Chosen Ch. 02

My name is Alan. Just Alan. I am a collector of fine and unusual antiquities and rarities. I also have a fine disregard for the law, so the nature of my collection is not openly discussed. It would be of interest to the police of several countries, some of whom have shown enough interest in my career that I find it necessary to choose my travel routes carefully.

Something has happened that drives me to take up laptop and write a carefully vague account of my recent adventure. As I type this I am flying, en route to America, having decided that Europe is a little too warm a climate for my health. Or as Americans put it in their crime novels, The Heat Is On.

The woman in the seat next to me is squirming, and flushed. She doesn't know what's gotten into her. I do. If I wasn't interested in keeping a low profile at the moment, I'd engage her in conversation, and flirt with her a little. But this is not the time to draw attention to myself.

+++

I'll pick up my story a week ago. I was in Spain, on an Austrian visa. (I'm not Austrian, but a visa is only a piece of paper and paper can say whatever you want it to say. It is never wise to trust a piece of paper, and European authorities are slowly coming to accepting this fact; another reason I am moving to America. Paper documents will never go out of style there.)

Spain has pretty countryside and a long and dark political and religious history, which means it is stuffed full of historical artifacts. That's what conflict does: it creates history, which in turn creates a regular sandstorm of valuable items and intrigues associated with them. If it isn't the sword of so-and-so, it's the last incense burner of Bishop thus-and-such, who unfortunately died from the fumes because someone who wanted his job added something unwholesome to the incense. (Yes, that happened.)

In the countryside there is a small monastery, dedicated to some minor saint, with a relic of minor interest to historians. Or rather it did have it, just a week ago. You'd think with all the teaching done about Original Sin and greed and various acquisitive vices, that churches would take guarding their treasures more seriously.

The job I was hired to do – I often work on commission – involved plucking a star sapphire from a statue in the narthex of the church. The sapphire was said to be in possession of the virgin Mary at one point. The claim is false; the church officially rejected the claim in the 1700's, and so have reputable historians; but ideas can have a long, long lifespan, and Mariologists have kept the story alive. I did my homework on the job and know that the gem was "brought back in the Crusades" by someone who never actually got as far as the middle east, and did a lot of gem trading in Greece instead; the stone is probably of Tanzanian origin. But it is large at 20 carat, and a beautiful rich blue, with a trace of gold in the star pattern. Someone was willing to pay 14,000 USD for it; a low fee for me, but also a simple job.

The old lock, mounted into the ancient oak of the door, succumbed in under an hour to 50ml of hydrofluoric acid. Picking it would have been much more satisfying, but would have involved me staying by the church door, on camera, for several minutes; and picking old locks can't be done silently. Squirting the acid required a few seconds and made less noise. When I got back an hour later, the oak was rotted, and prying the lock out was easy and quick.

I freed the gem from its golden mounting in under a minute. And while I was in there...

The church held a sanctuary lamp, the standard red glass lamp you see in the front of many churches. It's been a standard feature in Catholic churches since the early 300's. There is tradition behind these lamps; they are kept burning year around, except for a day preceding Easter. In these more modern times it's typically an electric light, but oil lamps still exist in older monasteries.

This lamp was different. It was lit by a candle; and while the monastery didn't advertise the fact, they kept it going year around, including the days Easter. Candles being more bother, and more expensive than oil, and much more expensive than LED lights, the choice was a curious one. I did some research, and found a confused tale of a candle that "had acted curiously and was confined to the monastery for study," which is the kind of writing that grabs my attention.

In short, I reached up with a candle snuffer, freed the lantern from its ceiling hook, and carried it out, pausing the blow out the candle at the door. It proved stubborn and took a lot of blowing to go out.

+++

I was full of energy that night, and I decided to walk back to my hotel room with my backpack slung over one shoulder. Abandoning the rental car at this point wasn't a problem; I was planning to do it in the morning anyway.

The full moon hung brilliantly in the southern sky. In a few hours I'd read that there would be a lunar eclipse, but not visible from here. That was a pity because stealing something during an eclipse was somehow appealing. Stealing a candle, I thought, would be especially funny. I whistled, cheerfully, wondering what would happen in the morning when the church was opened. They'd probably notice the missing lamp before they noticed the stone was gone.

The hotel was ahead; it was not a busy place, and I was a little surprised to come upon someone on the patio as I crossed it towards the door. I apparently surprised her as well. Her head turned suddenly; the outside lights were turned low, so she was mostly lit by the moon. Pretty, I thought. Very pretty, actually, with a figure her sheath dress showed off well. Her face was ringed by blonde hair; I doubted she was local.

"Hola," I said, conversationally. She tilted her head.

"Not a very convincing accent," she said in accented English. My guess wandered between German and Austrian, and settled on Austrian.

"Ist das besser?" I tried. She laughed.

"If anything, worse. Maybe you shouldn't have tried to give it an Austrian accent. Do you usually wear dark clothing and sneak up on girls at night?"

"I can't have been sneaking, with the whistling I was doing."

"Ah, that was you. It echoed strangely. Sound does in these twisted streets at night."

I settled my backpack lightly on a patio table, and maintained a respectful distance, but my eyes raked her. I have met women who claimed to be offended by this, but I've never met one who meant it. She didn't react; used to it, I assumed.

"And you? Lying in wait for men to walk innocently by? It seems suspicious. Perhaps even wicked."

"Never. I'm only out to look at the moon. I am innocence itself."

"Hmm. I find myself in part hoping that's not at all true, and in part hoping that it is. Either could be fascinating."

She blushed, but smiled. "Do you flirt with every Austrian you meet?"

"Only the females."

"So narrow. I've been known to flirt with both. Innocently, of course."

"I could not conceive of you flirting any other way. Can I get you a drink?"

"The bar is closed. It is a very sleepy town in some ways. It is after midnight, you know, so now it is Wednesday of holy week."

"It would be a shame to allow an ancient convention to prevent you from having a glass of the local Sangria."

"I only drink Sangria when I'm dancing," she said, smiling. "But if I said I wanted some, what would you do? Do you have a bottle in your room, and you hope to lure my innocent self there?"

"You wouldn't be lured so easily. And I don't. But if I can produce a pitcher of Sangria in five minutes, will you share it with me?"

"Hm. Perhaps. But I will put conditions on it. You must not go to your room, and it must be ice cold. Can you still deliver?"

I bowed to her. Then I took out a lighter and lit the candle on the table in front of her. "You'll need this light in a moment. Now time me."

She looked at me bemusedly, then looked at her watch.

I faded back into the darkness. First stop, a low light built into the garden near the patio. A flick of a tool and the lens was off, a twist of a gloved hand and the bulb was out. Then I pushed foil into the socket, and screwed the bulb back in. There was a sparking noise and instantly, all the lights on the patio went dark. So did some of the lights inside the first floor of the hotel.

I heard my nameless friend gasp, but I ignored it and went immediately to the door to the kitchen. The lock fell to my lockpicks in just a few seconds, and then I was inside. There was a camera pointing right at the door, and I waved to it – whoever had designed their security had not understood that you don't put cameras on the same circuit breakers as anything outside.

I moved quickly; the hotel staff at the desk would have noticed lights going out, and would eventually find the breaker panel, which was just down the hall from the kitchen.

A pitcher, red wine, vodka, orange juice, a lemon and a knife, cherries, a packet of sugar. Ice. Two glasses. I had mixed the liquids and gathered everything onto a tray when I heard the footsteps and saw the glow of a flashlight. I slipped through the door, thoughtfully relocked it, and made my way to the woman.

"Time?"

"Four minutes, eleven seconds."

"Giving me just enough time to chop and stir."

I handed her her glass at the 4 minutes and fifty one second mark, according to her watch. Eyes never leaving my face, she sipped it, and chuckled softly. "Vodka or gin?"

"Vodka. I don't like gin."

"I think you must have designs on my innocence."

"I absolutely do."

"Then I had better confess, I don't have any left."

"Me either, as I probably just proved. Alan, by the way." I sipped my drink.

"Sophie. I also must mention that I have a roommate."

"I... do not." I reached over and ran the back of my hand, very lightly, over her arm. "And if you do have any innocence left... I will take it from you."

She licked her lips, lightly and quickly. "Will you?"

"Oh yes."

"I think you must have done that to women many times before. Did they struggle much?"

"Some did... but they succumbed in the end."

She licked her lips again, and then shifted in her chair. "I was only on the patio because my roommate snores," she said. "And I really am very fond of the moon..."

My hand slid up over her shoulder, and then behind her neck. I drew her into a slow, light, teasing kiss. She didn't kiss back, but she didn't protest or draw away. I kissed deeper and more insistently, and after a moment, she made a soft noise, and kissed, her mouth slowly opening under mine.

My hands slipped to her sides, and I stroked the sides of her breasts, then her back. We left our chairs, and I pressed her against the length of me, cupping her ass, then gripping it. I was stone hard, and she pressed against me there, shifting slowly, kissing eagerly now.

"I'm... not actually like this," she murmured. "But for once I don't care. But my moon gazing?"

"I promise you, at one point I will make you stare at the moon... while I ravish you."

She shivered against me. I broke the embrace, blew out the candle, and lead her to my room.

+++

I dumped my bag on the floor, took Sophia by the throat and pressed her against the wall, on her tiptoes. Then I kissed her again, slowly and opened mouthed. Her hands came up and stroked my back, but I caught her hand, and pressed her wrists against the wall, crossed over her head. Her kisses became wet and sensual, and she moaned, softly.

I bit down on her lower lip, and her hips tilted up and ground, slowly and seductively against my cock. I was swollen and rigid and her movement made me burn for her.

I snarled against her lips and reached behind her, undoing the hook and then pulling down on the zipper. She whimpered in sudden alarm, but I ignored it and untied the knot at the back of her neck, and the dress fell away, pooling at her feet. There was no bra, and my hand cupped a firm, rounded breast. The nipple pressed against my palm, and she moaned again. My hand closed around the nipple, and toyed with it, slowly and cruelly.

"Please," she whispered against my mouth. "I want to touch you."

"Not until I've taken the last of your innocence."

I slid my belt from my pants, lowered her hands and crossed them behind her back, and looped the belt around them. That made her moan like an animal, and her eyes burned up at me, reflecting the light of the moon.

I kissed her mouth, and then the tops of her breasts, until she arched, raising her nipples in a silent begging. But I only sucked them gently, and then, holding her tight against the wall, licked my way slowly down her belly. When I got to the panties, I pulled them suddenly down to her knees. She cried out, softly. I licked her just above the clit as my finger stroked her slit, gently, over and over. When her panting and squirming became uncontrollable, I licked directly on her clit and slid my finger inside her – but then immediately got up, stepped away, and removed everything from the waist down.

She stared at my upthrust cock, then raised her eyes to my face, but then sank back down to my cock. I stroked it, slowly, and then held the precum on my fingers against her mouth to lick. When her eyes came to mine again, I took her by the shoulders, stepped her out of her pooled dress, and lowered her to her knees, and her mouth slid helplessly against the head of my cock. I took my belt, still looped around her wrists, and used it to force her tighter against me, feeling her nipples against my thighs. Her tongue danced across the back of my cock, frantically. I was shaking.

"I'm going to take you from behind, over the bed, with your wrists caught like that. Your hair, hands and hips are mine to grab. I won't be gentle."

"Be as rough as you wish," she whispered. "Tonight I need to feel my body used." She pressed her lips against the back of my cock, sucking and licking and moaning.

That was the end of my self control. My precum marked her cheeks and her nipples pressed against my thighs, and all I could think of was taking. I reached down for her hair and forcefully led her to the bed. In high heels, and with her panties still around her calves, I gripped her wrists behind her back and sank myself into her. She cried out, but I forced in again. She was slippery and tight and I pounded her, driving the breath from her body. She could not thrust back or move away, and I took her as I pleased. She sobbed, squeezing down over and over, thrashing on the bed.

But it wasn't enough; she had a pretty face and I wanted to see it. I pulled her back, freed her arms and brought her to the floor. When I pushed in again her legs came up and stroked me, and her hands gripped my hair, pulling herself up to kiss and lick my mouth.

Her frantic kisses were intoxicating. I pounded in again, and again, and slowly she arched, tightening, whimpering "Yes, on fuck yes... no mercy, force me to- fuck! Yes! Yes! Oh yes!"

She thrashed, coming; I gripped her hair tightly and forced her head back against the floor, knowing I was going to come and loving the feeling of pinning her down when I did. As I came, I cursed and snarled, and then pulled out and let the final spurt jet over her belly and breasts. She convulsed, wanting to see it but unable to because of the grip in her hair. Panting, I took some on a finger and made her smell it, then lick it clean.

Her body was still shaking. I fingered her, licking her throat and neck until she began to arch again, and then I bit down where her shoulder and neck met. I squeezed and massaged her breasts as she came again.

She didn't seem able to stop, and in the end I slid my fingers out of her. She rolled against me, quivering in shock.

"What is in the Sangria?" she whispered, dazedly. "I have never come like that. You were ruthless and I still want more."

"I did promise you the moon."

She giggled, sort of, nuzzled against me, burrowing, finally free to pet me. Her hands found my cock, and rubbed it between her palms, then licked the tip of it. "Then you want too far, because now I see stars," she murmured. "You... smell good and taste good. Your skin, your cock. I guess it's true about a woman needing a man to smell right. It's better than wine."

Her hands worshipped my cock, and oddly I thought of the candle I'd stolen, a thick off-white pillar that burned-

She moaned suddenly. I'd hardened against her lips, suddenly and firmly. She looked up at me, eyes wide. "You are an animal."

I chuckled, darkly. I was surprised at my sudden sexual invulnerability, but she was beautiful and she was willing. And a gentleman must keep his promises.

I sat up, took her by the hand and lead her to the window. Riding mid-sky the moon glowed, the color of a melting beeswax candle. I opened the window and pushed her in front of it, so she was framed by it, from just below the waist up, facing out. She whimpered nervously, embarrassed, but my hand slid over her ass and then a finger speared into her. The other gripped her hair, forcing her to look up at the moon. Her horrified gasp melted into a very different sound. "Masturbate," I whispered.

Uncertainly, her hand slid over her belly, and then lower. Suddenly she caught fire, staring upwards mesmerized, masturbating, penetrated over and over by two fingers, and feeling my hard cock slide suggestively against her ass.

"Oh fuck, no, please..."

"You will come for me, again, like this, and then I will make you please my cock."

"Oh fuck," she whispered. "What's wrong with me, I just want more, I've never wanted it so much before, this is- please, I want your cock again."

"First you come, here, where people can see you. Then I pound you with my cock."

"Then – touch my breasts – my nipples – I need just that little bit of pain- make me understand you will never show mercy-"

I grabbed both breasts, pulling and squeezing and twisting, as she masturbated frantically and stared at the moon. Just as she began to come, I whispered "I'm going to fuck you all night," and bit her neck again. When she was done sobbing and gasping – the twisted echoes of her cries coming back to shame her, which only increased her pleasure – I dragged her to the floor, made her kneel over me, facing me, and got my cock inside her.

"Please me."

"I'm dizzy-"

"Please me now."

"Oh fuck you're perfect," she whimpered, and moved for me, hips sliding back and forth, pussy sucking at my again rigid cock. My fingers traced her breast, neck and face as she worked me, and then she kissed and licked my mouth in the hottest, sluttiest most eager way I could imagine. "Let me have your come, I love the sound you make, I love the feel of it; look at me, adoring at your phallic shrine, I'm your worshipper and slutty slave tonight-"

Shuddering, I gushed up inside her. She arched, stretching, bringing her nipple up against my lips, and I jetted again, and then collapsed backwards to the floor. She rolled forward and curled up on top of me.

Time passed.

"Some people lie in bed after sex," she murmured.

"I always tell the truth after sex," I murmured back. She took a moment to find the pun – she was fluent in English but that didn't mean she thought in it - and then giggled.

"And in the spirit of truth, are you gone tomorrow?"

"Yes. Though you are hot enough and pleasing enough that I'm having a fantasy about kidnapping you."

"You did seem to be interested in restraining and positioning me... kidnapping my body and making it your prisoner..."

Prisoner, prison, justice, theft, gem, candle-

She moaned, softly, curling tighter against me.

Candle, burning, guttering-

Her hand slipped over my cock, and she stroked it slowly. I hardened, and she gave a small whimper. "How? I've never met a man who could come back for more like this."