Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience.
 
 Copyright 2006 Rachael Ross all rights reserved Story Codes: F/g, M/f,
incest, pedo, violent, snuff
   This story is composed of multiple parts and chapters.
   The Witch - Chapter 1 By Rachael
   Part 1: San Francisco
   His name was Istanbul, but everyone called him Stan, for the obvious
reason.  Stan wasn't Turkish or anything; he was a perfectly ordinary white
guy.  Sort of.  His IQ was somewhere around 180, but he tempered his genius
with chemicals.  Lot's of them, mostly stuff he invented himself in the
labs at Stanford.  Professor Stan of Stanford had been born a generation
too late, a fact he often lamented when we were alone in the dark.
   "I was born too fucking late." Stan was bathed in sweat; he'd turned off
his air conditioner a week before the hottest summer on record hit northern
California.  He was trying to turn his condo into a greenhouse.
   His bedroom was the living room, because all the other rooms were being
used for something else.  We slept and ate and fucked in that one place and
that was more than a little convenient.
   "Mmmmm..." I rolled off of him, feeling his shrinking penis slip out of
me.  That was my usual response and more than he required.
   "I bet there wasn't a single fucking condom at Woodstock." He was
peeling the rubber off his cock.  "People got a bug it didn't kill them."
   "It's not the bugs I'm worried about, Stan." He hated wearing a condom,
especially since we'd been together almost three months, as if that were a
long time.  I guess for him it probably was, but I couldn't see any girl
sticking around for much more than that.
   "Yeah, yeah..." He muttered and I could see he was unhappy.  His cloudy
blue eyes were closed and his thin lips were pressed together, as if they
were a just a rumor.  He wasn't bad looking, but not really my type.  The
goatee he sported, poorly trimmed at best, made him look like a young Lenin
with hair.
   I stood up, stretching in the weird bluish-green lights that he used to
grow his plants, just to remind him of why he kept me around.  He was never
cheerful, even after the best fucking of his life, but I needed him relaxed
at least.
   My own skin, turned olive brown by genetics more than the sun, gleamed
with perspiration.  I ran my hands through my short black hair first,
feeling it damp and stringy between my fingers, then down my small firm
breasts and across the flat of my stomach.  Stan liked girls, not women, so
I'd shaved my sex and kept it that way.  The effect, to my mind, was of a
child-whore from Tijuana and I was vaguely uncomfortable with it, but the
effect on Stan was everything I wanted.
   "Fuck, you're sexy." He stared at me and I pushed my pelvis out
slightly, giving him a good look at the small but swollen lips of my labia,
puffy from the excitement of a few minutes before.  "Like you're fucking
twelve."
   I smiled for him, pretending it was the compliment he intended and
ignoring the fact that I was feeding a pedophile's fantasy.  I'd been doing
that ever since I'd been born, or at least reborn.  I slipped a finger
inside my vagina slowly, distracting him just enough so I could ask:
   "What time is your friend coming?" I sounded sexy, small and innocent,
just a little girl asking for more candy.
   "About eleven." Stan licked his lips and moved a hand down to his cock,
massaging it gently, wishing it hard again.  That wouldn't take long; Stan
popped Viagra like it was Dynamints.  It wasn't that he was that old, he
wasn't, just 41 and a few months.  The problem was all the other shit he
did.
   "We have time." I breathed.  "If you want..."
   Stan glanced at the clock on the wall, one of those novelty kinds that
ran counter-clockwise, numbered upside down and backwards.  It gave me a
headache.
   "No." He shook his head.  "You gotta get out of here." He said the
words, but he didn't mean them, I could tell.
   I turned around a little, slipping a finger between the rounded globes
of my ass.  It was all sex for Stan, something I hadn't really appreciated
at first.  I'd tried to be his friend, in the beginning, his ally and
accomplice, a confidant, but he wasn't interested in any of that.  All he
wanted was sex and he couldn't say no.
   I'd believed that familiarity breeds contempt.  When, after the first
few weeks with him, it became obvious all we'd ever do was fuck, I almost
pulled the plug.  He'd get tired of me, I was sure.  It would be natural,
or so I understood that condition of human nature.  Marriage is a good
analogy, perhaps.  I'd never been married, of course, but I'd studied the
institution.  The how's and why's of social failure.  If I'd been a real
college student I could have done my masters on it.  As it was, I was just
another grad student, so far as Stan was concerned, a little Hispanic rose,
awed by the great and misunderstood intellect of Istanbul Turner Smith.
   But he wasn't tired of me yet, thank goodness.
   "Do I have to go?" I pushed a finger, slick with my juices, into my
anus, twisting it slightly as I peered at him from between my legs.  It was
childish and I might have felt humiliated doing this in other
circumstances, but pride is a false God and I didn't suffer it gladly. 
That, more than anything, is the secret of my success...if such a thing
exists.
   "He's, uh..." Stan's cock was hard again, a thick six inches that he
stroked slowly.  "...shy.  My friend."
   "I'm shy too." I said in a small voice.  "But if you want, I mean, if he
wants....I could do both of you, Stan."
   "Oh." He sounded like someone had just punched him in the stomach.  He
looked at the clock again, his eyes darting back and forth between us.  The
here and now me competing with someone as yet unseen and unknown.
   "Please, Stan?" I pulled my finger free, standing up, but keeping my
back to him, just looking over my shoulder and bringing the finger to my
mouth, licking around it carefully, sucking it, just for him.
   "Yessss...." His voice was a whisper.  "Come here now."
   I moved slowly, not wanting to spoil anything, sliding back onto the
bed. It smelled of sweat and sex and I moved my mouth to Stan's chest,
kissing his body softly.  I replaced his hand with mine, squeezing his
cock, rubbing my thumb across the smooth crown and feeling the wetness
leaking there.
   "What do you want?" I whispered, using his desire to keep him busy.  It
wasn't enough to let him react to me; he needed to be in charge, to be
thinking only about me, about what he wanted.  I was so close now, my heart
was thumping wildly in my breast, I couldn't spoil it.  I wouldn't spoil it
by giving him a chance to reconsider.
   "I...I want to fuck you." He breathed, his hands on my back, moving
across my sticky skin with little jerks that weren't entirely unpleasant.
Back and forth, up and down, while I teased his nipples and rubbed his
cock. "Without a condom.  I want to feel you."
   "Mmmm..." I frowned inwardly, they didn't pay me enough for this, and
that thought almost gave me the giggles.  "It's a bad time of the month." I
kissed his lips, biting the lower one gently for a moment.  "I might get
pregnant."
   "Please...Just let me put it in..." Stan was begging softly while his
hands moved over my body, exploring me, squeezing and not feeling bad at
all.  "I'll pull out.  I promise baby, come on.  Please?"
   He rolled us over, onto my back with his body between my thighs, holding
my little body tightly with his hands around my waist, and I didn't resist.
I just opened my eyes wide, looking up into his face, into Stan's dark
eyes. "You promise, Stan?"
   "Oh yeah, baby.  I swear!" He was grinning now, taking my calves in his
hands, lifting them over his shoulders as he knelt over me.  Stan glanced
at the clock.  "We gotta hurry though....fuck!"
   I reached up, locking my fingers around the back of Stan's neck as I
felt his penis, hard and blunt, pushing and probing between my legs.  He
reached down and I felt him finally, rubbing along my slit and then
pressing inward, splitting my swollen labia easily and for the first time
without a condom.
   "Skin to skin...awww....yeah..." Stan groaned as he pushed slowly,
obviously enjoying the sensation of filling my pussy.  I didn't mind it,
but truthfully, it didn't really feel a whole lot different for me.  A
little warmer maybe, but that was probably just my imagination.
   I gave him a little gasp, knowing he expected it even though I was wet
enough that he could enter me easily.  It was a little thing, but Stan's
ego fed from the details.  It was why he was so good at what he did.  Why
he was so dangerous.
   Stan soon had me bent over double, my knees practically touching my
ears, with my legs trapped by his arms.  He fucked me hard, pumping his
thick hard cock in and out of me like a madman.  It was deep too, much more
so than usual and at first it was more than a little uncomfortable.  But
Stan took my little grunts and shivers and the slapping of my fingers on
his shoulders to mean I was enjoying it.  Or, more likely, he didn't even
notice.
   Two minutes after we'd started there was a soft knocking at the door.
   "Awww...shit..." Stan breathed, then louder, "Wait a
sec...Just...Uhhh...Hold on..."
   Stan was close, his cock sliding in and out of me quickly, making soft
wet sounds and I was helpless beneath him.  But this, finally, was what I'd
been waiting for and I wanted to keep Stan on the edge.  As much as I'd
like to take credit, the timing was pure luck.
   The knocking came again and I was pushing at Stan gently.  He was
distressed, plainly desperate to have his orgasm in my unprotected womb,
but Stan couldn't keep his friend waiting either.  And I wanted him like
that, frustrated.  He'd keep me around, his mind distracted.
   "Fuck...fuck fuck fuck...fuck!" Stan pushed himself away, letting my
legs fall from his body.  He grabbed a sheet, plain white cotton and
wrapped it around himself.  "Don't move." He stared at me and licked his
lips.  There was no way he was going to send me away now and I just lay
there, catching my breath and smiling between my splayed thighs at him.
   He moved to the door, peering through the peephole briefly and then
opened it just a fraction, speaking with his visitor and I held my breath,
letting it out slowly only when the door was opened further and the man
stepped into the room.  Stan closed the door quickly, slapping the dead
bolts back into place.
   "Who the fuck is that?" The guy asked Stan, staring at me as I sat on
the bed naked.  "What the fuck, Stan?" He was tall for a Chinaman, taller
than I expected, and his accent was local.
   "Just my girlfriend." Stan glanced at me and rubbed his crotch through
the sheet he was wearing.  "She's cool."
   "I'm outta here." The guy was turning around.
   "Hey, no...I gotta have it tonight..." Stan held up his hands.
   "Fuck you, Stan.  This isn't how we do business..." The man was shaking
his head, turning away from me.
   "Want to see a magic trick?" I interrupted the two men with a smile.
   "What?" The man turned his head, looking at me and Stan narrowed his
eyes.
   "Magic." I lifted my eyebrows playfully and then lifted my hand, pulling
the trigger twice so that the back of the man's head seemed to explode all
over Stan.  The sound of the guy's body hitting the floor was louder than
the silenced Browning I used.
   I got off the bed slowly, pointing the gun at Stan, but he wasn't doing
anything.  He just wiped his face slowly and stared at his hands, covered
with blood and brains.  His eyes were wide and his mouth was opening and
closing like a fish out of water.  I moved closer, not bothering to check
the dead man.  It had been an easy shot, a stationary target from 12 feet,
not like I was gonna miss or anything.  I pointed the automatic at Stan's
left eye, so all he could do was stare into that long black tunnel.
   "Who are you?" He asked me softly.
   "I'm the wicked witch of the west." I smiled and pulled the trigger,
happily rid of Istanbul Smith forever.
   '-'-'-'-'-'-'-'-'-'
   Part 2: Los Angeles
   A long time before I'd even heard of Istanbul Smith, I was just walking
around the mall.  Following my parents and that was boring.  But they said
if I was good we'd get some ice cream later.  I wanted a new bike, but I
had to wait for my birthday for that.  Ice cream was pretty good though, so
I'd nodded and followed them around.  We probably walked like a hundred
miles I bet.  Through one store and out and through another.  Mom would go
look at clothes and dad would go look at TV sets or something.  I'd follow
dad, since TV was more fun, but then he'd see me and tell me to stay with
mom.  Or I'd follow mom, and she'd point her finger and tell me to go with
dad.  It seemed like they didn't want me at all sometimes.
   "Go back to your mother." My dad was saying.  I sort of huffed a little
and turned around and started walking back to where she was before.
   But she wasn't there.
   So I went back to where I'd seen my daddy and he wasn't there either.  I
walked all around, looking and trying to find them, but they weren't
anyplace.  I was going in circles, walking and then running, just in case
they were walking in circles too.  But that didn't help.  They were gone.
   I stood there for a minute, thinking about it and I thought they
probably went to get some ice cream.  So that's where I went, out of the
store and down to the food places, where they sold ice cream and pizza and
all kinds of stuff.  There was a lot of people there too.  Maybe a million
or so, and I looked and looked, but my mom and dad weren't there.  I wasn't
sure what to do then.  I wasn't really scared, well, maybe a little bit. 
But I knew they wouldn't go home.
   Unless they forgot about me.
   I didn't think they would, but they could.  I wasn't very big.  That did
make me sort of scared and I started walking around some more.  I wasn't
gonna cry, not yet, but I kinda had that feeling.  Like something tickling
my nose, but not a funny tickling at all.  It made my eyes get wet a little
too.  But I wasn't a crybaby.  My mom and dad told me before what to do if
I got lost, but I couldn't remember what it was exactly.  And I wasn't lost
anyway, they were.  I was right by the ice cream place.
   "What's the matter?" A woman asked me.  She was holding a big shopping
bag and looked nice, real pretty and not very old.  Kind of like my
teacher, Miss Hewitt, she's pretty too, for an Anglo.  They had the same
hair, kind of short and blonde, but this woman had green eyes.  My
teacher's eyes were blue.
   "Are you okay?" The woman asked me again and I shook my head.  "Do you
speak English?"
   "I don't know where my mom is." I told her.  I spoke English, of course,
I was an American, wasn't I?  My dad was proud of that, because he'd lived
in Cuba.  He didn't talk about it very much though, not like me mom.  She
was from Miami and hated California, she always wanted to go back to Little
Havana, whatever that was.
   "Oh." She nodded.  "I know where she is, come on, I'll show you." She
held out her hand and I looked at it.  "It's okay, sweetheart, I just saw
her over by the bathrooms.  If we hurry we can catch up.  She was looking
for you."
   "She was?" I looked at the woman's face, she was smiling and nodding.
   "Uh-huh."
   I took her hand and the lady started walking fast, pulling me along with
her.  "We have to hurry." She told me, and I was just about running too.
   We got to the bathrooms and I didn't see her anywhere.  The woman looked
around too, holding my hand tightly.  "Maybe she went inside the bathroom."
She smiled again.  "Let's go look."
   I didn't say anything and the woman pulled me inside.  I was looking
around mostly, trying to see if she was in there, when the lady pulled me
into one of the bathroom stalls.  Before I could yell or anything she had
her hand over my mouth, picking me up off the floor so it didn't matter how
much I kicked.  She was very strong, a lot stronger than she looked.  And
she put her mouth by my ear and whispered.
   "Shhhh...You be quiet now.  I'm going to cut your hair and change your
clothes.  If you make a sound I'll kill you.  Do you understand?" Her voice
sounded real mean, even though it was really soft.  I nodded and she took
her hand off my mouth.
   I cried, but I was real quiet when I did it.  The woman cut my hair very
fast, and short too.  I didn't see what I looked like until later, but I
could see my black hair falling into the toilet.  It sort of floated in the
water and there was a lot of it.  She took off my dress and my new shoes,
but not my underwear, and made me put on boy clothes.  A pair of pants and
a t-shirt and some ugly shoes.  They were too big for me.  She wiped my
face and told me to stop crying.  But it was hard to stop.
   She took a deep breath and looked at me and said that if I said anything
to anybody she would kill me for sure.  She'd killed lots of little girls,
the lady told me, and she'd kill me too.  I was going to cry again after
she said that, but I guess she didn't care about that anymore.  She pulled
me out of the bathroom and past a lot of people, tugging me like my mom did
sometimes.
   "I told you, no." She was saying.  "I'm not going to waste my money on
another Nintendo game!" And I didn't understand who she was talking to, but
she kept saying it until we got outside.  We went to a car and she pushed
me in the front seat and buckled my seat belt real tight and we drove away.
   '-'-'-'-'-'-'-'-'
   Part 3: Richmond
   She came home with someone else, a stranger.  I was wary of strangers,
we both were, and she should have known better.  I was in the kitchen,
mixing some orange juice and I looked up as they walked into the living
room, watching them across the breakfast bar that separated us.  It was a
man, mid thirties maybe, a little heavyset, with a receding hairline and
brown eyes.  He had a gun in a shoulder holster, left side, under his suit
coat.  He was nervous, but not frightened.  Feeling a little sure of
himself probably and he was a talker.  I took all that in as naturally as
breathing.
   "Hi mom." I called, opening the refrigerator and putting the orange
juice on the shelf.  I bent down a little and opened the plastic drawer
labeled 'fruit' where the .38 was stashed.
   "Hey Wendy." She smiled and it was okay.
   If she'd called me anything else, like honey, or sugar, or darling, I'd
have come out Annie Oakley.  I breathed a little sigh of relief.  I had a
date that night and I didn't want to break it for some asshole like that.
   I walked out of the kitchen carrying a glass of orange juice and leaned
up against the wall.  I was just in panties and a t-shirt, but I didn't
care.  "Who are you?"
   "Peter Goodhue, meet my daughter, Wendy." Mom introduced us, smiling
just a little, I thought.  "Mr.  Goodhue is with the government, dear." She
was taking off her heels.
   "A pleasure, Wendy." He sounded like he looked.  Overpaid.
   "No shit.  Ours or theirs?" I stared at him and he shifted slightly,
looking at me just long enough to get a hard-on.
   "Ours." She shrugged.  "Let's get on with it." Mom looked at me and I
rolled my eyes, leaving my juice on the breakfast bar.
   I followed them into the den and mom flipped a light switch and then
closed the door behind me.  There weren't any windows in that room, I hated
it.  Mom pointed at the sofa against the right wall and the Fed sat down.
My mom took a Queen Elizabeth chair opposite the guy, with a little coffee
table in between.  There was another chair, but I just stood there,
watching.
   "Okay, what do you want?" My mom leaned back in her chair, smoothing her
skirt as if she were already bored.  I walked over to stand behind her, my
hand drifting down to rub her shoulder gently.
   "You've been contracted for Javier by the BRSM, the Moestravka Group. 
We want you to reconsider your involvement with the Belyorussian Solidarity
Movement.  We are prepared to buy your contract from you at cost, plus 10%
for your...inconvenience." He licked his lips and looked at us, his eyes
darting back and forth.  "The Secretary General is under the protection of
the United States government until the current crisis in Russia is
resolved. If you attempt to fulfill your contract, if you try to
assassinate Javier, neither you..." He looked at my mom and then turned to
stare at me.  "...nor the Witch, will survive, I assure you."
   "I see." My mom reached up and patted my hand, still resting on her
shoulder.  "And you need an answer, when?"
   "Now." His apologetic smile was insincere, and I shot him in the chest
twice, and once on the head, just above his left eye.  The silenced
Browning was a quiet gun, or as quiet as a gun could be.  It still sounded
loud in that little room.
   "So much for my date." I jammed the pistol back into the pouch-like
holster, sewn into the back of my mom's chair, and adjusted my panties. 
They'd ridden up a little high.
   "Sorry dear." Mom sighed and looked at the guy bleeding all over our
sofa.  "Let's get out of here."
   The guy, Goodhue, might have tried to take us, but I doubted it.  He was
just a messenger and now he'd deliver one for us.  We packed quickly,
efficiently, and within a few hours we were on our way to Madrid.  I didn't
care about politics, but I was just 14 years old, what did I know about it?
Maybe mom did, but I don't think so.  She didn't really care.  It wasn't
money either.  We had enough of that, I knew, so it was something else. 
The joy of killing, I suppose, dumb as that sounds.
   Most people can't stand killing.  Oh, give them a reason, give them
enough hate, and they'll do it.  Train them enough, give them a sense of
duty and patriotism, they'll do it eagerly.  But regular people, going on
with their regular lives, they couldn't kill anyone.  Not while they were
talking to them calmly, smiling and sharing a drink, kissing perhaps, or
making love.  It takes something else, some deeper fire, to burn that cold.
   Killing Goodhue hadn't made me feel anything.  Mom had given me the
signal and I'd pulled the trigger.  Probably the guy thought he was safe,
sitting there with a woman he knew was unarmed and a little girl who was
more obviously so.  But I was the Witch.  I could do magic, and in the
blink of an eye I'd made a gun appear.  I hoped he'd died with some
appreciation that he'd been killed by the best.
   '-'-'-'-'-'-'
   Part 4: Las Vegas
   I was seven years old and the car was warm.  I looked down at my lap,
mostly, sniffling, but not really crying.  The lady did a lot of talking,
but I didn't understand it very much.  She said my mom and dad were dead.
   "They're dead now, do you understand me?  You will never, ever see them
again." She kept repeating that and I didn't believe her.  "I'm your mommy
now.  My name is Mom.  Your name is Wendy.  Wendy.  W-E-N-D-Y Wendy.  You
mom and dad are dead and you are Wendy, say it."
   "I-I'm Wendy." I didn't want to, but I was so scared.  What if the lady
wasn't a big liar?
   "What's my name, Wendy?"
   "M-Mom." I started crying again.  She wasn't my mom.
   "Good.  Say it again, Wendy...Say it again...Say it again..." Over and
over and over, a million times until my lips hurt to make those sounds.
   It was dark and I woke up, mom, the lady, was picking me up, off the
seat in the car.  "You're heavy." She said softly and kissed my cheek.  "Do
you have rocks in your pockets?"
   "No." I said and she laughed.
   We were in a parking garage and somewhere above or below us a car's
tires squealed.  Some people were talking, getting into a van, but they
were a long ways away.  There were elevators near the stairs, and the lady
held me in her arms as we waited for one.  It was empty, which seemed to
make her happy, and she pushed a lighted button for number 26, the top
floor.
   She carried me into a big hotel room.  It was as big as my old house, I
thought, and even had a bedroom...two bedrooms, and a kitchen too.  The
lady brought me into one of the bedrooms, the bigger one I think, and put
me on the big bed.
   "We're going to take a bath, Wendy, and then we're going to sleep,
okay?" She walked into the bathroom, which was just a few feet away, and
turned on the water in the tub.
   I was tired though and a little hungry too.  We'd gone through a
McDonald's drive-thru before, but that was a long time ago I thought.  I
was still holding the Hamburgler I'd gotten with my Happy Meal.  I didn't
say anything though and just laid there when she undressed me.
   "You're so pretty, Wendy." The lady had taken off my too big shoes and
was taking off my pants.  "Mommy is very proud of you." She was smiling and
her voice was nice.
   She pulled my panties down too and I felt funny about that.  I covered
myself, putting my hands over my sex, but mom pulled them away.  "You don't
have to be shy, Wendy.  I'm your mother." She sounded like my mom.  "Right,
Wendy?"
   The way she looked at me made me a little scared again and I nodded. 
"You're my mom." I agreed and she softened, smiling again.
   "That's right, Wendy.  I'm your mom and you're my little girl.  My
pretty little girl." She was taking off all my clothes, pulling my t-shirt
over my head so I was naked.  "How do you spell your name, Wendy?"
   The lady was taking off her clothes too, standing close to the bed and
talking to me.
   "M-E-L..." The lady suddenly grabbed my mouth, her fingers pushing in my
cheeks.  It hurt and scared me a lot and I felt water in my eyes.
   "No!  Wendy!  Your name is Wendy...W-E-N-D-Y.  Wendy." She let me go and
stared at me.  She looked so big, standing there looking down.  "Spell your
name."
   "W-E-N-D-Y" I was whispering but she didn't care.  "Wendy." I said and
she smiled and nodded.
   "Good." She leaned down and kissed my face.  "I don't want to hurt you,
Wendy.  Mommy doesn't like hurting you.  But you have to be smart; you have
to be a big girl now.  Your other mom and dad are dead and you'll never see
them again.  I'm your mommy now.  Say it."
   "You're my mommy." I could smell her, the lady was so close.  I could
smell her lipstick.
   "I'm your mommy, Wendy." She kissed me again, on the mouth this time and
then stood back up so she could finish undressing.
   She sort of looked like my mom, my first mom, but she was different too.
My other mom had been shorter, I think.  Sort of big too, but not fat,
just...bigger than my new mom.  The lady, my new mom, was taller and
skinnier, but I could see she had muscles too.  Like my dad, my old dad,
kinda.  I never saw a girl with muscles before, even small one's like my
new mom's, and I thought it was kinda neat.
   My new mom had boobs too, big ones it seemed to me, and when she took
off her bra I thought they looked nicer than my old mom's.  They didn't
fall down or anything, they sort of pointed up maybe, with long dark
nipples.  And her sex part, between her legs, didn't have any hair.  I saw
my old mom, sometimes, and she had a lot of hair.  She told me before that
I'd get hair too, but I didn't want any.  Maybe, I thought, since I had a
new mom and she didn't have hair, I wouldn't have any either.
   "Do you think your mommy's pretty, Wendy?" She put her hands on her hips
and turned a little, this way and that, smiling.
   "Yes." I said.
   "Good." She reached out and I took her hand.  "When you grow up you'll
be pretty too, Wendy, just like me."
   "Really?" I got off the bed, holding her hand and we walked to the
bathroom.
   "I promise, Wendy." She nodded.  "Do you like to swim?"
   "Uh-huh." I agreed as mom turned off the water.  The bathtub was really
big, and round too, which was pretty neat.  It had a lot of water in it and
it was making bubbles all by itself.
   "Good.  I like to swim too.  Are you a good swimmer, Wendy?  Do you know
how?" We were getting in the funny bathtub and it was a little hot, but not
too bad.
   "Sorta." I told her.  "I go swimming at the YWCA on Saturdays."
   "I see." She was sitting down in the bathtub.  There were little seats
in the water, but when I sat down the water went in my mouth.  "Come here,
sit in Mommy's lap." She pulled me close and then lifted me so I was
sitting sideways on her thighs with my arm around her neck.
   "This is a funny bathtub." I was smiling.  "I wish we had one at home."
   "You do?" She grinned and kissed my nose and I was forgetting that she
wasn't really my mom.
   "Uh-huh.  I'd take lots of baths!" I felt her hands moving up and down
on my skin, under the water, along my back and legs.
   "Well, I'm glad to hear that, Wendy." She rubbed my tummy a little and
it tickled.  "Because this is our home."
   "What?" I looked at her.  "This is where we live?"
   "Uh-huh." She was holding me close and I could feel her big firm boobs
pushing against me.  "And you know what, Wendy?  We have a swimming pool
too."
   "Really, mom?" I don't know why I said that.  It just slipped out and I
blinked because I knew I'd made a mistake.  But she didn't think so.  She
was even more happy then before.
   "Oh yes, Wendy." Her mouth was close to my ear and she was whispering.
"Look at me now, you're making me so happy, I want to kiss you."
   "Huh?" I didn't understand, but I turned my head and looked at her eyes.
They were pretty, mostly green, but with a little bit of gold too.
   She didn't say anything else; she just kissed me on the lips.  I didn't
mind at first, my old mom kissed me on the lips all the time, but this was
different.  She held my head and kept kissing me.  I felt her tongue too,
like it was trying to get in my mouth, and it tickled my lips.  I didn't
know what to do.  It felt strange and I didn't know if I liked it or not,
but my mouth did open and when mom's tongue went inside I tried to push her
away.  She was too strong though, strong like my old dad, maybe even
stronger, and her tongue was moving around a lot.
   After awhile she stopped kissing me and she just looked at me, sort of
breathing hard and smiling.  I wasn't smiling.  My lips felt sore kind of,
like they were bigger or something.
   "That's a real kiss, Wendy." She told me.  "And every time we kiss from
now on, it'll be a real kiss, Wendy.  Do you understand me?" I just nodded.
"Good, now you do it.  Kiss me like I kissed you, Wendy."
   I didn't really want to, but she was holding me so tight and I was a
little scared, but not really.  Kissing meant she loved me, and if I kissed
her, that would mean I loved her back.  That was why I didn't want to do
it. I didn't know if I wanted to love her or not.
   "Kiss me, Wendy." She said again and I closed my eyes and tried to do
it. Mom pulled back a little bit, though.  "No, Wendy, open your eyes and
look at me when we kiss.  And use your tongue, put it in mommy's mouth. 
It's fun, you'll see."
   So I did it like that and it was fun, kind of.  She let my tongue tickle
hers mostly and sometimes she'd squeeze me a little bit, or make little
sounds.  I guessed that meant she liked it.  We spent the whole bath
practicing our kisses and she told me that I was getting real good at it
too.
   "My tongue hurts." I was laughing and sticking my tongue out in the
mirror.  It felt fat, but it looked the same.
   Mom laughed too and finished drying off.  "That's because it's tired,
Wendy.  It's a muscle and muscles need exercise.  Tomorrow we'll exercise
it some more and then, when your tongue is real strong, we'll do other
things with it."
   "Other things?" I looked at her and she picked me up, her hand going
under my bare naked butt.
   "I'm going to show you." Mom promised as she carried me back to the
bedroom.
   She put me on the bed and pulled the covers down, telling me to lift my
body a little so she could get them out from under me.
   "Where's my pajamas?" I looked around.
   "We don't need pajamas, Wendy." Mom was getting into bed too, turning so
she could hug me.  "This is our bed and we can sleep any way we want to."
   "Even naked?" I thought that sounded funny.
   "Especially naked." She smiled and I felt her hands on me underneath the
blankets.  "I want you to trust me, Wendy.  I love you very, very much."
Mom kissed my cheek and I felt her hand move to the place between my legs.
"I'm going to kiss you again, but I'm going to do it down here." Her
fingers touched my sex and I jumped a little.  "That's your pussy and it's
so pretty, mommy wants to give it a kiss, okay?"
   I thought that was sort of dirty, even though we'd just taken a real
long bath.
   "Open your legs a little, Wendy.  Don't be shy, come on..." Her voice
was soft and sweet, almost like she was singing to me and I did open them a
little.  Her fingers didn't hurt me, it just tickled a little.  "What do we
call this, Wendy?"
   "A...Pussy?" I whispered.
   Mom nodded.  "Very good, Wendy.  This is your pussy.  And what is mommy
going to do to your pussy?"
   "Kiss it?" I just looked at her.
   "Mmmm...That's my big girl." Mom kissed my lips a little and then she
was moving on the bed, under the covers, kissing down my body and I giggled
because that really did tickle.
   "Shhhh..." Mom had pulled the covers down with her and I felt kind of
cold.  "Watch me, Wendy.  Watch mommy when she kisses your pretty pussy."
And then she was kissing me there, just a little at first.  It felt funny,
ticklish and she looked sort of funny too, kneeling on the bed and kissing
me there.
   I was glad I took a bath, since that was where my pee came out, but
maybe my new mom didn't care about that very much.  I could feel her tongue
after a little while, like when she'd kissed my mouth before.  She was
licking me and sort of sucking on me too, I thought.  Her hands held my
legs, pulling them apart and she made soft noises, like a little baby pig
or something.  I was laughing and watching her and mom didn't seem to mind
that I thought it was funny.
   She licked and kissed me for a long time and it didn't hurt at all.  It
felt real nice mostly, but I don't know if I could say how.  It stopped
tickling and just felt...warm sorta, and wet.  My body wasn't cold anymore
either.
   "Now, Wendy..." Mom sat up and she was licking her lips.  "I want to do
one more thing before we go to sleep." Her face was a little red and she
was breathing like I did sometimes when I ran a long ways.  But mom was
smiling too.  "I'm going to rub my pussy on yours, okay?"
   I didn't understand, but I nodded anyway.  I was pretty tired and my
body felt like it was floating a little.  I watched my new mom move so her
legs were between mine, like she was sideways and she held my one leg up in
the air.  It was weird and I thought she was going to sit on my pussy, and
she did, kind of, but not really.  She just almost sat down, so her pussy
rubbed over the top of mine.  She felt hot, real hot, and wet too.  Mom
breathed hard, hugging my leg and rocking back and forth.
   "That's it, Wendy...let mommy do it...oh god, Wendy, you're so
good...fuck mommy's pussy, baby...rub mommy's cunt..." She was saying a lot
of words I knew were bad, and a lot of words I didn't know at all.  "Make
mommy cum, Wendy...give it to me sweety, fuck...oh fuck..."
   She didn't rub our pussies very long, just like 5 minutes I think,
before she was peeing on me.  I thought she was peeing, cause all of a
sudden she got me real wet.  It was all over my pussy too and ran down my
tummy and back even.  But later, mom told me she didn't pee at all.  That
she had an orgasm thing, because I was such a good girl.  It made her pussy
do that, get really wet and it felt good for mommy.  She said it would feel
good for me too, someday, when I was bigger, and then I'd understand
better.
   "I wish I was bigger already, mommy." I told her and yawned and she
laughed at me.  We were both wet still, but I didn't mind it too much.  She
was hugging me and playing with my short black hair until I fell asleep.
   '-'-'-'-'-'-'-'
   Part 5: Madrid
   We got off the plane and found our luggage, hailed a taxi, and went to
our apartment in the hills overlooking Madrid.  We hadn't been there in
over a year and mom thought it would be safe, for a short time anyway.  I
opened the bay windows in the bedroom, and just sort of flopped on the bed.
It was warm, but not hot this time of year, and the breeze was nice.  I
could smell the lemon trees outside.
   "Would you like something from the market, Wendy?  Something special?"
Celeste asked me.  She was the old woman who lived downstairs and kept our
apartment clean while we were gone.  She'd been a Basque Revolutionary for
many years, right after the Spanish Civil War, and still knew a lot of
people.  Franco thought he'd killed her, some forty years ago or something,
but Celeste was a survivor.  She'd taught my mom quite a few things and
they were very close to each other.
   "No thanks, Madre." That was what everyone called her.  She nodded and
slipped slowly out of the apartment, closing the door behind her.  My mom
came into the room a minute later and lay down next to me.  We were both
tired.
   "We'll relax a couple days and then start." She said softly.  "Thursday
I'll go to Escalanté, call our friends from there and set up a delivery."
She sighed and I rolled over, putting my hand on her breast and squeezing
it gently.  "Saturday, we'll move and..."
   "Shhh..." I smiled.  "Enough, Mom, just rest now." I kissed her cheek
and brushed a lock of long black hair from her green eyes, flecked with
gold.
   "I love you." She turned her head, smiling at me.
   "Me too, mom." And I kissed her harder then, my tongue slipping eagerly
into her mouth.
   We enveloped each other, our arms encircling and squeezing.  Her breasts
pressed against mine, and we both regretted our clothing, but didn't want
to take the time undressing either.  So we just kissed, and ran our hands
across the soft fabrics of our blouses and pants.  I felt her fingers
cupping my sex though the leathery hipsters I wore and I humped her hand
slowly while I massaged the firmness of her ass, trapped beneath her
designer jeans.  We made love that way, without ever getting truly
physical, and yet it seemed somehow more intimate.  The closeness and
denial of loving each other, through the thin protection of our clothes was
erotic and interesting.
   "Like a couple teenagers." My mom grinned at one point, both of us
flushed and breathless.
   "One of us anyway." I laughed too and we kissed until Celeste cleared
her throat.
   "If I were anyone else you'd be dead." The old woman frowned.  "The both
of you."
   "If you were anyone else, we wouldn't have come here, Madre." My mom
disentangled herself and smiled so sweetly that the old woman could only
shake her head and walk away.
   But her point was taken and I leaned over the bed slightly, reaching
awkwardly beneath it to feel the Uzi 9mm that was lying on the floor.  I
picked it up and lay back on the pillows, checking the clip and then the
bolt.  Safety off and ready, the way it needed to be.  I'd keep it close
because the old woman hadn't been lying.  Spanish police, Interpol, CIA,
NSA, DSS, RSP, ESS...Any of them could come through that door.  A regular
alphabet soup, waiting to eat us up, I smiled to myself.
   "What's so funny?" My mom had sliced a couple oranges and put them in a
bowel.  She picked one up, sucking on it as she sat there on the bed.
   "Nothing." I put the gun down and picked up a piece of orange.  "Just
wondering why the world has to turn."
   "You mean Sanderson." She nodded and shrugged.  "He does his job, that's
all.  When this is over, a year from now, he'll have a contract for us and
all this will be water under the bridge."
   "He's not going to be happy about that Goodhue guy."
   "He should have known better." My mom spit a seed into her hand and
tossed it out the window.  "Goodhue wasn't his boy anyway, he was State's,
and I don't give a shit what they think."
   "I don't know." I didn't really understand the politics of it yet.
   Mom was a freelance, and so we both were.  Assassins for hire, but not
like in the movies or something.  There's really very few people who could
hire us and they were all in someone's government.  We'd done a lot of jobs
for the United States, one or two for Canada.  England...A lot of work for
them, the Brits were notoriously bloodthirsty.  A job for France, although
you couldn't trust them at all.  And now, for Russia, which had recently
fractured even further.
   The White Russians against the Red Russians, or something, split not
along political lines, or even ethnic lines, but economic.  There was a
civil war brewing, another one, and the Secretary General of the United
Nations was visiting Russia personally, in the hopes of saving the peace.
He was a very intelligent man, and an excellent diplomat.  If anyone could
do it, or so the popular opinion ran, it was Georges Yves Javiar.
   It wouldn't happen though; I'd make sure of that personally.
   I was the Witch, a name that I'd been given by Sanderson when I was
eleven and had killed for the first time in my life.  That had been a drug
dealer, one of the big cartel guys, and a pedophile, and I'd used his own
gun to kill him.  My mom could have done it, but I'd been practicing, and
she knew I wanted to do it.  Plus, it was less complicated letting me do
it. She'd already killed his two bodyguards outside.  I put the gun in his
mouth and pulled the trigger, amazed at how much blood and brains had come
out the back of his skull.  His cock was still hard inside me when he'd
died and he even ejaculated.
   '-'-'-'-'-'
   Part 6: Las Vegas
   My new mom wouldn't let me leave our rooms for a week, and then two
weeks.  All of our food was already cooked, even though we had a kitchen,
and someone would knock on the door, bringing it in on a little cart.  I
could eat whatever I wanted.  I liked that a lot and it was good too.
   Mostly we spent a lot of time talking.  I called her mom all the time by
then and I didn't think about my first mom or dad too much anymore.  But I
dreamed about them a lot.  Mom told me it was okay to dream.  But we
wouldn't talk about them.  They were dead and so was the little girl they'd
had.
   I didn't know what she meant.  That was me, wasn't it?  But mom said no,
it wasn't me, because I was Wendy, not her.  I'd been asleep a long time
and just dreamed I was that other girl.  It sounded funny, hearing her say
that, but after a while I thought maybe my mom was right.  I could barely
remember some stuff, like my bedroom before.  I couldn't remember if the
walls had been pink or yellow.  Every time I tried to close my eyes and
remember it, my old room was just black and white.
   We lived in Las Vegas, mom told me one day.  I'd asked her before where
we were, but she wouldn't tell me, and then one day she did.  We looked out
the big windows at it.  We were up pretty high and everything looked
smaller.  It was morning and we'd just had breakfast, pancakes and bacon
from our magic cart.
   "We live in Las Vegas, Wendy.  Do you know where that is?" She looked at
me and I shook my head.  "It's a magic place, where you can do whatever you
want to."
   That made me laugh and mom laughed too.
   "Do I have to go to school?" I asked her.
   "No, Wendy, your school is here, with me.  I'll teach you everything you
need to know."
   "Even magic?" I giggled.
   "Especially magic, Wendy." She was hugging me, just a little with her
arm around my shoulders.  "The best kind of magic in the whole world. 
You'll see."
   '-'-'-'-'-'-'-'-'-'-'-'
   Part 7: San Francisco
   I found what I needed inside the man's shirt, he'd been wearing it close
to his heart and I was happy I'd taken the head shot.  Two vials of VTD, a
Chinese engineered nerve agent that would have polluted half of the city,
and me with it.  They were wrapped in gauze and taped to his flesh.  That
was the problem with guys like that, amateur terrorists with more money
than sense, they didn't take precautions.
   I took a quick shower and dressed quickly, putting on my red hipsters, a
white t-shirt that said "World's Greatest Dad" across my braless breasts,
and a pair of low black heels.  I fixed my face, just a little red lipstick
and some eye shadow.  I didn't need makeup, but a woman looked suspicious
without it.
   I used a metal Band-Aide box for the vials, packing it full of Vaseline
from Stan's medicine cabinet and then pushing the small glass containers
inside.  It was a good fit and I wiped the excess Vaseline away, closed the
lid and taped it secure.  It wasn't perfect, but they were protected a
little better anyway.  All I had to do was get them someplace cool and
safe.
   The Chinese guy would have friends outside, they always did, but they
weren't looking for a skinny Spanish girl either.  I walked out the same
way I always did, down the stairs and past the dirty swimming pool.  The
two Chinese guys leaning against the Mercedes at the curb gave me a good
look, but only because I looked too good to ignore.  I gave them a little
glance, then lowered my eyes the way a girl walking alone at night should.
It wasn't the best neighborhood in Frisco, not by a long shot.
   "Oh seven seven eight" The voice on the other end of the line said,
reciting the last four digits of the number I'd dialed.
   "Hi," I said brightly.  "I want to order a pizza, a uh large..."
   "Sorry, you have the wrong number." The man hung up and so did I,
looking around the gas station and seeing nothing out of the ordinary.  Pay
phones aren't really as safe as people might think, but they were still
better than a mobile.  The Pizza Hut's phone number ended with 0777 so if
someone was listening they might ring it up as a misdial anyway, but I'd
driven 30 minutes out of the way just to be sure.
   An hour later I was in a bar called Pinky's, under the Oakland Bay
bridge on the Frisco side.  It was small and noisy, gay as hell, and good
for a quick drop.  I didn't trust the Chinese a whole lot; they had a
fetish for tying up loose strings.  But their memory was weak, which always
struck me as odd for a people with such a long history.  Probably had more
to do with Mao than anything else, people had to forget a lot of stuff fast
in the old days and now those were the people in charge.
   "Get a Pepsi?" The bartender was a short black girl, or she might have
been a guy.  Hard telling.  Nice tits though, either way, and she liked to
lay `em on the bar.
   "Coke?" She said.
   "Sure, Coke." I rolled my eyes and smiled.
   "Hey." A girl, a real one, pushed herself next to me.  She was young and
blonde with a gold ring through her bottom lip.  "Can I buy that for you?"
   "Sure." I smiled back at her.  "I'm Wendy."
   "Jolie." She nodded and glanced at the bartender.  "Jack and coke, no
ice, kay?"
   The girl arched her back a little, giving me a pose in her 3" heels,
black mini, and a white blouse that was nearly transparent.  Underneath she
wore a lacey red bra and it looked expensive.  Jolie liked to show off and
she looked good doing it, I decided.  She was just my type, but sometimes,
I thought, they all were.
   "No ice, sugar." The black girl nodded.
   "Jolie, huh, like what's her name." I turned to face her, leaning my hip
against the bar.  "Thanks for the drink."
   "I've seen you here before." The blonde leaned close against the noise.
"I never forget a face."
   The juke box was turned up to 11 and playing something local, that weird
blend of Ska and hip-hop called Quake, cause it was the New Bay Sound.  I
didn't mind it, but it made conversation tough.  I found myself moving
closer to the girl, even though we weren't that far apart anyway. 
Finishing a job always got my blood up though, and she did look good.
   "I stop by once in awhile." I sipped my drink.  "How about you, regular
or just bored?"
   "Regular." She laughed, showing off her white even teeth.  "I go to
Berkeley, how about you?"
   "Used to." I shrugged.  "I dropped out today." I didn't know why I was
talking so much, but I do that sometimes.  I feel like I'm invincible. 
Like a goddess walking among mortals and it makes me stupid.
   "No shit." She narrowed her eyes and then grinned.  "You're kidding me."
   "I dunno." I smiled back.  "Don't matter anyway, I have to take off
tomorrow."
   "Tomorrow?  So what are you doing tonight then?" She took a drink of her
own, downing half the glass.  "Want to take me home?"
   "Yeah, I do." I looked past her, seeing a face I recognized.  "Just give
me five minutes.  I gotta say hi to somebody."
   I left her at the bar and squeezed past several people, heading towards
the back of the place and the little hallway where the restrooms were.  I
liked this bar not just for the crowd, but because the bathrooms were small
and could be bolted from the inside.  There was a line, a half dozen girls
and boys, waiting for their respective turns, but I ignored them as the
men's room door started opening just ahead of me.  I shouldered my way past
the guy about to enter, and slipped under the arm of the guy leaving as he
was pushing the door fully open.
   "Hey, bitch!" The first guy in line said, trying to follow me, but my
Chinese friend pulled him back, closing the door behind him and locking it.
   BAM BAM BAM "Hey!  No fucking in there!" The man was banging on the door
in frustration.
   "Do you have it?" Lin Bao, minor diplomat and the head of station for
the Chinese Security Service looked at me expectantly.
   "Your guy's dead." I pulled the dead man's wallet out of my jacket. 
"There's DNA inside, if you want it." I'd scooped some of the man's brains
into a little plastic bag and tucked it in with his money.  It was more
than Bao needed, but I liked tweaking him a bit.
   "And the other?" Bao barely glanced at the wallet, pushing it into his
jacket.
   "It's safe." I shrugged and dug a key out of my pocket.  "I'm out of the
country tomorrow, once I confirm the rest of my fee I'll tell you what that
key opens."
   "You're worse than your mother." Bao looked at the key, but I'd long
since filed the numbers away.
   "Are we done?" I asked him, tensing slightly as he looked up.
   He licked his lips and nodded.  "You'll get your money within 24 hours."
   "Good." I stood there until he unlocked the door and walked out, and
then I followed him slowly, letting my body relax a little.
   "Hope it was good, motherfucker." The guy who'd been banging on the
door, pushed past me and I just kept my eyes on the Chinaman until he was
gone outside.
   "Hey, you ready to go?" Blondie was right where I'd left her, holding a
new drink.
   "Yeah." I nodded and gave her a smile.  "Come on."
   '-'-'-'-'-'-'-'-'-'-'-'
   Part 8: Las Vegas
   End of Chapter One rache696@yahoo.com
   
  
smith