
[Revision 3, 9/28/11: Amanda Currie mentions changed to fit Third Revision continuity. One continuity error and one text error corrected.]
[Revision 3 Final, 10/25/11: Mikan the cat introduced and one other revision to fit new Third Revision continuity.]
[Revision 4 Final, 7/18/12: Heavily revised and expanded (the cat was moved to Chapter 4). Flashbacks and a new ending scene added.]
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