[Fonk]

Wow! I wonder what she'll look like after another year… another couple of years… five years… ;D

Thanks for your pics, always appreciated.

[Fonk]

Ahhh, tout devient (un peu!) plus clair… j'attends vivement la suite! ;D

[Fonk]

Y'know, that looks rather good. 😉

[Fonk]

That is one of the most stunning things I've ever seen. Thanks so much for the work you've put into it. 🙂

[Fonk]

That's a lot of posts, Mr. Black, and a lot of fantastic work which you've shared with us. You've really matured as an artist over the time I, at least, have been here.

So here's to a thousand more, and much more BlackKusanagi work! ;D

[Fonk]

I like the second one best: she's more muscular and she's got that special, vixen-y look.

Thanks for posting! 😀

[Fonk]

Hee! I like it a lot. 😀

[Fonk]

Whoo! I'm like a machine, man!

—————————-

Lausanne's aerodrome was close to the city. Cleo and Marco were standing next to a building that screened the terminal and Customs when they saw Mr. Vaud's jet pull in to land perfectly. The plane turned at the end of the runway and pulled up next to the building. The noise of the engines died down completely. A hatch opened and Mr. Vaud got out, wearing a cream suit and club tie, flanked by Nefertiti, wearing a black suede jacket and silvery shorts, cut high up her thighs. The shorts neatly outlined her sex. Black suede thigh boots completed the ensemble. The material was very fine. She loved those boots. Wearing them was as easy as going barefoot to her. Unfortunately they were very fragile… and often tested when she smashed something with a kick, be it a door, wall or whatever, so she always carried a number of spare pairs. The two sisters hugged briefly. Marco greeted Nefertiti and his boss, and then the group headed for a taxi.

Nefertiti sat behind the driver with Mr. Vaud next to her. Cleo took the front passenger seat. Muneaux sat behind her. He put the briefcase between Mr. Vaud and himself. Nefertiti tapped the driver on the shoulder.

"Quai du Lac at Ouchy, please."

"OK."

They had been in the taxi for five minutes when Nefertiti realised he wasn't going towards the lake. The driver had now deliberately ignored signs for Ouchy – or even the town centre – for three consecutive junctions. It was getting more and more obvious that they were leaving Lausanne.

"Are you sure this is the way?" Nefertiti asked.

She didn't get a response but thought the driver seemed uneasy. He accelerated slightly. Nefertiti put her forearm around his neck, crushing him against the headrest.

"Where are we going?" No reply. Her grip tightened, making the seat crack slightly.

"Answer me!"

"Grrllllgggg," was all the driver could manage, strangled by the pressure of her forearm.

"We don't need to know where he's taking us, Nefertiti," Mr. Vaud said, "we're in a hurry. Get rid of him."

In one fluid movement Nefertiti contracted her forearm, crushing the man's throat, and ripped off the headrest, which offered little resistance given the pressure exerted by the young woman. The cracking of vertebrae was masked by the sound of the headrest's metallic structure bending and breaking through the thick material. The driver let go of the steering wheel to grip the flesh noose that was killing him, but it was no use. Cleo took control of the taxi and parked neatly. In a few seconds the driver was dead, a thin trickle of blood hanging from his mouth and nose. Nefertiti got out of the car, opened the driver's door, undid his seat belt and picked the body up with one hand. She effortlessly dragged it to the Citroën C5's boot, which she opened. She put the corpse in the boot, again with no apparent effort. It was a struggle, so she folded his body in half, bringing his butt next to his neck. Marco heard the long cracking of the spine, which broke in several places as the body was savagely bent. Two other cracking sounds, not as loud as the others, signalled that Nefertiti had had to break the man's legs as well to be able to shut the boot. This done, she sat in the driver's seat and turned the car around. Ten minutes later, they arrived at Tinguely's building. It was a modern building, perhaps built in the 90's, all glass and concrete. A uniformed guard was posted in front of the gigantic door, which was made of smoked glass covered in interlinked JT monograms. Seeing the taxi stop in front of the door and its four occupants get out, the man ran to them.

"You cannot park here!" he cried in a strong Vaudois accent.

Nefertiti handed him the keys to the car on her way past.

"Move it, then… and one of your colleagues is inside!"

She left the shocked gatekeeper as they all entered the building. Cleo headed straight for the information desk as the three others hung back. When she returned after having exchanged several words with the woman on the desk, she saw four men in black suits with black ties, shades and earpieces surround the group. She rejoined them at the moment one of them spoke.

"Follow us, please."

The four men surrounded Muneaux, Vaud and the two sisters and lead them to a lift. It spat them out a few moments later to face a large corridor paved with white sandstone and flanked by immaculate walls. It was bathed in a harsh light. The two sisters walked in front of the two men, still framed by the four bodyguards.

"What floor are we on?" Cleo demanded.

"I counted ten floors when we went up," Nefertiti replied.

"That's not right, the secretary said Tinguely's office is on the eighth floor…"

As she spoke Cleo stopped dead, and everyone followed suit. She exchanged a glance with Nefertiti, and the two girls went into action simultaneously. Everything happened very quickly.

Nefertiti kicked the bodyguard in front of her in the lower back. The man felt and heard a loud crack as the suede-covered foot had simply pulverised his lumbar column. The wracking pain swept right down to the feet and made his legs go dead. His knees bent and he fell to the floor, paralysed, just before the intensity of the pain made him lose consciousness. During that time, Nefertiti had cut off the second guard's respiration with an elbow to the thorax, breaking several ribs in the process. The man choked, leaning forward. She grabbed him by the ears and whacked his face against her chest, twice. It was as if he had been thrown into a concrete wall. His nose broke and his cheeks caved in. She raised his bleeding and beaten face to hers. She then took him firmly by the shoulder and turned his head through 180 degrees, cleanly breaking his cervical vertebrae. She left the body fall to the floor and turned to Cleo.

During this she had taken off her sandals and her silk-clad foot had crushed the testicles of the guard behind her with a skilful reverse kick. The man had crumpled with a loud cry. The other had turned around, and she had taken his head under her arm, tight enough that he wouldn't fight but not tight enough to strangle. The emasculated guard lay with his eyes wide open, hands at his crotch, shouting constantly. She turned to him and, with her foot, turned him onto his back. With the other guard still a prisoner of her armpit, she stood on tiptoes on his colleague's thorax. The curve of her foot reminded her of a practicing dancer. She smiled wickedly, curling her upper lip.

"Watch as I finish your friend!"

And her super-powerful thigh muscles started to press on his thorax. Cleo's solid toes had no problem penetrating the man's thorax, breaking a rib or two as they went. Her foot started to sink into the man's chest, who was spasming jerkily. The girl waited until her foot had sunk in up to the heel, tearing the sides away, crushing his lungs and maybe perforating his heart. The man was gripped by a final spasm before his body relaxed. She removed her foot with a horrible sucking noise, leaving a gaping hole from which hot blood was now leaking.

"Why not take a closer look?" she said to the other man, passing him from her arms to her scissor thighs, always keeping his head down, so that he could his colleague's horribly tortured body. His neck and lower face were caught in the vice that was Cleo's muscular thighs, which she closed slowly, crushing his bones. He vomited a torrent of blood. When her thighs had nearly come together, she opened them, letting the lifeless body slip to her feet. She cleaned her foot, covered in the blood of the first guard, on the jacket of the second.

"Don't you find that a bit gory?" Nefertiti asked.

"Yes, but I love it so much!" she said, slipping her feet back into her shoes. "Behind you!"

Even though he had been effectively paralysed by Nefertiti's kick, the man on the floor had managed to get his revolver out and was trying to aim through the pain. Nefertiti looked at him over her shoulder before going over to him. She put a foot on the weapon and the hand holding it.

"Didn't your mother ever tell you not to play with guns?" She pushed down with her foot, causing the man to cry out. Marco looked on, fascinated. He also felt nauseous in the face of so much cruelty. He heard the now commonplace noise of bones breaking, followed by the grinding of protesting metal being bent: Nefertiti had crushed the revolver under her foot. The man lost consciousness again. When she lifted her foot, the gun's barrel was the thickness of a piece of cardboard. Marco saw a few bloody trails and bits of crushed flesh on the sole of Nefertiti's shoe. No longer concerned with the massacre that they had just committed, the girls went to the lift.

"Oh no. There's no button, it must need a key!"

"That's no problem," Nefertiti replied, inserting her fingers in between the two doors. She separated her hands, bending the metal doors and breaking the automatic closing mechanism.

"Would you like to hang on to me?" she asked Mr. Vaud, who stood behind her, arms around her neck. Marco did the same with Cleo. Nefertiti jumped into the lift shaft and grabbed onto the cables. She dropped two floors using only the strength of her arms before bringing her legs straight out and breaking the lift doors down with one blow. A quick pull-up – still with her load intact – brought her into a hallway, richly decorated with panelling and oriental carpets. Cleo and Marco followed.

At the other end of the hall they found an imposing set of double doors made of sycamore. To one side, behind a desk made of the same wood, sat a secretary. The intrusion of the two couples made her jaw drop. Mr. Vaud addressed Nefertiti.

"Little one, will you ask for a meeting with Jean Tinguely for me, please? It's quite urgent."

The athletic girl wove her way sensually toward the desk, the muscles of her thighs dancing under the supple suede of her boots that was like a second skin.

"Good day, miss. Would you announce Mr. Vaud, please?"

The secretary seemed paralysed. The vision of the hyper-muscular woman with an outrageous cleavage, clad in tiny shorts and boots who walked like a model, seemed slightly surreal. After a few seconds, she seemed to gather (some of) her wits.

"Er… Mr. Tinguely is… is out of the office at the moment and… and he will not be able to… receive you."

Nefertiti approached the double doors. The secretary stood up, intending to stand between Nefertiti and the door.

"No, no, you can't go in. I'll have to call secur – "

She didn't get chance to finish her sentence. The roundhouse kick hit with such force that it caused the girl's skull to cave in, shooting an eye out of its socket with the shock. Nefertiti swung again and took the secretary's head clean off, which then rolled down the hallway for a few metres like an old balloon, as the rest of her body slumped in a shower of blood which went nearly a metre up. Nefertiti just managed to avoid getting covered in red.

"I don't see how you're any less bloodthirsty than me!" Cleo said in an amused voice.

"Oops! Sometimes I just don't know my own strength," her sister replied, taking on a falsely contrite air.

The sight of the secretary's decapitation was too much for Marco. He went a little way from the group and vomited. Mr. Vaud, on the other hand, seemed to appreciate the spectacle and looked at Nefertiti with a mixture of pride and desire.

[Fonk]

I think that you have to look away from Hollywood to find originality, by and large. The movie industry is, as I understand it, on its knees at the moment. That being the case, studios are only going to take on what they see as "safe bets"… the unoriginal bankers, remakes, or adaptations of books and comic books.

It makes me sad.

[Fonk]

Wow, that's amazing! Congratulations, my good sir, and to your collaborator, too! ;D

[Author]

Posts