The King In Yellow Ter Three

The King In Yellow Ter Three 1

. This is the third chapter of a story previously submitted as a full novel MARIE-CLAUDE'S SACRIFICE Pierre was the first to rise to his feet and signal to Alexandra to bring his coat.
“I must use the water closet before I face the night air” he said.
“Why not use this one?” asked Grigori, on cue.
Marie-Claude turned her head and regarded him through her thick lashes, gyrating her hips and parting her lips in anticipation as he opened his trousers.
“Why not indeed?” he replied and played a great stream of piss over her body, splashing onto her flanks and stomach and over her heaving breasts to finish on her bared throat and open mouth.
Marie-Claude turned her mouth to drink enthusiastically.
What she could not catch in her mouth streamed over her face and drenched her hair.
Grigori helped Pierre on with his coat and wished him goodnight.
The other members began to say their goodbyes; Alexandra hurried to and fro with coats and hats and each of them in turn stood over Marie-Claude to wash the spunk from her pale flesh with torrents of piss.
Finally, The Captain and his still-naked wife approached her together.
The Captain’s Wife straddled her head and gushed over her while The Captain aimed at her open crotch.
His jet drummed on her clit making her squirm and writhe.
Both then embraced Grigori as friends and he escorted them up the stairs to the door onto the street.
Alexandra had cleared everything away and mopped the floor; she stood naked with her hands at her sides, eyes downcast, waiting for orders.
“I’ll deal with the visitor and lock up” Grigori told her.
“I suppose you want to be paid”? She raised her eyes shyly and, at his nod, dropped quickly to her knees and freed his erection from his trousers.
He took her ebony curls in both his hands and guided her head up and down until at last she began to choke and frantically gathered up his spunk in her fingers to be sure of drinking it all.
Grigori released his grip and ruffled her hair like an uncle.
“On your way” he told her, “before your grandparents miss you”.
Her face was aglow as she pulled on her clothes and rushed off to catch the late tram.
Grigori was alone with the drenched and bruised Frenchwoman.
He poured himself his first drink of the night and sat down beside her.
“And now?” he asked.
“Do you want to become a house slave, like our college girl”? Marie-Claude lifted herself onto her elbows and replied.
“I have found the Yellow Sign”.
Grigori’s jaw clenched.
“Do not mock me” he warned her.
Sitting up, she took his hand in both of hers.
“Kill me” she said urgently.
“I know you are the one who will do it.
This is why I came to here”.
Grigori leant back and took a sip of wine, eyeing her shrewdly.
“Where have you come from?” he asked “And who are you? I don’t understand”.
She rolled off the table, went to where her coat still lay discarded on the floor and handed Grigori an envelope from the pocket.
He unfolded the newspaper cutting inside and began to read, then looked at Marie-Claude searchingly.
“I have seen this story in our Waldenstein newspapers.
” he said, thoughtfully.
“All of France is hunting for the actress Marie-Claude in the Alpes-Maritimes.
And you tell me that you are she”? She reached into her coat again and produced a passport and other documents.
“Only you know I am here in this country.
I am quite at your mercy” she said as he looked through them.
“Are you mad”? “When I came here to be hurt until I scream and swoon, and for your people to make use of me how they will, you do not ask me if I am mad” Marie-Claude replied.
She flicked wet hair out of her face and returned his stare.
“There is much money in that envelope; the notes are used.
I pay you…”.
Suddenly overcome with emotion, she caught her breath; her eyes closed and she pinched at her hard nipples, letting her head roll back.
“I pay you to butcher me” she moaned.
Kneeling at his feet she ran long fingers over her bleeding flesh, offering her body blatantly and wantonly, lost in a submissive reverie.
“You can have all of me” she begged “more than those others - more than you ever had a woman”.
Her tongue lapped slavishly at the toe of his shoe.
“I am less than a bitch,” she murmured, squirming on her belly and rubbing her striped thighs together, “I am meat”.
Abruptly Grigori rose to his feet, his mind made up.
“Follow me” he commanded and strode off to the back of the room where there was a closed and seemingly defunct door, painted over in the same shade as the brick walls.
He moved a table aside, unlocked the door, and stepped inside.
Marie-Claude rose to her feet and drifted after him, a faraway look in her eyes and a strange smile playing on her lips.
The hidden room was a jumble of chains, ropes and an array of torture implements – implements from the interrogation rooms of Waldenstein’s evil past, not from the sex shops of the present day.
As Marie-Claude looked around in wonder Grigori grabbed her shoulders and pushed her back against the wall.
He took her wrists and she held her arms above her head while he locked them into cuffs bolted to the brickwork.
She shuffled her feet apart obediently so that he could secure her ankles.
Spread-eagled, she chewed on her lower lip and flared her nostrils.
Her eyes were deep, black pools as she watched Grigori strip the clothes from his trim, muscular body, fold each garment carefully, and place them outside of the room.
He returned her gaze for a time in silence then went over to a basket containing a variety of weapons and tools.
He turned back to Marie-Claude with a short, broad sword in his fist.
“This is called a braquemard,” he said, “and there is a curious story about its origins”.
She pressed herself towards him.
“Le masque livide” she sighed and Grigori looked deep into her eyes, gently stroking the hair from her cheek while stabbing the blade into her groin and slicing upwards, his muscles straining with the effort, until she was laid open from crotch to chest.
Her intestines slid, wetly steaming, down their legs to the floor and she let out a long, liquid groan.
Still watching her face closely, he tilted her chin up, put the edge of the sword to her throat, and slashed through her jugular at the moment he judged she was losing consciousness.
Blood gushed over his naked body and with a great shout he seized Marie-Claude’s arse and drove his raging cock into her sopping cunt, riding her hips in frenzy until his legs buckled and he slid to the dusty floor fainting at the intensity of his passion.
“Then I lost my senses and left the door unanswered for so long that they broke through a roof-light and found me with her remains” the testimony ended.
Katya set the papers down as she finished reading, and both women sat in silence.
“Her death - it was like something from a nightmare” said Dana, distractedly “or from a dream”.
She sat back and ran a hand to and fro through her short, blonde hair.
“So, I mean, I would base the victimology on an analysis of the subject’s pathological algolagnia...” she began.
Katya interrupted her.
“I know” she said, leaning in and resting her chin on her hand.
“It was intense.
The monomania - her disorder - it was intense”.

Source:Internet