My whole opening with Carli's points system for men is cut because it no longer fits the story. At least, not at the beginning. Here's the opening chapter, again. Shorter by 2 pages but better, I think. I hope.
Carli Vincenzo quietly stood inside a master bedroom's walk-in closet, watching a very attractive man in his thirties be very involved in having sex with a lovely woman who was at least ten years his junior. They were in a luxury condominium on the 25th floor of a new structure along the Wilshire Corridor in Los Angeles. In that young woman's bed. Atop her silk sheets. And she was enjoying him just as much as he was her, if her groans, gasps, sighs, snarls, groping hands and even perfectly manicured fingernails digging into his ass were to be believed.
Live porn! she thought. Not what'd she'd expected, that night, but fun.
His name was Michael Avery Malsby, and he was married with two children. That was all Carli really cared about knowing, because he was immaterial. The one who mattered on that bed was Anastasia Florencia Deveaux, better known as Stasi to any and all of her minions. Her, Carli knew just about everything about.
The little bitch.
To start, she was twenty-three years old, thirteen years younger than Carli. Five-seven. A hundred and ten pounds. Body by personal trainer, which meant actual strength was less than important; just had to look good. Which wasn't easy to do since her head was probably a size too big for the rest of her. As were her breasts. Oh, definitely enhanced by some upscale cretin in Beverly Hills. There was also the nose job, which was obvious, but did at least help the symmetry of her face. Her big, bad, baby-blue eyes carried more than a hint of cruelty in them, which really irritated Carli.
How could a man be attracted to someone like Stasi? Just the challenge of being the one able to handle her? All he usually found was he had way overestimated his prowess in that department.
Of course, none of that slowed Mikey down, and Stasi had shown a willingness to get as deep and dirty and hard at it as him. In fact, harder...as in, Faster, Buddy Boy, Fuck, Fuck. Which was hard to believe he could do.
And counter-productive.
Carli had learned many a year ago, fuck-faster was not the way to life's greatest pleasure. Not by a long shot.
Of course, going over Stasi's attributes meant comparing them to her own, but she had confidence enough in herself and her abilities not to let it wear her down. She was three inches taller, probably twenty-five pounds heavier, but in natural curves and unenhanced breasts as well as some good solid strength, thanks to her years in the army. She also had brown hair, dark eyes and lips that were the most kissable ever, according to the men she'd known. Of course, that might have been because she also knew how to take the...oh, art of sexual stimulation to the point of mind-numbing. Not just in the oral sense but also gynecological. Which was deliberate on her part. She wanted men to come back for more so she could accept or refuse them, as she chose.
So...watching Mikey at work, thinking what he was giving Stasi some good sex, Carli began to wonder if she should take him on to show him the path to true nirvana. The kind with so many serious, solid, strong, intense sensations that you wind up blind, for an instant, at the moment of climax. The kind that lifts you into the clouds and dances with you amongst the stars. If she did, he would never be interested in a superficial Barbi-doll like Stasi, again. He might even make a nice concubine.
Wait...what would the male version of a concubine be? Carli wondered. Concu-boy?
She almost chuckled at the thought, because she already had a couple of lads who could fit into that category. Something to look into, later.
Stasi would never build a harem of concu-boys. She was far too easily bored and superficial. In fact, Carli was surprised Mikey had joined with her, this evening. He was on the cusp of time to move on, so far as she was usually concerned. She must really think this humpity-humping crap he was doing was good sex. Weird.
But then...everything about Stasi was superficial and show-off-y. Consider the condo's interior design...all custom built and arranged to give one the impression of old money well-spent, but silver molding along the polished white ceiling? Silver lamé drapes flanking the sliding glass doors to the balcony? A six-inch deep carpet in black and white waves with a faux polar bear rug atop it? That was bad enough, but what really offended Carli's sense of taste was a massive shell-like headboard done in chrome and perfectly polished into such bright reflectability, it looked like a Debbie Does Dallas version of the mirror scene in The Lady From Shanghai, the way a half-dozen semi-angles of Mikey's ass moving up and down was reflected in them. Even the fucking sheets, comforter and duvet were silver. Just looking at it was hard to handle.
The only good aspect of the room was, it overlooked the basin, to the south. Far better than having the morning or evening sun blasting in against that headboard. Its reflections could whip up a fire as far away as Silver Lake.
Of course, the whole condo had that massive emphasis on silver. Dozens of photos of Stasi on the walls, held in silver frames. No plants to cut through the knife-like decor, and the only books were on coffee and end tables...all of which were dealing with black and white photos in polished silver bindings. A peasant’s version of what nouveau-riche looks like.
Daddy had built his multi-millions in real estate back in Arizona, straight out of his double-wide mobile home for the first ten years. Not that there was anything wrong with that. But he still wore ragged cowboy boots with his bespoke suits, and now had his twenty-six year-old trophy wife dressed in the latest of the latest styles ensconced in a penthouse on North Central, in Phoenix, and had bought himself a seat in the Legislature. And Stasi’s mom now played drunk golf in her khaki and turquoise ensembles outside her own very own condo-complex fronting an evergreen course that cost more to keep watered than interest payments on the national debt. All classless in the worst way, straight down the line.
Carli had cringed her way through the rooms, keeping them dark as she looked for the best spot to hide. Sneaking in had been no trouble. Despite its vaunted security system, Carli's baby brother, TF, was such a computer whiz...if that description was still used, today...he had been able to provide her with all the codes heeded to waltz right into the parking garage without being seen.
"The residents have fobs they use to get through," he had told her, "but if that's lost, they have passcodes to override them."
"Even the garage?" she had asked.
"That's a bug fixed on the car. It's automatic and the code is noted in their system. So fuckin' easy."
So fucking excellent. The only negative part was racing up twenty-five flights of stairs within a certain timeframe to get to Stasi’s floor. After a short text from Carli, TF had set those cameras to looping just long enough for her to make it. While she was in excellent shape, that was still more Stairmaster than she'd done in the last month.
"Damn me for slacking off," she'd grumbled at about level fifteen.
Fortunately, she knew Stasi would be out till late with Mikey, so she had time to find the keys to Stasi's Mercedes and then could just Zen until she heard the little bitch in the hallway. Which was less than an hour later.
Carli heard the main door open and the man, himself, said, "Y'know, Stasi, I don't need another drink...not right now..."
"Oh, are we in a hurry?" God, even that little bitch's tone was obnoxious.
Both had sounded a bit drunk with wine...and lust, if one went by the giggling and growling happening between them. So into the closet she went...then kept the door open enough to peek out and watch. Not because she wanted to see Stasi strip down; it was big, bad, buff Mikey she was interested in...for that, at least. And him doffing his shirt to reveal a well-pumped back...and shifting his pants down over dove-gray boxer-briefs that covered a surprisingly firm ass...then yanking the briefs off...he had lived up to Carli's imagination. Then he and Stasi had fallen on the bed...and he had started his bunny-humping against her.
This sudden plunge and fuck action would normally be a demerit, in Carli's book, but some good clenching action by his butt cheeks mitigated that. Add in the strong legs and fine hands, and how he’d focused his lips on her breasts and neck and kisses at the same time he was bopping up and down...his merits added up on the positive side, despite the fact that he was fucking around on his wife.
Carli had stopped caring about that sort of issue, long ago. She had come to see marriage as just a device for males to own females and not about equals. Especially since too damn many men followed the head on their dick instead of their shoulders. Which Stasi loved to use to her advantage. Not for money. No, Carli figured it was the power trip of fucking around with guys who were married. The belief there was no chance of commitment. She was out to have her fun with whoever she wanted, and the Don't-you-wanna-fuck-me image she presented would be hard for any pussy-hound to resist.
Of course, the moment a guy started getting too close, he'd get kicked to the curb.
So Carli gave Mikey a pass on that, because the more she saw of him at work, the more she also liked his potential. Strictly on a physical level, of course.
That is what made her decide to let him live.
No sense in wasting someone who might be fun to use, later. Might even meet cute to draw him into her sphere, since she was certain he was soon to be an unmarried man. Horn dogs like him who get dumped by their wives are easy pickin's. And there is lots of you I'd love to pick at, she told herself. But first things first. Let’s get it done, folks.
As in, finish up.
Today, okay?
Damn...another merit for Mikey was his staying power. Very few men lasted more than five minutes pumping in and out like he was, and they’d been at it for a good twelve. Not that Carli was keeping time. But watching this nonstop live porn was starting to affect her...oh, let’s just call it her emotional state. Which could detract from her goal. Not good.
But oh, Mikey’s ass. Mikey’s legs. Mikey’s back. Shifting and moving in the slashing shadows. Even the nape of his neck, so recently barbered and clean. Drifting into his shoulders. It...it was all so fucking hot, if Stasi had been a guy, too, that would have made it impossible to keep control.
Nothing like some gay porn to take a girl over the line.
Could it be that Stasi digging her nails into Mikey’s back and drawing blood was what slowed things down? Was that her way of making sure he took long enough to make her happy, too? Carli had never tried that, since she had her own little tricks...but hey, if it works...
Oh, good. He was going faster and faster. And Stasi was all but screaming. It was getting close.
Of course, that’s when a neighbor suddenly pounded on the wall, next door, howling, “Keep it down in there!” He was only barely audible but definitely trying to be heard. As expensive as the damn place was they could have added a tad more insulation during construction. Good walls make good neighbors, don’t ya know, to pervert a phrase.
In response, Stasi got louder. Screamed. Laughed. Dug her nails into Mikey’s lovely ass, making him howl.
Waves of desire crashed through Carli, and she almost sighed herself into an orgasm.
Faster he went, and faster and faster...until he gulped and jolted and grunted and slammed harder into her. Once. Twice.
Oh, yes, so very good, Carli thought. And here comes a third one. All puns intended. That is a most excellent sign. And what was better? Stasi drifted into all but purring.
Apparently, Mikey had taken care of her, too.
Carli took note; a little pain might mean lots of gain in the act of love. Yes, Mikey was definitely boy-toy material...
Of course, not now. First, she had to complete her plan of action.
She drew in a long, soft, deep breath. Let the sensual nature of the moment envelop her. Wondered how difficult it would be to work Mikey up, again, tonight? She knew she looked good, right then, even under the full-body onesie she was wearing. Granted, he wouldn't be able to see her lips, because they were hidden behind a balaclava. Still it might be fun to see what she could get away with, once she was done. Maybe take him with her?
Down twenty-five flights of stairs? Fireman style? Yeah, that's gonna happen.
Which brought a smile to her face. Was she actually contemplating a kidnapping and rape? She had to cover her mouth to fight back a laugh.
Forget it, Carli. Track the little bastard down, later.
Mikey finally rolled off Stasi, revealing his front was almost as nice as his rear. Abs soft in just the right way. Pecs solid and well-formed. A good face with features that would do well in an aftershave commercial. And a nice-sized erection that was in the process of dwindling. Oh, and praise the lord, no body-shaving. But no condom, either? Oh, that’s a demerit, you bad boy.
He lay flat on his back, still breathless and exhausted. Light trails of sweat whispered off his face and torso as he said, “Oh, shit, Stasi. I never met a girl could do what you do. Son-of-a-bitch.”
Meaning you’ve never had many girls.
Stasi ran her hands up and down her body, stroking breasts that were still pointed straight at the ceiling, they were so damn solid.
Did men really think that's how they were supposed to be? Seriously? God, men were born stupid.
Then Stasi traveled down her body to her thighs, saying, “You were...good.”
He laughed. “Comin’ from you, that’s a serious compliment."
"Don't be silly."
"No, I mean it. Never had a girl rate me like that.”
Wait till you hear my rating, hot stuff, Carli smirked.
Stasi looked at Mikey. “How many other girls have you been with?”
“None, since you.”
Obviously.
Stasi used her nails to toy with his left nipple...not really playing, considering how he inadvertently cringed. “Not even your wife?”
He rose to lean on one arm and look at her. Kiss her. More sweat trailing down his torso in ways that were so elegant and erotic. “That was never sex. Just another form of masturbation.”
Okay, Mikey, demerit time. Never diss the soon-to-be-ex.
Stasi giggled. “You’re a sick fuck.”
“I try.” He kissed her, again. “Would you marry me if I was free?”
Oh...Mike, Mike, Mike, big mistake. Huge. Massive!
Stasi jolted upright, sharp and sudden, startling him. “What the fuck’re you talkin’ about?”
“I...uh...it’s just...well, Melinda and me, we don’t love each other, anymore. I don’t think we ever did, really. It was more like her dad and my dad wanting to merge families, or some shit like that, so we got talked into it. Then we had the kids. Now they’re off to college. She’s going nuts trying to make herself look like she’s twenty, again, and it...it’s scary.”
Oh, shit, he’s around forty? He looks so much like he’s still down by thirty. Nice. Take away a demerit.
Stasi jumped from the bed and went to the balcony, saying, “Fuck, Mikey, why you gotta bring that shit up now? We’re havin’ fun. We were.”
“I am,” he said, rising to follow her. Rolling up to his feet like a cat rolls out of bed. Stretching then joining her outside. And he did have a nice shifting motion in his ass. Oh...and the sheets are wet. Another good sign.
But now they were both finally out of sight.
It was time.
Carli slowly, carefully, quietly opened the closet door. She slipped a police baton from a belt around her waist and got it ready. Moving soft enough to be totally silent, she found...
Stasi and Mikey looking out over the LA Basin’s glistening lights. An ocean of shimmering gold on black velvet under a clear sky. A gentle breeze whispering against the silver lamé drapes. It was all so-so romantic, like in a Woody Allen movie. Mikey embraced Stasi around the waist, from behind. “But wouldn’t it still be fun if...y'know...if you and me...?”
“Don’t you dare say that fuckin’ word, again,” she snapped. He caressed her shoulders.
“But I...I thought...”
She shrugged him off. “No, Mikey, you didn’t think. Men like you never do. Well, not with the head on your shoulders.”
True about that.
Carli drew closer, silent as death. The club at the ready. The two of them stood there, bathed in the glow of a half-moon, above.
“Stasi?” he said. “I want to be with you...”
She turned to him. “Mikey, I like you. I like fuckin' with you. But that’s it. And if you’re gonna get all possessive and demanding...then that is...it...and...”
And she looked straight at Carli. Her expression became confused, not startled. Frowning. Mouth opened. Obviously, seeing a black-clad figure approaching you from within your own bedroom just did not make sense.
Mikey noticed her gaze and started to turn, asking, “What is...?”
BAM!
Carli slammed the baton down on his head, sending him to the floor, unconscious. Before Stasi could even think to scream, Carli shoved her over the balcony’s railing.
She screamed then.
All the way down.
Twenty-five floors...
Until she slammed against the tiles next to the pool. Her blood sprayed the walls and stained the chlorinated water.
And that, as they say, was that...regarding Stasi.
Carli glanced Mikey over. For a moment, she considered sending him down after her, in honor of his wife. But he did make such a lovely picture, lying in the soft moonlight, naked. And the truth was he hadn't actually done anything to Carli, so he didn’t deserve to die. Not like Stasi did. Not for just fucking around.
She crouched down and pinched a nipple. It felt nice, with the hair soft around it. Then she fondled him. Noticed he had a mole on the left side of his dick. And his balls could have used another milking. But no time for that.
Dammit.
She sighed. Tossed the baton out over the balcony. Then she sent a text to TF. It's done.
She dug Mikey's wallet from his pants and checked his driver's license. Michael Avery Malsby. And he's thirty-eight? What the fuck, did his parents pimp him into that marriage, as a child? She found some business cards, so removed a glove and, using a fingernail dipped in his blood, wrote his address on one of them. Then she carefully put the wallet back in his pants before slipping out of the condo and back down the stairs to the garage.
She found Stasi's Mercedes convertible, quickly removed the license plates and put on a dealer tag, then put on a sun hat to hide her head, fired the car up and drove out of the garage without a hint of trouble.
She was curling onto The 405 when she saw TF's response, on her phone. Done.
Meaning, he'd have erased any trace of him having hacked their system, and he was damned good at covering his electronic tracks. No cause for concern, there.
In moments, she was driving east, down The 10.
Mikey was still unconscious when the building’s security crew found him, ten minutes later. Blood from the wound to his head stained the polar bear rug. Paramedics were called in and he was rushed to a nearby trauma center, where it was determined he had been struck from behind and had a severe concussion. He remained unconscious for three days and woke with no memory of what had happened.
They found the baton rolling in Stasi’s blood, next to the pool. Careful analysis showed it also had some of Mikey’s DNA on it, but no fingerprints. The blood had ruined any chance of finding them.
Security cameras showed no unknown person entering the premises. No one snuck down the hall to Stasi’s condo. The door showed no sign of forced entry...although her passcode had been used to enter at a time when no one was in the hallway. That just wasn't possible, so it must have been a glitch.
The closest they could come to any unusual activity immediately after she jumped was a silver and chrome Mercedes C Class convertible left the parking garage with a woman in a hat that covered her head driving, and nothing but an unreadable dealer tag on the trunk lid.
That raised some questions, because none of the guests had a car without regular license plates, but a survey of the residents brought no information to clarify that. And the car could not have gotten in or departed without the proper codes or entry fobs.
The only scenario the police could come up with regarding the death of Anastasia Florencia Deveaux was...in some fit of rage, she had clubbed Mikey, thought she killed him and jumped to her death. Neither her mother nor her father believed it, but search as they might, they could find no indication of anyone else in the condo. No fingerprints or DNA other than hers and Mikey’s. Nothing.
So...Stasi was consigned to that world of crazy females who get angry when a married boyfriend won’t divorce his wife...and tries to kill him...then does it to herself. Open and shut case.
At least, it was...until four days later.
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