My Fantasy

by DX

Copyrighted 8/2006, 7/2024  all rights reserved. Story may not be used without permission from the author. Contact at [email protected]

On a cold, grey day, when the trees were stark and bare, I gather my things and prepare for my adventure. My heart begins to flutter with excitement, with lust. I have a simple, one room cabin tucked away in the middle of nowhere. I have a simple life, a simple world. I do not have a television or a computer. I do have a telephone, but I have no one to call. I have walls of books. Some I wrote, most, I didn't. Books, and the stories within them, are my life.

But sometimes, they are not life enough.

I clear off the pile of blankets from the foot locker. There is an antique pad-lock securing it. The key hangs from a gold chain around my neck. People think it’s such a pretty key. They don't know what it goes too. It goes to this chest, to my kink, to my lust.

Inside the chest is oblivion.

The smell fills the whole room. Black as tar, my reflection peers up at me from a wavy pond. I pull open the zipper on the rubber bag and I release the alien creature within. First I find the eggs. Silver and smooth. I slide them up into my body. Their remote control antenna dangle like mice tails between my legs. Next go my training panties. They are rubber with a long drain tube. It will allow me many hours without needing release.

And I plan on many hours.

Long and stretchy, the cat suit merges with my body, numbing my hyper senses. With a little lubricant, it slides on, squeezing me. I thread the drain from my panties through a hole in the crotch and zip the suit up. As it closes in on my breasts, I take electric clamps. They are two wooden dowels with copper wire wrapped around them connected by screws. With twists of a screw they squeeze my swelling nipples until they feel they are about to burst. I endure their harsh pinch as I connect the wires to a small remote. The remote nests in the cleavage of my breasts. I zip all the way up, the zipper ending at my chin. I run my hands across my breasts, feeling the tightness. My breath grows short.

I lace up my high heel combat boots, the leather coming up over my calves. I carefully step into the ring of my corset and slink my hips through. I wrap the laces around my fingers and pull, feeling the clench across my waist. I take a breath, exhale and pull again, tighter. I gasp, then force the last of my wind from my lungs and pull again. I quickly double knot the laces before I dare breathe again. My breath is very shallow. Beads of sweat dot my brow as if squeezed from my body.

I don rubber gloves, rolling them up over my rubber sleeves, up over my elbows.

I take my rubber mac from the stand. I pull it on and tighten the belt across my already constricted waist.

As I don my hat, surplus Soviet winter issue, black fur and a red star on the brow, a story, much like the many stories I have written, is running through my head. I am a Nazi spy, an evil seductress. My weapons are my breasts, my body. I can kill with a flash from my dark eyes. Deep inside me I have concealed secret crypto gear.

My code name is, DX.

I step outside. My shack is hidden, deep in the woods. I am traveling through the old country of Romania, searching for my contact. I am a villainess and I am planning to kill him. I will lure him off guard with my wiles, closing with him, my breath mixing with his. I will embrace him, my lips on his. As the last of his will ebbs, I will scratch him with my poisoned claws. As the chilling death grips him, paralyzing him, his lungs, his heart, I will suck the last of his life into me.

I am a Vampire!

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Copyrighted 8/2006, 7/2024  all rights reserved. Story may not be used without permission from the author. 

Contact at [email protected]

Entombed

By DX

Collette, supreme hacker and super-thief, held the world governments hostage.  She was confident no one could touch her.  Then she met the Children of Maat, servants of justice, dedicated to stopping villainy by mummifying and entombing away forever.  They’ve been at it for more than 4,000 years, but Collette’s has a trick or two up her sleeve.  Will she escape?  Or will she be buried alive?

Teaser

Erotic horror, mummy, mummified, bondage, gag, peril, spy action

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Copyrighted 1/2016, 5/2023, all rights reserved.

Story may not be reproduced without written consent from the author.

 Blossoms drifted in the warming air all along the Champs-Élysées.  Collette watched with idle fascination as a petal, polar white in the sunlight, landed neatly in her near empty tea cup.  Her safire eyes looked up and she smiled with dimpling cheeks as she watched the gendarme tooling around on growling motorcycles, weaving expertly through the bustling traffic.  Horns, engine revs, and jack hammers, filled the air with a magnificent cacophony of sound.  A playful breeze, cool and mischievous snaked down the fare, bringing the warm smell of fresh baguettes.  Couples walked hand in hand, tourists stumbled around taking pictures of everything, and crossing guards with blearing whistles and waving arms conducted a symphony of traffic.

 She sensed the handsome waiter slip up silently and replace her tea cup with a fresh one.  She could smell the orange pekoe as she raised the porcelain to her red, ruby lips.

 Delicious.

 Collette fished her designer sunglasses from her purse and put them on.  As she slipped on her shawl, she peered coyly up the street at the two American CIA agents trying desperately to not stare at her, sitting uncomfortably on folding chairs at a tiny bistro.  To the left of them, in an illegally parked Mercedes, were two KGB agents; both with binoculars trained on her.  Israeli Mossad were across the street enjoying their coffees, while British MI5 argued with Chinese Guoanbu over a football match.

 They were all there for her.

 Laughing silently to herself, Collette paid her bill in cash, leaving a ten thousand franc tip for her handsome waiter.  She set her face stoically as she got up, and tried not to laugh out loud as the agents all scrambled to follow her…discreetly.

 They couldn’t touch her.  She had seen to that.  Collette had scattered the money in accounts within accounts and to touch her would bring down the biggest houses and financial institutions in the world.  She had committed the perfect crime and got away with it.

 She laughed outrageously as she turned a corner and ducked down a long, narrow street.  She could imagine the KGB agents cursing as they abandoned their car to try and keep pace with her.

 As her stiletto heels clicked sharply on the rounded cobblestones, she focused on the sound they made.  Her paced slowed, surprised at how loud they were.

 In the middle of Paris on a warm, spring day, she was alone and in deadly, deadly peril.

 She had blundered into a trap.

 Collette quickly pulled her cell phone from her purse, her thumb on an ominous red button that she mashed without hesitation.  She was not without protections and safeguards and contingency plans and they would soon learn the mistake they had made in trying to trap her.   Nations of the world would find themselves blind as their multi-billion dollar computer systems suddenly encrypted themselves and instantly become, irrevocably, piles of useless junk.  Hospitals would shut down, planes would fall out of the sky, phones and internet off-line, trains and ships on collision courses.  It would be anarchy, and the perfect cover as she slipped away into the shadows.

 Nothing happened.

 She glanced angrily at her phone.  There was no signal.  She had her own hotspot and wireless connection with a direct satellite up link but yet impossibly she had no signal.  Little matter, her doomsday program would self activate if she ever lost signal for more than sixty-seconds.  It would take the agents trailing her at least that long to find her and then it would be much too late.

 She turned and resumed her brisk walk, her eyes scanning, looking for an escape route, her thumb still locked on the button hoping for a rouge signal, all while fighting the darkness falling over her like a veil.  

 The handsome waiter, she thought, trying to fight the poison in her body as she slumped to the ground.  She struggled desperately to stay conscious, but was slipping, blacking out.  Time was flickering, shuttering like an old time film before blurring into stillness.

 Collette gasped and forced herself awake.  She smelled the must of age.  Her skin pimpled in the cool air.  She thought she had been laid out on a bed or table, but it felt as if she was floating in air.  Slowly opening her eyes, light, harsh and demanding blinded her until she slowly adjusted to the dim, and took in her surroundings.  Vaulted ceilings, filled with images from an Egyptian tomb hovered over her.  They were illuminated by construction lamps strung about on miles of extension cords.  To one side, laying on the dusty, gravelly floor, was a large, oblong object under a tarp.  It was about three feet high and three feet wide and seven or eight feet in length.  Beside it was machinery from the set of a 1960’s Sci-Fi television show, complete with flashing buttons and a muffled audible clicking as it stamped out punch cards.  Past it were construction tools and a portable cement mixer.

 To her right was a table with rolls of bandages.

 She tried to crane her neck to see more but discovered to her horror she was paralyzed.

 With panic quickly building up, Collette tried to scream as loud as she could, but only managed a weak wobble.

 As if responding to her mews, people suddenly scurried around her.  As each one flashed in and out of her vision she could take in their description.  They had olive completions, possibly of middle eastern descent.  Gold torques clasped around their necks and biceps.  They wore a uniform of sand colored tunics of linen.

 They were uniformly, men and women, all bald.

 She realized she was naked, and her body was being rubbed with some kind of ancient elixir and herbs.  She was laid out on a table, but blocks had been carefully placed behind her head, shoulders, lower back, arms, calves and feet, to hold her several inches above the table.  There wasn’t a square millimeter they did not message with the special chemical.  As they rubbed her scalp and face, she realized while she was drugged they had shaved her head and eyebrows, possibly even her eyelashes.

 She again tried to struggle, and could feel movement slowly return to her, but the workers paid her no mind as they applied sensor pads, connected to hair thin wire, to all of her major muscle groups.

 They ignored her persistent mummers as they placed a block between her legs.  As they moved, she realized that something had plugged her vagina and anus.

 When they picked up the bandages, Collette knew she had stumbled into a bad Mummy movie.  

 Their leader, presumably, surveyed the work, and nodded his approval.  In response they lit braziers of incense, slipped gold bracers over their forearms and adorned cheesy wigs of long, black braids, each decorated with gold and pearl beads.

 They began to chant.

 Collette almost laughed at the sight.

 “I’m happy to see you’ve found your sense of humor!”  His voice cut through her like a knife.  He could hear his shoes, polished she imagined, knock on the stone floor.  He leaned into her view.  His face could have been carved in Egyptian stone.  He was handsome, and although dressed in a simple black suit with white shirt and black tie, he held himself elegantly.  His goatee was waxed with sharp lines of grey running through it.  His dark, judging eyes were cutting, and flayed her open to the core.  She peered back into the coal mine eyes and could almost see herself.  He wore a fez, and it looked perfect on him.

 She struggled to move her head slightly.  “What…”  Was all she could manage.

 The man bowed at the waist, his heels clicking together.  “I am Mr. White.  Welcome to your Entombment!”

Teaser

Erotic horror, mummy, mummified, bondage, gag, peril, spy action

Get the whole story here:

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