AUTHOR’S NOTE: The following contains adult situations and languages. If you are not of legal age (ala eighteen) get out now!
Barbara Mentor sat on the blanket. Beneath her she could feel the sandy from the beach spreading out, deepening to form-fit the contours of her knees, shins and feet. Five feet away was Zack, the photographer for this shoot. He was fiddling with his camera with a caution resembling an archeologist handling a priceless specimen. To her right, just out of camera range was Roger, Zack’s assistant who was clutching a round disc covered in a foil-like, space age material. His job, or so she’d been told was to reflect the faint rays of the moon onto her body for better lighting. In reality his job apparently was to ogle, drool and fantasize about her. He was fat-faced, having basset hound-like jowls which quivered and shook when he spoke.
What kind of pigs do this for free? Well, I guess I know that answer now, Barbara said to herself, trying to keep the smile on her face.
Thinking back to the phone call last week Barbara knew this could be her big break, a once-in-a-lifetime offer to grace the cover of a new magazine. A first issue nonetheless. It would probably end up a collector’s edition and she would be eternally remembered as the first model on the cover. But there were no guarantees. The magazine could flop—just another periodical failing to live up to its hype and not finding a niche in the marketplace.
But Zack swore this wasn’t the case. From what he said this is a first in the world of magazines!
She’d done a bit of research before agreeing to the photographer’s offer. There were, as one could imagine millions of magazines dedicated to the country’s (even the world’s) obsession with the supernatural. But none of them came close to what Zack had told her about the publisher’s intentions to capture subscribers. Innovation was rare in the business. Copies of copies flooding the stands (or on the Net) of the same old thing were out there. Imitation was the sincerest form of flattery but after a while it became too much. Like trying to listen to thirty radio stations it became a hodgepodge of imagination devoid of noise.
But not this one.
Moonlight Magazine wasn’t anything like the periodicals she found on the Web or the bookstores. While gothic magazines (from the bizarre to the tame) could be subscribed to this one didn’t show any signs of its more common brethren. First off, it was funded by a major Hollywood actress. Debbie McCain, the brunette bombshell of the Slaughter Isle franchise (there were now six flicks out) had put up the cash for it. Known as the Scream Queen Deluxe, McCain reputation in Tinsel Town was spotless—both on and off the silver screen. Her first director proclaimed her, “The best talent I’ve had the pleasure of directing” while others remarked about how “natural the camera enjoyed her”. The second difference was the magazine’s dedication to only the best horror writing tinged with “just a kiss of erotica”. Big names were penning tales for Moonlight.
Zack, finishing up his adjustments to his precious camera began to survey the surroundings, ponder the lighting and begin to bark out orders. Roger All-Eyes (as Barbara began to think of him) was shifting around, slinking into another position with his porcine eyes still pegged to Barbara’s bikini-clad figure.
“Okay,” Zack said, “Barbie untie your top and twist about thirty degrees towards the camera. Hold it so it doesn’t fall off all the way.”
“Zack,” she replied, “don’t call me Barbie. How many times do I have to tell you that?”
“Sorry, sorry I keep forgetting. Just do what I want, babe. This is going to be fun-tastic!”
Gritting her teeth at the mangling of the word fantastic, something Zack was prone to say Barbara began tugging off her tiny, blue top. Looking over at the fat, squatting form of Roger he began to resemble some hideous mixture of a Doctor Seuss illustration and a lifetime subscriber to Hustler magazine. Trying not to glare at the pervert she undid the strings of her top, catching it before her breasts were fully exposed.
“Great!” Zack said, “hold that pose!”
Jumping around like he had been kicked in the groin, Zack began snapping off pictures. Barbara held her position, ignoring Roger’s leering.
“Okay, put the top aside—twist away from me and give me a pouting, almost embarrassed look, Barbie.”
Choking back the urge to repeat her request about her name, Barbara did as she was instructed. Zack was leaping and hopping, going from standing to squatting positions the photographer cheering and complimenting her as he worked.
“Great! Oh, that’s super fun-tastic!” Zack said, oblivious to his ramblings.
“Yer so hot,” Roger said in a thick muttering voice as if he had just swallowed something thick and gooey.
“Shut up, pervert,” she whispered without moving her lips. Her ire was growing weed-like from the way the man was staring.
“Damn, we’re losing the light,” Zack said in a grumpy tone. “I guess this will have to do.”
“What do you mean?” she inquired, the shoot was ending way too soon.
“Got the before pics… now gotta shoot the during and after shots.”
“I told you… Moonlight Mag is different.”
“I don’t… hey, who the hell are… oh my god! Y-you’re Debbie McCain!”
Barbara hadn’t seen the horror movie star walk up but there McCain was in all her dark haired glory.
I’m not gay—but damn! She thought.
Debbie McCain was tall, gorgeous and possessing a figure too perfect to be real. She was wearing a simple dress, purple in color. Around her waist and propping up her chest (not that they needed it) was a black corset with lavender frills and lacing. Debbie’s dark eyes were deep liquid pools and Barbara was reminded of the well on her dad’s farm. Gazing at McCain’s eyes was just like that. Cool and faraway like the glimmer of water at the bottom of a well. But her smarts showed through amid all the beauty. Her intelligence was hidden yet not. Resembling some secret hidden in plain sight, only someone observant (and Barbara considered herself to be this way) would notice it.
It’s in her eyes you can see it, Barbara said to herself.
“This is our first cover girl?” Debbie said.
“Yes, what do you think?” Zack said.
“She’s pretty… she has a vulnerable look to her and that’s perfect.”
“So you approve?”
“Most definitely… you’ve done well, Zack.”
“You’ve earned your paycheck.”
“I’m so happy… I can’t tell you…”
McCain’s movements, supple and swift cut Zack’s sentence off short when she put her finger to his lips. Barbara saw the magazine’s financial backer glance over at her. Still sitting on the blanket, still hiding her nipples with her hands Barbara watching the other woman smile sent a shockwave of hot electricity throughout her body.
She came over, walking as if gliding across the sand. Her feet not sinking into it, or not at least to the depths which Roger, Zack and herself had. Just indentations like footprints near the ocean line washed away by two or more waves.
“You’re a pretty one,” Debbie said, touching Barbara’s face as she knelt in front of her. The gasp was more of a sigh when it oozed past Barbara’s lips from the woman’s caress.
“Thank you,” Barbara said, her voice sounding far off.
“Yes, you’ll do so very nicely…”
“Of course, darling… of course.”
Barbara words tumbling out of her mouth like drunken clowns exiting a carnival car when McCain’s fingers began stroking her left nipple. She flinched away at first. Then, without thinking about it Barbara was leaning into the light caress. The view of the woman’s face narrowing from Barbara’s half-closed eyes. The touch was like velvet pleasure. As if the sensation could be woven into a soft fabric lightly charged with static electricity.
“So excitable,” McCain said, her voice a throaty coo.
Barbara looking down saw the nipple between Debbie’s fingers had grown erect. When she saw the other hand of the woman reach out for her right breasts Barbara, to her surprise found herself leaning towards it.
“Aaaaah,” Barbara said with a groan.
“Soft… aroused… glorious,” McCain whispered.
Barbara’s began to feel like she was drowsing on a raft in the pool. Her skin heating up as if from the sun’s rays beating down on her. It wasn’t until she tasted peppermint did Barbara realize Debbie McCain, the Scream Queen Deluxe was kissing her.
McCain’s fingers were past Barbara’s bikini bottom, caressing, teasing and pressing against the wet, warm delights in Barbara’s nether region. Dipping in, stopping only to swirl in lazy, light circles Debbie’s fingers stroking the inner walls of Barbara’s pussy.
I didn’t even feel her hand leave my tit, Barbara mused.
Debbie’s prolonging kiss heating up Barbara’s body had yet to be broken. When the starlet’s hand departed her nipple to curl around her back Barbara moaned in Debbie’s mouth. In and out, swirl and stroke, kiss and be kissed became so alluring, mesmerizing Barbara could only enjoy it.
“You are perfect…,” McCain said in a husky voice after pulling away her seductive mouth.
“Yes,” Barbara said, her tone sounding drawn out with a “don’t stop” tone to it. The way the woman was affecting her, despite not being a lesbian hardly seemed to matter. McCain was doing it, that seemed to be the only thing which mattered.
“Oooohhh…. Yyyyesss,” Barbara said with a loud moan when Debbie began nuzzling her neck. Far in the background, a million miles away she could hear the snap-wind of Zack’s camera, the gasping breathing of Roger the Pervert. But none of this, nothing in the world could annoy or anger Barbara at this moment.
“Ah!” she said, her voice a quick, raised expulsion of breath. Hot points grew like flowers on her neck. Debbie was slurping, kissing and licking the now sensitive flesh on the side of Barbara’s throat. The pain diminishing like the dying refrains of a thunderclap’s echo. Rippling and crinkling down to nothing it went.
I smell… blood? She thought. The iron-rich scent curling up into her nostrils sparking a tremor of fear. The gulping jerks of Debbie’s throat giving Barbara rapid-fire ideas of what was happening.
“No!” she shouted, trying to pull away. No amount of pussy stroking would bring her back to her previous, hypnotized state. Icy fear replacing the hot passion she’d felt moments before.
“Get… off… me!” Barbara shouted. Finding her strength futile against McCain’s steel banded arms Barbara began screaming for help. Sharp teeth gnashing against her throat sent more agony across Barbara’s neck.
“Zack! Get this crazy bitch off of me!”
“Hardly,” he replied.
“No, no, no you’ve got to stop… it hurts… it hurts so bad!”
“Easy now,” Debbie said softly, as the cold tiredness began emulating from Barbara’s neck. Weaker and weaker, like the frantic thrashings of a drowning sailor Barbara beat against her foe. Her eyelids felt like closing garage doors—and she didn’t have possession of the remote. Her hips, the traitor’s they were still bucking against Debbie’s quickening fingers. Before the darkness swept over Barbara her orgasm drained the remainder of her strength.
“How do you like them?” Zack asked Ms. McCain. They were looking at the downloaded pictures from his camera on the lap top. Seated in Zack’s SUV he watched Ms. McCain’s eyes caressing the images.
“Perfect… a grand layout for our first issue,” Ms. McCain said, ignoring the snapping of bone and the smacking the ghoul Roger’s lips. Barbara’s body was being disposed of.
“And my payment?”
“Immortality? When you complete your contract with us. I believe you have another twelve issues.”
“Yeah… that’s right.”
“Reality, that’s what our readers want—and that’s exactly what they’ll get. Real pictures, real death and real beauties.”
Zack found himself repressing a shudder of fear.