Beads of My Heart

by Archibael

Tags: #clothing #jewelry #masturbation #solo
See spoiler tags : #cw:protagonist_death
(Some Content Warning tags are spoilered. Click to show them) #cw:protagonist_death

Kelly’s coworker gives her a bracelet that’s supposed to increase sexual pleasure.

The next contest in the MCForum I participated in was "Picture Me Yours, Darling!" by MichelleLovesTo in July of 2005.  The event participants were supposed to find a pinup photo and write a story inspired by it.  I chose a work by Hajime Sorayama which I have only ever seen titled "Sorayama Pinup #123" and can't find easily on the web any more-- the copyright lawyers seem to be very hardcore on this one; the piece depicted a woman on her back with a chain of beads adorning her body and being played with in a quite... ecstatic... fashion.  Inspired, I wrote Beads of My Heart, referencing the aforementioned artwork, and receiving many accolades.   Unfortunately, someone in their comments on the content (rightfully) pointed out that while the art might have been called "pinup" the spirit of the contest was being violated as the pinup was supposed to be a lot less explicit than Sorayama's work.  I regretfully withdrew the story from the contest and instead submitted it to the MCStories site.  It's one of my darker pieces, but I feel like it worked.

Edited a bit with my wife Belle Fornix and re-released in ebook form as Passion's Pearls.  I hope you enjoy it!   If you want to see the art which inspired the work, let me know and I'll send you a link.

Le Petit Mort

None of this would have happened were it not for Pauline.

Pauline was blonde. Pauline was overly-friendly. Pauline was your garden-variety kook.

It wasn't just the crystals on her desk. Or the "Find Your Aura" poster on her cubicle wall. Or even the circlet of magnets she wore on her head for over a month "to ward off migraines".

No, it was the way she evangelized all of the above.

Eventually, one complainant brought up the prohibition in the employee handbook about proselytizing during working hours...and then Human Resources flunkies were treated to a lecture from the aforementioned kook as to why the cures and treatments she espoused were not "religion", but simply "alternative medicine". So the problem persisted. Coworkers learned to simply ignore her rantings.

Kelly was fairly new to the office, and didn't feel as comfortable giving Pauline the brush-off as her associates did. She waited patiently while the woman went on about all the herbal supplements she should take, and then went back to get some work done. It was pretty nutty stuff but, frankly, she'd heard dumber things in Sunday school. She'd gotten through that all the way to Confirmation; she could tolerate this.

Pauline evidently mistook this tolerance for kinship, and started gifting Kelly with items designed to enhance her spiritual well-being. There was a whole box of junk in Kelly's kitchen which she alternately contemplated selling on eBay to the similarly gullible or merely tossing into the rubbish bin. She leaned toward the latter.

The one thing Pauline ever gave her which appeared to be worth a damn was the one thing Pauline had ever evinced any skepticism about. "The ad said it would provide enhanced sexual pleasure, but I think it's just a hoax." Kelly tried (with only moderate success) to suppress any mental images which sprang forth regarding how Pauline had come to this conclusion, but the small bracelet was actually kind of cute. As an accessory to some of her outfits, if nothing else.

In fact, she wore it out to the bar with her friends that weekend. The gloss of its pearlescent black beads provided a nice contrast with her beige skirt and white top, and got her compliments from the more accessory-conscious of the ladies.

The guys weren't all that interested, though; they were way too busy checking out her breasts and rear end to notice anything adorning her wrists. Some of them smooth-talked their way over to her, and bought her drinks, but the one she thought was hot was much more interested in her friend Shelby's rack than in herself. Still, free drinks were nothing to sneeze at, and when she eventually got in the cab to go back to her apartment, she was still pretty buzzed from the alcohol and -- she had to admit -- from all the attention.

As she bade Cassie and Savannah good night, throwing in her contribution to the fare, Kelly made her way up the single flight of stairs to her studio and flopped unceremoniously onto her futon. She flicked off her shoes and shucked everything else but her panties, then thought about how she was feeling right now and doffed those as well.

Bare to the cool air of her home, she felt a dull need that reminded her how long it had been since Todd had left her, and with slow stroking anticipation her hands made their way down to her sex. Oh, it had been too long...

The mild euphoria from the alcohol gave the masturbation session a disconnected feel: the pleasure she felt seemed like it was coming from a source other than her fingers. That made it more exciting, as she was able to fantasize that it was not herself providing her this pleasure, but someone else entirely. Her passion increased as the sheets below her dampened from her exertions, and with a circular motion of her palm on her clitoris, coupled with a finger driving deep inside her, soon brought her to a quiet but strong orgasm. She sighed and threw her head back, crossing her arms over her breasts and resting while her pounding pulse and her breathing slowed.

It wasn't rare for her to go back for seconds in self-pleasuring, but tonight she recovered faster than usual. Her breasts felt needy, and the beads of her new bracelet enticed her left nipple into arousal. Sympathetic, her right nipple followed, and Kelly rewarded it with a brush of the bracelet's smooth little spheres as well. "Mmmm..." she couldn't help but emit in response to this feeling. The little balls of the bracelet slid over her breasts as if oiled, but they left no residue, so it must have just been the frictionlessness of their construction. It felt delicious. I wonder what it would feel like...

She slid the jewelry off her wrist and sent it southward into her steaming sex, and she cooed in delight when the pearls touched her mons. The little things seemed even more lubricated than before...and so did she, for that matter. She wrapped the tiny dark orbs around her clitoris and nearly came from just the touch of them there. She spun them around, and their slippery passes to either side of her pleasure button made her hips thrust upward as she came yet again -- quicker than she ever had before, in fact, especially for a multiple.

Now, however, she was sleepy from the alcohol and the afterglow, and she let the links fall to her mattress and slid into unconsciousness.

* * *


She awoke face down, absently humping the mattress, something in her unconscious mind having tried desperately to get the bracelet inside of her body, even as she slept. Now that she no longer dreamed, she was able to better direct the motions of her rubbing, and when she finally felt the tingling brush of smooth beads against her inner thighs, she ground down upon them with her crotch once...twice...a third time, until they embedded themselves in her tenderest flesh and made her cry out.

The beads slipped out of her, then, and she was free. For the moment. Kelly tried hard to avoid thinking about how good that had felt. She'd had too much masturbation in the last several hours...and her tongue tasted of the alcohol-tainted fruity concoctions she'd consumed last night. Rising from the bed, leaving her new jewelry behind, she headed to the lavatory and turned on the shower. Sitting on the commode while the water grew warm enough for comfort, she smothered the urge to look back out the door, toward her bed, where she could almost feel the presence of dark, hot, lusty...

Kelly shook her head, flushed the toilet, and stepped into the stall, directing the shower nozzle away from her nether region. Stubbornly so.

* * *


Shelby had called at three in the afternoon, a little hung over but slightly giddy.

"You should have seen this guy, Kelly. Not only was he a knockout, he had an absolutely glorious package."

Kelly blushed despite herself. It was clear that her friend had not only gone home with the guy she'd met in the bar, but had slept with him as well. Kelly was no stranger to casual sex...she just liked to keep it a little...well, less casual than that. Knowing someone's name was a good start. She wasn't certain Shelby was so picky.

Shelby discussed the member in question without regard to her friend's sensibilities. And what Shelby had done with it, and how it had felt; it was a concept totally divorced from the man attached to it, apparently. Which concept, oddly enough, was turning Kelly on. Or perhaps it was the bracelet she'd placed on her wrist and was fiddling with, delicious on her flesh. The thought of a pleasurable item disconnected with anything male -- or even human -- was something she was coming to comprehend, since last night.

She feigned a sleepiness she did not feel, and tried to escape the phone conversation in order to apply her hands between her parted thighs. She'd actually started to fiddle with her outer lips and was stifling a moan before she could get Shelby to agree to call her later. "We'll go out later to look for a few more good men," the big-busted lady on the line had laughed before hanging up, but Kelly let the receiver fall to the floor unreplaced in its receptacle. Her naughty parts were engorged with need, and the annoying signal on the phone which told her it was off the hook faded from her awareness as she pulled off the bracelet and affixed it to her moistened sex.

She plunged two fingers through the beaded ring and into herself, the stones providing a circle of throbbing black fire on the exterior while the interior was indulged with penetration. Her other hand snaked up to her nipples, alternating between them in squeezing, scratching, and otherwise toying with them to accentuate her arousal. She abandoned them, though, when her climax approached; she used both hands to finger herself, now, and the vigor of her exertions resulted in a quiet snick as her orgasm drenched her hands in lubrication.

She came down from the high and looked down at her pubis...horrified to see that the bracelet's circle was no more -- she'd snapped it open while in the throes of coming. Forgetting her panting and the residual pleasure, she scooped up the broken chain and examined it with care. The elastic string had snapped, though none of the smooth black spheres had come off and been lost, she realized with relief; she couldn't bear to think she might have misplaced one.

Breathing heavy, now with worry rather than sexual bliss, she looked for a means to repair the circlet. A knot in the string would too easily come undone, considering the uses to which she'd been putting it, and while it was exciting to imagine the little pearls falling into her folds and crevices, getting lost there...the prospect of having to have them removed in a hospital room were too disturbing for contemplation.

Fortunately, she had some old necklace repair fuzzies from high school lying around in her drawer somewhere. She'd contemplated throwing them out long ago, but had never gotten around to doing it, so there they were. Lavender, of course; such were the 80s. But they were functional, at any rate; the broken ends of the strings fed into a needle hole, then twisted several times around the central spindle to provide a tight hold. Then the fuzzies were knotted around one another. It was entirely silly looking, but it would suffice. Once, the fuzzies had been the only thing which had kept her from an embarrassing loss of her boyfriend's class ring at an amusement park, and she trusted them to do their work once more.

Somehow the bracelet seemed significantly longer, now; choker-length, if not full necklace-sized. It must have been stretched in her rigorous movements, and the fuzzies must have added some of their own slack to the picture. There seemed to be more beads, too, but that was obviously just an illusion; probably they were more loosely packed on the longer string, now, and just appeared to be more numerous.

It's still beautiful, she thought to herself, though she had a difficult time discerning whether this was due to its appearance or its known effect on her feminine parts.

She did have a lavender dress she could wear tonight carousing with Shelby which would match the choker, but it was a bit more revealing than she ordinarily wore. Not to mention a size too tight, probably. She went off to look for it anyway, though; the dampness of her thighs going virtually unnoticed as she opened the closet door.

* * *

Night Moves

"Wow, Kelly, you're really dressed to kill tonight."

Kelly blushed, though pleased by the compliment. "Thanks, Shel. Don't you sometimes feel like dressing...flashy?"

"'Sometimes' doesn't even begin to cover it, sweetheart. When do I not dress to accentuate my tits?"

It was hard to argue with that. Tonight it was a black lace demi-cup overlaid with a white transparent blouse; she may as well have hung a sign: Rest cheek here, baby!

Not that Kelly was being outdone. She'd let down her hair, and it fell asymmetrically over half of her face, lending her an aura of mystery; the tight spandex-enhanced material of her dress hugged every curve. Her choker was displayed casually, not prominently, the fuzzy new clasp hung to the side, nearly hidden under her hair. The effect might have been ridiculous on a woman who did not walk with the air of confidence Kelly did, or who didn't ooze sensuality in quite the same way when she moved. Despite the outfit being nearly ten years old, Kelly certainly was capable of turning heads wearing it.

And that she most certainly did. Both ladies were stunning to the men at the Baja Beach Club, but for a change the men were ogling Kelly's pert ass and legs, rather than spending most of their time salivating over Shelby's breasts. Shelby could have been disappointed in her luck, but instead seemed excited by Kelly's change in fortunes. "You, my dear, are going home with a beautiful piece of manflesh tonight!"

Kelly pondered this, as she pondered the gaze of Mark, who had just walked over to the bar to get them some drinks. His friend Aurelio, who talked with a very cool accent which he claimed was Afrikaans but which sounded almost Scottish, sat with the ladies and made conversation, but always his eyes were drawn back to Kelly.

"Tha' is a lovely item you're wearin', lady," he purred. "I do adore seeing women wear a choker like tha'."

Kelly was immediately self-conscious and her hand stole up to the beads. She caressed them absently, hoping she was not giving the wrong impression to the men around her...and, truth be told, hoping that she was. The affection being demonstrated by Aurelio and Mark, not to mention several previous gentlemen, was starting to get her damp with excitement at tonight's prospects for pleasure.

The night dragged on, and Mark and Aurelio seemed to be in a competition for who would get to take Kelly home. Shelby watched with a certain playful interest, but when it seemed that Kelly was stalling or perhaps balking altogether, she decided to take matters into her own hands. "Well," she yawned, "I'm tired, and too tipsy to drive." She'd not had a drink for hours. "Which one of you fine gentlemen is going to drive me home?"

Both looked a bit guilty; it appeared that neither wanted to jeopardize his chances at Kelly by driving her friend home. Eventually, though, Mark seemed to have decided that a sure thing with the attractive Shelby was preferable to taking his chances with the breathtaking-but-slow-moving Kelly, and he held out his hand to the woman, bowing his farewell to both his compatriot and to the other attractive woman.

Aurelio apparently saw this as his cue, as well. "I am feelin' a bit close to bed myself. Would you care for a ride home, Kelly?"

Kelly was torn; she really liked Aurelio, and was very turned on by his dark eyes and the way he was staring at her, but she wasn't sure if she wanted to sleep with him. Clearly, he was feeling no such reservations; his cock wagged back and forth under the tent of his trousers as he walked to the door, holding Kelly's coat over his arm until they were stepping outside. She licked her lips as she contemplated the contents of the tent.

The valet retrieved his car, a lumpy but still shiny and new-looking sedan which had comfortable seats, at least, and he held the door for her, "accidentally" resting his hand on her knee as he closed the door, wishing her a good night. Aurelio hadn't noticed the look of desire on his face as he'd touched her skin, but Kelly certainly hadn't missed it.

Very few words were exchanged as they drove -- certainly not any directions to Kelly's apartment; there was no real pretense being made at whose home they were going to. Kelly placed her hand on his neck and began to stroke it gently as he drove, then extended her fingernails and lightly scratched his scalp. He was enjoying this, and looked like a large mountain cat being petted. With surprising swiftness, he let out a growl, then pulled the car off the street and into a parking lot.

Kelly felt him close on her, his mouth insistent, his hands sliding up her skirt to touch her panties, to stroke them, to ease them aside to yield her hole for his use. She was breathing heavily, pushing her crotch forward toward his hand, wanting nothing more than to have him inside of her, seeing from his fierce expression that he was equally desperate. Some voice inside her resisted, though, told her what she was doing was all wrong, that she needed to --

Kelly pushed him away, and in a quick movement yanked open the door and ran across the midnight street and into an alley. She didn't stop to look back, not even as she heard Aurelio yelling, "What the fuck is goin' on wit' you, woman? What did I do wrong?" Her face was tear-streaked, and she collapsed against the grime-smeared brownstone wall as she heard his tires squeal angrily away. She regretted his absence, which was why she was somewhat shocked to find a voice in her head whispering, Thank goodness! even as her hands rerouted themselves from the street she propped herself up against. Rerouted themselves straight to the recently-moved and certainly wet panties, and under them, through the leg hole, to her sizzling pussy. Her fingers diddled her clitoris as she splayed her legs lewdly into the darkness of the alleyway, hoping no one would come by to see her.

When one of her hands reached up to unclasp the choker, to feel its unmarred and slick stones stroke her palms and, soon, her opening, she ceased wondering if anyone would come by to see her; she just pressed her hands and her jewelry into herself with vigorous motion that startled her. When the spheres entered her, she immediately climaxed at the pleasure of the touch, grinding her ass down on the roadway in reaction. She recovered quickly, and while she did she stuffed the whole choker inside herself; there seemed to be much more to it, when it was undone like this, and several beads hung out once she'd completed her project. As the third-from-last pearl entered her messy gash, she came again, this time rubbing the other two little things against her nub, back and forth, back and forth...

A pause, then, as she recovered some measure of her sanity; she was in an alley, for God's sake, masturbating without regard for anything moral or even legal. She started to pull the beads out of her, then realized after a few had come out that the wonderful feeling this elicited would only drop her back into the depths of her depravity, again, so she left them inside her, where they would be safe...and would not cause her to scream in orgasm in the midst of a dark, dirty street. Again. Her panties kept them inside her, and the delicious movement as she walked to the corner almost prevented her from reaching that destination. She sat down on a bench and waited for the #57 bus, barely able to restrain herself from fucking her own pussy before it arrived.

Whether the bus driver was able to tell or not that she was frigging herself in the back seat, Kelly was never able to guess, but fantasizing about the look he gave her as she left his vehicle was enough to give her another shuddering orgasm, though this time it was lying on her pillow instead of on hard, cold concrete.

* * *


"Pauline, do you still have the ad for the bracelet you gave me?"

The space-cadet seemed thrilled to have someone actually engage her in a conversation about one of her remedies, even a discarded one. "Why?" she replied, wide-eyed, "Is it working?"

"No!" came the reply, a little too intensely. "No," Kelly corrected herself, I just really like the way it goes with some of my clothes, and I wanted to know where to order another one. In case this one gets damaged or stolen."

"Well, I'm so thrilled you are getting some use out of it, anyway!" She bit her lip. "Hmmm... I can try to find the magazine I saw the ad in; I'm not sure if it was Vortexes and The Earth Mother or Spirituality Monthly. I'll look for it for you, though."

"Thanks, Pauline."

"No problem. You know, you look kind of agitated lately. I have a soul-poultice in my car--"

"No thanks, Pauline. I'm just a little stressed over...some stuff. I've gotta go, though. Bye!"

* * *


The club was dark and moody, the music sly and laced with something which sounded like espionage. It was classy but not uptight, and her attire was entirely appropriate. Though "classy" women probably wore panties.

The other woman was well-dressed and kept glancing her way; there was something akin to predation in her gaze. But hesitance, too. The thought made the necklace tickle her tits with glee, and she tensed her thighs to supplement the erotic charge she'd gotten from imagining this woman as kneeling supplicant, seduced beyond all judgment into worshipping at her pussy-altar. Kelly sensed a vast untapped resource, there; a landscape of desires waiting to be unlocked...but she thought that the hesitation the other woman felt would color the lust somewhat, sour it. Still, she mentally resolved to check out establishments where that heat would flow unchecked...she knew of places. You heard rumors, even if you didn't live that lifestyle. She parted her thighs to the other woman's gaze, absorbing what she could of the tentative excitement found there, but spent her time and effort making the attached man need her.

And he did; she could see the undisguised tent in his trousers. The woman saw it, too, and she dragged him out onto the dance floor with a frown. Apparently what was good for the goose was not permitted in the gander. Kelly didn't mind; she had other prospects, and she'd already absorbed all that gentleman and his girlfriend or wife could provide for her. Her panties were moistened and only getting better. The next candidate approached and offered to buy her a drink. She accepted a screwdriver, licking her lips after saying the words.

Man after man she took this way, sitting on the bar stool, leaning forward in a way designed to emphasize her décolletage, crossing and uncrossing her thighs constantly to force him to imagine what she held between them. Took them and brought them to the brink of desperation; most begged her to fuck them, two demanded she fuck them, and one even threatened her with bodily harm if she didn't "come across with the twat, sister!" Each brought her a reflected desire -- especially that last one, and she teased him even more, taking his finger in her mouth and gently caressing it with her tongue. He flushed to the tips of his ears when she excused herself to go to the ladies' room, and he trailed behind her. He even tried to follow her in, but one of the other women inside threatened to call the manager and reached into her purse for a can of pepper spray before he relented and slunk around outside the door.

"Problems, dearie?" a red-haired woman in the lounge inquired as they both touched up lipstick at the mirror. "Looks like you've got an admirer."

"Yes, he's quite --"

"Psychotic. Yes, that's Fred. He's here every night, and most of us have felt his wrath at one time or another. He pretends that when he calls you "cocktease" you're special that way, but start comparing notes with the other girls and you'll realize that he's just not very creative with nicknames." The woman turned to her directly. "None of the attempted sexual assault charges have stuck, although Betty nailed him with the stalking offense. Do you need help getting out of here?"

Kelly knew she wanted nothing more than to have this man blazing in agony over what she had dripping in her crotch, but she also knew if he were to lay his hands -- or any other parts -- on her, it would eradicate everything she'd collected tonight. She nodded at the offer of assistance.

"All right. I'll think of something. You just wait here a bit."

The woman left, and the ruckus outside was muffled but evident. Somewhat more disheveled, her benefactor re-entered and indicated the coast was clear. "I convinced the bouncers he grabbed my tits when I came out of the restroom, and they threw him out, but he's probably lurking around the parking lot. I'd leave by the back door, if I were you. Have the bartender call you a cab first. You owe me one, kiddo."

Kelly nodded, thankful she'd be able to return to her apartment with such a brimming mugful of unspent libido. "Thank you...I -- Thanks." She faltered. "Can I...ask your name?"

"Peggy, kid. Nice to meet 'cha."

"Peggy. I appreciate it."

"Not a problem. We all have our moments of need, although I have to say you kinda brought it on yourself. I was watching you with the guys tonight, and you're sending all the sig --" Her commentary was stifled by Kelly's lips, which smothered her own, tongue probing deep. She closed her eyes and accepted the kiss and the accompanying caresses of her tits and ass, emitting only a medium-pitched moan in response.

Peggy stared in stunned disbelief and arousal as Kelly ran out of the ladies' room and hurried to the bar for a cab call. She'd not been wrong about the untapped sexual resources that were women. My cup runneth over, indeed...

* * *

Not Alone

The door was open a crack, but she was oblivious to any possibility of her neighbors accidentally walking in on her and catching a glimpse; she'd not had the strength of will to ensure it was closed and locked, but had instead gone straight to her futon, still damp from this afternoon's endeavors, tearing off each garment until her pussy was free to her grasping hands. She filled it, now, scooping forth the slippery fluids with one hand and rubbing them across the beaded necklace which now hung almost to her navel. Feeding it, she thought absurdly, grinning as her other hand pulled the necklace from her neck.

Sitting upright, leaning against the dresser, she cupped the pile of beads in her hand and let them slowly, reverently trickle downward to pool in her lap. Her orgasms -- suppressed all through this night, through her desires to fuck and to be fucked -- came all at once at the black plink of the orbs' touch, seemingly, their intensity like nothing she'd felt before. Her hips rose to meet the puddle of bliss and when the beads touched her insides again she reached down to crush them into her, to grind them into her clit and slutty little quim.

The fuzzy clasp had come undone again, accidentally, but instead of agonizing over it she grabbed half of the tangled mass of balls and spread it across her chest, leaving the rest to massage her pussy. The beads dripped like a liquid orgy across her chest and neck, and she smelled her fresh juice on them as she sucked part of the chain into her mouth, savoring the flavor of whore. Whore, she christened herself, Filthy whore.

Thrashing around on the mattress while she contemplated her new name, she tangled the necklace around her throat, and when she thrust her hips her hundred-odd pounds of weight made the jewelry tighten about her windpipe, making breathing difficult. This only thrilled her all the more, with the danger of it all, and she seemed to recall hearing someplace that orgasms while suffocating were somehow amplified, euphoric. She couldn't imagine how they could be better than what she was feeling right now, anyway, and she was only halfway to passing out as it was.

She screamed wordlessly into her pillow, though the noise sounded far away to her ears, and she barely had the strength to untangle her neck before dropping off to sleep.

* * *


The ad lay on her chair, folded in half and with Pauline's characteristic pink highlighter marking it "For Kelly!" -- as if someone else might be picking up messages in her cube. She sat down and opened it up.

It was a Xerox copy of a page from one of Pauline's magazines, and circled in the center of the page, adjacent to marketing material for Dial-an-Oracle and KittenChimes, was a little blurb about PassionBeads.

"Experience enhanced pleasures with these powerful bead bracelets. Cultivate the inner, sensual you by making use of the distilled essence of primal fertility forces, embodied in material form by an ancient Eastern ritual known only to our powerful sha-women. Harnessed in nature's purest form, the circle, these spirits will provide the thrill for love and life you have been missing.

"Don't miss out on this! Take your passion to untamed heights and order today."

Then followed a P.O. box for "Primal Pleasures, Inc.", a price (plus shipping and handling), and a final stipulation:

"Note: we cannot accept returns of broken or otherwise damaged bracelets."

Utterly useless, thought Kelly, though she supposed she could look up the company on the internet. A search on that name brought forth hundreds of websites she didn't feel comfortable exploring at work, and she didn't expect to find anything there anyway. Damn. She spent her lunch hour typing a letter to Primal Pleasures asking for any information on the beads: how they were supposed to be used -- or perhaps, more importantly, how they were not supposed to be used. What to do if it were damaged, though of course she'd repaired hers.

She mailed the letter and got back to her normal work tasks, hoping tonight would not be so weird. Maybe she would just go out tonight by herself and have a relaxing drink or two...

* * *

Collection Plate

Her nylon stockings were utterly wrong for this place; their straight seams were too classy, too expensive. They meant "fetish", perhaps, but of the vintage sort rather than the kinked-out, ready-for-fucking-wearing-nothing-but-latex kind.

This place was not respectful of her wishes, or of any messages she wanted to convey. To this place, her clothing said "fucktoy". "Expensive fucktoy", perhaps, with black-patent spiked heels and a silk dress that shimmered as she moved on the dance floor, but nothing indicated anyone should take her more seriously than that.

She was serious, though; serious as cancer. And she proved it with the men who flocked to her in droves.

At first, she'd danced with each one individually, letting each man's hands roam her body, getting carried away so much in the intensity of her feelings that she'd forget they were in a public place and press back against his palms hard. But soon it wasn't enough for her, and while one man's cock knocked against her ass, she'd made eye contact with another. And as this new acquisition rocked her from the front, she looked over her shoulder and conjured another. And another.

She cycled among them, driving them all to peaks of excitement, knowing they were each wondering which of them would have her tonight...knowing that at this point, they suspected that they all might. Her sweat and their sweat diffused together, and it was all she could do to stop them from dragging her away with them like the whore she was, to fuck in the men's room or wherever they could reasonably take her nearby. The man behind her was mock-sodomizing her, now; and she could feel through the tight throb of his dick that he was about to make an embarrassing mess of himself on the dance floor...and that she could not permit.

She was here to collect lust, and if he spent himself, there would be that much less for her. To give...

She swung around to the other side of the man whose hands were on her inner thighs, making their way inexorably toward her pussy. No panties would stop them, of course, and this, too, must be shunned. She was the receptacle of this raw passion, and if her cunt spasmed in orgasm, that was just more lust wasted. And the state of her clit was such that if he did get his fingers on it, she would fuck them helplessly and come within seconds.

Yes, her clit...all she could think about was her cunt. Cunt cunt cunt. Her eyes glazed at the thought of touching it, of dropping the beads into her lap like a puddle of exquisite painpleasure, feeling them engage her.

It was time to go.

The men followed her off the dance floor, but she lost herself in the crowd, hearing shouts of indignation from her dance partners and unconcealed derisive comments of "Fucking slut!" from the women who'd observed her antics. Yes, Kelly reveled in the thought as she left the club, telling the bouncer that her ex-boyfriend and his friends were chasing her and to please stop them. I am a fucking slut, and I'm going to go home right now and be nothing but that. I'm going to play with my pussy until my ass is soaked in juice.

She barely contained herself in the cab, and she knew the driver could smell her from the front seat. But the beads that crisscrossed her torso and dripped over her ass like a corset, weaving in and around the few clothes she had bothered to wear, told her to wait, that it would be better, hotter, wetter...ecstasy... Get home, they implored her. Tonight will be the best yet.

* * *

Le Grand Mort

Kellyslut laid back on her mattress, the room reeking of sweat and cunt. Part of the long pearly string filled her mouth, dancing on her tongue, and she moaned as she released the drool-coated orbs, one by one, between her lips onto the bed. The strand of beads encircled her bare throat twice and then snaked its way down through her breasts to form a congealed mass between her thighs. Her fingers guided the little balls into and out of her drenched pussy with the complex motion of a sewing machine needle, and further, to plunge lower; owning her ass. The sensation of the beads sliding past her clit, her tits, her rectum, forced her to push grunting words past her teeth, words she had rarely used until this week, words like "cunt" and "fuck" and "cum". The string was moving so fast the individual bumps were lost to her overworked nerves, perceptible only as a continuous streaming vibration which drove her into paroxysms of squirms and thrusts and moans. The little balled knot she'd fastened the chain with was coming loose, and the string now had two ends once more.

The beads were tightening around her throat as they had before, and the lack of oxygen was giving her the same heady heat that had made her brain melt in the past. Her skin tingled over its entire surface, and her cunt was afire as the lubricated blackness invaded her womb, her mind, her soul. She would give herself to the beads, if they were sentient, if they could but ask her to be theirs. She knew it was probably her near-asphyxiation, but it seemed that her fingers grew slack while the strand seemed to keep moving past her holes, encircling her clit, her nipples. Yes, she thought through thoughtless abandon, yes! I am yours! Take me! Make me yours! She pulsed with the feeling, and came to the edge of her climax, and as her body went rigid, so did the black pearls throttling her neck. Rigid and exceptionally tight, cutting of her breath as she yielded herself to the power which enfolded her in strings of ecstasy and agony. Her orgasm thrust itself upon her, but she couldn't cry out through her empty lungs.

She accepted her end with a weak smile, and her world went blacker than the voided darkness of the things which had crushed her life away.

* * *

Circle(t) of Life

"I'm a relative. Her sister. Janet Amunds." She fished in a briefcase for something.

"No, you don't need to show me the court order, I can see the resemblance. Come on, I'll show you in." The landlord grabbed an immense ring of keys and indicated she should follow him up to the second floor.

He opened the door of 2D. "I'm sorry about your sister. She was a nice gal and always paid her rent on time, until..." He grew uncomfortable. "Did they ever hear anything from her?"

Janet was silent, but seemed to feel the man was worthy of some kind of answer. "No. No, she's gone. She's just...gone." It had been a bizarre situation, but ultimately the police had put the file it in the same place they tossed all the other unsolved disappearance cases. No evidence of foul play, no known history of mental illness. The only indication of anything odd before Kelly had disappeared had been some withdrawal from her friends and some agitation at work. One of the police officers had suggested somewhat hopefully that perhaps she'd met someone and they'd run off together, but the family had seen this unwarranted optimism for what it was and coalesced around their sorrows.

The room was bright with the afternoon sun, and the landlord excused himself while she looked around at her sister's belongings. Former belongings. The tears still came too quickly, even after all these months. She saw clothes strewn untidily around the household, mostly fancy dresses and underwear -- which seemed unlike Kelly, who'd always been fairly tidy -- but the weirdest and most obvious thing was in the room was certainly the huge mass of glassy beads which filled the bed. Some craft project Kelly'd been working on, undoubtedly, though imagining an artistic use for hundreds of small bracelets was beyond Janet's capacity.

She lifted one of the smooth, beaded things into her palm. It was cool and dark, feeling nice against her skin. Pretty, in fact, and might go with that slinky little black dress Tom liked so much on her. It made her think of her sister, and she looked around again, sighing. All of this was hers, now, and much of it would be sold at a garage sale, or in an online auction if that didn't work out. She'd keep some of the bracelets, though, and maybe give some of them out to Kelly's friends -- to remember her by. There was damned little else left of her to give.

Blinking away tears, Janet put the bracelet around her wrist and looked for bags large enough to hold the remaining hundred-odd pounds of her sister's shiny black beads.

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