Chapter 8
"Are you sure you want to do it the hard way, Cassandra?" Dandy Voivode spoke to the woman beside him in the back of the limousine.
"I am afraid it's the only way I have," the detective sergeant said.
The young woman outside the automobile was clicking her jewelry against the heavily tinted windows of the passenger compartment.
"Endicott's back," Dandy said, huddling close to
Cassandra for a quick surreptitious squeeze of her bullet-hard breasts.
"How goes it, Ms. Peabody?" Cassandra said as the olive-skinned woman enveloped in fur of the silver lynx slipped in beside her.
The two women kissed, their tongues entangling like mating lizards.
Cassandra clutched underneath Ms. Peabody's furs at her tits, now bound with platinum-allow twine and fitted with jingling nipple clips.
"It looks as though everything's in full swing right now," Endicott said.
Dandy reached over and gave one of Ms. Peabody's firm tits a twist.
"Are you sure you won't make your entrance with us?" he said to Cassandra.
The detective shook her head and made ready to exit from the limousine.
She smooched Dandy's silvery, straw-textured locks as he felt up between her thighs.
Cassandra faded into the roadside stands of pine as the limousine slid into gear and continued down the winding road.
When she had seen the automobile turn through the large stone entrance gate to Spa Abbey of Theleme, she looked both ways down the road and crossed over to the high wall surrounding the spa's immediate grounds.
Cassandra felt in back for her coiled length of steel. She snapped it from her belt and opened up the folding anchor affixed to one end.
With a windup toss, she had caught the anchor along the top of the stone wall and had begun her ascent. Avoiding the broken glass and electrical barbs at the top of the wall, Cassandra descended to the other side via the same means.
Her jumpsuit of matte-black acrylic, streaked with graffiti designs in melted innertube rubber and matching hooded mask made her invisible as she crept over the grounds.
Prior to her ascent of the central building of the abbey itself, Cassandra checked her gear. The heavy black-bladed survival knife was solid against her calf, and the harness snaring her boobs held her automatic pistol as well as a string of explosive plastics.
With utter caution and complete calm, the dark, muscular figure attained the roof of the abbey's main turret.
She could hear sounds of the revelry in the fieshmarket below from time to time as she waited for her mistress.
Cassandra smoked a cigarette as she stretched out the muscles and ligaments in her limbs, torso and shoulders.
Cassandra relaxed and opened the front of her jumpsuit. She took hold of her nip clips and twirled them aimlessly.
Her hand followed the flat plane beneath her navel and came to rest in her hairy thatch. She picked away nervously at her clitoris.
She had just lit her second fag when she heard the rippling sounds of the mistress's approaching helicopter above her.
Quickly stabbing the lit ember out on her tits, Cassandra hid behind a chimney. She watched as the helicopter landed and Diana Cazadora hopped out.
After Diana had signaled the craft away, Cassandra stepped from the shadows.
"You nearly scared me to death!" Diana said, recognizing the skulking detective.
Cassandra took her in her arms and the two of them rubbed tits and clits together in a hungry wet embrace.
"Where's the icon?" Cassandra said hurriedly. "...Icon?"
"Don't be a silly bitch."
There was no time for sergeants to be dilly-dallying, Cassandra thought. She would have to play rough again. In this case, quick action was called for. She unsnapped the coiled wire and in one smooth action unfolded the anchor and brought the whole rig about in a roundhouse across the face of the mistress of pain.
Diana came instantly, wiping the streaks of blood from her brow.
Cassandra kneed up into her mistress's cunt and the two women fell grappling to the roof. Diana's neck was snagged within the wire coils and Cassandra brought it tight. Diana spat and coughed blood. "I'll tell you everything I know, honey," she said to Cassandra.
Fortunately, in her eyes, the detective found the route to the secret storage space well lit. Unfortunately, there was movement evident.
She hoped she wasn't too late.
Passing through the dungeon stocked with the Inquisitional implements, Cassandra kept her ears cocked. She paused at the entrance way to the secluded storeroom.
Drawing her pistol from her boobs, she stepped through the doorway, pointing the barrel at the manly figure standing facing her.
"It's all over," Cassandra said smoothly.
The figure spoke and Cassandra's jaw dropped.
She now recognized the masculine version of the gossip columnist Zahndra Jergens, complete with long sideburns and ducktail pompadour.
Now all that jazz about the cosmetic surgery and the incognito nightlife made more sense.
"That's right, sergeant," Zahndra said. "It is all over. Everything moved out."
"Except the icon of the Cuntress," Cassandra said, jamming the gun barrel into Zahndra's shrunken tits.
"You mean the one with all the tits," Zahndra said with a sneer. "Sorry, you slut dyke gash, but that one's for the mistress."
She took a step to pass around the police detective, swinging her hips like a cowboy. Cassandra crouched and drew her knife, passing the firearm to her left paw.
"Let's shuck the hard-guy routine, Zahndra," Cassandra snorted, moving to block her exit.
"There's nothing in here for you to see, detective," Zahndra said, pushing into the knife blade confidently. "And I must give a performance now in the fleshmarket."
"The show will go on without you," Cassandra insinuated, placing her leg in between Zahndra's quivering thighs.
She felt the rut rise from the masculine woman's quim. Zahndra played her fingers across Cassandra's face and slid her tongue out between her teeth.
"Wrong, sergeant-it takes two to tango."
"You have a knife in your quim and a bullet ready for your asshole right now, cuntboy," Cassandra said. "If you want to dance another day, I suggest you get your lips moving."
Cassandra entered the fleshmarket set and look about with her arms folded over her clamped boso She had drawn down the front zipper so her lavi tits would be ready for action.
Ready to feel the pull.
The twist.
The shout of agony when the revelers would ya them with tooth and nail.
She saw Antoine Chevalier parading around his Minotaur suit. She of course recognized Alisf and Francis, playing in the hogpens with a coup' of the younger virgin boys and girls.
On the dance floor between the long lines of tables where many of the partiers still drank and played tityank and dickgouge, two figures were poised for the initiation of the dance.
The rhythm of the music now moved in a quick bolero, and improvisational melodies scorched the air. All heads shot around.
Zahndra was dressed in the costume of a Latino pimp from Buenos Aires. High-heeled ankleboots and a rakish hat made the gossip columnist look quite the lowlife gamin.
The Abbess stood on one leg, her other knee flexed, so that one could see up to her redhaired, steel-ringed cunt folds, covered with translucent pink panties.
The thin latex of her white miniskirt was streaked with food and come.
She wore on top a half-cupped brassiere of the same white latex, popping her tits up irresistibly.
In rutlust at the sight, Cassandra scanned the room for signs of Dandy or Ms. Peabody.
She knew that the cruel white goddess, the mistress of pain Diana Cazadora, would not have yet made her startling entry.
Artemis's white high-heeled leather sneakers had crescent-shaped silver spurs. Zahndra's ankleboots featured pointed metal toes.
The masculine ruffian tipped his hat, extended a pointed foot.
The whorish Abbess made to step on the hoodlum's toe, but the masculine hand snared her arm.
Twisting the Bawdress from side to side as she struggled, the gamin slapped her face.
The Bawdress spat back, kicking in rhythmic pulses to the Latin tempo as the ruffian stepped between her legs, driving her backward.
Artemis twirled away, the gangster yanking her back within a tight grip. She hooked her limber gam about the ruffian's thigh, attempting to trip up her assailant.
Zahndra pushed her pelvis forward, snapping her clit into the Bawdress's belly.
Artemis scratched, clawed, kicked and slapped as she was swung about Zahndra's extended leg.
The pimp's hat flew off, and Zahndra herself flung away her tight jacket.
Artemis whacked her bully with extended fingernails and ripped open the front of Zahndra's silk gigolo shirt.
The cunt juices were rolling in scourging slathers down between Artemis's legs and drenched Zahndra's masculine trousers.
Bent over backwards, the Bawdress glued her cunt to the center of her pimp's pussy.
In counter-rhythm to the strolling melody, the gamin gangster reached to her belt, where a gun-metal pricktip nib was strung about a scrotal enema sac.
With awful lunges and salidas, the ruffian worked the struggling Bawdress in fantastic patterns across the floor.
Whiplike, the pimp flogged his moll's face with the bloated enema sac.
Zahndra jerked Artemis about and tied her hands behind her back with a length of metal lariat she had worn gaucho-style cinched about her waist.
Artemis spurred her assailant with backward hooks to the groin.
The intensity of the sizzling gonads was infectious to the crowd. Zahndra had the brassiere pulled off Artemis's shoulders and had bullied her miniskirt to shreds.
Oohs and ahhs erupted from the crowd as the revelers observed that their Abbess was indeed a bit pregnant.
Zahndra bit into the firm fanny of the Bawdress with barracuda teeth.
Then the pimp slickered the pounding arse hole with rough tonguelashes.
The gunmetal dildo-tip popped into Artemis's arse like a knife into hot buttered buns.
The Bawdress squealed as the pimp pumped oily condiments into her juggling rump.
Zahndra pitched the Bawdress's whorish form to the floor, where she kicked the dildo farther up her fanny.
Then Zahndra did a flamenco step on the bubbling sac, shooting pulses of scalding unaged cane liquor and stinging spices up the sluttishly scurrying, whining arse.
Zahndra kicked Artemis's ankles with her metal toes and flipped the Bawdress over onto her back. With a flying leap, the ruffian had kneed into Artemis's throbbing bosom and blazing belly.
The flood of foaming fluids gushed from the Bawdress's glowering bung.
Now even Alistair and Francis were watching the action intently.
Cassandra saw the clear outline of Ms. Peabody's knobs, glittering in her stylish nipple clips out from under her silvery furs, standing with her hand on Dandy's pecker in the front of the gathered crowd of onlookers.
Artemis kicked convulsively as Zahndra lowered her pants. The cunt hairs stood out like a wiry briar-patch, sporting through the dank foliage an enormous vermilion clitoris.
Cassandra reflected that many a man would cut off his balls to have a cock the size of Zahndra's new clit.
The pimp crushed the rings decorating the Bawdress's tawdry twat with repeated kicks. The goo flushed from Artemis's bowels ran in rivulets across the dance floor.
Straddling the fallen whore, Zahndra spread her firm cundips with her fingers.
She opened up a sizzle of urine onto the Baw-dress's belly. Artemis wriggled and smacked her yip in the open air.
The tingling piss covered her wretched hide with blistering humiliation and intense pleasure.
She rubbed her clit and awaited her fate.
Zahndra whacked at her engorged clitoris and sank to her knees between Artemis's spasming legs. She drew the Bawdress's creamy, molten thighs about her tough ass, Jamming fingers up Artemis's asshole, Zahndra pulled the taciturn slattern up her lap.
As the Bawdress flailed maniacally at her own cunny and at the face of her ruffian assailant, she burst into tears.
She had heard her.
Her mistress.
And now Artemis knew why Diana Cazadora was still the true mistress of pain.
The onlookers were still gazing in awe as the pimp slid her clitoris into the Bawdress's shaking, piss-drenched quim.
But Artemis had felt the entrance of her mistress.
Quiet as a mouse. Slithery as a viper.
Undead as a bat.
When the mistress spoke, the hubbub of the banquet pit and the fleshmarkets went dead.
"I see that while the mistress of the evening is away, her Abbess has been at play," the invisible one said with a smooth, chocolaty rhythm.
Cassandra saw the strain in the glances exchanged between Francis Dashwood and Alistair Weed. The fear and trembling in Artemis's face made even Cassandra shrivel her arse hole.
"Please," the unseen Diana said, "back to this evening's frolics-I can assure you that the fun has only just begun."