PROLOGUE:

In the summer of 1978, the Central Intelligence Agency worked in conjunction with the U.S. Army's Advanced BioChem Warfare Unit at Fort Detrick to develop a highly specialized drug, which it code named 'Alpha Blade.'

The first -- and only -- test on human subjects occurred in April, 1979. Microdosages of Alpha Blade were administered to eight US Army Medical Corps nursing students.

Within three hours, all eight subjects were dead. A partial transcript of the after-incident report reads as follows:

"Subject 1 found dead from self-asphyxiation...

"Subject 2 [had] apparently crashed her head into a plate glass window, with the deliberate intention of severing her carotid artery...[her] hands were found inserted into her own vagina and anus...

"Subject 9 found hanging in her room...extreme sexual excitement detected during autopsy...

"Subjects 4 and 11 found in bed; each subject's hands were stuffed into the other's throat, and into the other's vagina..."

The medical staff at Fort Detrick developed a serum that it hoped would counteract the effects of Alpha Blade. Its code name was "KillJoy," and was tested on only one human subject. This subject, another nursing student, was subsequently committed to the ultra-high-security detention center at Fort Detrick after committing seven murders. She resides there today, in solitary isolation and under a 24-hour armed guard. All psychological tests on her show no abnormalities; there is, in fact, nothing wrong with her except an uncontrollable impulse to kill. Unlike the code name for "Alpha Blade," "KillJoy" turned out to be especially prophetic.

In July, 1995, a survey of the Military Toxic Control Unit at Fort Detrick determined that three vials each of Alpha Blade and KillJoy were missing...

...........

Elizabeth Eileen Ross paused in the broad entryway of her apartment, a rubber band in her mouth, her arms raised to the back of her head where she was gathering her blonde hair in a ponytail. She was wearing a shimmering blue lycra bodysuit beneath a silver jumper with dancer's knee warmers and Nike tennis shoes. When she had her hair pulled tight, clasped in one small, lavender-nailed hand, she took the rubber band from her mouth and wound it several times around the shank of hair. As she did this, pulling at the loose hair of the ponytail to tighten the band, she listened to the television in the living room where two of her roommates, Patricia and Jennifer, were eating spanokopita and souvlaki.

Elizabeth Ross was a vivacious, charming woman. At 27, she was the youngest securities broker in the company (Lewis Taggart and Associates), and one of the best. She was, in her employer's opinion, a rising star.

Elizabeth stood a little over 5'3" and at 120 pounds, felt that she was a tad plump -- not that any of the men in her office would have agreed, not with her hourglass figure and pert, rounded breasts. She was rosy-cheeked, fresh, plump and tempting -- a vividly beautiful woman. She wore her blonde hair in a modern page-boy style. Everyone who knew her was struck by her kindness, intelligence and femininity.

On Tuesdays and Thursdays, Elizabeth taught a computer class for adult students at the local high school. On Mondays, she tried to make time to tutor her young niece in algebra. Thursdays were reserved for catching up on work and reading for pleasure. The weekends, however, were something else...

Grabbing her monogrammed athletic bag from the closet near the front door, she noticed Virginia's umbrella hanging against the closet wall. Virginia refused to take it with her. It just cluttered up the car, she argued, always getting in her way. Besides, she simply never needed it. She parked in a covered garage and walked to her office through the tunnels. She would remind Virginia of the times she had been drenched -- it had happened three times in the last three months -- but she would shrug off her cautionary examples as 'unusual.' Virginia did not entertain the unusual. At this, Elizabeth smiled, then left the apartment.

A fresh spring rain had moved through the city only half an hour earlier, making the woods fragrant and washing the city clean in the dusk. Elizabeth inhaled deeply of the damp evening smells as she tossed her bag into her dark blue Land Rover and climbed behind the steering wheel, flipping on the headlights. It was just now getting dark enough to use them. She started the rover, fastened her seat belt, wheeled it around the island of magnolias in front of the condominium, and drove quickly along the drive bordered by a white fence covered with brambles of pyracantha. When she reached the street, she waited for a car to pass as she checked her watch. It was seven-forty. Her aerobics class began at eight o'clock.

Hurrying along the winding street she came to the major north- south artery of Voss and turned left. Within a mile or so she would come to Woodway where she would need to turn left again to go to Sabrina's, an athletic club that catered to the already sleek bodies of the woman of the Villages. But Elizabeth Ross did not turn left at Woodway. Instead she breezed past the intersection and turned left at the next street, San Felipe, and pushed the Land Rover east through the high-dollar neighborhoods of Briargrove and Post Oak Estates and Tanglewood until she made her first right turn onto the fashionably post Post Oak Boulevard. Now known as Uptown Houston, the Galleria area was the largest suburban business district in the nation. Its newest pearl was the Pavilion, Saks Fifth Avenue, a multimillion-dollar complex of elegant shops separated from the boulevard by a phalanx of sixty- foot palms that glistened in the light mist that was now moving in on heavy air from the coast fifty miles to the southeast.

With the lights of the office towers and high-rise condominiums reflecting back at her from the wet, black boulevard, Elizabeth Ross whipped the Land Rover into a medium turn lane and quickly cut across traffic to the Doubletree Hotel, a flat-faced structure with an inset glass curtain wall in its center section that fell to two overlapping half-barrel arches that were also made of glass and formed the hotel's porte-cochere. She did not stop for the uniformed doorman who stepped to the curb to open her door, but contrinued past him and drove around to the parking garage gate. She took a ticket from the buzzing dispenser, which opened the gate, and entered the garage, driving up to the third level before finding an available parking space. She snatched her bag out of the Land Rover, locked it, and walked to the elevator which took her back down to the lobby.

At the registration desk she presented a counterfeit driver's license and told the concierge she wanted to pay in cash. The license was a document that had cost her a significant amount of money as well as considerable trouble. Those among them who were in sensitive positions -- married, in important positions -- had to worry about those kinds of things; their wire was stretched tighter, their balancing act a little more delicate than the others. But it had been worth it. It had served her well for over two years now. She asked for a room facing the boulevard on the highest floor available. After signing the registration forms and paying, she declined the help of a bellboy and walked straight across the cavernous lobby to the elevator, her high-cut bodysuit and stylish figure turning heads, female as well as male. Elizabeth Ross was a beautiful woman.

She found her room on the eighth floor not far from the elevator and slipped the rectangular magnetic card into the slot above the handle, heard it click, and shoved it open. She did not turn on the lights, but tossed her bag and the card on the bed and walked straight to the curtains and opened them. A little to her left a sweep of buildings rose up above her, their lights glittering in the mists like a rainy sky of winking eyes peering at her in the opened window, their vantage points the envy of even the most demanding voyeur savant. And across the shiny boulevard the palm trees of the Pavilion stood dripping in a surreal desert of green sand.

Elizabeth Ross walked to the telephone and placed a call. She spoke only a few words and hung up, then walked back to the window. Standing in front of it, she reached up and began taking the rubber band from her ponytail. But her hands were shaking, the rubber band was to tight. It snapped, startling her. She raked her fingers through her hair, tossed the rubber band aside, and shook out her hair. She took a deep breath. The room was new and clean.

From this moment on it would be different from all the times before. Until now she had been learning. It had been a long apprenticeship, hampered by her own anxieties and psychological impediments. She might never have come to this point at all if she had not had help, if she had not been coached and coaxed and brought along with patience and understanding. She had reached that stage where she would have to give herself up completely or never know what it might have been like to understand something few people would ever know. It was that simple. It had been explained to her, but she had known anyway, instinctively. The body was the gateway to the mind. She almost had done it before, almost had crossed the threshold, risking her identity until she had grown intoxicated on nothing more than the other's breath, that feather of one's essence that no one could ever alter or destroy.

Her hands were trembling even more now as they slid up her body, caressing her thighs, stomach and breasts. Her skin felt tingly, pulsing beneath the sheer blue fabric, alive with millions of tiny sensitive fingers, and she began to grow intensely, powerfully aroused. Standing in front of the plate-glass window, she let them look at her, let them glitter and wink at her. It was electrifying to have finally made the decision to acquiesce, and for a full week she had been distracted with anticipation. The curtain was about to rise on her repression.

Her pulse began to race as she placed her bag on the bed and opened it. She took out a pack of Virginia Slims 100's cigarettes and a gold Dunhill lighter. She lit a cigarette, inhaling deeply, her breasts rising, then expelled a thin stream of blue smoke toward the ceiling.

She set the lit cigarette in a large crystal ashtray and reached into the bag, beneath the athletic gear, and took out a flat black leather box. She undid the snaps on the cover and raised it. Inside, sitting in a cushion of dark blue velvet, was a Glock 9-mm pistol. She pried it out of its cushion, feeling its weight. Elizabeth wrapped her slim fingers around the grip and lifted it. The weapon was lighter than she had remembered, but the odor was the same, that faint petroleum smell. The gun was a polished, dark blue that reflected the light. Elizabeth removed a loaded clip from the box and deftly ran it into the stock. The gun was now almost at its familiar weight -- she was surprised to find that she would be sensitive to that! There was just one final item.

The silencer sat in its own recess in the box, a long, narrow black tube. It had been procured at considerable risk by her mentor, from sources unnamed. Elizabeth suspected it had been bought in Europe, so careful was her mentor in such matters. She picked it up and screwed it onto the barrel of the Glock. There, she thought, it was now exactly as it had felt before. Her thumb pushed the safety off, and with her left hand she pulled back on the cocking arm and released it. There was a tiny click as a bullet slid into the chamber, and with it she felt a silent blossom of warmth between her legs, felt it rising slowly to her soft breasts, to her supple arms and flushed face...

She picked up her cigarette and took a long, luxurious drag. Now there was just the wait. It would not be long. She slid the weapon beneath the seat cushion and sat silently, smoking.

As the sun set behind the Houston skyline, the room grew darker, and Elizabeth could make out some kind of movement on the outside of the door. Her heart racing with anticipation, she rose and went to the door. Kneeling, she slid the magnetic card beneath it, then returned coolly to her seat.

The door opened. A figure entered, closing the door silently behind it, standing in the shadow. There were no words spoken.

Elizabeth curled her legs beneath her, conscious at all times of the gun on which she sat, and beckoned to the figure. It moved forward, out of the shadow, and Elizabeth sighed involuntarily. It was a young woman -- tall, brunette and breathtakingly beautiful. She had on a long burgundy raincoat, and as she stepped forward, her hands deftly undid the belt and let it fall to the floor. Elizabeth gasped audibly. It was just as she had requested: The girl wore a shimmering white lycra playsuit, cut high above the thighs and daringly decollete. Her skin was supple and smooth, and Elizabeth could easily make out the girl's bush of pubic hair and erect nipples. Her only other accoutrements were a pair of shiny black stiletto pumps and a set of opal stones that dangled from her earrings. Elizabeth was immediately and profoundly aroused. The girl must have noticed; she gave Elizabeth an enigmatic smile, her eyes gazing deeply into Elizabeth's.

Elizabeth picked up the pack of Virginia Slims 100s and took out a cigarette, and the amazonian girl came to her, almost gliding, and knelt down in front of her in an obeisant manner. She took the lighter from the table and, holding it with both hands, ignited it. Elizabeth held the cigarette to her lips as the girl lit it for her, their eyes still locked. Elizabeth became aware that her own nipples had grown granite-hard and were clearly outlined in her outfit.

The girl took the cigarette from Elizabeth, and took a long drag on it, then set it down in the ashtray. She expelled the smoke from her nostrils and brought her hands up to Elizabeth's breasts, cupping them from below. Her thumbs drew lazy circles around the aureoles, and when Elizabeth's lips parted to a large, inviting O, she brought her mouth down on Elizabeth's, and they kissed. Elizabeth's body responded hungrily; she slid her fingers into the other woman's hair and pulled her closer, savoring the taste, the smell, the touch of her lover. Their tongues met, parrying and thrusting, and as the other girl rose their bodies merged, their breasts squeezing together tightly. Elizabeth felt faint from the heat.

The girl, Elizabeth noted, was following her orders to the last detail. She knew what the next action was to be -- the girl was to stand and disrobe by the door -- but she held the embrace, feeling a slight twinge of regret and at the same time an anticipatory, hypersexual pulse shuddering through her body.

The girl felt it too; she pulled away tenderly, still wearing the same mysterious smile, her eyes wide and unblinking. She put her hands on Elizabeth's thighs and rose, then backed off several feet.

With Elizabeth looking on, she slid her hands along her legs, up her slender waist, along the supple curve of her breasts. She clearly enjoyed the attention she was receiving from her mistress, and Elizabeth wondered idly where her mentor had been able to find such a willing, pliable woman. Elizabeth realized that her left hand had slipped between her legs, and was rubbing the taut material above her clitoris in ever harder movements. She looked up at the woman and smiled, almost as if in embarrassment, but did not stop; being watched would be half the fun. The woman stood motionless, watching her effect on Elizabeth, watching as her client slipped her right hand beneath the seat cushion and brought out a gun.

The woman's eyes grew wide, and before she could register what was happening, Elizabeth lifted it up with one hand, lining the sight with her left eye, and squeezed the trigger. There was a slight, subsonic pffft! that cut through the silence, and the woman slammed up against the wall. Her arms flailed out and her knees buckled momentarily. She looked down dumbly at the small hole in her right breast, at the rapidly growing red stain over her white playsuit, then back up at Elizabeth.

Elizabeth returned the gaze coolly; her eyes, looking along the barrel of the gun, took in the scene -- the beautiful girl, her fingers clawing uselessly against the wall, the noiseless pulsing of blood that ran down her chest. For a moment, both women were motionless, one in pain, the other in strange ecstasy. Then the moment was gone, Elizabeth had returned from her distant reverie, and she became aware of her own deep, sensual breathing.

The girl still held Elizabeth with her eyes. "Please, no..." she moaned.

Elizabeth took aim and fired again. The second bullet struck the woman in the forehead. The bullet tore through her brain and blew out a large piece of her skull, along with blood, grey matter and hair. She died instantly. The force of the impact threw her head backwards against the wall; she jerked once, then slid down to the floor, her legs splayed out in front of her, her lifeless eyes staring up at Elizabeth, and a small line of blood trickling from the left corner of her parted lips.

Elizabeth Eileen Ross felt the familiar thrill build up within her, only much greater this time, and she shuddered visibly as a massive orgasm wracked her body, lasting over five minutes and leaving her feeling wasted.

She lowered the weapon slowly, cursing herself for her own haste. It was supposed to have lasted much longer! That, of course, had been her own fault; her mentor had warned her of it, had told her that the first time was always the most difficult.

She gathered her things quickly, then left the room, glancing back one final time at the girl who she had killed, the girl who stared unseeing toward the ceiling, a surprised expression still on her lips.

----------

Ann Fitzpatrick stood jauntily in the entrance to the crowded nightclub, her right hand on her hip -- a tall, stunningly attractive woman. She wore a black, daringly decollete velvet evening dress with a high fan collar that accentuated her ample cleavage and slim, hour-glass figure. Her full lips matched the color of her long, curved red fingernails, and she had on black silk stockings and gold-tipped high-heeled stiletto opera pumps. For jewelry, Ann wore a set of gold hoop earrings and a pearl choker. Ann looked at her image in the foyer mirror and smiled confidently. She was dressed to kill, and she knew it.

After waiting a few minutes, Ann saw an empty seat at the main bar and took it. The bartender, a young curly-haired girl, saw her and came up. "What can I get you, miss?"

Ann thought for a moment. "I'd like a martini."

After she ordered, Ann took out a pack of Max 120's from her purse and pulled out a long white cigarette.

The bartender brought her drink over, set it down, and held up a lighter with two petite hands. "Here, I'll get that."

Ann held the cigarette to her lips as the other woman lit it for her. Ann inhaled deeply, her breasts rising. She expelled a thin stream of blue smoke toward the ceiling and smiled at the girl. "Thank you," she said, crooking her elbow and holding the cigarette in the air.

The bartender smiled back. "You're welcome."

Ann crossed her legs, sipped her drink and took a long, luxurious drag on her cigarette. Her left hand slipped subtly beneath the folds of her dress, and her fingers felt along her thigh. Halfway up, connected to a thick elastic strap, was a clamshell case containing four grams of Peruvian flake cocaine and various accoutrements. Satisfied that it was secure, Ann removed her hand and took out a photograph from her purse. It was a shot of two women, a blonde and a brunette. The brunette was her employer; it was the blonde that Ann sought tonight, a sloe-eyed, large-breasted girl named Patricia Ortiz.

Ann took another drag on her cigarette and scanned the mirror in front of her, looking at the crowd. Almost all of the people were women, which wasn't surprising for a lesbian nightclub. There were several gorgeous women out on the dance floor. As Ann watched, she felt a familiar warmth swelling up within her. As she strained over to get a better look, she noticed a young girl sitting at the opposite end of the bar, wearing a tight blue leotard top and white faille wraparound skirt. It was Patricia.

She had already decided her strategy. She finished her drink and cigarette, and the bartender, who kept giving Ann discrete glances, came over immediately. "Can I get you another one?" she asked.

"Yes, please," Ann said, "and do me a favor."

The bartender smiled. "I'd love to."

"Do you see that woman over there?", Ann pointed to Patricia.

"Give her another drink with my compliments."

The girl nodded. "You mean Trish? Sure."

Ann took out another cigarette, along with a long ebony cigarette holder. She carefully inserted the cigarette into the holder and lit it. "Tell her it's from me."

Ann put the photograph back in her purse and watched as the bartender took a scotch on the rocks over to Patricia and set it down in front of her, discreetly pointing over to Ann. Patricia looked over, smiling. Ann returned the smile and took a long, luxurious drag on her cigarette holder. She was beginning to get a kick out of this, and her heart began to race when Patricia stood up, drink in hand, and sidle through the crowd.

She arrived finally, smiling brightly, her eyes looking Ann over at close distance. "Thanks for the drink," she said. "Mind if I join you?"

"That," Ann replied, "was my intention. My name's Ann. What's yours?"

"Patricia, but everyone calls me Trish...say, why don't we grab a table?"

Ann rose. She stood several inches taller than the other girl. She held out a lavender-nailed hand. "Lead the way."

Trish smiled again, took Ann's hand, and maneuvered her through the crowd to a table on the dais, overlooking the dance floor.

They sat down and placed their drinks on the table. Trish looked up at Ann, her eyes still sparkling. "You've never been here before." It was said as a statement, not a question.

"How are you so sure?" Ann asked, taking a long drag on her cigarette holder.

"I would have remembered seeing you," Trish replied. "God, I love your cigarette holder. Where did you get it?"

"My mother gave it to me," Ann said. "She thinks I look very ...vampish with it."

"Very sexy," Trish purred. "Your mother has interesting tastes. What brand of cigarette do you smoke?"

"Max 120s. Would you like one?"

"I'd love one."

Ann gave her a cigarette, and as Trish held it to her soft red lips, Ann lit it for her with her lighter. Trish inhaled deeply, her breasts rising, and expelled a thin stream of blue smoke toward the ceiling. "I like these," she told Ann.

"Me too. A long white cigarette in a black holder is a turn on for me."

"Well," Trish said, letting her hand slip beneath the table, "it's doing wonders for me too." Her hand found Ann's thigh, rested on it slightly with gossamer pressure. Ann smiled to herself; this was going to be almost too easy. She covered Trish's hand with her own, felt the warmth of it.

She looked up at Trish, her eyebrows arched. "Are you this forward with everyone?"

"Only with mysterious, beautiful women." She paused. "Would you care to dance?"

Ann guided Trish's hand along her inner thigh, felt the other woman tingle with excitement. "Not particularly."

Trish stroked Ann's thighs, her long-nailed fingers pulling playfully at the silk hosiery. "Well," she said, "we'd better do something, Ann. I think I'm about to wet myself." She said this in a soft, throaty purr. Then her fingers reached the edge of the clamshell case. "Oh, what's this?"

Ann's eyes met Trish's. "About four grams of pure cocaine. Why don't we go to your place and have some?"

Trish's eyes sparkled. "I'm yours, darling!"

The two women left the bar, hand in hand.

Trish lived in an uptown penthouse with her own private pool. Ann guessed that Trish was looked after very well.

Trish had suggested a midnight dip, had selected a jet-black one-piece swimsuit for Ann and a white bikini for herself.

Ann was already in the pool, hanging lazily on the side when Trish arrived, carrying a large mirrored tray. She set it down beside Ann, then wordlessly slid into the warm water. Her long blonde hair fell across her shoulders, and even though the only light came from a full moon, Ann noticed that Trish's nipples were fully erect, like miniature penises, clearly outlined in the thin material of her bikini. At the sight of them, Ann could feel her own nipples grow granite-hard. This is going to be wonderful, she thought to herself.

Trish handed Ann a cigarette and lit it for her. Ann took a long drag, then passed it back to Trish, who did the same. She blew a cloud of smoke into the air, then set it down in an onyx ashtray on the poolside and turned her attention to Ann.

"God," Trish purred, "you are so gorgeous!" She slid her hand beneath Ann's waist, pulled close, and opened her lips to a wide O. Ann's mouth covered hers, and they kissed, delicately at first, then with increasing passion, Trish's legs wrapping around Ann's torso. Their breasts met, squeezed together, and Trish let out an involuntary moan.

My God, Ann thought to herself, this woman is a bull! She found herself responding with equal force, and for a long moment, nothing else existed except the woman in her arms.

She finally pushed Trish away, a sensual smile on her lips. "There's time for that later," she told Trish, turning to the pool side. "I want you to try some of this." She carefully laid out several lines of powder on the the mirrored tray and handed Trish a small gold straw. "Here."

Trish eagerly took the straw and held it to her nose as she slowly inhaled a line of coke. She closed her eyes, let her head fall back, and murmured sweetly, "Oh God, yes!"

Ann smiled as she took the straw from Trish's shaky hand. She floated Trish to the side, then took a line of powder and laid it within the other woman's deep cleavage. As she buried her nose between Trish's breasts, she snorted the powder as Trish's hands dug into her hair, pulling her closer.

Ann rose up. "God, that's great." She looked up into Trish's eyes.

"Fuck me, Ann," Trish said.

They each tenderly removed the swimsuit from the other, until they both stood in the water, totally nude. Trish froze. Ann's fingers had softly, gently covered hers, bringing them upward, over the other woman's fluttering belly, higher past her ribs, to the heated undersides of her heavy breasts.

Trish lay back, her eyes closed, breathing deeply, the swelling tops of her breasts just visible above the slight suds of the water's surface.

For the first time Ann felt Trish's nipples. They were hard and soft at the same time, slightly rubbery and long, reminding her of a man's erect penis. Involuntarily, she stroked at the breasts, up from their wide base, out to the ends of the cones where she pulled at the nipples with harder and harder tugs, using only thumb and forefingers, milking them.

Trish opened her eyes to see Ann staring at her from out of her huge slightly almond eyes, their brown as soft as doeskin. "Help me, Ann," she whispered. Her mind was whirling.

"Yes." Ann's wide sensual mouth curved in a tender smile. "My sweet Trish. I know what you want." She leaned forward, her lips opening like a flower against Trish's neck.

With eyes stoned with lust, she watched Ann's hands slide up her rib cage toward the lower slopes of her breasts. Light filtered over the pool in cool, pale bars.

Trish gasped as she felt Ann's warm hands lifting her breasts up and away, cradling them. Then the fingertips began to move, around and around the sensitive flesh, circling closer and closer to Trish's areolas. Sparks of pleasure rippled through her chest, pooled up between her thighs. Her legs began to tremble and rise up but Ann calmly flattened them back down. She had trouble breathing.

At last the fingertips reached the areolas, caressing them with a feathery touch. Trish groaned. Her nipples were so stiff they seemed painful. She felt Ann's lips against the shell of her ear. "Does it feel good?"

She nodded drunkenly.

"Then tell me, darling. Tell me."

Ann's head dipped into shadow, her opened lips swooping down to envelop Trish's nipples. Trish cried out and her thighs opened involuntarily. She arched her pelvis upward. "Oh, God."

"Tell me. Tell me." Those lips pulling, sucking, twisting the nipples.

"It feels -- ohhh! -- like heaven."

"Yes...yes!" It was an animal's cry.

Trish moved her hands down, frantically trying to rub herself, but Ann's fingers encircled her wrists. "No, darling. Let me do that." And she lifted up and Trish saw the hanging weight of her dusky breasts above her, lifted them into her hands. The feel of them, hot and hanging full, was like no other she could imagine. Her thumbs probed at the hard nipples until Ann groaned and moved downward.

Immediately, Trish's mons was enveloped in wet heat. She felt Ann's palms against her buttocks, the fingertips in the crack, one long nail probing...

At that instant, Ann's tongue stabbed out, directly into Trish's core. Trish arched up. It sounded as if there were an engine in the pool, working at peak capacity. Her fingers locked in Ann's hair, pulling the face hard into her as she bucked up uncontrollably, crying out until she was hoarse.

After a time, her eyes opened and she pulled Ann's lush body over hers.

"Tell me," she whispered hoarsely, "what to do."

Ann reached up behind her and, not seen by Trish, picked up her bikini top. She slid her arms around Trish's neck and kissed her hard on the mouth, her body pressing down on Trish's. Trish responded in kind, totally possessed and never once aware that Ann was deftly wrapping the top around her neck. Her fingers found Ann's stiff nipples and pinched them, causing Ann to gasp with joy and bear down even harder. "Oh, yes," she purred, "harder!"

Trish obeyed her, nearly faint from the kiss, the heat from Ann, the warm water...

Suddenly Ann pulled the ends of the bikini top as tight as she could and drove Trish down into the water, swinging her body so that she was now in the deeper part of the pool, unable to stand above the surface.

Trish began immediately to thrash about, her arms flailing at Ann, trying to grab ahold of her. But Ann deftly avoided her grip and held the pressure on the bikini top. She maneuvered Trish against the side of the pool, raised her leg, and pushed firmly against Trish's stomach, the effect of which was to cause her to expel her remaining air.

When she felt Trish's strength start to fade, she released the pressure on the bikini top, inhaled deeply and sunk beneath the surface. She planted her mouth firmly on Trish's, squeezed the other woman's nose shut, and wrapped her arms and legs around her. Together, they sank to the bottom of the pool. Ann was now in a perpetual orgasm, her eyes locked on Trish's, who stared dumbly back at her, dimly aware that she was dying.

Trish made one final, feeble attempt to fight her assassin; Ann redoubled her strength, continuing to hold her breath until she felt Trish's body arch abruptly and go limp.

Ann could stand it no longer; she released her hold on Trish and kicked up to the surface, gasping for air. She looked down into the pool, watching Trish's body float lazily down to the bottom, into the shadows, her eyes staring up accusingly at Ann, her arms and legs outstretched. Even in death she was beautiful.

Ann climbed out of the pool, her body still shaking from the massive orgasm, and put her swimsuit back on. The entire roof was quiet, save for the distant sounds of the street far below.

Suddenly Ann heard the roof door open; she crossed the distance and went into the open apartment door. Luckily for her, the lights were out, or she would have been noticed by the two bikini-clad women now strolling around the side of the pool. She grabbed her purse from the living room table and returned to the side of the open door and watched the women.

One of called out. "Patricia?"

"Look, Jenny," the other one said, pointing to Trish's discarded swimming attire by the pool. "She must have gotten lucky at Sfuzzi's tonight." They both giggled.

Ann fished into her purse, brought out the Beretta, quickly attached the silencer to the end of its long, black barrel and flicked the safety off.

"Should we bother her?" the one called Jenny asked.

The other girl walked over to the mirrored tray. "Not if you want to share this with her." She dipped a long, curled fingernail into the cocaine, brought it up to her nose and inhaled sharply. "God, where did she find this -- this is great! Becky, come over here!"

Ann's heart began to race again. My God, she thought, this is perfect!

The two women eagerly inhaled the remaining cocaine, moaning and tossing their heads back. Enjoy it, Ann thought, because it's going to be your last.

When they had gone through all of the coke, Jenny stood up, unsteady on her feet, and called out. "Trish...Trish! Come on out, darling -- we want to party!" Meanwhile, Becky had slid into the pool and was lazily circling out to the deep end...

Ann stood out from behind the wall, raised her weapon and pulled gently on the trigger. There was a quiet pffft and the bullet struck Jenny directly in her abdomen. It knocked her to the ground, where she landed on her ass, her legs splayed out in front of her.

Becky looked over at her, still giggling, when Ann came out, still holding the gun at Jenny. Jenny looked up, barely feeling the pain, and said, "Shit...what have you done." She looked down at her chest, then over at Becky. "Becky, I'm bleeding." Her eyes and mouth were agape with surprise.

"What..." Becky began to say.

Amazingly, Jenny stood up, clutching the fiery pain in her stomach. Ann smiled coolly and fired again. The second bullet hit the woman in the right tit, just below the nipple. Jenny spun around and fell back on the deck, clattering against the patio furniture. Her legs and arms flailed wildly, and she had just enough strength to look up at Ann.

Ann fired one last time. The third bullet struck Jenny in the mouth, blowing out pieces of flesh and brain from the exit wound in the back of her skull. Her body slammed back down against the ground. She voided a large gush of blood from her lips and she died, her limbs twitching in a growing red pool of blood.

Becky looked over at her dead friend, then up at Ann, her eyes wide with terror. "God, please don't," she begged. She tried to turn around, but was frozen by her fear.

Ann aimed the gun at her head, once again caught in the throes of her strange ecstasy, and squeezed the trigger.

Nothing. A misfire!

Becky must have heard the click, because she began heading immediately for the far side of the pool, away from Ann. Her legs kicked with a strength she had never realized, and she gave out an almost audible sigh of relief when her hands touched the side of the pool.

She looked around. Ann had disappeared.

"Fuck!" Becky cried. She looked out to the roof entry door; it was closed. That bitch would be waiting for her there; she dared not to risk it. She looked back to Trish's apartment, saw the sliding door, the soft curtains blowing in the cool breeze.

"Lady," she sobbed, "please...!"

No answer.

She bolted back around to Trish's apartment, hurriedly closing the door behind her and panting heavily. Her eyes roamed wildly around the room. Where's the fucking phone?

Finally she saw it on a table by the foyer. She dove for it, grabbed the receiver, and swung around the wall into the foyer.

She listened to it. Thank God -- a dial tone!

Her fingers slipped twice while trying to dial 911, but by a miracle, she managed to complete the number. She sniffled, looking out on the carnage by the pool, waiting for a response.

She finally heard a man's voice. "What is the nature of your emergency?"

Becky never saw it coming. All she felt was a sudden, sharp blossom of pain in her back, driving through her like a white-hot beam piercing her body. Looking down, she saw the gleaming tip of the stiletto sticking out of her right breast, right above the nipple, blood dribbling down in a warm, red wash.

Ann turned her around gently and took the phone from her hand. She spoke into it. "I'm sorry, officer," she explained. "My daughter's been playing with the phone again." Ann listened intently, still holding Becky up. Becky tried to say something, but the only thing from her lips was a thin trickle of blood.

"I...yes, I understand," Ann said into the phone. "Thank you." She hung it up, then turned her full attention to Becky.

"Why...?" Becky whispered, looking into Ann's soft eyes.

"Because I love it, dear," Ann replied, holding the gaze. She propped Becky up against the wall -- Becky screamed when the wall hit the knife handle in her back -- and took something from her purse that Becky could not make out.

"Please...help me..." Becky begged.

Ann smiled. "Of course," she purred, raising the second stiletto.

Becky's eyes could barely register what it was before Ann shoved the deadly little blade directly into Becky's neck. A jet of blood spilled out from Becky's gaping, gurgling mouth and her hands went up the hilt of the blade embedded in her neck, but by the time her fingers had found it, she died. Her eyes still open, she jerked and slid to the floor burbling, assisted by Ann.

An hour later, there was no sign that Ann had ever been there.

----------

Later that week, Ann met Elizabeth at La Mansion, near Clear Lake. It was a cool, sunny afternoon. Ann wore a billowy white blouse set of by a black skirt and matching vest and a pair of old-fashioned victorian boots that went up to her knees, her hair done up in an elegant bun. Elizabeth had on a soft blue silk skirt.

They chose a table on the balcony outside. At this time of day, the bistro was nearly deserted.

After ordering drinks -- a martini for Ann, a scotch and soda for Liz -- Ann took out a pack of Max 120s cigarettes and handed one to Liz.

"Well?" Ann asked, taking out her lighter.

Elizabeth gave her a secretive smile. "It was...wonderful!" She held the cigarette to her lips as Ann lit it for her, then leaned back and blew out a cloud of smoke.

Ann lit her own cigarette. "I remember my first time," she said. "I was shaking so much, I thought I was going to faint." She took a long drag on her cigarette. "Did that happen to you?"

Elizabeth smiled wider. "Not at all...I wanted to savor every single moment."

The waitress brought them their drinks, then left them alone again.

"It happened faster than I'd wanted it to," Elizabeth told Ann. "That was my only mistake."

"That's natural," Ann replied, sipping her martini. "With experience, you can learn how to make it last much, much longer." Ann held her cigarette in the air, her elbow bent. "I once had one that went for two hours."

Elizabeth's eyes grew wide with envy. "How?"

Ann crossed her long, slim legs. "We'd gone to a cottage in the country, not a soul around for miles." She paused, deliciously savoring the memory. "She loved to mix cocaine and ecstasy -- the drug, that is -- and was past feeling anything when I went to work on her."

"That must have been exquisite," Elizabeth purred. She took a thoughtful drag on her cigarette and exhaled twin plumes of smoke from her nostrils. "God, just thinking about it turns me on!"

Ann nodded. "It was...sublime. But look at this." She put her cigarette down and reached into her purse. She brought out a small amber vial and handed it across the table to Elizabeth.

Elizabeth turned the small vial over; there was no label. "What is it?" she asked.

Ann picked her cigarette up and took a drag. "My mentor gave two of those to me. I forget the chemical name, but it induces an extreme psychological state in the user: A combination of ecstasy and death wish."

Elizabeth's lips curled in a smile. "May I have this?"

"Certainly. Be very careful, Liz. Even just a drop of this is dangerous." She paused. "Let me know how it works out for you."

Elizabeth's eyelids fluttered. "I will."

* * *

The mall was crowded at this time of day: People enjoying their lunchtime, mothers pushing their carriages. Elizabeth sat on a bench near the center of the mall, her legs crossed, smoking a cigarette and watching the people passing by -- especially the women. She wore a brightly colored western-style skirt with a blue denim shirt and cowboy boots.

A young blonde-haired girl walked by briskly and happened to look over at Elizabeth. Their eyes met, then she averted hers away shyly and continued on.

Elizabeth's attention went back to a magazine she held in her lap. She read the first page of her article and was turning to the next when she noticed that the girl was now seated on the bench across from her, trying not to be too obvious with her own sideward glances. Elizabeth smiled to herself and decided to forfeit the first move.

The girl wore a skintight black leather skirt that barely reached down to her thighs. Black silk stockings went up her long, shapely legs into the darkness of her skirt. Her outfit was complemented by a fetching white blouse and a black velvet choker worn high on her soft throat. Elizabeth noted that the girl wore a name badge, meaning that she probably worked in the mall, and was on a break. Judging by her long, sculptured nails and double earrings, she most likely worked in one of the bohemian clothing stores scattered throughout the mall.

Out of the corner of her eye, Elizabeth watched as the girl dug in her purse and brought out a pack of Virginia Slims 100s. She continued to dig again, and Elizabeth suppressed a smile, reaching into her own handbag for her cigarettes and lighter. She lit a cigarette, blowing smoke toward the ceiling.

The girl got up and came over to her. "Excuse me," she said, a slight tremble in her voice, "but can I get a light from you?"

Elizabeth smiled kindly. "Of course. She opened the lighter and ignited it. The girl held her cigarette to her lips as Elizabeth lit it for her. As she did so, the girl touched her hand to steady the lighter and looked over her cigarette into Elizabeth's eyes. Elizabeth returned the glance unblinking.

The girl -- whose name, Elizabeth saw from her tag, was Deborah -- inhaled deeply, her breasts rising, and nodded. "Thank you," she said.

"My pleasure," Elizabeth purred. "By the way, I love your outfit."

The girl smiled shyly. "I was thinking the same thing about yours." She took a drag on her cigarette, her eyes on Elizabeth.

"My name is Elizabeth. Won't you sit down?"

"Thanks." Deborah sat beside her.

"Do you work here in the mall?" Elizabeth asked her.

Deborah nodded and pointed down the east corridor. "Over at Le Chatelaine."

Elizabeth took a drag on her cigarette and nodded. "I've been there before. You must be new; I would have noticed you in there before."

Deborah smiled. "That's right; I just started there last Tuesday." She paused. "I would have noticed you, too."

Elizabeth held her eyes on Deborah's for just a beat extra. Then she reached into her purse and took out a card. She handed it to Deborah.

"I have to go now," she told Deborah, "but here's my number. Call me, Deborah. I'd like to get to know you better." She smiled and pressed the card into the other woman's hand, then leaned over and whispered in her ear. "I think you're gorgeous. Call me tonight!"

Then she stood up and walked away, leaving Deborah thinking silently to herself.

* * *

That evening, around seven, the telephone rang. Elizabeth picked it up. "Hello?"

"Elizabeth? This is Deborah; we met today at the mall."

"Of course! I'm so glad you called. How are you?"

"Fine. I was wondering if you might like to meet me over at Sfuzzi's."

Sfuzzi's was a nightclub downtown catering predominantly to lesbians, although Elizabeth had heard of a strong S&M thread there as well.

"Actually," Elizabeth said, "I'm not too up on going out tonight. I thought I'd spend a quiet evening home this evening." She paused. "Would you like to come over and join me?"

"If you're sure..." Deborah said, hesitatingly.

"Absolutely," Elizabeth said. "Tell you what -- I've got the penthouse pool all by myself tonight. Why don't you bring your swimsuit and we can go for a dip?"

Deborah's voice brightened. "That sounds great. Can I bring anything over?"

"How about your overnighter?" Elizabeth purred coolly.

"How do I get there?"

* * * Deborah arrived an hour later. She was met at the door by Elizabeth, who had put on a deliciously daring black swimsuit, high on the thighs and low-cut in front.

Elizabeth ushered her in. "Deborah! I'm so glad you came over." She noticed that Deborah was carrying a rather large handbag with her. Good, she thought.

Elizabeth went to the bar. "The bedroom's over to the right," she motioned. "Why don't you go change while I make us a drink -- are martinis okay?"

Deborah nodded, looking over the sumptious apartment. "I love your place," she said. "So nice...and private."

Elizabeth nodded. "It is that. Now go in; I'll meet you outside by the pool."

After Deborah had closed the door behind her, Elizabeth carefully made a pitcher of martinis and poured two glasses. In the one on the left (the glass with the chipped stem), she quickly emptied the vial Ann had given her and stirred it into the drink. She sniffed at it; the potion was odorless.

She put the martinis on a tray along with her cigarettes and lighter and took it outside by the pool. Evening was beginning to approach. Her heart began to race. She sat the tray down beside the pool as Deborah came out. Elizabeth looked up and smiled. "My God," she said, "you look fantastic!"

Deborah wore a tight red string bikini, beneath which her breasts and pubic muscles bulged. She was much more shapely than Elizabeth had suspected, and very nicely built. The muscles in her legs rippled as she walked, and her breasts were firm.

Elizabeth took her hand and moved close. "Would you mind," she said throatily, "if I kissed you?"

"Kiss me," Deborah said. Elizabeth leaned over and put her lips on Deborah's and kissed her, feeling the other woman roil against the light pressure. She held the kiss for several moments, relishing the taste of her, the musky smell, the heat coming off of her in waves.

Elizabeth broke off lightly, smiling. "I think I could use a drink." She picked up the two martinis, carefully handed the correct one to Deborah, and raised her glass. "To newfound friends," she said.

Deborah must have been very thirsty; she finished her martini in one long sip. "Delicious," she said.

Elizabeth poured her another from the pitcher, then picked up her cigarettes. "Would you like one?" she asked.

"God, yes," Deborah said and took a cigarette from the pack. "Max 120s," she said. "I don't think I've ever tried these before."

"They're really good," Elizabeth said, taking a cigarette. She lit Deborah's cigarette, then her own, and leaned back in the advancing shadows. "So, tell me a little about yourself."

Deborah took a long, luxurious drag on her cigarette, aware of the other woman's eyes on her and aroused because of it. Her nipples grew erect and painful. She leaned back beside Elizabeth.

"I noticed the ball gag in your bedroom," she said simply. "Are you into bondage?"

"Yes," Elizabeth replied. "What about you?"

"God, yes," Deborah breathed. "I've always been into it." She took another long drag on her cigarette; Elizabeth detected a small tremor in Deborah's hands.

"As a top, or as a bottom?"

Deborah smiled. "Oh, definitely bottom. I --" She paused, put her hand to her forehead. "Oh, dear," she said, "I must have drank that martini too fast." Then she looked back up at Elizabeth. "Did you plan on picking me up in the mall today?"

Elizabeth smiled. "After you asked for a light, I did."

"Really? I've never been seduced by a strange woman before -- at least, not outside Sfuzzi's."

Suddenly, Deborah leaned over and kissed Elizabeth again, a hot, passionate kiss, full of hunger. Elizabeth's teeth bit down lightly on Deborah's lower lip. Deborah pulled away playfully, her hand unconsciously sliding up and down along her chest. "God, I feel so...light," Deborah said. She looked down and giggled. "Elizabeth," she said, "I think I just came."

"Tell me what you were thinking of," Elizabeth said.

"I was...I was thinking what it'd be like if I were tied up, with your lovely body over me."

Elizabeth took the cigarette from Deborah's hand and set it down in the ashtray. She turned Deborah around, put her hands on her tan shoulders. "I bet your fantasies were a little more involved than that, darling." She faced Deborah and drew her in; their breasts touched together. "I think they were more...brutal than that." Elizabeth's hands slowly slid up to the base of Deborah's neck, then on up, her long-nailed fingers closing seductively around Deborah's throat.

Deborah gasped. "God -- God, yes," she whispered. Her blue eyes widened, stared into Elizabeth's. "Help me," she begged, "I can't stop coming."

Elizabeth looked down, saw tiny rivulets of moisture rolling down Deborah's legs, saw the pelvis jutting out with its soft cover of hair outlined in Deborah's bikini.

Deborah's hands went up to Elizabeth's hard nipples, her fingers gingerly tugging at them. Her legs parted slightly, and she felt very unsteady.

Elizabeth smiled tenderly. "You want me to..."

"Yes," Deborah pleaded. "You know what I want."

Elizabeth tightened her grip suddenly, and Deborah began to pant. "Yes...yes," she said in a strangled voice, "harder..."

Elizabeth let go suddenly.

"What's...what's wrong?" Deborah said plaintively. "I thought you wanted me!"

"I do," Elizabeth said, "but there are better ways than this -- much better. She reached down and took Deborah's hand.

Deborah's eyes were wild with anticipation.

Elizabeth led her into the pool. The water was warm, and her flesh felt tingly. She pushed Deborah up against the side of the pool, pressed her body against hers, opened her lips against Deborah's earlobe.

"Oh, God," Deborah moaned. Her hands encircled Elizabeth's svelte waist, drew her closer, slid up the side of her swimsuit and tugged at the straps. Elizabeth drew back and allowed Deborah to remove her swimsuit; it peeled off like a second skin, and she stepped out of it. Her breasts floated in the water, firm and round, like soft melons.

Deborah looked down, smiling, and leaned back as Elizabeth ran her fingers along her sides, her nails catching and pulling at the string bows on Deborah's bikini. Elizabeth undid the top and bottom and drew them out of the water, setting them on the side.

Deborah's mouth opened in a soft, inviting O, and Elizabeth pressed down on her again and kissed her. Elizabeth's tongue slid into Deborah like a serpent, and Deborah's hands went back up to the other woman's breasts, cupping them and then kneading the nipples with her thumb and forefinger.

Deborah's hands now slid down, past Elizabeth's taut belly, past the mons with its silky hair. Her fingers found Elizabeth's clitoris and pressed.

Elizabeth gasped. "Oh, yes, darling!"

Now the fingers slid even further, past the vaginal lips, and Elizabeth nearly cried out. She bore down on Deborah even harder, her heart racing like an engine, and she parted her legs slightly, accomodating a deeper foray which Deborah gladly provided. With her other hand, she cupped Elizabeth's ass and squeezed the soft, warm tissue.

Deborah grunted and arched her back. She tore away from the kiss. "Now, darling," she begged, her eyes fixed on Elizabeth's.

Elizabeth reached up behind Deborah and picked up the bikini top, wrapped it lovingly around Deborah's throat...

Deborah smiled in anticipation, worked her hands even faster, moaned, "God, I can feel it..."

Elizabeth pulled the top tighter. Deborah's body jerked, and her long-nailed fingers dug into Elizabeth's ass. Her eyes grew wide, and her mouth opened again, a satisfied look on her face.

Elizabeth pulled with all her might and planted her mouth on Deborah's. She could feel the other woman's lips growing cool, but her hands still worked on Elizabeth.

Elizabeth came in a tremendous sexual explosion; she could not stop, just kept blossoming, one orgasm right after the other. She wrapped the bikini top tightly around Deborah's throat, reached up to the side again, picked up one of several long stiletto knives from the tray. She brought it down, and when Deborah saw it, she opened her mouth as if to say something.

Deborah could no longer speak; in some rational part of her brain, she had calmly accepted the fact that she was dying. Part of her also accepted the fact that she wanted it -- needed it for this incredible sexual release -- and that is why she took Elizabeth's hand, guided the tip of the blade down to her left breast, and pulled it into her. The smile on her lips wavered slightly as the blade slid into her breast, and her hand went up to the knife. Deborah shuddered, and suddenly began to buck wildly. Her free hand thrashed the surface of the pool, and her eyes grew wider, still locked on Elizabeth's. Then she arched suddenly. Her mouth opened slightly, and a thin line of blood ran down the left corner of her mouth. She looked as though she wanted to say something, but her legs buckled, and Elizabeth put her lips over Deborah's and gently pushed her beneath the pink-tinged water. Her long blonde hair floated above her head, a few bubbles escaped from her mouth and nose, and her arms lifted up silently. She stared lifelessly at Elizabeth; she was dead.

-----------

The apartment was quiet, except for muffled noises coming from a room in the corner. The apartment belonged to Elizabeth; the room was her bedroom, and on the bed were two women, both completely nude.

"They're beautiful, Elizabeth." Ann sighed. "Have I ever told you how beautiful your breasts are?"

"No." Her voice, sharp and strangled, seemed to come from some other throat.

"Uhm, well, I should have." She twisted around so that she was on her side. "Your whole body" -- her voice was like a bolt of silk, caressing -- "beautiful."

With eyes stoned with lust, she watched Ann's hands slide up her rib cage toward the lower slopes of her breasts. Light filtered into the room in cool, pale bars, illuminating the lower half of the king-size bed with its coral satin comforter, the precise shade of intimate flesh. They lay side by side, naked.

Elizabeth gasped as she felt Ann's warm hands lifting her breasts up and away, cradling them. Then the fingertips began to move, around and around the sensitive flesh, circling closer and closer to Elizabeth's areolas. Sparks of pleasure rippled through her chest, pooled up between her thighs. Her legs began to tremble and rise up but Ann calmly flattened them back onto the sheet. She had trouble breathing.

At last the fingertips reached the areolas, caressing them with a feathery touch. Elizabeth groaned. Her nipples were so stiff they seemed painful. She felt Ann's lips against the shell of her ear. "Does it feel good?"

She nodded drunkenly.

"Then tell me, darling. Tell me."

Ann's head dipped into shadow, her opened lips swooping down to envelop Elizabeth's nipples. Elizabeth cried out and her thighs opened involuntarily. She arched her pelvis upward. "Oh, God."

"Tell me. Tell me." Those lips pulling, sucking, twisting the nipples.

"It feels -- ohhh! -- like heaven."

"Yes...yes!" It was an animal's cry.

Elizabeth moved her hands down, frantically trying to rub herself, but Ann's fingers encircled her wrists. "No, darling. Let me do that." And she lifted up and Elizabeth saw the hanging weight of her dusky breasts above her, lifted them into her hands. The feel of them, hot and hanging full, was like no other she could imagine. Her thumbs probed at the hard nipples until Ann groaned and moved downward.

Immediately, Elizabeth's mons was enveloped in wet heat. She felt Ann's palms against her buttocks, the fingertips in the crack, one long nail probing, sliding in deeply...

At that instant, Ann's tongue stabbed out, directly into Elizabeth's core. Elizabeth arched up. It sounded as if there were an engine in the room, working at peak capacity. Her fingers locked in Ann's hair, pulling the face hard into her as she bucked up uncontrollably, crying out until she was hoarse.

After a time, her eyes opened and she pulled Ann's lush body over hers.

"Tell me," she whispered hoarsely, "what to do," not realizing that she had already begun, that the well, now opened, had made her so insatiable that two hours later, Ann was begging her to stop.

* * *

Afterwards, Ann went to the bar and brought back a bottle of wine and two glasses. She poured drinks and handed one to Elizabeth, who drank it down. Ann opened a cigarette case and took out two cigarettes, handing one to Elizabeth. She lit both with a table lighter near the bed, then leaned back, idly stroking Elizabeth's breasts.

"God, that was wonderful," Elizabeth purred.

Ann nodded, sipping her wine. "How did things go with Deborah?"

Elizabeth smiled. "Absolutely incredible. At the end, she was begging me to kill her."

Ann's lips curled. "And that was the diluted vial."

"Really?" Elizabeth looked up at her. "God, I wonder what it does at full strength." She finished her cigarette, then held up the wineglass and smiled. "You didn't happen to put any of it in here, did you?"

Ann laughed and took a drag on her cigarette. "No," she replied. "But tell me: How do you feel?"

"I feel fine," Elizabeth said. "Stop playing around." She lit another cigarette. She paused, the cigarette in her lips. "Actually, I feel kind of strange..."

"It was in the cigarette," Ann told her. "The one you just smoked."

Elizabeth looked over at her, a poignant expression in her eyes. "Oh," she said quietly. "That's why I feel...so..."

Ann nodded.

Elizabeth started to rise up off the bed, then changed her mind. "I'm going to die tonight," she said simply.

Ann sipped her wine. "Only if you want to."

"I -- I don't know."

Ann sat up, put her hands on Elizabeth's shoulders. "Darling," she purred, "remember your first time -- how good it felt?"

"Oh, yes," Elizabeth said. "How the blood washed over her white swimsuit, the look of surprise in her eyes..."

"And what about Deborah," Ann continued, "how she guided the stiletto to her breast."

Elizabeth sat thinking for a moment. "That's right," she said presently. "She was ready -- ready to die. She wanted it." A tear rolled down her cheek. She looked up at Ann. "That's -- that's what I want."

Ann drew her close. "I understand, darling," she cooed. "Wait right here." She rose, went to the living room and returned with a mirrored tray. She sat it down on the bed in front of Elizabeth and sat down beside her. "This is a mixture of cocaine and ecstasy," she explained. "It tends to...prolong the experience."

"Is it dangerous?"

Ann smiled. "Why does it matter?"

Elizabeth picked up a gold spoon. "I guess not," she said, and dipped the spoon into a pile of fine white dust. She held it to her nose and inhaled sharply, snorting the drug. It hit her system immediately; she convulsed and leaned her head back. "God," she exclaimed. "Fantastic!"

Ann set up another pile. "Have some more, dear. I'll be right back." She rose and left again.

Hungrily, Elizabeth snorted the dust again. It made her feel so...alive, so tingly. She licked her fingers and began riding out the first high.

Ann returned with a leather case. She opened it and took out a set of restraints. "All finished, darling? Good, then, turn around and lie on your stomach."

Elizabeth did as she was told.

Ann put a restraint on each limb, fastening them to each of the four posts on the bed. Elizabeth had been arranged so that her ass was parted and exposed.

Ann fit a collar around Elizabeth's neck and ran a length of chain through a loop in the back and down to a cross chain between her feet. It pulled her neck and head up; now she could only see straight ahead.

"Is that too tight?" Ann asked.

"It's perfect," chirped Elizabeth, who was now lost in the effects of the drugs. She looked into a full-length mirror directly in front of her and admired her image. She was growing intensely aroused.

Ann moved within her frame of vision and took out her gun. As Elizabeth watched with anticipation, Ann loaded it and screwed on the massive silencer to the end of the long black barrel. She set it down on the bed before Elizabeth and smiled. "How do you feel?"

"Ready," Elizabeth said. "God, I can't wait!"

Ann held the gun up to Elizabeth, who smiled. "Bring it closer, darling," she purred. Ann held it up to Elizabeth's lips, and Elizabeth fellated it.

"Are you sure you want this?" Ann asked.

Elizabeth nodded, her lips still encircling the barrel and silencer.

Ann pulled the hammer back; Elizabeth's body tensed up, and she took the entire silencer into her mouth. The look in her eyes was wild.

To Be Continued