The Wrong House Martin Kane, martin_s_kane@yahoo.co.uk Opening the front door to a strange woman can be a fatal mistake... --- Author's note: First the standard blub on copyright, which is mine. I'd be flattered if anyone wanted to use this tale elsewhere, but please seek permission before copying, altering, posting etc. Secondly, I invite anyone to send their comments, suggestions, thoughts or suspicions should they care to. Needless to say this story is purely a fiction and all character merely the products of an overwrought imagination I'll abstain from the adult content warning, if you've got this far, you're certain to know what kind of thing to expect anyway. --- Suzie strode confidentially through the garden gate, up to the front door and knocked smartly, not hesitating a single moment. In the small window set into the wooden door, she caught a glimmer of her own reflection. The long black hair, sleek and smooth, brown dyed to pitch. The glossy reflection of her PVC outfit. It was a purplish blue, like neon reflected in an oil-slick. She loved the suit, the way it made her look great. It emphasising the lush curves of her body, a feminine shape, defined out of trained muscles. Her curves were sleek and lush. But, however smooth they may be, they were hard, a body formed of muscles, coiled and sleek. The door opened wide, her first surprise. A middle-aged man, slightly grey, stood there, shocked by this stunning young visitor. She smiled, her most beguiling and seductive expression, lighting the perfect angles of her face into something quite beautiful. She well knew the effect she was capable of inflicting with the merest exposure of her face and body, even before she put them into action. Her lips parted into the expression and she saw the man was awed. Her physical presence was as devastating as ever. He was clearly utterly unsuspecting of what her purpose was. "Mr. Smith?" she asked, her voice a honeyed tone. The man merely stared at her, apparently trying to keep his eyes above her neck. Her costume was unzipped to her sharp abs. The protruding mounds of her substantial breasts thrust teasingly into his peripheral vision. He managed the feat, levelling his gaze at her large, innocent eyes. "Are you Mr. Smith?" she enquired gently, her sweet grin remaining fixed and alluring. His face seemed to cloud over with a confused expression. He was clearly too distracted to concentrate on what she was saying. "Hmmm?" he murmured, hypnotised by lust. Then he shook himself, trying to regain composure. "I’m sorry?" he managed, realised that he’d taken in nothing beyond the sight of her. "Who?" She giggled, still as happy and sweet as a child, but shot through with the melting sexual allure of a woman, and possessing a face and body to match. "Mr. Smith," she asked flirty, pouting a little, inclining her body forward a little to bring her head closer. The movement inevitably showed him a few extra inches of her chasmic cleavage. This time he could not resist a quick peek, glancing down at the two mountainous hills of alluring flesh. He gasped, shuddering in awe and lust. In a supreme exertion of effort, the man focused his eyes on her face, made his lips form articulate words and told the girl: "I’m sorry there’s no Mr. Smith here." Suzie wasn’t surprised by this in the slightest, she wasn’t expecting the man to acknowledge his real name. "I’m sorry to trouble you further, but could I speak to you?" She said this formally, as though she were some suited official. Coming from her delicate mouth, her sinful body garbed in an extrovert outfit, there was something surreal about it. Still in a mild state of shock, the man merely stared back at her blankly. She smiled again, gesturing beyond him, into the house. "May I come in?" Dully, the man nodded and pushed the door wide, inviting her inside. She stepped happily past him, into his house. The man followed her into the living room, watching the tight, PVC buttocks working. Suzie glanced around the neat living room. Odd objects and artefacts lay around, just as if this were a normal suburban residence. She smiled to herself, impressed by the attention to detail. There were even family pictures littered around. She recognised the man in a few of them. His cover was obviously very carefully and densely constructed. Oh, well. He followed her in and she turned to face him, presenting him with those massive breasts once more. Again he failed to contain himself, and ogled the deep, flesh canyon. She flexed her fingers, pulling her leather gloves tight. Without a moment’s hesitation or warning, Suzie punched him, a crushing blow to his solar plexus. The man uttered a wheezing gasp and collapsed to the ground, doubled over in pain. She watched as he drew his knees up to his chest, whining in breathless agony. She was stunned that it was so easy, this wasn’t what she’d expected of the man. She shrugged and then buried her foot into the same pudgy area that her fist had just devastated. He gasped again, beginning to weep at the horror and pain of it. She watched his torment, wondering, as she did at times like these, whether she should be feeling anything at this point. OK, she was a little hungry, amused by her own strength, still kind of flattered by his obvious reaction to her sex appeal, though pissed off by his leering at her cleavage, no matter how surreptitious he tried to make it. But all of that aside, shouldn’t she feel some sort regret and guilt at committing this kind of assault? However, regardless of what she should feel, her actual reaction was the same indifference she normally felt, only slightly tinged with a sadistic buzz. She would just have to make do with that. She stamped her foot down straight, crushing into his side, just below the rib cage. She felt something squish inside, though the skin held it together. She tried the same thing a little higher and felt the bones of his ribs crumple beneath her feet, snapping like old twigs. He was silent now, unconscious. Suzie knelt down beside him and wrapped a powerful arm around his neck. He was limp in her arms - lifeless it seemed. She positioned his rag-doll body, crushing one massive breast between his shoulder blades. "Pity you’re not awake," she told him. "You’d have enjoyed that." She began to squeeze, feeling her biceps muscles tighten and harden, the solid peak crushing into his windpipe. She twisted sharply and was rewarded by the resounding crack of his neck. Then she stood, pleased with the ease of her task. She pumped her muscles, loving the way they felt in action. She loved being strong and the effortless ease with which she had despatched her victim made her feel more powerful than ever. OK so it was a totally mismatched fight, the man was no match for her. But despite that, it still made her feel good. Why couldn’t all jobs be that simple, she wondered to herself. That was just before she got her first surprise. A middle-aged woman came tottering in from the kitchen, calling out to her husband. "Who was it?" she began before catching sight of Suzie. She stopped, stunned, first by this curvaceous, PVC bimbo, flexing ridiculously over-developed biceps. Then she saw her husband. That heap lying mangled at her feet, the head lolling at such a peculiar angle. That broken mess was all that was left of her beloved husband. The scream that wanted to burst from her could not. That monster- woman had covered the distance between them in the time it took her rattled brain to react. The scream that threatened to tear her apart, such was its intensity, was being held at bay by a hideously powerful, gloved hand pressed across her mouth like a suction-cup. She tried twisting her head away, but another, equally strong hand had stretched behind her head and was cupping the base of her skull. Her whole head was yanked forward and the woman’s face appeared, mere inches from her own. Her face was hideous - the ugliest thing she had ever seen. The young woman should have been beautiful, her face was perfect. In normal circumstances, surely she would be. But here, now, in this situation - she was grotesque. Hate, fury, poison and viciousness, spelled out in bold letters. If looks could kill, this face would not need to, for it expressed a lethal intent that would be fulfilled no matter. The one wearing an expression such as this had murder on their mind and would not cease, ever, until it was satisfied. The one who fell into the scope of this focus, was certainly without hope of redemption. The victim looked into a face of such wanton death and she knew her life was over. As if recognising this hopelessness, Suzie fulfilled its destiny and twisted. A sharp, hard jerk of the head, wrenching it around far past the natural alignment. Bones, ligaments and flesh tore as another life was ripped unceremoniously away. The woman fell from Suzie’s now well pumped arms and she swore to herself. Something was wrong here. The guy was supposed to be alone in the house. She turned the woman over, looking carefully at her face. She compared the woman’s face to the family photos, littering the nearby sideboard. She swore again. Either the effort to create a cover for this guy was far in excess of that which was strictly necessary... or he really had a family which were also in relocation... or - she... The thundering of someone descending the stairs broke her chain-of- thought and kicked her into immediate action, passing the felled corpses to enter the hallway and intercept the approaching person before he or she saw what had been committed here. The guy hammering his way downstairs stopped dead when he saw Suzie. His fazed expression failed to hide any of the sudden shock of seeing an athletic-bodied, voluptuous-curved, PVC clad wonder woman standing at the foot of the staircase, looking up at him. Through drug-addled eyes he saw black hair. He saw an awesomely cute face, smiling like a sex-fantasy. He saw enormous breasts, looking down the canyon of cleavage, through to her belly-button. These elements floated through his mind and connected to various parts of the brain. They in turn began firing synapses in an attempt to register and respond. The guy was about twenty, long hair raked down everywhere in no concern for order. His dress of sandals, shorts and shades suggested he’d be happier at the beach. His stoned eyes suggested he might well be, for all that he knew of it. He stopped on the stairs, stunned by this sudden and wholly unexpected intrusion. He fumbled for words, not natural to him at the best of times, and finally gave up, just tailing off with "what...?" Suzie smiled a winning grin, fun and flirtatious. She could see from the bulge in his shorts that he was focused enough to appreciated her own sense of dress. "You’re Jimmy, right?" she asked sweetly. "No, I’m Mike," he said. "Right, Mike," she corrected herself, with a smile. "Sorry. I just wanted a word with you, your dad said I could come up to your room." She explained this as she already began ascending the stairs. A gesture and the sheer force of her intention turned Mike around and he obediently went back up. He stopped at the top, suddenly remembering his original intention. "Oh, hey, I was just getting some beer," he announced and stepped past her to go back down. She barred his way, her arm rising to block his path. If he noticed the bulging within the second-skin of the PVC, he made no show if it. The motion of her arm tensed the muscles beneath, making them stand out and flex. Beneath the surface calm, chaotic destruction threatened to burst forth. "Sure, in one minute. First..." she led him back around. "OK," he agreed amiable, turning back to the upper-hallway, the choice of doors this presented them with. The motion seemed to distract him again, his easily confused mind only sticking to those subjects most familiar to him. Again he turned and past her, heading back down stairs. Suzie didn’t have the patience for this. She grabbed him from behind, grasping both of his wrists in her strong grip. She easily had the strength and skill to overpower him and drag him wherever she wanted him to be, but she couldn’t be bother to pursue the matter any further. She could just imagine what a nightmare of frustrations trying to interrogate this kid would be. She placed a foot neatly between his shoulder blades then stretched her own body back. She tugged his arms far back behind him, bracing his body against her foot. Then, with a finally, climactic jerk, she felt the snap of bones vibrate through his form, celebrated by the final spasms of his body. Murder was so ridiculously easy for her. She wondered how these beings could stand to live like this. To be so vulnerable - so helpless. It was utterly alien to her. She dropped the corpse, watching it side limply down the stairs. Then she turned to the hallway. Mike’s room was easy to find. Only one door had a Jim Morrison poster on it. She pushed it open to see the girl sprawled on the beanbag. She was about Mike’s age, bleached blonde. She had long slender legs, a willowy frame with tiny breasts. She was obviously just as stoned as Mike had been. She heard the door open and managed to focus on the figure that stood there, closing it quietly behind her. Suzie watched as surprised awe slowly began to register of the girl’s face. It took some time. After the girl’s initial shock, she relaxed, instead eyeing Suzie’s body with a knowing lust. She smiled a winning expression at Suzie and offered the joint she was smoking. "Are you a friend of Mike’s?" she asked. "I don’t think I’ve met you." Suzie accepted the joint and took a healthy toke, grateful for a break in the action. The girl’s eyes were wandering her body, she could feel their intent little poring like the promise of kisses. "I love that suit, is that PVC? You’ve got the body for it too. Do you workout?" Then her voice softened, slowed. Her eyes met Suzie and held them, hard and fast. "You look great." Suzie lent forward, offering the joint back. She expected the girl’s eyes to drop down to the exposed chasm of her bosom, the gapping space between the enormous mounds that were her breasts. Instead the girl just held her gaze with that same confident promise, eyes spelling out exactly what she was thinking and, given the opportunity, exactly what she was intending. Suzie was tempted. The intensity of murder always got her riled and there was no better way she knew to fulfil it. She hadn’t been with another girl for far too long, and this girl had her pulse racing. Not only was she cute, and Suzie longed to see what that willowy body of hers was capable of, but she had those eyes. In her eyes, Susie saw the knowledge and desire that would make the ride worth wile. But she was working, and she knew she had a job to do. And she knew that if she screwed this girl, she would have to kill her. Should kill her anyway in fact, but somehow felt an incredible reluctance to do so. She’d had to assassinate skilled lovers previously and it had always bothered her. It was somehow rude to reward the gift orgasm with death. Hands that were as capable as this girl’s promised to be, deserved to be preserved, not destroyed. "I’m sorry," Suzie told her. The girl read Suzie’s regret as a knock-back and the disappointment in her eyes made Suzie feel such a sorrow that it overwhelmed the boost to her ego. Then she moved, swinging her foot around to connect with the girl’s head, knocking her unconscious. Had she been as professional as she supposed she should have been, her next action would have been to turn the girl over and simply step on her throat. A minor exertion, the application of a little weight, the flexing of a thigh, the squeezing of a calf. And the girl would never have woken again. What’s one more bone in the catalogue of those she’d snapped today? One more neck snapped? What’s one more life in the directory of souls she’d prematurely sent off of this plain of existence? She had already lost her place in heaven, already delved too far into a black world of sin to ever be redeemed. Bitterness and loathing began to boil in her, she was beginning to feel the fury rage within her. She wanted to kill something. Suzie searched the rest of the house to find it was empty - she had already encountered all its occupants. She reached the phone and dialled a number. A nondescript man in a telephone box answered. "What?" "I think I’m at the wrong house," she hissed. "What? Did you go to the address I gave you?" "Of course I did," she exploded. "I’m telling you it’s the wrong place. There’s a family living here. He didn’t have one, right?" "You’re sure it’s the right place?" Suzie read the biro script, scrawled messily across the top of a matchbook. "One-oh-nine St. Alba..." "One-oh-seven," the man corrected. His voice was a sigh. "It says nine," she protested. "I remember it clearly," he assured her. "It’s a seven." "That a seven?" she demanded, incredulous. "Man, you have got to sort your handwriting out." "Well, whatever," he answered, testily. "You’re right, it’s the wrong house." She paused as something occurred to her. "Wait. In that case, why would he let me in? If he’s nothing to do with any of this?" "Why do you think he let you in? Suzie, what are you wearing?" he asked with that same sigh in his voice. "You know what I’m..." she began, looking down at her PVC clad body. She saw the huge pale boulders of flesh bursting out of their plastic housing. "Oh yeah... Right," she agreed. Then, back to the business at hand. "‘Kay. I’ll call you in five." She hung up and left the house behind her. She trotted along the pavement a few yards, checking the street was still quiet and empty. Nimbly stepped through the adjacent gateway and along the path to an identical house. She checked her cleavage then knocked smartly on the front door. It opened the length of a door-chain before the occupant, a burly man of approximate age to his neighbour, glanced out. He saw the black hair, the pretty, smiling face, the masses of gleaming breasts but wasn’t fooled by it for a moment. He slammed the door shut and leapt away as though electrocuted by it. He didn’t have time to notice the door bounce back open, Suzie’s foot preventing it from closing. She pushed it to its maximum space, barely six inches. It was enough space to reach inside and grasp the chain in her fist. It a hard, muscular movement she ripped down with all her might, rewarded for her efforts by the splintering of wood and metal as the chain came free in her grip. She tossed it away and kicked the door open to pursue the man inside. He had reached as far as the closet and was fumbling out a shotgun as she reached him. He tried to aim it but she had grasped the barrel and wrenched it back over his shoulder. His fingers were already tangled within the trigger-guard and they buckled like putty. He squealed in pain as the fragile joints snapped. She wrenched the gun off of him so viciously that one of the fingers was yanked off of his hand, tumbling to the floor beside him. He looked down at the miniature geezer that sprouted and began to scream. Suzie tossed the gun aside and slammed a heavy fist into his gut. He doubled over even as he flew backwards, slamming into the wall behind him. He sank there, legs splayed, arms clutched to his stomach, one wet hand wrapping the other. His legs were foolishly apart, staying in the position he’d slumped into. She stepped forward and kicked a professional blow dead centre, into his groin. Waves of pain registered on his face, an agony like no other. He wanted to scream, to release the intensity of this physical horror but it caught in his throat, threatening to rip his very chest apart instead. Suzie picked up his phone and dialled. Due to the violent nature of her entry, she hadn’t a moment to lose. She hated working under high exposure; she far preferred the person touch. Two people, alone together, knowing she could take as long as she cared to. Right now, the police could be here any second and she tried to avoid police shoot-outs, there were just too many factors involved for safety. "I need immediate evac," she announced. "I had to break in." She retrieved the gun and walked over to the model of agony, still sitting there, paralysed within his own world of pain. She tipped his body over with the edge of her foot, dragging him over to where the stairs ascended. She lay the side of his head against to bottom stair as though it were a pillow for him to sleep upon. Then she pressed her sole down onto the other side of his face, sandwiching him there, between the rock and the hard place. When she had lined up she simply lifted her leg high and stomped downwards, splitting his skull like fruit with a hardened skin. She stepped over the mess to search the rest of the house quickly, confirming that the man had been alone here. She paused only to retrieve a towel from the bathroom. Once she was satisfied the house was indeed empty, she discarded the shot-gun and began to clean the splattered gore off of her feet and legs. Another benefit of PVC was that it was wipe-clean. The car screeched to a halt and she jumped in, looking immaculate once more. It sped away again and then was gone. "Let’s get some food." Suzie had got changed in the bathroom, when she returned in respectable jeans and T-shirt, her food was already at the table. "You got the right house this time?" her college asked. "Look at that," she insisted, throwing the matchbook at him across the table. "That’s a nine." He ignored her. He took the matchbook and tore the address off of it in one thin strip. He lit a match and burnt the evidence, then sat back and drank his coffee. Her T-shirt was tight around her curves, making the extensive jut of her breasts totally blatant. But it was the sleeve that held the power to shock. They were cut high across the biceps, her thick arms filling them to capacity. When the waitress came to refill their coffee she did a double take at seeing the tight flex of her arm, the peak stretching the sleeve to bursting point. She apologised for her hesitation and filled the coffees. She seemed to want to say something then but chickened out and wandered off again. Suzie watched her and smiled to herself. She pondered a moment. "Are you heading back through the city?" she asked. "I could do, why? You want me to drop you off?" "You know Jonas Street? There a bar down there, place called the Sax & Violin." "Isn’t that a dyke-bar?" "Yeah," she agreed. She met his curious glance with a grin. "After violence I need to let off a little steam."