Author’s Note: This story is part of the Infinity City comic book universe located in The Vineyard section of The Garden of MC. Thank you to the participating members for their help and encouragement in its drafting. This story is a companion to “The Naga.” The conclusion of the set of three is “Snakebite.”
Infinity City Comics Presents:
Whitesnake.
By Vanderbilt.
Part 1-Rebecca
Alone in the dark alley, Rebecca couldn’t resist any longer. She crooked her middle finger and pushed it deeper against the wall of her wet pussy. God, just the right spot. She bit her knuckles. Her pelvis jerked in two acute spasms.
The early morning garbage crew found the victim, Jill McCall, behind some dumpsters in an alleyway. Nude and unconscious. The doctors couldn’t get her to come out of it.
The alley ran off Garden Street between a couple of brownstones. Back in high school they’d nicknamed it Flibinite Lane because of the nasty, furtive things they did down there on steamy summer nights.
Rebecca took her first boyfriend down there. Good times. And her first girlfriend. Even better times. Now somebody had done something awful on Flibinite Lane and Rebecca wanted to find them.
She circled the block a couple of times and found a spot open underneath a street light. Got out and walked up Garden Street. Quiet residential. Not a lot of people around here at night. The night life happened at O’Donoho’s two blocks down on the corner with Legion. Da still drank there sometimes. Not this late any more though. These days, Ma would kill him. Changed times.
Nowadays Rebecca got to do the things Quantico trained her to do, before the FBI in its wisdom decided her aptitude for catching serial killers made her more valuable working on that particular division of shit. She’d applied for a transfer to Infinity City PD as soon as she’d heard about SIU.
Pleased Da to no end. Retired, 25 years on the uniformed force and now his little girl had joined Infinity’s Finest as a lead detective no less. Not that being a cop made her unusual in the McCandliss clan. Throw a stone at a clan gathering and if you didn’t hit a cop, you’d hit a firefighter, and after they finished beating the snot out of you, then one of the nurses they married could bandage you up. Like Ma. She’d been pleased to see her little girl again too. Nobody ever guessed Da and Ma adopted her. Not with her red hair and emerald green – actually, a little too green? – eyes. Somebody in Federal Witness Protection knew their business.
Rebecca stood at the entrance to Flibinite Lane. It looked just the way it did in high school. The same “romantic” ambience, except for a couple of big dumpsters outlined in the dark. And the crime scene tape across the entrance.
Strictly speaking, Rebecca shouldn’t have got involved—she wasn’t in Special Victims. Rebecca belonged to a different unit, the Special Investigations Unit, SIU for short. They did the super stuff, the paranormal stuff, and the crazy fucked-up mind control stuff (SIU found that the stuff often overlapped).
If Special Victims called, it meant they’d found a grassy warehouse of glazed women on their hands and knees with black painted nails and lips, gently lowing and chewing the cud. Or an underground lab with beautiful hairless girls in thongs all marching in step to the radio transponders in their earlobes. Or a pack of vampires that could take over a woman’s mind with a glance and make her like it. That sort of thing.
Rebecca ducked under the yellow crime scene tape. The street light only reached the first ten feet of the alley. She paused for a moment on the border between light and dark.
A cold fingertip traced her spine.
She paused.
She wasn’t Da and Ma’s little girl any more. A shade over six feet five, hard bodied, FBI-trained, and an expert in forensic parapsychology. Gun on her hip, underneath her suit jacket. Also certain other talents she chose to leave . . . mostly untouched. She didn’t think of herself as the baddest bitch on the block, working in SIU kept any notions like that firmly in perspective. But you wouldn’t necessarily want to run into Lead Detective Rebecca McCandliss in a dark alleyway either.
Rebecca listened. She sensed nothing waiting for her in the darkness.
She moved further into the alley, seeking the spot behind the dumpsters where they found Jill McCall. According to forensics the attack must have taken place at about this time the previous night. As far as could be, Rebecca needed it just exactly the same. Sometimes a traumatic event left an echo. Left enough traces behind so that somebody like Rebecca could hear it. Even see it.
She closed her eyes, placing her right hand on the dumpster wall for an anchor.
Nothing.
Sometimes it didn’t work and she didn’t like to push it. Too dangerous. Too tempting to go down that road. She’d always been careful to pass the psi tests at Quantico by the narrowest of margins, just enough to make the program. Not so much as to raise awkward questions. Who? What?
She heard a solitary car pass down Garden Street. Relax. The sounds echoing inside her mind. Let them come.
A woman’s voice sobbing. Submit.
Short hungry gasps. Slave.
Ecstasy.
Rebecca stumbled. Didn’t expect. Heat rose between her legs. Obey. Her nipples pointed, rubbing deliciously against the silk of her blouse. She fumbled with her left hand. Her suit jacket opened. She hooked fingers underneath her blouse and her bra cup and pulled them aside, the night air kissing her puckered nipple.
Feeling almost drunk with the indecency, she cupped the under side of her breast exposing it fully, lifting and squeezing, before taking the nipple between thumb and forefinger and twisting viciously. Her moan came out low and throaty, rising up through her body from somewhere deep in the damp cleft between her legs. Her pussy beginning to drip, drip, drip.
The pale blonde rode naked on the coils of a giant snake. Volcanic scales swayed between the blonde’s legs. The blonde tossed her head back and rotated her pelvis against the snake’s body. The pale round globes of the blonde’s ass shifting and grinding. Mesmeric. She could see the slickness rolling off the insides of the blonde’s thighs, the glowing scales glistened with her juices. The blonde must have been cuming for a long time. Or maybe just very very hard.
Rebecca sobbed, her eyes locked tight. Her right hand lifted off the dumpster wall and joined her left. Feverishly scrabbling to unsnap her belt buckle in the dark. All fingers and thumbs and frantic hot need. Her breath coming in short hungry gasps. The belt came loose and the weight of her gun in its holster made the pants sag low off her hips exposing the front of her high cut white cotton panties. Want. Her hands shifted to work between her thighs.
No-uh.
Her instructors used to tell her when under the influence of insidious mind control think of a terrible personal moment—the idea being that it’d be like dousing yourself with a bucket of cold water to break the spell. Rebecca thought about basketball—wouldn’t be everybody’s choice, true, but she had her reasons—good enough to get her left hand reaching back to anchor on the alley’s brick wall behind her. It steadied her.
Now she could really get to work with her right hand. Squirming it inside the front of her soaking panties. God, so wet. She keened as she thumbed her clit. So hot. She tossed her head back, her long red hair whipping off the brick wall. Grind. Rotating her pelvis lewdly.
Rebecca could see the half-moons of the blonde’s breasts as they dipped and pressed. Tits. Rubbing her big fucking slave tits. Want. Against the snake. Not a snake. A snake woman.
She reached across her chest with her left hand, losing her anchor again, pushing the rest of her blouse aside, both bra cups down now. Pressed her big tits against the coarse dumpster wall. Humiliating. Big slave tits. Deserving. Rebecca twisted, panting, scraping her hard nipples against rough cold metal. Rubbing my big fucking slave tits against Her. Just exactly the same. Every obscene movement mirroring the blonde.
Beg.
Rebeccaslave’s -oh, please- hips undulated. Bend. Beccaslave -n-unh- bent at the waist, pushing her naked ass higher. Cunt. The better to more deeply finger her sopping cunt. Becslave -n-unh- obeyed the rhythm, pinching her sensitive clit, rolling her finger round the hood, and then stroking down. Nameless. Slave’s middle finger going down to tease the entrance to slave’s hot little core. More. Fuck slave pushing another finger inside. So slick, leaking juices running down thighs, melting for Her. Just exactly the same.
Goddess.
Dominating the blonde. Making the pretty blonde slave fuck herself on the snake tail. Her tail.
Beg.
Dominating the red-haired sister slave. Making the red-haired slave lose herself, lose herself in her cunt. Oh, please.
Cunt slave.
Cunt slave -oh, yes, yes- cunt slave. Goddess. She’s just like The Harbinger.
Part 2- The Harbinger.
—This is a lie.
Slave pressed her left palm flat against the metal wall supporting herself as slave slid down onto her knees. Slave worked another finger into her cunt. Another finger into her cunt. So full. Grinding. Slave mewled.
—A psychic echo nothing more.
Face down in the dirt, down where Becslave belonged. Abject. Obedient. Wanton. Something tugging around her ankles.
—This is not your destiny. You are a creation of Man.
Beccaslave kicked and scrabbled frantically to remove the cloth binding her legs. Ripping cloth from her chest. Grovel. Burying her face in the dirt again. Pain. Her fingers stretched her cunt, so wet and ready for them.
—Made in a laboratory. Engineered by science to be divine.
Turned her face to one side and placed the middle finger of her left hand in her mouth. She swirled her tongue around it. Making it wet. Rebeccaslave reached back slowly, oh, so slowly, turning obedience into a show. See me abase myself Goddess. See how you dominate me.
—The supermen denied you your birthright when they stole you as an infant from your makers.
Rebecca reached back with her left hand and slid the tip of her middle finger into her ass. She played with her asshole. Hoped the snake woman watched her from some far off realm.
—They entrusted you to the undermen. Foolish. The undermen tried to raise you. Pathetic.
No. Love Da and Ma.
—They tried to change your destiny. Blasphemy. Blood cannot be denied.
No. Not you. Not now.
—You will fulfill the purpose your makers intended.
Rebecca could feel it now. The heavy need coiling within her, building towards release.
—You are The Harbinger.
She saw herself now as if from high above. Naked down on her knees in the dirt in Flibinite Lane, face down by the dumpster.
—You are not a slave for an alien creature that pretends itself a god. This is not who you are. You are a god made by design not magic.
Rebecca floated serenely on the surface. Her perspective seemed to have changed. Now she looked up at her body, left behind in the alley. She lay on her back on the surface, naked, peaceful, her arms spread open wide. The water started to rise over her. Or perhaps she started to sink. Doesn’t matter.
She saw a woman walking towards her. The air crackled around the woman, a wave of malign psychic energy disturbing the perfect surface. No. The naked woman in the sky above her, still fucking herself in the dirty alley, sobbed.
The intruder wore blood-red thigh boots, rows of buckles running up the sides. At the top of the boots her muscles flexed as she walked easily upon the surface. No, not on the surface. Above it. Shiny black panties with a silver zipper starting over the crotch. A slice of hard stomach and then a tight black leather corset, tied with blood red laces, front and back. Dramatic cleavage, touched by light freckles. The cups just lowered enough to show a hint of nipple. Enough to capture the eye, intrigue it. Blood-red leather gloves, military style. Long red hair. Drawn back hard against her scalp, tied at back with a death’s head clip. Disturbingly green eyes. A shade over six feet five.
And still missed the shot that cost the national title. Rebecca giggled. What an absurd thing to think of. Clearly, her mind had finally come apart at the seams, her soul in danger and she still couldn’t get over that college fucking basketball game.
—Good. You seem to be improving. Take my hand.
“No.” Rebecca closed her eyes. “Fuck you.” We are not the same.
The water rose over her breasts. Her body submerged in bliss. Only her face still remained above the surface.
—Take my hand. This is not your destiny. You will make the earth tremble. Supermen and superwomen will call you their god. It is who you are.
“I can already get supermen and superwomen, Harbinger” said Rebecca. “I’ve had both. This feels better.”
—It is a lie.
Rebecca didn’t care any more. She let the water slip over her chin. “I’m tired of struggling.”
Alone in the dark alley, Rebecca couldn’t resist any longer. She crooked her middle finger and pushed it deeper against the wall of her wet pussy. God, just the right spot. She bit her knuckles. Her pelvis jerked in two acute spasms.
Rebecca gazed through the meniscus at the distorted image of the booted figure. Doesn’t matter who she is. The tide started to move her. She caressed her nipples and arched her back. So much bliss.
She screamed. The blood-red gauntlet plunging through the surface. Grabbing a fistful of red hair. Pulling her up like a rag doll and hurling her into the sky. She shrieked her misery.
Rebecca exhaled. She rolled on her back. Still dark. She ached all over, particularly her neck. Fuck, I’m naked. Shit.
She searched around in the dark. Hopefully everybody knows not to cross police lines around here. If not, they’re going to get an eyeful. She found her cell at last.
“McCandliss here, I need a truck to come down to the McCall crime scene off Garden Street with an exorcist. Nasty psychic echo. Pull the interview reports, I want to know everybody who McCall spoke to that day. I’m fine. Yeah, well, if you think I sound like shit, you should fucking see me Callaghan. Strike that. . . . Callaghan . . . I’m going to need you to beat the truck down here, I need some clothes. Yessss, one of those ones. No, not like that time with The Seamstress, fuck off you pervert, and get down here...”