The Chosen

She stepped back. The knife was sunk to its hilt.

Then Kyle smiled. He withdrew the knife from the bloodless wound and tossed it to the floor.

“No more Mr. Nice Guy,” he said. “It looks like what you need is a serious adjustment in attitude, Vera. And I know just the ticket.”

Kyle came forward, unbuckling his jeans…

««—»»

Paul was scrabbling, screaming—all to no use. She’s so strong! he couldn’t help but think during his struggle. He’d punched her in the face as hard as he could, kicked her, choked her, yet she didn’t seem to notice at all. Instead, she tossed him around like a fluffy toy, dragged him about the strange cave-like room by his hair, and twice slapped him in the face so hard he vaulted through the air. I am in some serious shit, he groggily realized.

“It was all a setup, Paul,” she said, now vising her hand under his throat and carrying him to the other side of the room. “But I guess you didn’t know that, did you? No, of course not. He wanted your girlfriend, so that’s why he sent me.”

Stars burst before Paul’s eyes. He didn’t know what she was talking about, and really was in no shape to give it much thought.

“You shouldn’t have come here,” the bald woman said.

She dropped him onto the tuft of pillows.

“But I’m glad you did because I really liked fucking you that time in your apartment. What do you say we do it again?”

“Not tonight,” Paul gasped. “I—I’ve got a headache…”

Yes, this was her, all right, this was the redhead who’d drugged him, seduced him, and ruined him. Minus the red hair, of course, which he now logically assumed was a wig, though he couldn’t fathom why. In fact, he couldn’t fathom much of anything just then, not while he was getting his ass royally kicked by this woman.

She crawled right up on top of him, her downcast grin like an evil beacon. Her flawless body slithered in its perfection; she was like a cat: nimble, quick, deliberate. A moment later, she was sitting right on his face.

“I’m the Zyramon,” she said, “Zyra for short. And you really were a great lay, probably the best hum-job I’ve had in a couple of hundred years. And you’re gonna do it again, Paul. I gotta have it.”

Paul’s stomach churned with his terror. She’d planted her bald pubis directly against his mouth, the large clitoris protruding like a teat. And that gave Paul an idea…

Bite it! he thought. Bite it right off!

“And don’t get any ideas about biting me, Paul,” she said a split second later. Then she placed her thumb over his left eyeball. “’Cos if you do, if you bite me, I will sink my thumb right through your eye into your brain. You wouldn’t want me to do that, would you?”

“Uh…no,” Paul mumbled. “No, I would not.”

“Excellent. So just be a good little boy now. And suck.”

Paul sucked. What else could he do? He’d already experienced the woman’s extraordinary strength, and her thumb against his eye remained a convincing reminder of what would happen to him if he resisted. Paul’s unwilling tongue roved; she tasted like sharp brine, she tasted like a real woman, and this he could see too, with his other eye: the sleek, curvaceous shape, the hourglass middle, the large high-riding breasts centered with big dark distended nipples. Yes, she was all woman…