The Cellar City Chronicles

Crank was a jewel in the eyes of M. Jones. It was hip without being pretentious and stylish without being snobby. It had the seediness of really great Pornography but the cleanliness of a Cloud City hooker.

And it made him wealthier.

Like any good King, he kept a close eye on his little kingdom. He watched businesses rise and fall, and he saw profits come in and expenses go out. Recently however, he was watching a horde of demons attack his citizens, and they went by the name of ‘Mysterious Vigilante.’

M. Jones sipped his Whiskey from a chilled glass with no ice. He sat at a circular booth in the back right of the club, surrounded by lackeys and cannon fodder. He also had some bitch on his lap trying to give him a good show.

It was working, almost too well. He felt himself stiffening, and allowed himself the moment of pride at the girl’s almost shocked expression. Her gyrating hesitated as her eyes flicked to his face in confusion.

M. Jones smiled. She didn’t have any fucking clue what she was in for. He reached up with one hand and wound his fingers into her long blonde hair. She was dressed in nothing but a black and blue teddy, and the sight of those perky tits in his face was only making it harder.

To concentrate, of course.

Her eyes widened as his hand made a fist in her hair, and he pushed her face into his, their lips melting together in fluid movement. Sensuality at it’s best – unsuspecting. When he let go of her hair, she was still kissing him, her hands clasped on either side of his face. He let both of his hands run over the curves of her flexible little body, tracing the curve of her breast, giving them a brief squeeze before passing on to the cinched waist and resting with a firm grip on the bend of her hip.

He pulled away, and she gasped for air. He fixed her with a look, and through teeth clenched with desire, he commanded, “Keep moving. I want you wet by the end of the song.”

He didn’t have to ask twice. He knew he didn’t. He let a satisfied smile cross his lips as he leaned his head back into the red cushions, ignoring the perverted chuckles from the hired muscle around him.

M. Jones knew exactly how this girl saw him. He was pure sex. He had the body of an Adonis, the smoldering eyes of Loki, and the fire and passion of Aries. He had wealth and taste, and right now, all he wanted to do was get her wet.

What could go wrong?

As she worked them both into a sweat, M. Jones had a thought. He reached out and punched the arm of the bodyguard next to him. “Hey. Useless.”

The bodyguard acknowledged him with about as much hurt as a kicked puppy. “Yeah boss?”

M. Jones grunted, and put both of his hands under her ass. “I’m going to go fuck this hot piece of ass. If anything happens, I want you to call the police.”

Useless looked confused. Big surprise. “But Boss, we have –“

“Nope.” M. Jones pushed himself up, and the blonde wrapped her legs around his waist with little difficulty. She started kissing his neck, and then she had the foresight to start nibbling on his ear.

Goddamnit she found the ear. Christ, she was working it too.

“I’m going to fucking explode, Useless. Just call the cops if something happens.”

M. Jones moved without effort through the crowd and towards the back stairs – they led to the ‘guest rooms’. Useless watched him go with a dumb nod of his great big, stupid beefy head.

Fuck him.

“I am going to fuck you so hard.” M. Jones growled to the blonde.

She giggled, naughty, into his ear. “I hope so.”

He practically kicked open the door to the very last room and didn’t even bother to close it. With a well-practiced toss, Blondie was on her back with legs spread and inviting. She let her hands run over her body, and he ached to be inside her. Both of her hands drifted to the junction between her legs, and she purred anxiously.

“I am so wet for you.” She moaned.

M. Jones unbuttoned his slacks and moved forward like a tiger on the prowl. He climbed onto the sofa, moving her knees apart with his legs. He was bulging with desire, and had no need to hide it. He was an impressive man in many regards.

But he wanted to make her suffer first. He made quick work of the teddy, tearing most of it right off of her. Her breasts were perfect, and he ran his hands over them again and again, and they reacted just as tightly as he did. She let out sounds that made him want to just dig into her, but he restrained himself.

He was massaging the soft, smooth space just past her belly button when he felt something shift, like a muscle in her belly seized. With a firm and convincing squeeze from the blonde he didn’t care.

He could feel her buckling and squirming, and the sounds were unbearable.

“Ooh, Fuck Martin, just fuck me.” She cried out.

What.

The ever-living.

Fuck.

M. Jones pushed back and away from her, and when he got a good look at her face, he realized she wasn’t a blonde anymore. Long mahogany hair had taken its place. And she had an even better looking face now. And it was a familiar face – familiar enough to know what the ‘M’ stood for.

“Christ, Giselle.” M. Jones cursed, and started trying to put himself away. “What the fuck do you want?”

He turned towards the door, but she caught him just before he got to escape. “I got a new toy. Do you like? I can look like whatever you want.”

She reached around and dangled a braceleted wrist before him. He grunted. She reached down and slowly stroked a certain length of him.

M. Jones felt his eyes relaxing and as the blood pumped through his veins. “What do you want, Giselle?”

She purred in his ear, a viper in the grass, a deadly beautiful assassin. And unfortunately, they were on the same side. Mostly. If he was the King – she was his mercenary.

“I’m here to protect you, Martin.” She licked the lobe of his ear and he visibly shuddered. “I knew you wouldn’t mind that.”

He had two options. He could walk out and leave one of the craziest, most homicidal people he knew high and dry – or he could let her completely dominate him in whatever way she chose fit. Or there was the possibility that this could be a mutually beneficial coupling. She was a Sadist. But she was masochistic too, and he didn’t mind asserting himself.

The pulsating weight in his pants really didn’t care as long as it got some action.

M. Jones slammed the door, and turned to face her. “Not if I get to have you first.” He muttered, answering his own question.

It resulted in one of the most evil smiles he had ever seen, so evil it sent a shiver down his spine as he took her up in his arms. She had him naked in seconds, and a minute later they were roiling in each other’s passion, going hard and fast into their own personal lusts.

Her mahogany hair spilled about them and the smell of it intoxicated him. But through all of it, he couldn’t seem to shake the smile from his mind.

This was not a good sign.