Concrete Jungle

[DrStein]

OOC: Once more, this is the thread for lycanthropes and shapeshifters in the modern world. If you'd like to join, just go by the guidelines of the OOC thread, linked to below.

https://forum.literotica.com/showthread.php?t=430845

Varg Blackstone was a rather intimidating young man. He had a stern, yet handsome face, long dark hair, and the build of an athlete. Not many people knew of him. Or at least, not many people knew him personally. Others knew of him through stories, most of them exagerations. They always seem to get crazier every time Varg heard them. Some said he was an escaped madman who had been wrongly convicted of a crime and was systematically eliminating criminals to find the one who framed him. Others believed he was a giant who wielded a broken stop sign as a shield and a sawed-off parking meter as a sword like a junkyard knight. Still others told stories of a wandering martial arts master avenging the deaths of his loved ones by fighting evil.

No matter how the stories went, they always made Varg out to be some sort of hero or anti-hero. Which was as close to the truth as they ever got.

In reality, Varg was a particularly strong werewolf. One of many lycanthropes that lived in the city as a matter of fact. He blended in with human society as the others did, but he was the only one they knew of who took up his particular philosophy of justice.

Every night, Varg rocketed down the streets in his custom-built motorcycle on patrol. His keen senses of hearing and smell allowed him to pick out where he believed nearby crimes were being committed, and he was usually right. Tonight, he smelled a group of guys who reeked of cigarettes, alcohol, crack, and jizz. And somewhere in there, Varg swore he smelled gunpowder.

Time to go to work. He turned his bike and turned in the direction the scent trail was going in, deciding it was better to play it safe and check this out instead of just leaving what could turn out to be a dangerous bunch of assholes to their own devices.

 

[Maid of Marvels]

Mabh Fallon

Mabh (why couldn't anyone ever pronounce that the right way? Meev. MEEV, for crying out loud!) Fallon wandered through her lair, better known as "Research and Archives" and sometimes just "The Library", of Lykos Corporation™. Over time, she'd come to understand why newspapers referred to departments like hers as "The Morgue" -- most times it was certainly as quiet as one.

The diminutive, raven haired, blue-eyed woman was the first of her family to have been born in the States. Granda and Muime had come over with their son, Michael, her own Da, a mere babe in arms, in the thirties from the Aran Islands near Galway, Ireland. He'd married late to a much younger woman who hadn't survived the birthing, and so Mabh was raised an only child by Da and Muime when she saw fit to interfere.

Growing up, Mabh had appeared almost antisocial, but truth was that she preferred her own company, and that of her immediate family. Not that she had much choice, they lived on an isolated farm -- their nearest neighbor more than ten miles distant. As a result, it didn't seem strange to anyone who knew her -- or of her -- when she chose to become a librarian.

The position with Lykos came as a godsend three months ago, if you believed in a god that is. Muime and Granda were long gone, and Da had passed six months ago. The farm was hers now, though she had no desire to work it. Loath to let the homestead go, Mabh needed to generate an income sufficient enough to keep up with the taxes if nothing else. And so here she was...

Mabh was feeling inordinately restless today. She had just finished collating a series of documents, followed by putting them on microfiche and also into the Corporation's extensive computer database, and there were a million other things to do -- but she just couldn't seem to settle.

It had happened again last night. In fact, more and more frequently since she had begun working at Lycos. Mabh didn't like to think about it. Or even consider the ramifications, let alone put a "name" to IT.

Muime and Da always just called it her "spells" and assured her that it wasn't uncommon for girls to have them during puberty. Having no reference, she took their word as law. Until university -- when she found out that it wasn't as common as they had made her believe. And now...

 

[clan_destine]

J. W. Stroheim

The knobs and treads of the specialized street tires hummed as they streamed over the pavement. Cars passed on both sides of him as he powered through the street traffic, or, more properly, the cars were passed, since he was actually able to keep moving through the gridlock as the drivers in their metal coffins had to wait for traffic control and human behavior to get them to their destinations.

Not him. He was free. Free to change direction or lanes as he needed, free to shift from street or sidewalk as needed, free to follow or ignore the road rules as he felt was appropriate. Drivers and pedestrians might not appreciate his freedom, but the bicycle and the messenger bag meant that he had a certain level of autonomy in the street rules. Plus, if the bag and the bike didn't give them a reason to ignore him, his appearance should. His clothing was a combination of trucker and goth - a seed corn cap and tired looking tee-shirt topping off heavy black shorts coated with metal studs and chains, and a menacing "Back Off, I Bite!" message across the back of his beltline. Only his specialized gloves and shoes were proper to the trade, not only the padding and pedal locks, but the company logo carefully placed along their lengths.

His eyes scanned the buildings he was approaching with a practiced ease, and he spotted the number he was looking for. A shift across two lanes, a short hop over the curb, and a grab at a street light, and he was at his destination. He twisted out of his pedals, hopped off, and snaked his lock from the case within the messenger bag. City dwellers sometimes didn't appreciate certain nicer things in life, but a bicycle left unattended usually meant a windfall for someone. His lock was a massive affair, three feet of snake and ball cable with an imbedded tumbler system. Ugly, heavy, and weird, but effective.

His bike dealt with, he spun and raced into the building, his hand reaching into the bag as he reviewed the directions.

Now, he just had to find the company morgue.

By business standards, he was arriving late in the business day, but that hardly his concern. The sender had waited until late to send out the request for a messenger, and even in a company of crazed psychopathic masochists dedicated to pitting their health and lives against the reflexes of a city full of drivers, few of his co-workers had been eager to grab for this job. Evening coming on, rush hour happening, the general weirdness of a city's wretched refuse coming out to start their nocturnal explorations of the world.

It was good to be in one's environment.

The elevator rumbled and groused as it pushed for it's destination. The car finally shuddered to a halt, and the doors cycled open. J. W. stepped out, his eyes shifting left and right in brief sweeps, searching for signs that might suggest where "Research and Archives" might be.

He stopped suddenly as his nose told him that there was something else of interest. He snapped from his brief reverie as someone behind him cursed and shouldered past him, but his senses were on fire.

"Very interesting.." He muttered to himself.

 

[Mystical Avalon]

edited

 

[Maid of Marvels]

Mabh Fallon

Mabh was restless and it felt as though the very air around her was crackling with tension. Ridiculous, she thought. Maybe she just needed a cup of tea or something to eat. Truth, she couldn't really remember the last time she'd done the latter. And that was another thing... What in blue blazes was going on with these memory lapses? Everything seemed to be spiralling out of control lately. Mabh shook her head as if trying to jangle her memory on a more physical plane. Lykos had a shrink that was covered under their medical plan. Maybe she should give the guy a call. Yes, maybe she'd do just that.

"But for now, Mabh, me darlin' " she said in her best imitation of Muime. "Get you a cuppa and something to fill that great empty maw of yours before ya fade clear away."

Straightening her desk, in case someone should come down while she was out, Mabh left the quiet of her sanctuary and walked over to the elevator. *ching ching ching* The sound of the car as it stopped at what seemed to be every floor on it's descent resounded in her ears, making her look around in wonder. Now why would someone hook those sounds to the infernal PA system of the building? Someone's idea of a bad joke, she was sure. Then again, she was only the cryptkeeper and it was none of her biz.

At last the elevator thundered to a halt, the doors crashing open to admit their next passenger. Prepared for the solitary ride to the main level and the private dining hall, Mabh was a little more than startled as she turned to find herself looking into someone's eyes as she stepped in. A courier, it seemed, despite the late hour. He must have gotten off on the wrong floor. No one ever came down here -- or at least very seldom.

Even so, there was something about him that made the small hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. There was that crackling again. Your imagination, she cajoled herself. But no. It was something more, wasn't it? It was the look in his eyes that disturbed her most of all. Anger? Excitement? Maybe something other. Whatever it was, Mabh didn't know if she wanted to find out. Forcing herself to smile, she leaned against the far wall and prayed that he wasn't getting on. Then again, maybe she hoped he was.

 

[clan_destine]

J.w.

He almost entirely forgot the purpose of the visit to the building as he turned to face the person on the elevator. Proof positive that his purpose away from home was well deserved. Everything about her screamed Lupo Hominus to him, even if she was looking back at him with a mix of intent and concern. A dozen reasons could likely exist for her odd look, but half of them struck him as unlikely. Part of the benefits of the bloodline ensured a positive attitude, a confidence that radiated out like a fever victim standing in a meat locker. Especially among females. True submissives were rare, and generally didn't last long. No, something else.

He regretted not spending more time working at the geneological aspect of their race. Opa could likely have taken one pass by her and been able to specify country, region, county, community, and street address of her upbringing. Still, her stance spoke of something almost.. provincial.

He swallowed, both his apprehension and his attitude. No need for it. Now in public, especially. Especially with his senses telling him that she wasn't the only one...

His senses were running on overdrive now that they had recognized her, and he knew that any onlooker would wonder what was wrong with him. A quick reflexive breath kicked his mind back on line, and he lifted the messenger bag.

"Archives?"

 

[Steiner]

The Black Raven is a club in a part of town that is definitely the other side of the tracks. That said, it's not a rough club itself. It has nights when it's noisier than others, but that's due to the music - not the clientele. For those who enjoy something a little edgier, something a little different - but don't want to start fights or piss off the locals, the Black Raven has always been an interesting night out.

In the Black Raven is a corner. There's a comfortable seat, with a table, and some floor cushions scattered around. Here, if it's not too early and not too late, you can often find Hiro Takashi. In a club that's often full of well-muscled werewolves Hiro looks a little out of place - thin almost straggly and possesed of a nervous agility rather than the loping grace of the wolves. His eyes are bright with intelligence and if the music is low enough to talk he seems intelligent, educated and also experienced in the odd things that few know. And why not? He's a seer for hire, after all. What he doesn't know himself the spirits clamour to tell him - if he'll only listen to their woes and soothe them with a charm or offering.

He makes a decent living by offering his services to those who need to know, or need something accomplishing that the laws of physics might frown at. Hiro is the Seer for hire. The go-to man for the entire city when it comes to the mystical and the magical.


Tonight he's sitting in his corner, warming his hands around a coffee and enjoying the ambience and the scene.

 

[Maid of Marvels]

Mabh Fallon

The courier's succinct query answered at least part of Mabh's curiosity regarding his presence. Stepping forward, she let the doors bounce off her hand as they slid closed, jerking it back when her fingers met his. "Don't touch!" she shrilled an instinctive warning to him. "I just got an... "

She looked at his face as he regarded her curiously and suddenly felt as stupid as a rock despite the fact that her whole arm was tingling as if she'd been zapped with an electrical current. "Static electricity," Mabh said, laughing to camouflage her foolishness as the elevator doors made a second attempt at closing.

Tapping her fingertips on the metal frame as she stepped out, Mabh shrugged when nothing happened. Why did folks do that anyhow -- get a shock, jump back and touch the same surface again? Gluttons for punishment, she ventured. People were strange critters.

"I was just going up for a cup of tea," she explained unnecessarily to the courier who was still looking at her as if she's sprouted an extra head. "The morgue is my... Oh, just follow me." Walking down the corridor from where she had just come, Mabh held the door for him this time. "Welcome to my world," she grinned, leading the way to her desk. "I'm sorry for being so abrupt. I wasn't expecting anything."

 

[clan_destine]

J. W. Stroheim

J.W. followed calmly, his senses on full alert. Yes, definitely something there. And she was sensing something also, even if she didn't fully realize it. The tingling burst when they'd briefly touched spoke volumes to him.

"Well, sorry to keep you from your tea." He let his voice slip into a broader hint of his native accent, enriching the tone and flattening the vowels slightly. At the same time, he trilled slightly in the uppermost range, covering any possible sound in the normal audio ranges with the drawn "r"s. If she was what he thought she was, and she had started her conversion, there should be some reaction.

He pulled the shipping box from the bag, along with the receipt book. "If you could sign for it, please." He watched her move, smiling reassuringly as he did.

"If I may be so bold, perhaps I could buy you that cup of tea. This is my last run of the day, after all."

 

[Maid of Marvels]

Mabh Fallon

The skritch of the pen on paper as she signed her name was not unlike the sound of nails trailing along a hard surface and made the little hairs on the back of her neck and on her arms stand on end. "Hyperacusis," she murmured softly. Even her whisper sounded loud in her ears.

"Mab?" the courier said, looking at her name as she slid the receipt book toward him across the metal washboard that used to be a smooth metal desk.

"MEEV. M-A-B-H. MEEV," she hissed, a flush spreading across her face as she made to apologize.

"J.W.," he said as if he hadn't noticed her rudeness. "How about that cup of tea?"

Mabh glanced at the package curiously but nodded. "I haven't eaten since... " Her eyebrows furrowed as she tried again to remember exactly when that had been. "Yes, please, J.W.," she finally said, surprising herself maybe even as much as him for accepting. "I think I'd like that."

 

[clan_destine]

J.w.

Better and better, he thought to himself. A definite reaction, although one she didn't even recognize.

"Well then." He resealed the messenger bag, and nodded to the elevator doors. "To tea, then." He waited a moment for her to regather her effects after she dealt with finding a storage place for the package, and then walked with her to the elevators.

"I hope you have a good place in mind? I'm afraid this isn't my normal section of the city. I'm out of my range, so to speak."

Once the elevator doors had closed, and the car lurched to life, he had to fight some of his impulses. She was responding to his inaudibles, and she definitely recognized that something was different, but she wasn't firmly identifying him as the source. A part of him wanted to see how far this could be taken, to see what would happen if he tried to quietly crowd her in the car, or perhaps to make a point of keeping as much space as possbile between them. Or, to keep her eyes on the doors or the floor indicators, then to quietly reach over and touch the small of her back with a single fingernail.

No, as much fun as it might be, it wasn't his place. Find some more things out about her. See how much she knew about herself.

Once at street level, he asked her to pause only long enough to free the bike from it's lock, and to lift it to settle onto his shoulder. Perhaps odd to walk around carrying a bike on one's shoulder, but better than risking leaving it unwatched for any long period of time.

"You haven't said what you might be hungry for. Scones? A sandwich? Or perhaps something.. fresher?"

 

[Maid of Marvels]

Mabh Fallon

The fact that J.W. was toting his bicycle the same way someone else would carry a loaf of bread flickered through Mabh's mind only to be set aside in favor of food and where they would go that was close. Noises were still almost unbearably loud, but she steeled herself as they walked within touching distance of the heavy city traffic and commuters heading off for the weekend. Besides, she was grateful for the company. "There's a tea room just down the block," she replied to his question. "Mrs. Dee's. It won't be busy cause everyone is... " Mabh gestured toward the cars.

J.W. seemed to know the place she meant, but that came as no surprise. He was a courier, after all. They got to know places no one else seemed to notice.

She waited as he locked his bike to a curbside pole and then again as he held the door for her. It made her smile. Mabh couldn't remember the last time someone had extended such a simple courtesy. City folks always seemed to be in such a hurry that they forgot the little stuff. "Thanks." He grinned and shrugged, following her in.

As she had said, the tea room was pretty quiet and she sank into a chair at a corner table with a sigh. "I'm starved. I don't know when I last... "

He looked at her and nodded. "That sometimes happens... " He let the sentence trail off as if he knew something that she didn't. Surprisingly it didn't spoil Mabh's mood, though there was something... She just wasn't sure what that something was.

"I think I'll have tabouli. Mrs. Dee's is to die for."

 

[clan_destine]

J.w.

He smiled at her apparent confusion about what she was failing to recognize as symptoms of something larger. He'd sat through several discussions about it, some scientific (hormonal imbalances disrupting normal autonomous systemic maintenance), some folklore (the appetites are changing, preparing for a better foodsource. An applied mustard plaster, following a soak in a sulpher spring, will set things right.), and some simple common sense (it happens. Deal with it.).

Definitely new. Definitely close to her first full change. Best to have someone familiar with the effect near. Otherwise, there could be danger as her form and mentality went through the changes without an anchor.

"The hummus and cucumber sandwich for me." He allowed a moment to see if she reacted to that. Perhaps she knew of the various Arabic beliefs about chick peas, perhaps not. Still, it was always worth the doubletake. Not everyone found hummus to be something beyond an exotic chip dip these days.

"So, the basement offices of a corporation for you work space. What do you do in the off time? Concerts? Poetry readings? Star gazing?" He allowed another brief moment, then grinned in that slightly sideways style, so similar to the lupine smile of his full form. "I hear the moon should be brilliant tonight."

 

[Maid of Marvels]

Mabh Fallon

Mabh blushed as J.W. asked what she did in her free time. How could she explain waking up with a feeling that she'd been... somewhere... without knowing where. That it was more than a dream, she was certain, but to admit it openly would make her look like some kind of nutcase to people who "knew" her, let alone what someone who didn't would think. Full moon, he'd said. For some reason that made the short hairs on her arms and on the back of her neck tingle. It might explain her odd behavior though. The moon affected many things, her Muime had said many times. Phases of the moon were important to... farmers.

Suddenly remembering something she had found in her bedroom that morning, Mabh opened her purse and felt around until her fingers closed on the item she was looking for. It had been on the floor and she probably would never have seen it except for having kicked it with her bare foot while hurrying to dress. Of course Mabh had wondered where it came from, but, running late, she'd simply dropped it into her bag thinking to search it in the online directory once she got to work. If she hadn't been so frantic to change the subject away from her non-life outside of work, she wouldn't have remembered it at all... and in a way, she hoped that it would at least imply that she might have other interests outside of Lykos Corporation.

"Have you ever been here?" she asked, sliding the matchbook across the table toward him.

J.W. picked it up and looked at it, turning it over and back before setting it back down. "I've been there," he said, the timbre of his voice changing to something akin of curiosity as his finger tapped the cover, a full moon with the outline of a solitary bird sitting in the foreground.

Suddenly afraid that he would ask questions about the club that she wouldn't be able to answer, Mabh shrugged. "I found it," she said simply. "I've never been. Is it nice?"

J.W. tilted his head to the side as if he were examining her. For a moment she felt conspicuous in a strange sort of way, but that was easily put aside as the waitress approached with their food. "Tabouli," she said preremptoriously, setting the plate down in front of Mabh. "And hummus and cukes. You know what the Arabs say about chickpeas, right?"

Mabh looked up curiously. It seemed an odd thing to ask, but her curiosity was piqued. "I don't," she said, turning back to J.W.. "Do you?"

 

[clan_destine]

J.w.

J.W. grinned, glad to know that the universe remained curved. He cocked an eyebrow at the waitress, putting on his best rakish look. "I do. And I can also report that I've never found reason to doubt it." The wink that followed sent the waitress running, and he fought an outright laugh.

"Sorry, but it is rare to find anyone outside of the kitchen or library that concerns themselves with the backgrounds of foods. In Jordan and Pakistan especially, chick peas are considered an agent of health and virility." He fell onto the first half of the sandwich calmly, keeping one eye on Mabh's.

After a moment of chewing, he reached for his water, but dropped the fingers back to the matchbook. "Are you sure you simply found this? My apologies for asking, but it isn't something that is likely to have been simply dropped casually. This is.. well, a rather exclusive place. Although I have no doubt that you would have little trouble being granted entry."

At her startled look, he hastened to clear her mind. "No, I don't speak of something criminal, or inherently chauvinistic. But it's preferred clients share specific traits. Traits that I believe you likewise share, although you may not realize it."

He made a show of returning his sandwich wedge to the plate, then laid his hand flatly on the table, shifting it to highlight the fact that his middle and ring fingers were virtually the same length. "You are a gatherer and keeper of facts. I would hope that folklore falls into that realm? Perhaps minor points of fancy that seem more suitable for low brow entertainment? Or perhaps you find that you have what others consider unusual allergies? To specific plants, or minerals?"

He allowed her another moment of consideration, then carefully shifted his tongue to the position necessary for the high range speech. He lifted his glass, but spoke from behind it, his voice in the soft consonants and rolling sounds that made up this far more ancient tongue.

"Perhaps you can understand, or at least hear this?"

 

[Maid of Marvels]

Mabh Fallon

Her eyes locked on J.W.'s hand as he placed it on the table. There was something different yet strangely familiar about the phalanges. Something she hadn't noticed on anyone before, excepting... Mabh slid her hand slowly across the table toward his, uncurling her fingers as she drew them together and extended them fully.

"When I was younger," she said quietly, oblivious to anything besides the striking similarity in their hands, "The others would make fun and so... " Mabh had to consciously struggle to keep her fingers flat. "I learned to either keep my fingers curled or my hands on my lap or in my pockets. "Muime and Grandda and my own Da... "

Her voice trailed off, her ears tingling oddly as J.W. asked her a question followed by... Hyperacusis, Mabh told herself, blushing when she realized she was sniffing the air like a dog on scent or... Now he'll surely think I'm mad.

"I'm sorry. Did you say something?" she asked abruptly, pulling her hand back to nestle it in her lap.

 

[clan_destine]

J.w.

The bicycle messenger smiled as he returned his glass to the table. "Yes, I did, actually." Returning his attention to his sandwich, he savored the taste combinations, then returned to speaking to her.

"Mabh, you have nothing to feel embarrassed about. I certainly find none of your concerns to be anything to laugh at. And I would like to assist you, if I may." He paused, looking her squarely in the eyes. He briefly considered allowing himself to shift into the early stages of the change, but stopped himself. Physical similarities and phantom voices were one thing, but his eyes changing color and his ears and fingertips shifting and elongating was something else. Especially in public.

"I would, however, ask you what sort of person you consider yourself. I won't bore you with an Alice In Wonderland analogy, but I would remind you that while Alexander conquered the known world, it was Callisthenes that recorded his deeds, and reminded the world that he had done it with the teachings of Aristotle and the stories of Homer. So, are you prepared to consider yourself part of a greater place in the world, or would you prefer to stay in someplace safe, where there are no concerns about scaring yourself?"

 

[Jewelskye]

Keaira

The sound of her boots resonated in her ears. Far more than the sound of rubber soles on pavement should have. Funny, how hyper-sensitive her hearing had become. At first, it started at puberty. Small noises seemed much louder to her than to others, and she was plagued with migraines for much of her early teens. She'd never told anyone, of course, always kept it to herself.

Which wasn't hard, given her loner nature. But these days sounds were just sounds, loud they may have been. Allowing her mind to focus on the sounds of her own footsteps and the steady beat of her heart, she kept her eyes down for the most part, only glancing up occasionally as she walked along the side walk, bound for the tiny studio apartment she had on the outskirts of the artisan section of the city.

It would be a long walk, for sure, but the flashing lights and roaring sound of the streetcars on the subway were too much for her to bear. Besides, she enjoyed these long quiet walks home from the library where she worked.

Taking a deep breath, she was forced to let out a quiet cough, her hand lifting to her nose and mouth in an effort to shield them from the obtrusive smell of alchohol. Eyes watering, she used the edge of her turtleneck's sleeve to wipe the tears away from her ice blue eyes. Must be a bar around... she reasoned with herself as she moved along, tugging the sleeves of her black form fitting turtle neck lower on her arms, to cover her hands.

The black slacks she wore were form fitting until they reached the knee, there they flared out just a bit, falling around the tops of a pair of black sneakers.

Her dress wasn't anything special, but it did fit the fact that she lived in the artistic section of the city. A tiny hand came up to run through the long pale blonde, almost white locks of her hair, shaking it through her fingers a bit as it fell freely to around her hips. Her hair wasn't thin like most with blonde hair. It was thick, silky, and rarely seemed to become tangled. Indeed, she was blessed in that aspect. She reasoned, however, that she'd cut it if it ever did get hard to maintain.

It didn't occur to her as she moved down the streets with only the streetlamps to guide her, that the smell of alchohol couldn't be coming from a nearby bar. The nearest one was atleast four blocks away, on the outskirts of the city itself.

It also didn't occur to her that she wasn't just hearing her own footsteps anymore. Another set had joined her... and another and another and another. It wasn't until she was passing an ally she realised she could be in very real danger.

An arm wrapped around her waist, a hand moving over her mouth as she was tugged from the sidewalk into the darkened ally. Despite all her struggles, she wasn't strong enough to hold them all off. Screaming against the hand over her mouth, she squirmed and struggled, kicking and screaming as her bag was ripped away from her hands and she found herself being dragged toward the back of the ally.

Her heart beat faster in her chest and instinct seemed to take over. Curling her fingers slightly, she brought her hand up and dragged her nails down the side of one man's face, leaving deep bloody scratches behind.

He cursed, jerking back for a moment before delivering a hard back-handed slap to the side of her face, making her vision go blurry for a moment. The smell of alchohol and cigarette smoke was thick in her nostrils now, making it hard to register anything.

Until the feel of cold metal rested against her temple, almost as soothing to the now bruising skin as it was frightening to the mind of the young woman who lay there, staring with wide blue eyes up at her captors. "You're gonna lay here, and you're gonna be quiet, or I'm gonna blow the top of that pretty little head off, got it bitch?" one man hissed.

Keaira could only nod, whimpering against the hand pressed over her mouth. There was a click, and she didn't see it as much as she felt it... a tug at the bottom of her shirt, another tug, and soon the fabric seemed to give way. The cold flash of steel from the blade of the knife lit up her vision as they began to systematically cut away her shirt, then snapped the middle strap of her bra with ease, exposing a pair of full, perky young breasts.

She whimpered again as hands found the fleshy mounds and the man with the knife began to move lower, trailing the flat of the blade over creamy white skin until he came to the waist band of her slacks.

Oh gods... I'm going to die.... she thought, mind whirling as she lay there, wanting to move but too afraid to do anything.