Subject: [OTL]: (TCP) Honeytrap (MA15+)
Date: Thu, 27 May 1999 23:49:48 +1000
From: "Amanda Sichter" <wolf@ozdocs.net.au>

Quick idea happened. Poured out (I think I've been having too many ideas
for life-affirming stories lately so a little nasty one just had to come
out and save me). Adult themes - mild sexual description - one swear word.

Disclaimer: The underlying universe is Marvel's. The TCP concept is
Kielle's (I think. It's late and I'm tired, so if I'm wrong tell me and
I'll go out and spank myself). This chick, though, is all mine.

Honeytrap

It was always so easy.

She wished it wasn't. She wished sometimes that there would be a challenge.
But it was always so easy.

Cool beauty snared his eyes across the bar, slim body, white flesh, icy
demeanour. Except when her eyes caught his - then she let him, only him,
see the sultry heat that burned inside her, that beckoned him, that wanted
him. Soon he was at her side, soon he was buying her drinks, soon she had
adroitly twisted the conversation to where she had wanted it.

She listened now, her face solemn but absorbed, as he told her what he did,
why he did it and she nodded in agreement as he spoke. Inside, in the
spaces in her head where he would never be allowed, she let herself laugh
at him and his pathetic little dreams of purity.

Finally, when the drinks had loaned a hectic flush to his cheeks, when he
was bold enough to finally whisper what he wanted, she coolly suggested
that they use her hotel room. A private hotel, very discreet.

He couldn't agree fast enough.

*    *    *    *    *

~Why do they always have to be on top?~ she thought. His weight was heavy
on her and she wiggled her hips to try and ease the weight. The movement
only excited him more and his thrusts grew faster, more frenzied. She made
appropriate noises and waited, bored, until he had finished.

~Domination complex,~ she decided. ~Big, strong man - has to be on top the
first time. Show me who's boss.~ Finally his weight eased off her and to
the side.

'That was amazing,' he said and she smiled.

'You haven't seen anything yet,' she whispered and she used her hands and
her body and her mouth and he was ready again in minutes. This time she was
fast enough - she climbed on top and eased herself onto him. Gently,
sinuously, she began to rock. Her hands slipped over his body, teasing him,
lifting him to greater heights as he tried to outdo his previous
performance. She ran her fingers through his hair. It was short, militarily
short. It always was - they always had to conform. She wondered if there
was any reason why they were nearly always blond. ~Aryan pretensions or
just cosmic irony?~ she questioned and then brought her attention back to
the present as he groaned beneath her.

His breathing was much faster now and she knew he was approaching climax
again. She increased the speed of her own movements and he groaned and
matched her tempo. 'Oh god, oh god,' he moaned. 'You're fantastic, this is
fantastic, god, you're the best lay I ever had.'

'I am,' she agreed, coolly. 'And you're never going to forget this night.'

And as his body began to spasm beneath her, she slid her hands until they
rested at his temples and unfurled her wings so they curled around her and
into his sight, turning her into a demonic vision. His eyes widened,
startled at first, then rage, then terror, but before he could scream, she
dug her nails into his temples and the toxins concealed beneath them
entered his blood-stream and knocked him out cold.

She eased herself off him, and then stood up. Nude, be-winged, utterly
unselfconscious she turned to the peep-hole in the wall behind her.

'Get that?' she asked and there was tap on the wall confirming it.

Satisfied, she turned and began her preparations.

*    *    *    *    *

'I don't know how you do it,' the photographer said, his voice torn between
admiration and disgust. 'They revolt you, but you let them fuck you. How do
you do it?'

She looked at the naked, unconscious man on the bed and shrugged lightly.
'I find it - satisfying,' she said eventually.

The man made a noise of revulsion but continued to work on the lap-top as
she moved carefully around the room, erasing all signs of her presence.
Finally he looked up. 'Okay, what do you think?' he asked.

She looked over his shoulder and he flipped through the pictures for her.
Her wings arched outwards in satisfaction, great leathery bat-wings, and
then furled tightly against her back as she slid on her shirt. 'Very good,'
she said. 'Exactly what I wanted.'

They were. His face was clear, lust and lasciviousness easy to see, but her
face was always obscured. Only at the very end was his face partially
hidden as her wings filled the camera's view as the last photos were taken.

She frowned at the last picture. 'You have to...,' she started, but
before she could finish the photographer raised his hand.

'I know,' he said, and he digitally wiped out any trace of the scars that
covered her back. Scars that might have been caused by someone trying to
cut out her wings. He didn't know. He never asked.

'Good,' she said. 'No, perfect. Now, one copy to the local newspapers, one
to his wife, and one to the vice-president, secretary and treasurer of his
little FoH chapter.' She smiled suddenly, ferally, the first sign of
enjoyment the photographer had seen that night. 'Won't they be upset when
they see what the president of their chapter does in his spare time?'

'Won't they just?' grinned the photographer and his eyes gleamed a toxic
red in the dark. 'I'll send an e-mail copy through the network tonight.
They'll never be able to trace it back.'

She nodded. 'I have things to do here,' she said, and the photographer knew
it was a dismissal. He quickly packed his things and was gone.

She waited until she heard the door shut and then she picked up her small
bag and got out what she wanted. She sat down on the bed beside the
unconscious man and leaned forward. In her hand the needle gleamed.

*    *    *    *    *

She slipped off the blonde wig and tucked it into her bag, sliding her
fingers through her short black hair to fluff it back up. She took out her
blue contact lenses, revealing her brown eyes beneath, and tucked them next
to the wig.

A final look round. She had rather liked this room while she had stayed
there. Rather liked the city. But she wouldn't come back for some time now,
so she let her eyes linger.

Finally she looked at the body on the bed and smiled. A few more hours and
then he would wake. She had made sure his body faced the mirror so he would
see straight away what she had done.

She closed the door, leaving the light on, so he would definitely see what
she had done. He would never forget this night. The tattooist's needle had
done its work well. The letters on his forehead were scarlet, bright as
blood, and they branded him for what he was now, what she had made him.

*Mutie-lover*.

She smiled.

Definitely satisfying.

The End

Amanda
wolf@ozdocs.net.au

'You know what seems odd to me?
Numbers that aren't divisible by two.'