Message-ID: <26372asstr$969153008@assm.asstr-mirror.org> X-Original-Message-ID: <004901c02013$93f75020$0908fc3e@oemcomputer> From: "Hecate" <hecate1@bigfoot.com> MIME-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: text/plain; charset="iso-8859-1" Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit X-Priority: 3 X-MSMail-Priority: Normal X-MimeOLE: Produced By Microsoft MimeOLE V5.00.3018.1300 Subject: {ASSM} [Write Club Duel] Kenny Gamera v. Mr Slot Date: Sat, 16 Sep 2000 21:10:08 -0400 Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail Approved: <assm@asstr-mirror.org> Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d X-Archived-At: <URL:http://assm.asstr-mirror.org/Year2000/26372> X-Moderator-Contact: ASSTR ASSM moderation <story-ckought69@hotmail.com> X-Story-Submission: <ckought69@hotmail.com> X-Moderator-ID: RuiJorge, dennyw, gill-bates Here are the two stories, Kenny first. The nine words were: From Kenny: whorehouse, priest, Californian From Slotty: Disco, Haze, Anaconda And from me: imbroglio, vicissitude, fugacious My verdict will be on Alt.sex.stories.d. Enjoy. ----- Hecate Untitled Gangbang by Kenny N Gamera I stood at the bar in a Nevada whorehouse with a bottle of near beer watching a camera crew do their pre-shoot duties. I wondered how in the hell I ended up in this situation for maybe the millionth time since my friend asked me to tag along with him. I didn't belong in places like this waiting to be part of a live studio audience to a pornstar gangbang. Just be thankful, Gamera, I reminded myself, you could be part of that imbroglio. Which is what Fred had wanted in the first place. "Come on Ken, it'll be a blast," he proclaimed. "Besides, you need to get laid." "No, I need to get off my ass and write that damn article on white-tailed deer for _Field_&_Stream_ and then maybe see if I can sell something else to pay the rent. Besides, I not so hard up that I need to pay a grand to get sloppy seconds from some bleach blonde bimbo with an eating disorder and a bad tit job." "Rhonda Casabas does not have a bad tit job!" he protested to me as he had done before when I have questioned the quality of his favourite slut-for-hire's surgery. "Anyway, I'm not going to go to fuck some porn slut. Especially when it is getting taped. My father watches those things and so does my sister and her boyfriend. If they see it, they'll..." "...be glad your getting a piece," Fred finished for me. "You haven't gotten any since Julie left you last year." "That's beside the point," I shouted at him. "Nope, it is the point." He took hold of my shoulder in a brotherly way. "You're going nuts. A little bit of Rhonda will help settle you down and get the edge off." "Or get a case of fugacious genitalia," I said snidely. The argument began after he returned from the dictionary. It continued for most of the night. In the end, we compromised. He really needed me their as moral support, not because he was worried about my developing blue balls. He worried about that, too, but he was happy that I agree to come along without actually participating in the orgy. I was glad to get him off my back even if it meant my watching a few hundred men assembly line fuck a women with more plastic in her than women. Things were done with more class than I would have thought given my general impression of such things. The beer was something other than "Cheap Local Lager" even if it was 'merician. The stuff I was drinking could have almost passed as real beer, which is better than most brands. The company doing the buffet had done an excellent job with it. I had a chance to enjoy some of the best salad bar that I had had in a long time. Still, it was a pornstar gangbang. The male participants were walking around in at most a tee-shirt with the words "Rhonda Casabas: All-star Gang-bang 2000" on them. Others wore just their socks. Some had just what mother had given them for their birthdays. Though, one guy had a photo-realistic picture of Rhonda Casabas tattooed on his chest. Other then the shoot crew, who looked about as excited as a group of shell shocked POWs, I was the only one dressed in a normal manner. The guest of honour was missing, but I could see a group of women dressed in shorts and plain white tee-shirts standing at the far side of the room. There were about ten or twelve of them. The majority were blonde or a reasonable facsimile of one. Three were asian including one of the blondes. One was black. The last three dark haired white girls. I scanned them for awhile, mostly because I couldn't stand watching the aging motourcyclists and brain-dead frat boys any longer. Not a one appealed to me. I got bored of the large breasted skinny girl back when I first started sneaking my father's a _Playboys_ when I was in junior high school. Also, the first girl to perform a cardioectomy on me had bodacious tits. The girl who helped pick up the pieces was a cute little redhead with champange saucer breasts. Hugging her felt like I was hugging her, not fighting her for a couple of basketballs stuck between us. Since then, I've looked for the petite girls without a lot up top. Being picky has maybe cost me a little, but I have felt it was worth it. Fred, however, likes them big. He found me again, just as the emmcee annouced the entrance of the star of the show. He nudged me in the side, a little forcefully. "Look at those things," he whispered to me as he pointed, rather rudely, at the flesh spilling from her halter top. "God, I can't believe I'm going to get to slide my sausage between those things." I didn't tell him that I couldn't believe he'd want to. Instead, I said, "A dream come true." "It's not too late, Ken." "You mean I can go home now?" "No, you asshole, I can still talk the producer into letting you join in. He is a friend of mine." "I rather go home," I said with a smile, "but you go ahead and have your fun. I'll watch." "Your loss." With that he began to get into line. I got another NA and leaned against the portable bar. I wished that someone had brought chairs, but no one had real expected a non-participant to be around. Fred's buddy had gotten me into the show. I think that Fred and he were convinced that I would have jumped at the chance to join in after it had started, but they thought wrong. I merely watched (feeling like tits on a priest)as the guys formed up into a single file leading up the the dance floor of the bordello. Rhonda Casabas laid back on a table in the middle. Above her, the disco ball hung lifeless from the ceiling. The neon moon was off. A thicket of cables had been taped down to the wooden dance floor. It was as stimulating as dad's slide show. The girls I had noticed before went over to the men at the front of the line. One by one, each dropped to her knees and took a limp, semi-hard, or ridged pensis into her mouth. With a talent developed from hours of working at burned out studs, they began to get their assigned studs to a point where they could do the job to the main attraction with the minimal ammount of time. I got another pseudo-beer from the bartender. "Better take it easy on those, buddy," he said in mock seriousness. "Another hundred and I'll have to cut you off." "Ha, Ha," I answered with boredom dripping from my voice. "Do these often?" "Yep, I don't care for them myself, wrong side of the fence for me, but part of the deal is that my staff gets to take part. Most think it is a nice fringe benefit." The first stud had taken his spot at the cunt and began to thrust into her pussy. He got to stroke himself maybe a few dozen times, moving like a bunny before he annouced his impending release. As the next guy took his place, stud number one moved to the girl's face. Barely removing his condom in time, he released a surprising ammount of cum onto her face. The first few spurts actually streaked her face. "I'd like to have a chance with him." He looked at me as I watched the next man, a large black man who violated the old rule, pounded away at the shaved mound before him. "So what are you doing here?" "Watching a bunch of losers prove it to the world." I took a pull from my beer. "Really, a friend of mine couldn't do this by himself; he talked me into lending moral support. Also, I think he wants me to join in." "Why don't you?" He wiped away the ring of moisture that my bottle left behind. "Wrong side?" "Nope, I just don't like porn sluts." I put my beer down and added, "it's not your lucky day." "Guess not, but it was worth a try." He shrugged and smiled. "No harm done. Better luck next time." He wandered away, and I began to watch the line. Fred had finally made it to the girls at the head of the line to receive his. He got the blond asian, who went to work at his sightly larger than average meat with a vengence. Next to him, another blond was lick the shaft of a black man who had something that people would expect on a member of his race. She was beautiful. I was kind of far away, maybe a third of the way to the pitcher's mound, but I could tell that her face was soft and rounded. Not a sharply angled look, but an innocent look. Her nose was the little upturned nose of a cheerleader. She wore no shirt by then. I could easily see her breast. They were small handfulls topped by small pink caps. I stared a moment too long; she caught me watching. She winked and began to work at the man in front of she with a passion as opposed to the routine way she had gone about it before. The whole time I studied her face and the changes in its shape as she swallowed the penis in her hands. Finally, the man left to put on his condom and join the ranks of those who had fucked Rhonda Casabas. An aged hippy walked in front of my girl, blocking her face with his pimply ass. "Yep," said the bartender, "I'm out of luck. Want another beer?" I looked down and found that I had finished the one I had. I shook my head not trusting my voice to break. He brought me the refill and took the empty soldier away. I watched the gangbang continue through the mirror, until Fred came up. I turned to see him whisper something into Rhonda's ear. She nodded to his question, and he climbed up onto the table. As he placed his dick between her breast, Rhonda closed them around the shaft. The mobile cameraman walked up for a close shot of Fred's tittie-fuck of the pornstar. The asian girl had done her job well and soon, my friend began to shoot all over her chin and neck. I applauded as he walked away and another black man went between the outstreched legs of Rhonda. I turned to the bar and at my side was the girl from the line. She was down to just her panties. In her hand was a glass of water. "Hi," she said to me as the bartender went to the very far end of the bar. "Hello," I answered, wondering what else to say to a nearly naked girl with eyes the colour of summer haze. "I'm taking a break." She sipped some water. "Lonely?" "A little." "Your Fred's friend aren't you?" I looked at her, a little surprised. "Yeah, I didn't know that you knew Fred." "I met him at a party Wally threw a few years ago. When Wally said he was here with a friend, I thought that meant you were joining in. I was shocked to find out that you weren't." "Not my thing." "What is your thing?" "Nature writing." I shrugged. "I did a thing on the distruction of the habitat of the anaconda for a naturalist magazine and a few other things." "Was that in _Discover_?" "Yes, it was." I looked at her in surprise again. "You read it." "Sure, I study science at UC Berkley," she answered. "When I'm not sucking cock on tape." "You like that?" "Science? Yes." She then shrugged her shoulders. "Doing porn? It's a living." "You go to Berkley?" "Yeah, I'm a native Californian. The tution is cheap relative to what it could be. Scholarships help. Porn keeps litter in the litter box." I sighed, "yeah, that's a full time battle isn't it." "Sure is." Wally made guesture at her. It wasn't angry, thank God, just a can't-you-hurry-it-up wave of the hands. She looked back at me and said, "I got to go now. It's been nice talking to you." "What's your name?" I spurted before she could put her glass down. "Shelly." "Can I see you again sometime?" "Sure," she paused to think, "Ken. Here's my number." She quickly wrote out her number onto a bar napkin. I shoved it into my shirt pocket as she walked away. She moved her slim ass in a very purposely seductive way. I took a pull on my beer. "Well, I may not have been lucky, but you sure were," said my friend the bartender from behind me. "Congratulations." "For what," asked Fred. He now had on a pair of brief and the gangbang tee-shirt. "I miss something?" "Yes, I'll tell you about the vicissitude that just occured on the way home." Fred turned to the bartender. "Could I get a bud? And while you're at it dig up a dictionary, too. "You and your god damn big ass word, you asshole." Rebekka with a K. The following is a work of fiction consisting of adult concepts and possibly sex. Do not read if you are not legally permitted. I don't want the police on my front doorstep. You are welcome to read but please don't distribute without my permission. Feel free to make any comments to the author. Send E-Mail to dalech33@hotmail.com Her name was Rebekka with a K. Short with curly red hair and sparkling green eyes, skin so white it could send you blind, and lips that were full and luscious. I met her at a local Blue Light Disco, a dance held at the local youth club for kids who couldn't legally go to real nightclubs. It was supposed to be an alcohol and drug free area, but when you put a group of teenagers together drugs and alcohol just seemed to gravitate towards them, like a boulder will roll downhill. It's physics, pure and simple. Which brings me to why Snake and I were there. We needed to score, bad. Things were starting to float around in my peripheral vision, nasty things with big teeth. This was the downside of doing heroin, those nasty little buggers were always there, just waiting in the background until my guard was down. Only a hit could keep them at bay, and I fully intended to score one now. Snake had told me about a dealer he knew that hung around places like this. Apparently this dealer liked the idea of a desperate teenage girl sucking his dick just to get high. Personally, I preferred to pay cash. The two of us had been wandering around the crowd, trying to look inconspicuous. Of course what we really looked like was two drug addicts looking to score, but my Father always told me attitude was everything. I don't know why I would take advice from someone who spent most of his time in a whorehouse instead of home with his family, but he was the only Father I had. Mum on the other hand was one smart cookie. She was the Scrabble Queen of the East Coast, and could make a word out of almost nothing. "Imbroglio," she had once said while putting the tiles down on the board. My father had just stared at them like it was alien language. It was the day before payday so he didn't have the cash to be putting it to some whore. "What the fuck is imbroglio?" he had demanded. "It's a confused heap, a tangle," replied Mum. "Bit like this marriage really." That was Mum, always willing to let Dad know just how much of a shitheel he was. Dad was usually too stupid to realise when she was putting him down, so he'd just grunt and go back to the game, usually by making the word Cat or something equally inspiring. I loved my Mum, but Dad was just a bit too much for me, what with his womanising and all. Towards the end I was always looking for a way out of there, trying to find an escape route. Mum always said I was fugacious, and I always liked the sound of it, even if I didn't know what it meant. But the problem was, money was always tight were I lived. It was almost impossible to get a job, and the dole was bugger all, so I was stuck where I was. And then my friend Snake introduced me too Lady Heroin. Ah, sweet brown powder of dreams, where had thou been all my life. Kiss me gently, and let me fly on your wings. The first time I jacked I was hooked, not because it's addictive as all hell, but because I had finally found my escape. My Lady can be a demanding mistress though, and the meagre dole that the government hands out would never be enough, so I took to boosting car stereos, and then break and enters. I was pretty good at it too, sort of a natural talent, and I never once came close to getting caught. I made a mistake though when I hocked the family television set. I don't know what possessed me to do that, I was in need of a fix and the damn thing was just sitting there in the living room, staring at me with its one blank eye. When Dad came home that night he noticed it was gone, and his son was lounging about the place with that big goofy "I'm flying" grin on his face. Next thing I knew I was out on the street and looking for a place to sleep. Fortunately Snake had a squat where I could crash. Good old Snake always seemed to be there when I needed him. We set up home and set about the only thing that really mattered to us, trying to score. Which brings us neatly back to the disco. Snake had spotted his dealer and was dragging me over to him when I saw this vision in red bangs. She saw me too, and I could tell that she was interested by the way she looked away quickly, then slowly back at me. Teenage girls are nowhere near as subtle as they like to think they are. I lost her in the crowd though as Snake dragged me ever onward, and I thought that was the end of it. But after we had done the deal, and got what we had come for, I saw her again at the front doors. She was looking around for something, or someone, and I had a fair idea of what it was she was looking for. We had our stash, the nasty things had slunk away for now, and so I decided to get acquainted. "Hi," I said, using my best line. "Hi," she said back. She had played this game before. "My name's Gavin, but everyone calls me Pilot." "I'm Rebekka, with a K," she replied. "Why do they call you Pilot?" "Because I like to fly, Rebekka with a K." I saw her glance at Snake so I decided to introduce him to her. "And this tall streak of Pelican Shit is Clarence, aka Snake, so called because he has a habit of hugging people like an anaconda when he's high." They both nodded an acknowledgement to each other. "Do you get high very often?" she asked me. "Only when I need to," I replied, trying my hardest to look suave and sophisticated. It was hard considering that all I wanted to do was scratch the hell out of my arms. My craving had made a comeback, and this time it had brought it's big brother, Desire, with it. "Look," I said, "we have to get going now." "Already?" she replied, a hint of disappointment crossing her face. "I'm afraid so. Things to do, places to go and all that," I said. Things were starting to get tight, the walls were getting closer and I could hear the gnashing of teeth coming from behind me. It was definitely time to go. "Can we come with you then?" asked Rebekka with a K. She pointed to another girl standing next to her, a girl I hadn't even noticed before. "Karen and I spent all our money and we don't have cab fare." "Umm, we aren't exactly flushed with cash either," I said. "Well all we really need is a place to crash. We're supposed to be staying at Karen's brother's place, but he's at his girlfriend's so he won't miss us." "It took me a while to try to get all this information into some sort of order, but basically she wanted to come home with me, which was just fine by me. Our squat was just down the road anyway, which was a good thing really because I needed a hit bad. The four of us made our way along the darkened streets to an old abandoned apartment block that Snake and I called home. It was quite a find actually. The walls and windows were still intact, and somehow the power company had forgotten to disconnect the power, so we actually had light. Nothing else though, junkies tend not to accumulate household goods, unless said goods are in transit to the local pawnshop. We did have mattresses though, so we didn't have to sleep on the cold floor. Snake and I set up our party items, a syringe, an old spoon, and a candle complete with holder. Then we set about getting high. I love the feeling of that initial hit, when warmth starts to flow through my body, relaxing my muscles and flooding my brain with pleasure. That's when I start to fly. My body gets so light that gravity can no longer hold it down, and I start to float about the room on little currents of air. I drifted up towards the ceiling before slowly turning over to gaze down at the room. I saw Snake, lying on the floor and gazing up at me. Karen, sitting on an old chair she had found and looking at Snake in a most peculiar way. And Rebekka with a K, looking at me and smiling. She took me by the hand and gently pulled me over to my mattress in the corner. As I watched from above she slowly undressed and then lay beneath me on the bed. This was an interesting turn of events, and before I knew it my clothes had magically removed themselves from my body and drifted off on their own to parts unknown. My body started to drift down to her waiting arms, my prick growing hard as I descended. As I settled onto her I started to wonder about Snake and Karen. Would the be offended to see us in the corner, getting to know each other in the most intimate way possible? (I looked over and was surprised to see the both of them naked, Snake lying on his back and giggling, Karen astride him and going to town like a woman who hasn't been laid since the dawn of time. I looked down at Rebekka with a K and smiled. She smiled back and I felt fireworks explode in my head. "I love you," I said. "I love you too," she replied. *** That was the first night of many for us. She never went home again, and though I sometimes wonder what her parents might have thought, I didn't really care because she was with me. Snake and Karen hit it off in a big way. They developed an interesting sexual relationship, a very public relationship. It was like a contest for them, having sex wherever they possibly could. In bus stops, on trains, in elevators, anywhere they possibly could without actually getting arrested. It became dangerous for us to go places with them, you would look away for a second and when you looked back someone would have something stuck in someone else. And just watching them go at it would be too much for Rebekka and I to resist, we would just have to join in. So then you would have four teenagers going at it on a bus, or in a park, or wherever. I still don't know how we never got caught. Snake and I still continued to score, stealing VCR's and televisions, and then hocking them for a fraction of what they were worth just so we could feed our habit. I don't know when Karen started using, but she took to it like a duck takes to water. So that just left Rebekka with a K, the only one in our little group who wasn't using. I didn't want her too do it either. I knew what it was like to be continually hungry for that brown powder, and we decided that she was better than that. So it came as a bit of a shock when she finally asked me to set her up. "No," I had said, shaking my head vehemently. "Why not?" she asked. "You do it, Snake and Karen do it, why can't I?" "Because you're better than that," I replied. "But I just want to know what it's like. Just one little hit, that's all. Just so I can know what you feel like when you do it." She looked at me with those sparkling green eyes and I knew all was lost, I just couldn't resist her. So I gave in and jacked her up, and that was it. One hit was all it took, she entered that Purple Haze and never looked back. So know all four of us were using, which meant Snake and I had to work twice as hard to get the cash we needed. We had four arms to feed now. Things went well for a while, sure it was tough getting the gear we needed to pay for our supplies, but we were getting by. Until the day Snake walked into our squat with a gun. He had bought it at a pawnshop, instead of getting the cash like he was supposed to do. "What the hell are you doing with that?" I demanded. I was getting close to the edge again and needed a fix bad. I always got edgy when I was like that. "This," said Snake, turning the gun over in his hands, "is going to get us all the cash that we need. "That," replied Rebekka, "is going to get us killed. Get rid of it before you hurt someone." "I'm not going to hurt anyone," said Snake, "It's just a replica. But we can use it to knock over a liquor store. There's a lot of cash in those places." "No way," I replied. "It's too dangerous. Just hock it so we can score. I need a fix bad, Snake, really bad." It was true, I was in desperate shape. The last batch wasn't that strong, and I had given Rebekka some of my share so that she could get off. But it left me wanting, no, needing more. "Don't worry, Pilot," said Snake, "I'll get you all the stuff you will ever need. Come on, Karen, I'll need a lookout." And with that they walked out of the squat, and our lives. We never saw them again, but we did find out what had happened. Snake and Karen had tried to hold up a liquor store, just like he had promised. But the owner had other ideas, and a shotgun under the counter. He had killed Snake with the first shot, and fatally wounded Karen with the second. The media had held him up as a hero, the little man fighting back against the evil, gun-toting drug addicts. All I know is that my best friend left that day, and he was never coming back. *** Things went from bad to worse then. I was too far gone to do a break and enter, or even to rip off a car stereo, so it was up too Rebekka to get us some cash. She didn't have the skills of talents I had, so she got the money the only way she could. She sold her body. It killed a part of me when she told me what she had done, about how she had let some fat ugly son of a bitch stick his dick inside her for a lousy fifty bucks. But another part of me didn't care, the part of me that could only see the cash, and what it could buy. I swore to myself that she would never have to do such a thing again, but promises made by a junkie, even to himself, aren't worth shit. Rebekka became our main source of income by working on her back, or her knees when it came to the pious Priests of St Josephs, Priests who would preach on Sunday and pay whores on Monday, just so we could feed the monkey that was now perched firmly on our backs. The good Lady Heroin had gone, what was left was an ugly old crone with a grip like a vice. I wanted her to stop the prostitution, stop selling her body to support me, but I was weak. I decided to get off the drugs so that she wouldn't have to do this anymore, but I had no idea how. So I went to church. I decided to see Father O'Brien, a Californian Priest who had come down under to spread the word. My Mother had always gone to him for advice, and I knew my Mum was not stupid, so I figured he would be the one to help. I told him my troubles, though leaving Rebekka out of it for now, and he thought it over. "You know the church doesn't have a rehabilitation centre, don't you?" he asked. "I know, Father. But I can't afford to go to the privately run ones, I just don't have access to that sort of money." "Then you will have to do it on your own." "I can't, Father, I tried too, but I just don't have the will power." "Ah. This man had, after many vicissitudes of fortune, sunk at last into abject and hopeless poverty. Macaulay said that." He looked at my bewildered face. "It doesn't matter, it's just a quote. The point is you have reached the lowest point of your life, now it's time to rise up." "But I can't do it on my own, I need help. Won't you please help me, Father?" I hated begging, but I was desperate. "I can help you, my Son, but you have to do something for me in return." "What?" I asked. But one look into his eyes revealed all. I knew exactly what this man wanted from me. This man of the cloth, this well respected Priest, wanted something from me I wasn't willing to give. I didn't bother to wait for an answer, I just got up and left. *** When I got back to the squat Rebekka was waiting for me. She had scored from a new source that she had found and was more excited than a kid on Christmas Eve. "Look at this," she said, holding out the small foil package for me to see. "It's almost pure, or at least, that's what the dealer said. We should get really high on this." "Pure?" I asked doubtfully. I had heard of pure stuff being available but had never seen it myself. Personally I thought of it as one of those urban myths. I noticed that she had a mobile phone sitting on the floor next to her. "Where did you get that?" I asked. "The phone? I stole it from a john I had last night. I doubt he will miss it, he was pretty drunk when I left." I hated hearing about her work. Every word was like a rusty razorblade cutting deeply into my heart. Maybe I should take Father O'Brien up on his offer. It would only be for a couple of weeks, and then I could help Rebekka get off the heroin as well. And with us both clean we could live happy, productive lives. Get a job, a house with a white picket fence, a dog, a cat, kids, and grandkids, grow old together. It was the perfect dream. I decided to do it. Tomorrow. But first, just one last hit. I decided to play it safe and make up a smaller than average batch, just in case it was as pure as her dealer had said. Rebekka had made the score so she got to go first. I cooked it up while she tied a belt around her arm, then I took her by the hand and gently penetrated a vein. The drug swept into her bloodstream and she smiled at me. And then her eyes rolled back into their sockets, and her heels started to beat a tattoo on the floor. Her arm jerked from my grasp, the needle flying across the room as she started to convulse. I panicked, I didn't know what to do. Here was my one and only true love banging the back of her head against the floor while spittle flew from her mouth, and all I could do was sit there and watch her. She was dying and I couldn't do a thing to stop it. And then I saw the phone. I snatched it up and called an ambulance while Rebekka with a K slowly died behind me. By the time help arrived she had stopped convulsing and was just lying there, gazing up at the ceiling with those green eyes that no longer sparkled. The paramedic took one look at her and then asked me what drug she had taken. I just waved at the small package, not really caring anymore. She was gone, I knew that. Rebekka with a K was no more. He took one look at the drug, then reached into his box of tricks and pulled out a vial of clear liquid. He quickly transferred the drug to a syringe and injected it into her arm. Rebekka with a K sat bolt upright with a sound like a deep-sea diver coming up for air. She was alive, deathly pale but alive. I couldn't believe it. My angel was back. I grabbed her and held her close, never wanting to let her go again. "You're alive," I said and kissed her. "Did you use your share?" she asked. "No, thank God," I replied. I was finished with that stuff after what had just happened. There way no way I was going to shoot up again. "Can I have it?" she asked. She nearly died. No, she had died, and now she wanted more? My heart shattered in my chest when I heard her ask that. I knew then that she didn't love me, she loved the drug. I was just someone to spend time with. The next day I went to Father O'Brien, and I wasn't wrong about what he wanted, but I wanted out and that was the only way. I never went back to her, and never saw her again. The End -- Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated. +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+ | alt.sex.stories.moderated ----- send stories to: <ckought69@hotmail.com> | | FAQ: <http://assm.asstr-mirror.org/faq.html> Moderator: <story-ckought69@hotmail.com> | +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+ |Archive: <http://assm.asstr-mirror.org> Hosted by Alt.Sex.Stories Text Repository | |<http://www.asstr-mirror.org>, an entity supported entirely by donations. | +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+