Jul 202011
 

“Wakey, wakey, ‘allo, ‘allo!”

Holly Valentine opened her eyes. It was pitch dark except for the tiny amount of moonlight coming from the ceiling of wherever she was. The floor underneath her felt like metal. The smell of chloroform made her nauseous.

“Who the fuck uses chloroform these days?” Holly groaned. She sat up and her head swam. At least, she thought everything swam; it was hard to tell in the dark.

“I know, right?” someone said close to her. He had a sexy British accent, like James Bond about to get laid. “There are at least seven other more effective drugs to incapacitate someone.”

“Come now, chloroform is a classic,” the voice on top said. He had a similar British accent but his accent was more uptight butler.

“Oh shit, that’s right,” Holly said. “I’m in Britain. I was covering the phone hacking scandal where all those shit reporters hacked people’s phones to get their stories. Fuck, chloroform messes with a girl’s head.”

“Hey!” the voice on top said. “We are not shit reporters! You are talking to a member of the Society of Ruthless Journalists! And you, my American tramp, have been captured and will be disposed of!”

“The who to the what now? Holly said.

“The Society of Ruthless Journalists is a centuries old organization,” the sexy voice beside her said. “They dig up dirt and splash it on their front pages but never dirt on their corporate masters. No, they only exploit the rich and famous who offend the corporate line.”

“Oh, we just call them cable news people where I come from,” Holly said.

“Right, now that we made introductions,” the voice above them said. “Here’s how it goes. You are in an abandoned train car in the middle of a deserted quarry. No one will hear your cries for help. You will die of starvation while me and my mates tell the world that you two eloped and went on a whirlwind honeymoon. There may be sex with donkeys included in the story. We’ll make a mint selling papers about your sordid sex lives while you die here and incidentally, don’t do anymore investigating into the phone hacking business. I get a promotion and maybe an editor’s position and Bob’s your uncle, understand?”

“Wait? You’re going to kill an American reporter just to cover your dirty work?” Holly said.

“Love, you ain’t the first batch of bodies this night,” the voice said. “Right, goodbye. And you too, Johnny!”

The opening sealed above them. Holly heard the sound of the man climbing down the side of the car. She also heard him curse a little as he fell.

“That’s it?” Holly said. It was so dark that Holly couldn’t see her hands but she knew her fellow captive could hear her. “They didn’t even tie me up. I mean, they expect us to die of starvation? Shit, they didn’t even add some poison gas or maybe fill the cart with water? This is a terrible excuse for a deathtrap.”

“They are shit reporters,” the voice said.

The British accent sent a shiver down Holly’s spine. “Wait, I know that voice. He called you Johnny. Are you Johnny Jones? The reporter giving the phone hacking so much coverage right now?”

“Yes, miss,” the voice said. “I am assuming by your colorful language and defiant tone that you are Holly Valentine, reporter for INX?”

“Holy shit!” Holly said. “I am such a big fan of yours! That expose you wrote on subliminal advertising in singing competitions was awesome!”

“Thank you, Miss Valentine,” Johnny said. “I found your piece on HMO’s and their price jacking to be brilliant. Simply brilliant.”

“Damn, I wish there was some light in here,” Holly said. “I finally get to meet a colleague that I like and I am stuck in the dark.”

“Yes, at least we will be spared the indignity of looking badly while we die,” Johnny said.

“So, these reporters really will leave us to die?” Holly asked.

“Oh yes,” Johnny said. “The Society is made up of lazy reporters but they have a long history of killing. They once kidnapped and tortured a woman just to make her soccer player husband give then an interview. Death is old hat to them.”

Holly sat on that information for a few minutes. “Mr. Jones?” Holly said.

“Please, call me Johnny,” he said.

“Okay, Johnny. And please call me Holly. I wonder if you could do something for me?”

“Certainly Holly. Are you cold? I don’t have my jacket but perhaps my shirt could give you comfort.”

“No, I’m not cold,” Holly said. “I was wondering, since we are going to die here and all, if you could help me fulfill a lifelong dream?”

There was a pause. “I don’t think I have much in my power at the moment to grant wishes, Holly.”

“Actually, my dream was to sit on the face of a reporter that I admire,” Holly said.

“Oh,” Johnny said.

“Since we are going to die and all,” Holly said.

“Beastly business that,” Johnny said. “In the interest of global cooperation among colleagues and granting the wish of a condemned woman, I can not help but comply.”

“Right-o!” Holly said in her best British accent.

“Right, and don’t do that ever again,” Johnny said.

“Sorry,” Holly said. “It’s hard. You hear all these accents and you just want to join in.” She crawled in the darkness towards his voice.

“True, I have a friend who does a Texas accent every time he watches your cop shows,” Johnny said.

She found him. Broad shoulders, some slight stubble on his face and an interesting crooked nose. She pushed him gently down to the metal floor.

“You were serious about sitting on my face?” Johnny said. “I thought that might be some American phrase.”

“I’m a good reporter, I tell the truth,” Holly said.

Holly was wearing a pair of green panties when she was captured but she discarded them now in record time. Thank God that she was wearing a skirt. It was a bit chilly and Holly was glad for every bit of warmth she could get. In a moment, she planned to get a lot of it.

She climbed onto Jimmy’s head. The British hunk was on his back and his hands guided her onto him. Fingers that had typed the downfall of the rich and powerful pushed her ass right where it needed to be.

The first contact of tongue against her sex was electric. Holly moaned as his tongue worked its way inside her. She gripped his hair and pressed against him. Fact to cunt, she was right where she wanted to be.

It was cold in the train car but it was so damn hot between Holly’s thighs. The car blocked the sounds of the outside world so that the only thing she could hear was the sound of his tongue lapping away at her. She stared as hard as she could into the darkness and tried to see even a glimmer of the delight occurring beneath her.

Johnny’s fingers grabbed her ass. She moaned as he held onto her. Johnny was pulling her harder against his, trying to get more of her into his mouth. He moaned and she felt every moan on her sex.

Holly wanted to return the favor but it felt too fucking good to move. She couldn’t believe that her favorite reporter was eating her out like she was his last meal. Well, she kind of was but that wasn’t important. What mattered was staying right here and enjoying his mouth. If she moved, it might dispel this wonderful dreamlike that she was in.

It didn’t take her long. Hell, she had been clenching ever since she first heard his voice in the train car. She was wet, horny and eager. She would have climaxed if she had just ridden his nose but no, Johnny Jones had to be an excellent pussy licker as well. She had one more talent of his to admire.

“Brilliant!” Holly cried out. She climaxed on Johnny’s face. Her thighs clenched around him and she humped his face as she rode her orgasm. Johnny, being the excellent reporter that he was, kept licking till the job was done.

“Oh, that was awesome,” Holly said as she slumped off his face.

“That was fucking awesome,” Johnny said. There was a sexy growl to his already sexy British accent.

“Yeah, it was,” Holly said. “Wait a second.”

Holly reached around till she found her purse. As she expected, her cell phone was missing. Her lipstick was still there, which meant the Society of Ruthless Journalists were just as sloppy as she had come to expect.

A turn of the lipstick base and a small acetylene torch flared to life. Sitting next to her was Johnny Jones. His face was soaked.

“Bloody hell,” Johnny said.

“It’ll take a few seconds to cut through the train car,” Holly said. She went to work on their escape.

“And you had this the whole time?” Johnny said.

“Of course,” Holly said. “I just wanted to sit on my idol’s face first. If we escaped, you might have done something silly like try to file your story first.”

“Makes sense,” Johnny said. He pulled something out of his sock. “It was why I was holding off on activating my emergency tracker.”

Holly laughed. “How long will it take for a rescue?”

“Ten minutes I except,” Johnny said.

Holly nodded. “Once we get out into the moonlight, let’s see how fast I can suck you off before help arrives.”

“Ye-haw,” Johnny said in a terrible Texas accent.

“Wow, don’t ever say that again,” Holly said.

“Sorry,” Johnny said.

  2 Responses to “Fiction: Society of Ruthless Journalists”

  1. Loved it! Very Funny, Very Sexy, Very Topical.

  2. Anonymous- Thanks, I had been wanting to do the British phone hacking scandal for awhile but just recently found an angle I liked.

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