I am a very bad man, thus in a sense none of this should have come as a surprise. When one makes a “living” out of killing, karma is bound to catch up eventually. Even so, if you had given me a thousand chances to guess how it would all end, I would never have landed on this.
When I learned that my target was a “Goddess” I actually laughed. That was how far gone I was. Murdering a divinity seemed like kicks. Something new for the scrapbook.
Not that it made all that big an impression. It was a passing thought. A giggle, like when you notice a funny typo in the newspaper, forgotten almost as soon as it registers. I only remark on it now because of the subsequent irony. But as I entered her house I wasn’t thinking about blasphemy or idol-smashing. It was just another job. A paycheck.
It didn’t bother me that I heard signs of stirring as I crossed her living room. In my line of work one encounters a lot of night owls- both clients and marks. Few people expect the grim reaper to come calling, so I felt secure I would have the drop on her. Yes and no, as it turned out.
She jumped, startled, as I entered the bedroom. But she didn’t scream. That was the first sign that I was in trouble, but I didn’t recognize it. Anyone who remains that poised when a stranger dressed in black enters her bedroom at 3 AM should not be taken lightly. Under other circumstances I might have realized that, but I was also taken unawares. Though I had seen pictures, I wasn’t prepared for how sexy she is in person. She was naked except for a silk nightgown, her long golden hair in elegant disarray. The swell of her breasts was accentuated by the sheer material of her gown, and its short cut left her legs mouth-wateringly bare.
Ordinarily I would have led off with a command, like “Don’t make a sound,” but I was too distracted. She spoke first. “Who are you?” she asked.
“Never mind,” I replied gruffly. “You don’t need to know who I am. You just need to do what I say.”
“Are you here to rob me?”
“Yes,” I lied. When the mark is awake it is always wise to lull them into a false sense of security. Maneuver them into position, choose the spot and the moment that will produce the least noise, the least mess.
“I see.” Her tone suggested that she did see, and was not buying it. I should have closed the deal right there, that was my last chance. But I let her go on talking.
“You can have anything you like,” she continued, her voice velvety and lush like rich cream, her cadence measured and deliberate. “There is a safe over by the window. All of my cash and some jewelry is in there. There is some jewelry in the enameled box on my vanity table. But that is not what you are here for, is it?”
“No,” I replied, my gaze transfixed by her luminous green eyes.
“You’ve come here to kill me.”
“Yes,” I said, without thinking.
“How interesting!” As she said these words a smile lit up her face like a clear summer day, making her even more beautiful. “You must know,” she went on, her tone relaxed and didactic, “I am Goddess Marquesa. In some religions any sustained and powerful feeling for the Goddess, not just love, but fear, even hatred, is taken as equal to devotion. In those terms, by coming to kill me you make yourself one of my most passionate worshippers.”
As she spoke, without noticing I became progressively more relaxed. By the time she reached the word “worshippers” my muscles had become so slack that they wouldn’t bear my weight. I fell to my knees.
“What’s happening?” I asked, my voice slurred.
“I’m hypnotizing you, pet,” she replied. “My face. My body. My voice. They have been working on you since you walked in the door. Surely you must have felt it?”
“Yes,” I confessed, my eyelids drooping.
“Show me what you planned to kill me with.”
I drew my knife from the scabbard tucked into the back of my pants and held it up for her to see.
She whistled. “Oh, that is a wicked instrument. Give it to me.”
Taking it by the blade, I handed it over to her. She grasped its handle and leaned over me, enveloping me in her perfume and working the knife at my waist, below my line of sight. I remember thinking that she might disembowel or castrate me, but I could not summon the will to stop her. When she straightened again my pants and underwear fell to floor, my belt and waistband sawed through.
“What is your name?” she asked.
“James ____,” I replied, speaking my real name aloud for the first time in more than twenty years.
“Look at me, James,” she commanded. I did. As my eyes focused on her, she let her nightgown fall from her shoulders, and stood before me naked. I gasped. Even if she had not commanded, I could not have taken my eyes off of her. “Breathtaking” has become a cliché, but as my eyes caressed her face and body I literally could not breathe. My nipples and cock became erect. My pupils dilated. My heart palpitated, as if a ghostly hand had reached into my chest and squeezed it tightly.
“That’s it, pet,” she cooed. “Keep looking. Show me how I make you feel.”
I began to tremble. Subtly at first, but with increasing force, until it felt like I was experiencing my own private earthquake. I heard someone speaking, then realized it was me. “So beautiful….Oh God….so beautiful…oh….Oh!” I had begun to orgasm from the sight of her. It was like nothing I had experienced before: more intense than any climax I had ever felt, but slow…sustained. Cum oozed from my cock in a steady, measured stream, puddling on the floor before my kneeling form like offerings on an altar.
“Whom do you worship?” she asked.
“You, Goddess,” I gasped, every nerve electrified, my soul euphoric.
“That’s right,” she declared. “Now tell your Goddess…who sent you?”
Somewhere in the back of my mind I knew it was a death sentence for me to answer, but I could not resist. “Mistress X, Goddess. She is jealous of You. Her envy led her to the syndicate I work for.”
“Very good, pet,” She replied, holding out Her hand. “You may show your devotion.”
The continuing orgasm made it hard to control my limbs, but somehow I managed to take Her hand and press it to my lips.
“Sleep now,” She commanded. I did.
I woke up twelve hours later in an alley on the other side of town, my pants tied with an old piece of rope. I don’t know how I got there. By that time I was doomed. Mistress X had mysteriously decided to turn herself in, providing the police with my name and the syndicate for whom I worked.
They have been on my trail ever since. I made it to this cheap motel room, but I won’t get any farther. The bullet wound that my colleague gave me will finish me in a few hours. My only regret is that I won’t see Her again. Whoever finds this, please tell Goddess Marquesa that my last thought was of Her. In whatever hell I’m headed for, I’ll be on my knees, praying to Her. Forever.