The Chosen Few

Footsteps were the only noise to be heard for miles as David Cohen walked purposefully along the road. No one else was about and the streets he walked along seemed abandoned – like a ghost town. His footsteps sounded quite alien against the silence, and the contrast made David feel uneasy. Though he knew that there was no good reason why he should be, he preferred the anonymity of a crowd and thus the calm made him feel open- exposed. He had always been one who enjoyed the company of friends as opposed to the solitude of being alone. He disliked his own company, going as far as to equate spending time without others as loneliness and made him feel alienated. The stillness unnerved him for another reason. He had a nagging feeling that he was being watched that he just couldn’t shake. He knew it was ludicrous, but it remained nonetheless.

Though his fear of isolation was acute, he could ignore it, as he knew that the situation was by no means permanent. He would be back within his circle of friends later. It was the second reason that remained. He had an important position in society and felt as though people were watching him; judging him no matter what he did. He was an MP. Not the most important job in the world, but he brought forward several important proposals, and some controversial ones, and – for the last year or so – had featured predominately in the news. It had wreaked havoc with his nerves, and was often on edge, worrying that an off hand remark could be overheard, misconstrued then used against him.

His nervousness was justified, as he had had a string of affairs over the years and had been seeing prostitutes for just as long. In fact, that was his current destination. Some people may have felt a need to visit prostitutes because they lacked the confidence to have sex that didn’t need payment. That was not the case with David. He did it because it gave him more of an adrenaline rush. He had no problems with confidence or failures in sexual matters, and his beautiful wife ten year younger than him and the many mistresses he’d had were testament to that. Neither did he have issues about his looks. He looked younger than his age, and only slight grey hair around his temples and faint wrinkles betrayed his true age. However, when on some people those features would have made him look older, on him they made him look distinguished.

His motives for having sex with prostitutes was because of how it was seen by society – as illicit and seedy – that made it seem all the more desirable. It was a huge risk, his social standing being what it was, but each woman he was with would be paid were for her silence, and he kept the numbers to a minimum, so they knew that if they kept their mouths shut, they’d make more money with him than from selling their story. Also, part of the reason for them keeping quiet was that many were wooed by David’s charisma. As time went on they grew to like him to a point were they did not want to tell the media about his exploits. This was fortunate for David, but the risk of being caught (though foolish) made him want to do it all the more.

The main thing he disliked about the experiences were the lengths he was forced to go to avoid discovery. To invite a woman to his hotel room would be careless to the point of outright stupidity. He was forced to walk though none too salubrious neighbourhoods as he was doing now, where, although there was no more chance of him being recognised than in a more upmarket area, it was an aspect which he disliked and almost deterred him completely.

It wasn’t too significant an issue, and that was why he was continuing with his sordid exploits. As he neared his destination, he felt the familiar increasing heartbeat and tension that came as it always did. This feeling was almost a substitute for the sex itself. Not quite, though. It heightened the pleasure he got from sex, and it made it worth the risk.

He had been so preoccupied by trying to push away all feelings of paranoia, he arrived at his destination quicker than he had expected. Next to the door was a series of buttons with the occupants of the flat written next to them on faded cards behind dirty plastic covers. The names were unreadable, but it didn’t matter, as David knew which button to press. The same one as always. The third one down. He pressed the button, and a moment later, he heard a buzz and the door opened slightly. He pushed it open, and stepped into the hallway. He had been here enough times that it was familiar to him, but he had no desire to stay there, so he began to climb the stairs.

He climbed the stairs to the third floor and hesitated. He always felt a twinge of paranoia at this point, as if a roomful of paparazzi were on the other side of the door. He knew it was irrational, but it was there anyway. His knock pushed the door open as it had not been locked, and behind it stood the most beautiful woman that David had ever seen. Not just beautiful in the conventional sense, but the kind of beauty that only a goddess wouldn’t feel jealous about. David knew he was staring, open mouthed, in amazement, but at this point, he didn’t care. He was entranced.

She stood confidently yet somewhat demurely in the centre of the middle of the room, her legs slightly apart, and her hands by her side. David’s eyes roamed down her body, taking in every detail. Her silky, shoulder-length, dusky-brown hair seemed almost weightless as it moved so easily with her every movement. She wore black horn-rimmed glasses, which could have given her an almost bookish look, but instead seemed like an attempt to disguise her blatant sexuality which only served to make her look even more attractive. She slowly traced her bottom lip with her index finger, and David felt an urge deep inside him, an intense lust, more powerful than he had ever felt before, till it seemed almost a white-hot intensity.

His gaze lowered once more, at her tight white blouse-with only one button undone, which seemed all the more erotic by what it concealed. Below it, she wore a black and white plaid skirt over her slender thighs, which ended several inches above her knees. Still further down were her long, supple legs, and her feet-almost on tiptoes because of the bright red high heels she wore.

She beckoned for him to come closer, and he did so, almost completely oblivious to what he was doing, unable to look away from her. As he neared, she stepped forward, and widened her stance slightly. They stood for a moment, looking each other, and David felt his heart pound in his chest, unable to abide the tension, his lust unbearable.

They both stepped forward, and began to kiss with a frenzied passion, as though they had wanted this for an age, as opposed to the few minutes they had known each other. He reached up to touch her as they kissed, but she broke away, knocking his hand from her. She looked at him; her eyes filled with sheer desire, grabbed hold of his shirt, and pulled him close once more.

She tore off her blouse with one quick motion, the buttons flying off and rolling on the floor around them. Only a black bra concealed her breasts from him, and it was all David could do not to tear it from her. She reached around her back and unhooked it, letting it fall to the floor her breasts bouncing slightly as they were freed. They resumed kissing, his hands caressing her breasts. He knew he was fumbling, but didn’t care. Again she pulled away.

Her hands glided over her thighs, her eyes closed as if in a trance. She drew her skirt higher, which revealing the top of her legs. David knelt down and removed her skirt, then gently pulled her legs apart. She let out a soft moan as he lowered his head and began to kiss the insides of her thighs. He moved her thong to the side, and kissed her there, his hand sliding up her thigh to join him as he did so. He slid his fingers into her, and she groaned with desire, and then replaced them with his tongue. She pulled him to his feet, and she began to breathlessly tug off his shirt, which was already damp with sweat. She undid the final button, and threw it to the floor, where it joined the rest of her clothes. She then reached down and began to unbuckle his belt, then let his trousers descend with no assistance. Once he stepped out of them, she pulled down his boxers, revealing his penis, which was erect almost to the point of causing him pain. She took his hand and led him to the bedroom.

They lay next to each other for a brief moment, then continued. They began to kiss again, their hands all over each other. He lowered his hand, and slowly pulled down her panties, the fabric sliding easily down her tanned legs, which were slick with sweat. He tugged them away from her feet, and let them drop on the bed.

She pushed him over onto his back, and straddled his hips. She raised herself slightly and guided his penis into her, letting out a fervent moan as he entered her. She pushed deeply onto him, grinding down on his manhood. David moved round so he was on top of her, and resumed. She quickly wrapped her legs around his hips to push him further, deeper inside her. She cried out urgently without realising it as he slid out and thrust it into her again. She arched her back, her pussy tightening around his penis, and cried out with desire and dug her nails into his back and shoulders, both of them oblivious to it- oblivious to everything outside the two of them. She met his every thrust by pushing back against him, increasing the pleasure for them both.

Sweat was pouring off both of them, their motions sending it flying away. They neared orgasm, and he pulled out fully, then thrust hard into her, making her gasp. She tightened her legs around him as he climaxed, holding him closer, driving him deeper, and she gripped the edges of the bed so tightly her knuckles were white and she screamed as wave after wave of pleasure washed over her. He felt her shudder as she came, then she opened her legs to release him, and David withdrew slowly, then fell back on the bed and laid next to her, their chests heaving.

He rolled over slightly to look at her and gazed into her hazel eyes. ‘I don’t even know your name.’

She laughed. They had been so intimate, and had felt a connection, while actually knowing nothing about each other. ‘Jenny. What’s yours?’

‘David.’ He said, still out of breath.

They both laid on the bed for a while, not saying a word, enjoying the stillness, replaying the moment in their minds. Jenny could feel David’s semen slowly trickle out of her but she did nothing, not wanting to break the silence. She reached under the bed, groped around blindly, and eventually her fingers found what they had been searching for.

David closed his eyes, and just listened to his heartbeat. He was sure that if there was such a thing as ‘The One’, then she was it. It was not something he could put his finger on, but he knew it was real. Jenny was special. He hoped she felt the same way.

Jenny hid her hand behind her body. When David had closed her eyes for a while, she lifted it up, high above him.

She gripped it tightly, then brought the butcher knife down, stabbing David in the groin. He sat up quickly, ready to scream with pain, but she quickly covered his mouth with her hand. Before he could push her away, she stabbed him again and again, blood spraying from his crotch, drenching Jenny and himself. She sat up to get better support, then stabbed him again, the knife cutting deep into his scrotum, and piercing his right testicle. He pushed her away, the adrenalin giving him strength. As he turned away from her, the blood spray caught Jenny in the face, blinding her momentarily. As she stopped to wipe it away, David was already on his feet and running for the door, one hand grabbing his groin, blood gushing over his wrist and through his fingers, and splashing on the ground. His face was contorted with agony and fear, as he screamed, cursed and wept, his tears mixing with his blood. ‘Fuck! Fuck!’ He stumbled over his own feet in his mad panic, not helped by the blood on his soles, but quickly righted himself.

By now Jenny had got to her feet. She picked up the butcher knife – now wet with blood - and chased after David. Close behind him, she lashed out with the knife, cutting his back, but not doing enough damage to slow him. She let out a primal scream and leapt for him again, stabbing the knife hard into his back, just below his right shoulder. Her weight brought him to the floor. David went to push her off him, but in doing so let go of his wounds, and blood began to jet out of his crotch again. His strength ebbing, David’s resistance was useless, but he tried valiantly nonetheless. The slashes of the knife sliced through the skin of his hands, causing bloody lacerations, and David’s resistance all but stopped.

Jenny stood over David, and watched him, shaking with pain and fear, the blood that spurted out in jets from his wounds onto her crotch and chest. She squatted down till she was straddling his chest. She raised the knife her above her head then plunged it deep into his belly. She left it there. He screamed as he died, and she pressed her mouth against his - kissing him deeply, moaning into his mouth as he screamed into hers. When he died, she felt the familiar (but no less frenzied because of it) feeling of life energy joining hers. As she felt the power flow through her with a great intensity, she bucked on top of David’s corpse. She lowered her hand underneath herself and began to masturbate voraciously, quickly bringing herself to an intense orgasm before the life energy ceased to enter her. She collapsed on top of his body, and fell into a peaceful sleep.

Jenny awoke four hours later, refreshed but sticky as she was covered almost head to toe with David’s blood, saliva or semen. She walked over to the bathroom, cringing slightly as her feet stuck to the floor, and her thighs stuck together as she walked. As she went in, she stopped suddenly, catching her reflection in the mirror. She looked so much better than she had this morning. She had looked so drab, so lifeless, but now she looked so alive. Her skin looked clearer, her hair had never looked better. She looked radiant. She looked years younger than she had hours ago. If violent murder would make her look this good, she’d have to do it more often.

She climbed into the shower, and turned it on, gasping when the ice-cold water hit her. She had been kept warm by the blood and sweat, so the water seemed much colder by comparison. The water quickly warmed up, and she stood still for a moment with her eyes closed, imagining that the warm water was dark-red blood washing over her. She began to wash herself, her eyes still closed, the murder running through her head, reliving the feeling of David’s life energy rushing through her. Once she was clean, she stepped out, dried off, and got dressed. She looked around the apartment, and whistled in amazement at the mess. Blood was spattered on every surface in the bedroom and living room, and some had even made its way into the kitchen.

She went to the kitchen table, where she had left her mobile, dialled the number she had been given the day before, and waited. Eventually it was picked up, and a deep gravely voice answered.

‘Who’s calling?’ She could tell the voice was distorted, in case the police - or anyone for that matter – had got hold of the phone.

‘It’s Jenny. Jenny Bates. I’ve finished the job.’

‘Good. Was it done where it was supposed to be done?’

‘Yes.’

‘Will it need to be cleaned?’

Jenny looked around the apartment - the corpse in a pool of blood, and blood all over the walls – and smiled. ‘Yeah. A lot.’

‘Were there any witnesses?’

‘No, but someone in the other apartments may have heard something.’

The person on the other end hung up, so she picked up her handbag, and left the apartment, all the while whistling the theme-tune to a show she couldn’t remember the name of. She was now four hours late for work, so there was little point going in. The rest of the day was hers, and it had certainly got off to a good start.