Frostitute 2: Dead Reckoning: A Twisted Tale of Extreme Horror Page 3

  "Right, apart from that," Three conceded. "So you gotta understand, sweetie...shit, I can't call you sweetie all night. What's your name?"

  "Anya."

  "Anya. Anya." He rolled the word around on his tongue, as though trying it out. "Would I be a million miles off if I guessed that that ain't a good old American name?"

  "You are correct," she said shyly. "It is Russian."

  "Russian. Ho-lee shit. I heard all about them Russkie hookers." It was Creep One again, apparently finding it hard to contain his excitement now. He still had her in the crook of one bony arm with the knife pressed against her throat, but now Anya was sure that she could feel his boner pushing against her from behind.

  "Russkie? What is this, the Eighties?" Creep Two snorted with derision.

  "You go fuck yourself!" One shot back.

  "You go fuck yourself, and then your momma!"

  "Boys, chill the fuck out. Be cool. Neither of you is gonna be fucking neither of you. The three of us is gonna be fucking the lovely Miss Anya here. Isn't that right, sweetie?"

  In an Oscar-worthy performance, she faked a look of absolute horror. "No...please!"

  Creep One jabbed the tip of the blade just a little more firmly against her throat.

  "Your choice, then." Three spread his hands. "Either you give us all a little fun..." — He mimed performing the act of masturbation with an empty fist — "...or I'm afraid my friend Francis here is going to have to teach you the error of your ways."

  "The error...?" Anya sounded confused, but she knew exactly what the asshole meant. These three were nothing more than utter scum on the face of the Earth, she had decided, willing to hurt an innocent woman in order to sate their most base desires.

  "Look outside. It's snowin' up a storm out there. A girl could disappear on a night like this and never turn up again. You got it?" That leer again, the disgusting fragments of yellow teeth.

  She nodded slowly.

  "Good. Knew you'd see sense when I put it like that." Three clapped his hands and rubbed them briskly together in what he probably thought was a businesslike manner. "So, first things first. You're gonna dance for us."

  "Dance?" she asked dumbly.

  "Yeah, you stupid fuck. Dance!" Creep Two jeered, making the shape of a curvy woman with his hands. Three smacked him around the back of the head.

  "You show the lady some respect, Terry! Frank, let her go. Give her a little room to work in, will ya?"

  Anya felt the knife point leave her throat. Creep One's stick-insect arm was withdrawn as he stepped away from her. "Don't you try nothing, Miss Russia. I can gut you before you reach the door."

  "How am I to dance without music?"

  "Bitch got a point." That earned Creep Two a second smack on the head.

  "Soon fix that." Three took out a battered iPhone with a cracked screen. Punching in the unlock code, he brought up a shrill techno track that sounded more like a car alarm than music to Anya's ears. Setting it down on the floor, Creep Three slouched back on the couch and waved at her to begin.

  Anya started off slowly, rocking and swaying, but quickly built up into full-on exotic dancer mode. She'd done more than a few private engagements for Piotr's more discerning customers (basically, the ones who didn't pick up hookers off the street) and had taken the time to learn a little pole dancing.

  As she gyrated her hips and flung her hair in all directions, Anya made a point of scoping out the room, studying it with all the focus of a general studying a potential battlefield. She'd used a lot of her power up in the confrontation with Marko and Piotr, and while she was still stronger than most living women (or men, for that matter) she wasn't going to take any unnecessary chances. If she had to take these three assholes down here in the living room, then so be it, but she would much rather divide and conquer.

  Frank, Creep One, was standing between her and the door. She backed against him, rubbing her shapely buttocks up and down his thighs and noticing the firm bulge there with great satisfaction. That was perfect: Anya wanted all three of them thinking with the wrong heads when the time came.

  She slid her hands up and down Creep One's legs, favoring him with the wide-eyed innocent look that had taken her years to perfect. His knife hand was shaking even more than before, something she put down to a mix of excitement, arousal, and his desperate need for another hit of crystal.

  Okay, this asswipe has had more than his fair share for now…

  Turning her attention to Creeps Two and Three, Anya stalked across to the couch, dropping more and more of her false timidity with every passing moment. Raising her arms into the air above her head, she writhed like a snake, showing off her curvaceous body to best effect, before bringing them back down to cup her breasts. The pair of Creeps on the couch were practically drooling, sitting forward to get a closer look at her.

  Ignoring the boy, Anya placed one leather-booted foot on either side of Three's legs and began to straddle him. She planted a hand on each of his shoulders and used them as leverage against which to gyrate, humping the air just above his crotch. From the slack-jawed look on his face, he was totally digging it.

  Now to kick it up a notch...

  Unbuttoning the top three buttons on her shirt, Anya allowed it to fall open just enough to reveal ample cleavage and plenty of side boob. Creep Three's eyes bugged halfway out of his head. She pulled his head forward into the soft, pliable flesh of her tits and encouraged him to motorboat her, shaking his head from side to side as fast as he could manage while she made the appropriate noises of false pleasure.

  If he had been thinking even halfway straight, Anya knew that Three would have wondered why her skin was so cold; true, she had been out in a snowstorm, and it was borderline chilly inside the drug den, but this was the coldness of the grave...not to mention the smell. Anya was fully aware that she smelt of death, but the combined body odor of these three unwashed fuckers was doing a great job of covering it up.

  Reaching out slowly, she brought Three's hand up and placed it on one of her boobs. He squeezed it on cue, letting out a small grunt of appreciation. Leaning down to place her lips next to his ear, Anya whispered in a voice which neither of the others could hear, "I want you first, Donnie. Take me to bed...please..."

  Donnie stood up, placing a covetous hand on Anya's butt.

  "We're goin' upstairs." Both Frank and Terry made to object, but Donnie silenced them with a venomous glare. "Do either of you fuckers have the balls to actually try to cross me?"

  From the way that they both suddenly averted their eyes, it was apparent that neither of them did have the balls.

  "Don't you worry," Donnie said in a tone that was vaguely conciliatory. "I'll warm her sweet little Russian ass up for you." He patted Anya's behind a couple of times, drawing lecherous guffaws from Terry and Frank.

  Spineless little pricks, Anya thought as she masked her disdain behind an expression of false eagerness, your turn will come soon enough...

  Frank stepped away from the door. She allowed Donnie to take her by the hand and lead her out into the hallway, and then up a flight of rickety wooden stairs to the second floor. The staircase creaked and groaned with every step they took.There were no lights on upstairs, just what little ambient light was coming in from outside.

  Donnie took her into a small room with a single window. A long crack crazed the pane of glass, threatening to shatter it into a thousand pieces sometime in the not so distant future. Anya took a quick look outside, mostly just to satisfy her curiosity. Snow was still falling hard, swirling around the street lights.

  "Right here." Donnie kicked a stained old mattress that lay in the middle of the floor, indicating that this was where the dirty deed was to take place. He happened to be right, but Creep Three had no way of knowing that it wasn't going to be quite the same sex act that he was thinking of. "Take off your clothes."

  The man was practically salivating. Turning to face him, Anya obediently unfastened
the rest of her buttons and shrugged the dirty white shirt off, letting it fall to the ground next to her. Her bare breasts were freed in the process; they were, even she had to admit, fucking magnificent. Just the right mix of curvy pertness, yet at the same time soft and malleable to the touch. She placed her hands on her hips coyly and said, "Do you see anything you like?"

  Donnie's Adam's Apple bobbed wordlessly. His gaze was riveted to her tits. Finally he said, "Now the skirt."

  Anya shrugged her way out of the leather skirt, wiggling her hips from side to side as she brought it over her waist and let it fall down past her knees. She stepped out of it gracefully, standing with her long legs slightly parted, as naked as the day she was born — except for the boots.

  "You want me to take off boots?" she asked in a husky voice, dialing up her Russian accent to its thickest setting.

  Donnie shook his head. "No. Leave 'em on. They're fucking hot." His eyes roamed her body, tracking down from her boobs to the strip of neatly trimmed hair that accented the V between her legs.

  Now was the time to make her move.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Stepping forward, she sank to her knees in front of Donnie and unbuckled his belt.

  "I think my boots are not the only thing that is fucking hot, big man," Anya pouted, slowly lowering his zipper and tugging his pants down around his ankles. Donnie's cock was already stiff behind the cotton underwear that he wore. She slid those down too, releasing his erection. It obliged by springing up to the position of attention. She realized with immediate distaste that it smelled like something that hadn't been washed in at least a week, but if the truth were told, she had sucked worse in her time. If nothing else, Anya was one hundred percent professional when it came to plying the whore's trade.

  Donnie's engorged prick stood in the air between them for a moment, pulsing and quivering in time with his heartbeat. Anya liked to look upon the moment before physical contact as the appetizer, something to whet the john's appetite prior to the main course. In real life she would have insisted upon a condom, but there really wasn't much point any more; after all, dead women couldn't get pregnant or catch an STD.

  She didn't want to run the risk of him growing frustrated and raising his voice (at least, not yet) so after a few seconds had passed, Anya flicked out her tongue and licked the underside of his shaft. Donnie moaned in ecstasy as the tip of her tongue traced its way expertly up the shaft and encircled the head, gently teasing the nerve clusters into explosions of pleasure.

  "Fuuuuuuuck..."

  Anya took him fully into her mouth. So great was his pleasure that he never even noticed her lack of teeth. She began to suck, her head bobbing up and down slowly at first, but soon increasing into a fast, rhythmic tempo of fellatio that had the meth addict rocking his hips backwards and forwards in a clumsy attempt to fuck her mouth.

  "Fucking take it," he gasped between breaths, entwining a bunch of her hair in one trembling fist. "Fucking take it all..."

  And suddenly, just like that, he came, shooting hot gouts of viscous semen into Anya's mouth. She jerked her head back, her mouth open wide to receive it. Many fellators would have gagged when the stream of cum hit the back of their throat, but Anya was ready and waiting for just such an outburst: She welcomed it, in fact, because it signaled that the worm was about to well and truly turn for Donnie.

  Rather than consume the sticky spermy load, Anya closed her mouth, and with cast iron discipline forced herself to neither swallow nor spit it out. Instead, she rose smoothly to her feet, noting with satisfaction that Donnie's eyes were closed, a look of blissful release plastered across his face, and his mouth hanging slackly open in a dreamy smile.

  She reached down to lightly tease his rapidly-shrinking cock with what remained of her fingers, the tips having been removed by her pimp prior to her untimely burial. Donnie's eyes opened slowly when he felt her touching his dick, and that was when Anya decided to strike. Her head suddenly rocketed forward, and at the same instant Anya spat as forcefully as she possibly could, spraying him in the face with almost half a million of his potential children.

  Donnie was blinded by the sticky discharge, which immediately began to burn his eyes. He brought up his hands to try and clear them, but the lashes were gumming together as though bonded with superglue. Jism flew up his nose and blasted into his open mouth, a salty stream of it running down his gullet and into his stomach.

  "How do you like face full of cum?" Anya asked rhetorically, unable to keep the glee from entering her voice. Her accent was thickening, as it often did when she was excited or angry, and she began to drop words here and there; her mouth tended to outrun the part of the brain that translated her thoughts from her native Russian into English.

  Donnie attempted to yell his outrage back at her, but that was impossible to do thanks to the fact that he was gargling with a throat full of his own semen.

  "You have head up your own ass," she scoffed, which suddenly gave her an idea. How much of her supernaturally enhanced strength was left after her encounter with Piotr and Marko, she wondered? There was only one way to find out. Grabbing the flailing Donnie by the hair, she rabbit-punched him in the side of the head a couple of times, just to render him a little more manageable. One of the punches was rewarded with the crunch of breaking bone, and unbeknownst to Anya, also gave her would-be tormentor a grade-A concussion.He began to go limp .

  She stepped around behind Donnie, and then planted her booted feet firmly on the bare wooden floorboards. Bracing herself for what she knew was about to come, Anya hooked one foot behind the back of his ankles and reached around to grab a handful of the slimy dick and balls that were flopping about all over the place.

  Taking a firm grip on both hair and genitals alike, she slowly began to pull her hands apart, putting equal tension on each side of Donnie's body like the guy ropes on either side of a tent. His flaccid body began to bend over backwards, both feet anchored in place by Anya's well-placed boot. His back arched over, moving freely until his face was fully inverted, and then she began to feel the first pangs of resistance in the small of his back.

  This wasn’t about technique. Brute force would have to do the trick. Gritting her teeth, the former streetwalker tightened her grip and applied even more pressure, stretching Donnie's now-purple penis out to maximum extension and continuing to bend him in half. There came a wince-inducing grind of bone against bone as the lumbar portion of his spinal column began to fragment and shatter.

  So great was the pain that Donnie came around and attempted to scream, but all he got for his trouble was another gulp of his own sloppy cum, causing him to gag and splutter.

  The crack, when it finally came, was as loud as a gunshot. It was the sound of Donnie's lower spine tearing in half, the vertebrae popping as they disarticulated from one another. The precious spinal cord that they protected wasn't spared; it stretched like a length of taffy, before its tough, sinewy tissue began to split apart.

  Had he lived to tell the tale, Donnie would never have walked another step again. Neither would he have had another erection, or felt anything at all below the waist. With one almighty flex of her arms, Anya had turned him into a paraplegic. He lost all control of his bowels and bladder at the same moment, dumping a stream of piss and liquid excrement down the front and back of his legs.

  For the briefest of moments she was actually tempted to just leave him like that, twitching, pissing, and shitting himself helplessly on the bare wooden planking like a totally vulnerable newborn; but she was overcome by a sudden macabre curiosity as to whether she could actually ram the man's head up his ass, and so she kept on pulling for all that she was worth.

  The flesh of his abdomen began to rip, unable to stretch any further than it already was. As the skin tore, blood began to ooze out from each wound in a collection of red streams. A section of grey pulsating intestine poked its way out of one such hole like a groundhog sniffing the first air of spring. The eviscerated tis
sue glistened in the dim light coming through the room's single cracked window. Anya bent him back even further, widening the rent and causing a loop of the man's exposed gut to spill out, cascading down to dangle around his knees.

  Concentrating fiercely, she gave one last jerk of her arms. Donnie's prick and half of his scrotum finally tore away in a welter of bright red blood. She had finally succeeded in breaking his back. Donnie was folded in half like a sandwich board, his head now staring dumbly up at the ceiling from somewhere in between his ankles.

  Apparently it was not quite possible to get his head all the way up his own ass, Anya chuckled to herself, but it was certainly not for the lack of trying!

  She let his shattered body fall heavily onto the mattress, its springs squeaking in protest. More of his exposed intestines avalanched out of the tear in his abdomen, spilling over the still-bleeding stump of his severed penis and down the front of his piss-slickened thighs. Donnie's mouth hung open, his eyes gazing sightlessly away into infinity. Anya looked at the shriveled lump of gristle clenched in her fist, all that remained of the dead man's prick.

  Inspiration struck. She placed the still-bleeding organ into Donnie's sperm-coated mouth.

  There, she thought with immense satisfaction, now you can suck your own dick, little man.

  Ping.

  The electronic chirp had come from...where? She scanned the room, could see nothing at first. Then, the sound came again, and Anya realized that it had originated somewhere on Donnie's corpse. She ran her hands over the blood-soaked hip pockets of his pants and pulled out his phone, which was displaying a text message.

  FRANK: HEY D-MAN, YO DON WIT DAT HORE YET?

  Anya sighed. He was probably born in this country, and yet his basic English is far worse than mine.

  Thinking about it for a moment, a wicked grin spread slowly across Anya's face. She decided that she was going to answer the message, but when she thumbed the screen, it displayed a keypad and demanded a passcode. Anya had no idea what it was, but she had a similar model of iPhone herself and knew a few things about its security features.