Chapter 7: My Kink is Karma
It was thick and burgundy and cold. Rose held the jar she had just pulled from her fridge and examined it. It was filled with Sophie’s blood.
She unscrewed the lid, dipped in a finger, and tasted it. It just didn’t hit like fresh blood. She popped it in the microwave—a Hail Mary effort to make it palatable. She tasted the heated-up blood, but it still wasn’t right. It was sticky and sweet, stale and impotent.
It was an incredibly kindhearted gesture by Sophie—it’s a special kind of friend who saves their old period blood for you!—but, alas, it wouldn’t do for drinking. But maybe there was another use for it yet.
Rose carried the jar into her bathroom. The vast majority of the small space was taken up by a bathtub, and Rose deeply appreciated the infusion of warmth from a hot bath, especially now that her skin was perpetually freezing. She disrobed and climbed in, but did not turn on the faucet. Not yet.
She inserted a finger into the jar’s contents, ensuring it was nice and coated. She then clicked the coated finger against her thumb, and a thread of warm burgundy connected them as she pulled them apart.
Her bloody finger then traveled south and slid itself in between the fleshy lapels of her pussy. She swirled her digit inside, then lifted it up. A wine-colored thread again maintained contact. Sophie’s blood had mixed with her own intimate fluids. She tapped her clit and viscousy strands of the mixture tethered her finger to her pussy.
Her eyelids fell and her lips parted. She glided her finger gently up and down, then side to side, before greedily dipping more fingers into the jar.
Blood makes for good lube, she noted. Her stained fingers picked up speed and plunged deep inside her, coming out only to rub circles against her clit. She threw a leg over one side of the bathtub to spread herself wider, and her ass pumped against the pressure of her fingers.
Needing more, Rose emptied the remainder of the jar’s blood over her naked body. While one hand was busy pleasuring her pussy, her other hand gripped a tit tightly and squeezed and released it like a stress ball. The bloody lubrication made slick, slapping sounds. Both her hand around her breast and her fingers in her cunt smacked audibly with the vigorous motions.
Savoring these sounds, Rose raised the outstretched hand and brought it back down with directed force. This slap against her pussy splashed and spattered the blood. She writhed in response, wallowing sumptuously in the mess.
The warmth of the artificially heated liquid was a welcomed pleasure in itself, but it was noticeably cooling down with passing time. Rose intensified her fingering, liberally interjecting slaps against her clit and vulva, wanting desperately to cum before the substance became tepid.
She pinched her nipple and gave her pussy several resounding slaps, one after the other, ending with the hardest. The final thwack brought with it a scream that scorched her throat. It also triggered a splash that showered the floor tiles surrounding the tub with murderous little droplets.
Her limbs collapsed over the edges of the bathtub, completing the crime scene vignette. She laughed at the thought of someone walking in on her.
Looking down at her blood-streaked torso, Rose knew she couldn’t meet her friends like this. And she was meant to meet them soon. Zari had kindly suggested that she, Rose, Margot, and Sophie meet at Zari’s uncle’s hookah café to help Rose plan out future feeding options.
Rose turned on the tub’s faucet and let the streaming hot water wash over her. The bathwater turned red, a simmering signal that everything in her future would somehow be tinged with blood.
Zari led Rose, Sophie, and Margot into the hazy, dimly-lit Chambre Maroc, the hookah café owned by Zari’s uncle. Clouds of white smoke muted the coral-colored walls and encircled the hanging lanterns, giving the entire space a dreamlike and secretive quality. Patrons chatted and smoked and drank steaming-hot mint tea.
“Bonsoir, cher Oncle.” Zari greeted her uncle as they exchanged cheek kisses. She introduced her companions, who took turns exchanging cheek kisses with the uncle as well.
Chambre Maroc was just blocks away from Theatre La Chatte. Zari’s family also owned a charming restaurant in this quartier of Paris, where vibrant chatter and laughter echoed into the night. Thus, Zari represented her family as Queen of Nightlife in this buzzing neighborhood nestled away on the rive gauche.
“We’ll share a hookah, please, Uncle,” Zari continued. “Flavor? Green apple?” She looked to the others for confirmation, who nodded. “Green apple. Et thé à la menthe, s’il te plaît, pour nous toutes. And the quiet table in the back, if it’s free.”
Zari’s uncle led the group to a hidden cove in the back of the café. It was filled with a round table and semi-circle booth. A faded mural of an oasis surrounded by a desert decorated the curved wall behind, and cutouts in the hanging lantern above cast tiny diamonds of light throughout the intimate space.
Her uncle promptly brought the tea and hookah, then left them to their business. Zari poured the tea and puffed on the hookah’s pipe to get it started. The steam of the tea mingled with the smoke of the hookah, shrouding the little cove and its occupants in wispy, wafting sheets of white.
“D’accord,” Zari said, getting down to business. “Together, if we stagger our periods, we can feed you, Rose, for about half of each month. Also, I’ve talked to some people, and I can get you a fresh bag of hospital-grade blood once a week.”
“What? Who—where—how are you getting that?” Rose stammered.
“Don’t ask,” Zari answered. Her look punctuated the seriousness of her words. Rose accepted. Sometimes it was better to not ask Zari follow-up questions.
“So, we’ll have to hunt for victims to fill in the rest?” Margot queried, a bit too eagerly. The others exchanged glances.
“Until we have a better plan, yes,” Rose said, resigned. She paused then looked up, her eyes glistening. “I can’t tell you all how much I appreciate your help,” she said to all of them at once. Her lashes fell back down as she wiped away a tear. To distract herself, she took a drag on the hookah and inhaled the rich, flavored nicotine. Like pot, nicotine still held its effect on her. Thank God for small favors, she thought.
“We need to find Nico Dacia, the client who turned Rose,” Sophie explained to the others. “We don’t have any leads on him yet, other than his name. But I’m certain he’ll have invaluable information. And I can’t help but think he’ll be willing to help if we can just locate him. He turned you, Rose, he didn’t leave you for dead. He must owe you some responsibility.”
“Yeah,” said Rose sardonically, “he didn’t even leave me orientation materials.”
“We’ll work on it,” Zari interjected. “But we can’t stop feeding you in the meantime. We need to focus on that too.”
Rose nodded as she exhaled a plume of billowy smoke.
“I have an idea for the next victim,” Margot offered tentatively. All eyes looked to her and she continued. “A politician from the U.S.—B.K. something—is visiting Paris this week to meet with the Le Pen camp. Some sort of anti-immigration rally, or something nauseating like that. This B.K. guy led the anti-abortion charge in the States. He’s also rumored to enjoy sex workers—because, of course he does. I say we send him a special invite, maybe temp him with a private dance with all four of us. After hours. Who could resist such an offer?”
“A politician from the U.S.?” Sophie repeated skeptically. “Can you imagine what kind of media shitshow would follow if we murdered an American politician?”
“That’s just it, though, there will be no media coverage,” Margot explained. “His team has been trying desperately to hide his secret little habits. Old stories have leaked, but he’s promised he’s ‘reformed’ and now devoted to ‘family values.’ His team will never let it get out if the last place he’s seen alive is a debaucherous Parisian sex club.”
“Is that what we are, ‘a debaucherous Parisian sex club’?” Zari asked with a laugh.
“Of course not,” Margot answered. “But we’ll sell it that way when we send the invite. He won’t be able to refuse, and his publicists, henchmen, or whatever will make sure to keep that secret. No matter what happens.”
Rose hesitated before speaking. Her lips and throat struggled to form the words, but with effort she was able to get them out: “Do you think he deserves it?” she asked.
“He deserves it more than anyone!” Margot snapped back. “He thinks female and female-presenting sexuality is causing the downfall of society. What perfect poetic justice it would be to kill that patriarchal fuck at Theatre La Chatte!”
“So in this case,” Rose noted, “female sexuality would cause his downfall.”
Margot laughed, but Rose hadn’t meant it as a joke.
“Trust me,” said Margot, sipping her tea. “The downfall of this particular man is a public good.”
Rose puffed on the hookah pipe and her gaze blurred. “I sure hope so.”
The four went ahead with the plan. They printed an invitation on thick stationary paper with gold filigree—it needed to look legitimate. They included a picture of the four of them posing seductively in lingerie.
The note read:
You are cordially invited to a celebration of your diplomatic exchange with the nation of France. On behalf of the French people, we would like to gift you free access to a very private show and erotic party. It will be held at Paris’ most elegant and discrete fully-nude cabaret and sex club: Theatre La Chatte. The four ladies pictured will happily greet you at 2AM on June 30th. Come alone, this invitation admits only one. No exceptions. Directions are on the back. We look forward to spending a night of decadence with you!
They included the website address and social media handles to give the invitation an air of authenticity, in case the invitee wanted to check out the establishment first, and to hopefully lure him further with the tantalizing photos and reviews.
They had no idea if he would actually show up. But they prepared meticulously just to be safe.
The night of June 30th was warm and foggy. The air hung humid and turgid, blanketing all of Paris. The stones of the roads glistened wet and the streetlights cast out halos of glowing mist. One yearned for the break of proper rain to ease the heavy warmth of the air.
Rose arrived with Sophie at 1:30AM. They waited outside Theatre La Chatte for Margot and Zari, and of course for Zari’s crew—the two burly goons who would take care of disposing of the body. Rose and Sophie sat on the curb and watched the twinkling mist fall like tiny shards of glass against the gray sky.
“You’re sure you’re okay being so involved?” Rose asked Sophie, sitting shoulder to shoulder with her. “You can back out at any time, you know. I wouldn’t blame you.”
Sophie turned to face Rose. The warm, wet air glistened on their foreheads. “Never,” she replied. Rose squeezed Sophie’s hand tightly.
They both turned their heads at the sound of footsteps, assuming it was Margot and Zari. The street had been deserted since they first arrived, so they were hopeful it was the sound of their friends approaching.
But it was soon clear that the footsteps came from a solitary figure. A tall silhouette—dressed in a black trenchcoat and stiletto boots—passed by without turning to look at them. They watched in silence as the figure emerged from and disappeared back into the haze of the night. The sharp click-clack of their boots signaled their arrival before they appeared, and the sound trailed after them as their image faded away into the gray darkness.
Alone again, Rose and Sophie released a sigh in unison. The minutes were ticking by like days.
Thankfully, Zari and Margot arrived not long after. Two large, shadowy men trailed behind them. The four women greeted each other with cheek kisses. The goons stayed some distance away and never spoke. Their faces were obscured by the dark, damp night.
Zari opened the doors to Theatre La Chatte with her key and the four of them went in. Without a word or direction, the two goons slinked away into the fog, waiting to be needed.
Rose, Sophie, and Margot went to set up the private dance showroom while Zari stayed by the front door to wait—hopefully—for the politician. They used the showroom on the first floor, the one with the big window. They closed the drapes, turned on the lights, and set the music to play.
They each donned a costume that riffed on this politician’s fetish for traditional Western gender norms and stereotypes. Zari wore a blonde wig and white lingerie accented with bows and ruffles. Margot wore pink-lace lingerie accessorized with a flouncy housewife apron. Sophie put on her schoolgirl outfit. Rose wore a nurse costume.
By the time they had finished arranging things, there was still no sign of anyone showing up. Their hearts hung heavy with anxiety, anticipation, and a fear of looming disappointment. Would the politician come? Would he instead send the police to investigate the suspicious invitation? Or would the night remain quiet, with no one knocking on the door of Theatre La Chatte that night?
By 2:20AM, it was starting to look like their plans were a bust. The three had joined Zari in the entryway, where they all sat in lingerie-clad silence. Feet tapped, fingers drummed, and lips pursed with the anguish of waiting.
Breaking the tense silence, Sophie stated what was on all of their minds: “We need to think of a back-up plan. Rose has to feed tonight, tomorrow at the latest.”
“I was hoping that if he didn’t come, he would at least give the invitation to an assistant or bodyguard or something,” Margot muttered.
“It was a longshot,” Rose admitted. “We knew that. And anyway, that wasn’t the plan, Margot.”
“Wait—shh!” Zari put her finger to her lips. In a whisper, she asked: “Do you hear chattering outside?” She put her ear to the door, then her eye to the peephole. “There are some people out there…I can’t tell if one of them is him.” She threw on her silk robe and a masquerade mask (she couldn’t risk letting his companions see her face). She unlocked the door and peeked out.
“Bonjour messieurs,” she greeted through the cracked door. “Can I help you with anything?”
There was some chatter exchanged between the people outside and Zari, but the others couldn’t make it out.
“Ah! You have the invitation,” they heard Zari exclaim gleefully. “You are most welcome, but I’m sorry it only permits one. This is a very private experience.”
More chatter ensued, this time amongst the politician and his entourage. Zari poked her head back inside and gave an encouraging nod.
There was more back-and-forth between Zari and the men outside. Evidently, the politician was wary of entering alone. Fair enough, thought Rose. But she had confidence in Zari’s ability to persuade hesitant men.
Zari succeeded. They heard the politician instruct his entourage to wait for him back at the hotel. He entered wearing a blue suit, red tie, and broad smile.
Striptease: My Kink is Karma
“Wow,” he offered as a greeting. “You chicks are hot!”
They escorted him to the private showroom on the first floor with the big window and sat him down in the chair in the middle of the room. The opening chords of the music stormed into the room, startling the seated politician.
The four encircled him, closing in slowly. Margot, slinking up behind him, ran a folded piece of rope along the side of his cheek. “Up for a little kink?” she asked into his ear. Before he could respond, she was tying his arms to the chair.
Rose fell to her knees in front of him and spread open his legs with her hands. Sophie and Zari quickly jumped in to assist Margot with the ropes, securing his legs to the chair. His eyes betrayed the murmurings of uneasiness. He swallowed audibly, despite the music.
Rose inhaled the smells of sweat, eagerness, arousal, and anxiety that wafted off him from between his legs. These scents swam through her head like a cocktail of drugs. It was intoxicating, invigorating.
Snaking herself upright, Rose brought her face close to the politician’s. “Don’t be afraid,” she instructed, her lips hovering over his. “We know what we’re doing. Just sit back and enjoy.” She winked and turned her back to him. She grinded her ass against his crotch, while Zari and Sophie stroked his arms and Margot rustled his hair and pressed her tits against him from behind.
Margot then added a mouth gag, tying it tight around his head. He squirmed, showing the beginning signs of protest.
In response, the four initiated their most disarming move. They stood facing him in a line. Slowly—but not too slowly—buttons became undone and zippers slid open. Bra straps began to roll off shoulders. Clasps began to snap open. Each teased the uncovering of their bodies.
Sophie went first. She untied the white button-up crop-top of her schoolgirl uniform, letting the flaps hang open. Her bare tits framed the schoolgirl necktie that hung from the white collar around her neck. She rubbed her breasts enthusiastically and her face contorted into a display of pleasure.
Zari went next, unlatching the front clasp of her bra and spreading the now empty cups wide open and allowing her breasts to bounce in their release. She swayed to the song and her tits followed. The blond wig dusted the olive skin of her exposed shoulders.
Next up was Margot, who teased the release of her tits from the pink lace by squeezing them in her hands. She then revealed them by pulling the bra straps far enough down that her nipples popped out like erect, guiding semaphores. Her nipple piercings glittered in the dim lighting.
Rose went last. She peeled off her nurse costume, leaving just the accessories: a little hat, panties, red fishnets, and a stethoscope. The prop stethoscope hung between her breasts, hovering next to a heart that did not beat. Rose crossed her arms over her head, adopting a vulnerable and submissive pose.
The four sets of tits directly in front of him seemed to ease the politician’s discomfort and distract him sufficiently. His eyes focused in and he awaited what was next.
The four women writhed and kneaded their tits in rhythm with the music. Rose and Sophie faced each other and began to explore each others’ bodies with their hands and mouths. Zari joined in by slapping Rose’s ass, while Margot began kissing Sophie’s neck.
Rose and Sophie locked lips, their tongues visibly toying with each other. Zari fell to her knees and traced her tongue along the bottom curves of Rose’s ass. She tugged down Rose’s panties and looked over at the politician. His roped hands were gripping the arms of the chairs tightly.
Margot, still kissing Sophie’s neck, reached her hands around and cupped Sophie’s tit with one hand and Rose’s with another. Zari pressed her face in between Rose’s ass cheeks.
Sophie then fell to her knees, taking advantage of Rose’s exposed pussy. Sophie buried her face in Rose’s vulva, allowing Rose to receive pleasure from two directions. Meanwhile, Margot took hold of Rose’s lips, so that no opening was missing attention.
The gaggle of hands helped Rose release the panties from her stilettoed feet. She tossed the panties in the direction of the bound politician, where they fell at his shiny brown dress shoes.
Rose—now naked apart from the fishnets, hat, shoes, and stethoscope—strutted seductively toward the politician. She sat on his lap facing him, her knees spread apart over the tops of his thighs. She held the stethoscope up to his chest and inserted the ear pieces into her own ears.
Rose frowned coquettishly. “What does it mean if I hear no heartbeat?” she said into his ear. “You must be some kind of monster, non?” His response was muffled by the gag.
Her hips began to grind, bringing the tip of her clit in and out of view. The others closed in on them. Margot took Rose by the hand and helped her off the man’s lap, while Zari and Sophie unbuttoned his pants. A hard cock burst forth, along with a muffled moan.
Sophie and Zari each licked a hand and brought the wetness to the politician’s eager erection. They engaged in gentle gliding, up and down, down and up, along the trembling dick. His eyes revealed that his previous disquiet had dissipated; he sank into a relaxed state, accepting his lack of control.
Margot snuck up behind him. She tickled his neck with her fingertips then yanked his head back toward her. She nibbled on his earlobe, as Zari and Sophie continued to tenderly stoke him.
Rose kneeled in front of the politician’s only free appendage. She had placed a pair of blue surgical gloves under the chair, and she snapped them on to block the coldness of her hands.
Rose waved Zari and Sophie away, who stood aside and caressed the bound man’s arms. Margot did the same from behind.
Holding onto his dick with her gloved hands, Rose hinted at inserting it into her parted mouth.
Rose felt herself get wet. Seeing him tied up with his cock vulnerable in her hands made her mouth water and her pussy lubricate. She gripped it more firmly and felt the sensation of power ripple through her.
The four checked in with each other by examining their victim and exchanging glances. They needed him to be completely relaxed and disarmed. The ropes they used were made for pleasure, not kidnapping, and the gag was good quality but not completely soundproof. So they needed to be careful about provoking him.
At last, they clocked that his eyes were serenely closed and his lips were slackened around the gag. The three others nodded to Rose, signaling it was time to act.
Rose tested the waters by licking the head of his penis. His eyes remained closed and only a groan of pleasure escaped past the gag. She traced her tongue along the shaft, feeling around for a thick vein.
Her lips pressed against the tip of his dick, signaling that the best was yet to come. With her eyes, she continued to survey the landscape of his penis, searching for just the right spot to claim.
She found it. A blue vein bulged and pulsated. She ran her tongue along it, whetting her appetite. The thrill of power raced through her. She felt her teeth tingle and her muscles tighten, readying themselves for battle.
Sword-like teeth protruded and scratched the papery skin of the politician’s prick, drawing blood.
The politician’s eyes popped open, wide and terrified. Looking him dead in the eye, Rose grinned with his cock between her fangs.
The two thin lines of red jumped to Rose’s eyes, and all else blurred around her. Her teeth sliced through the flesh, sending flying streaks of blood shooting into the air. The gag suppressed a frightful shriek.
Rose gulped, drank, gorged on the thick dark fluid that erupted from the politician’s punctured member. She put her mouth around the entire thing to prevent any more blood from escaping her.
When she finished, his lifeless body hung limp in the chair. Wide, unfocused eyes bulged from above the gagged mouth and bound limbs.
Margot approached and examined his motionless face. “It doesn’t feel so good to have your bodily autonomy taken away, does it, connard?” She spit at him.
This cleanup was much easier and more straightforward than the first kill. It helped to be organized. Zari called the goons and they appeared below the window, their faces still shadowy and obscured by the hazy night air. The ropes aided the women in dragging and hoisting the body out the window. A tarp they had hidden under the rug made for easy blood cleanup.
Rose peered through the window and watched as the men below adeptly bundled up the corpse and dragged it off. Having just gorged on fresh blood, she felt strong and powerful and satiated. Yet, she also felt oddly hollow. It was like watching a reenactment rather than the real thing. Was it becoming too easy? Was she losing her humanity already?
The next day, no police came by Theatre La Chatte. As it turned out, the secret perversions and reputation of a conservative politician were indeed a keen layer of teflon protecting the events of the previous night. Their plan had worked.
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