Page 4 of Cause Of Death

I’m his omega, even though we’ve never done anything more than cuddle up on the sofa together. In a nutshell, he’s waiting for me to mentally be ready to accept an alpha, to be open to starting a family and once I am, he’ll be mine. I’m waiting for him to be done with the military, although I’ll neveractuallyask him to leave. He has to do that on his own accord.

But until that moment comes, he’ll be my protector and dear friend.

As I said, it’s complicated.

“Um, the invitation says that you need to ‘consume the invitation,’ whatever that means. So, how are you going to do that, Dee?” Kimberly peers over my shoulder where the blackinvite rests on my lap. The alarm on my phone goes off, the song I chose giving me inspiration.

“Well, I’m going to light it up and then take it with a finger of whisky, neat. Should accentuate its smoky flavor nicely.”

And that’s how I joined the hallowed ranks of theFemme Fatale Freakshow.

PRESENT DAY

Iwrithe and grind on the cock impaling me, one hand pinching and tweaking at my nipple while the other braces against the bare, hairless chest of the man I’m riding, his hips bucking and thrusting upward eagerly.

Mitchell Collins.

Blond hair, blue eyes, with that wholesome boy-next-door look going for him, Mitchell is a dime a dozen here in Fresno. His body is toned and tanned, the muscles not too prominent but just obvious enough to show he takes care of himself. However, there are no callouses on his hands from lifting weights or boxing, nor on his knees or feet from surfing. My guess is that he makes good use of the treadmills in the gym downstairs. My research has given me the impression that everything about Mitchell Collins is designed to be the perfect showpiece. There’s very little actual substance left once you get past his appearance. At least, not that I could find.

I gyrate my hips again, eliciting a groan from the man beneath me. His cock is a reasonable enough length and girth for a normie—those who either don’t ascribe to or identify with a particular designation or are completely mundane in their humanity with no other abilities—and he knows exactly how to wield it for maximum impact. Thrusting his hips up, Mitchell strums my clit with his thumb as his cock brushes over that hidden cluster of nerves, and pleasure washes over me.

Oh, he’sgood. It’s not often I’m brought to climax so quickly. It’s a shame, really, that his generosity and attention to his partners in bed hasn’t expanded to his life outside the bedroom. If it had, I doubt I’d be here with his name on my lips.

I clench my pussy around his cock, a strangled moan erupting from Mitchell’s throat, his hips jerking up uncontrollably as he nears his own climax. I take advantage of his slack-jawed lust and distracted state, allowing my left arm to dissipate into my namesake. I keep rocking and grinding away, pinching his nipples hard with my right hand when he closes his mouth. His responding cry is the last sound he’ll ever make.

I trail my now-vaporous arm up his torso and slip my intangible fingers past his lips, dripping and drizzling my hand down his throat. Once I’m sufficiently deep enough, I allow the consistency of my arm to solidify somewhat, the thick, unyielding mass molding to his trachea. In this state my arm is neither solid nor vapor, and there’ll be nothing left inside him to incriminate me.

I grin wickedly down at my target as he chokes and seizes, his face turning purple and blood vessels bursting in his eyes. We both hit our individual orgasms at the same moment, his convulsions sending me on an absolutely amazing ride as his involuntary auto-erotic asphyxiation tips his own body over the edge.

His heart races under my palm, my body weight pressing down on it as I lower myself to whisper in his ear.

“Mitchell Collins, you should have never crossed Scott Naylor nor attempted to silence him. It turns out he has friends in low places, the type of friends that not even your wealthy and corrupt associates can buy off. But hey, at least you got to go out with a bang, am I right?”

Mitchell doesn’t respond. He can’t really, not with my arm so far down his throat I can probably poke him in his stomach. But that’s okay, he doesn’t need to say anything. In fact, I’d prefer it if he dies silently.

Mitchell’s heartbeat slows, his limbs falling to the mattress below and stilling. I wait as his eyes, so frightened, angry, and full of tears, glaze over and dull as death tightens its grip on him. I feel the last stuttered beats of his heart fail. There’s no death rattle, no last gasp, just silence.

I dissipate my arm once more, drawing each strand and tendril from the bruised and swollen channel, before dismounting my satisfying ride. I quickly leave his bedroom and head for the bathroom.

I make use of the facilities to do a basic clean of my nethers, as the last thing I need is a UTI thanks to a dead man. Once I’m satisfied that there’s no hint of Mitchell left on—or in—me, I grin with satisfaction as I spy the bottle of sodium hypochlorite—otherwise known as liquid bleach—stored neatly under the sink with the other cleaning supplies, and get to work removing any and all traces of my presence here. I examine the bed closely, picking up several strands of hair from the bedding, too long and the wrong color to be Mitchell’s. He had the all-American-frat-boy look going with his short blond hair, so my long, copper strands will stand out as foreign. I wrap them up in some toilet paper before wiping my own essence from Mitchell’s groin andthighs with some damp tissues. I’m not too worried about my own DNA, because I have a plan for that.

A bottle of lotion and several scattered tissues soon litter the bed, and I squeeze some of the lotion onto his limp hand. I grimace as I wrap it around the base of his now flaccid cock, and then pull the used condom away, slicking the spongy shaft with lotion. I don’t care that his own cum oozes over his thighs and groin, because as far as anyone will be able to tell, he suffocated while having a wank.

The last item I need to make this look authentic comes from his kitchen. A plastic grocery bag goes over Mitchell’s head, and I once again dissolve my arm into vapor and push the plastic down his throat. While it won’t necessarily explain the bruising, there’s nothing here to indicate that Mitchell had company when he died.

Ignoring the stench of sex mingling with the shit and piss that Mitchell’s dead body voided as his life left him, I take the discarded condom and my hair back into the bathroom and use the bleach to destroy the remains of my DNA and flush it down the toilet. I know, there’s a special place in Hell reserved for people who flush things down the toilet that don’t belong there but needs must. A few swipes with the antibacterial cleaning wipes erase my presence from the bathroom, and I’m done.

One last stroll around Mitchell’s apartment shows that there’s no trace of my presence here—the alarm was disarmed with the code when Mitchell entered; the door has been secured from the inside, including the swing bar door guard; and there’s absolutely no indication of Mitchell having a guest—no stray piece of clothing or jewelry left behind, no additional glassware with lipstick on the rim, and no sign of forced entry, either.

I glance down at my naked body and grin. It’s actually quite funny how many people don’t consider the implications or consequences when they come home to a previously lockedhouse or apartment only to find an attractive, completely naked individual sprawled out on their bed, masturbating. You’d think they’d at least ask who I am, what I’m doing there, and how did I get inside? Nope. Not in Mitchell’s case. His response? Get naked and dive dick-first between my legs. I’m sure that wherever he is now, he’s regretting his rashness. Oh well, he’s not my problem anymore.

I close my eyes and sigh out in relief as the weight of my body disappears, my form melting away into nothing but ephemeral vapor. I have no idea what I am, or how I can shift into this form, but it’s proven to be a boon in my chosen career. After all, people can’t live inside a vacuum, and if there’s a way for air to get inside somewhere, then I can hitch a ride as well. I just can’t physically take anything with me, as I don’t have a body to lift or carry things.

My infinitesimal particles drift through the air and then down to the sliver of a gap at the bottom of Mitchell’s front door. I seep through, leaving nothing of myself behind, then float down the hallway of the secured building. My exit is as quick and easy as my entrance had been, and the only hint of my passing is the faint traces of my natural smoked vanilla scent lingering in the air. Even this is easily explained—it could be the after notes of a woman’s perfume or a man’s cologne; it could be caused by a scented candle burning in another apartment; or it could even be the enticing smells of sweet bakery treats being carried inside to be consumed later.

I rise above the heads of my fellow pedestrians, preferring to float above rather than have them stomp their dirty feet through my intangible body. It’s not even the fact that they’re trampling through my form—no, it’s because I have no idea what they might have stepped in or on in their travels. The stench of fresh dog shitlingers, and the last thing I need is to either spend several days showering multiple times and wearing a lotof perfume, or to spend several hours spritzing different odor-neutralizers into the air and drifting through the particles in my evaporated state to get rid of every trace of poop. Don’t ask me why I’m unable to carry a damned thing while in this form, and yet the stench of dog shit will cling like a barnacle. Or a hemorrhoid.

Eventually, the parking garage appears, and I dart between people and through the gaping maw of an entrance. It doesn’t take long before I’m hovering at my vehicle, a 2017 Toyota Corolla in nondescript white. Such a common car, yet perfect for those “vertically challenged” people like me who enjoy the extra head and foot room while not breaking the bank. Mine has a couple of after-market modifications, not that they’re overly noticeable to the average passer-by.

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