*By GILDA LILY*

I was wearing my "VICTORIA'S SECRET" T-shirt today and I was
inspired to write this. Enjoy!
Rated PG-13 for m/f and m/m
Disclaimer: I don't own 'em, Alliance does, more's the pity.
Comments can be made to: jeanniemarie@sprintmail.com.
(c) September 6, 1998

Victoria sat in the chair in her nondescript hotel room, one leg
draped over the arm and swinging back and forth in a gentle cycle, the
other's thigh lovingly caressed by her own hand as she thought of her
Ben.

She loved Ben, of course. She loved his body, the way it felt
against her, inside her, beneath her. She loved his naivete that drank
in her mastery with every breath, and she loved his passive streak that
allowed her to take the lead, as it should be. She had bound him to her
with her body, as she had done to so many men before him. She had
nearly thrown her head back and howled with laughter as they had made
love in his dingy little apartment, as he'd been so virginal and anxious
to please. Passive, but aggressive in the right moments.

Her supremely-satisfied expression grew dark.
That...that...*Vecchio*!...had ruined everything! His interference was
the reason that her beloved Ben was not with her now, accepting her
discipline as he was meant to be. Her hand lightly caressed the whip
that rested by her thigh. Jolly had always loved her discipline.

That balding, big-nosed, loud, obnoxious Italian thought that he
had some claim on Ben! He could not bind her Ben to him with his body;
they were just friends, but he thought that gave him to right to take
him away from her.

What was worse, her woman's body had known what lay beneath the
baggy coats and shirts and pants. She had hated him from the first
moment that she had laid eyes on him, and had known he was a rival.
Their exchange in his sister's bedroom had shown her that he felt the
same way, too. ("Listen, you hurt him and I'll kill ya.") And she had
known, too, by the way he moved and the way he smiled, that there was
fire and passion to match hers beneath that facade he cultivated. He
knew power, but was too weak to use it.

Weak like Ben, like all men, but especially Ben. Poor, sweet,
passive Ben. So eager for the crumbs from her table. So lonely and
needful and overflowing with romantic love. She laughed deep in her
throat.

She had kept tabs on him and Vecchio. Her contact regularly sent
her pictures. Now Vecchio had shorn his head and dressed in dark,
conservative clothing, becoming sleeker and sexier. She felt it deep in
her bones. He would be a fine match for her, if he only could put aside
his tiresome middle-class morality and join her. But sweet Ben was
hers, and so easy to control. While Vecchio would be a challenge, Ben
was her devoted handmaiden, pool boy, slave to her every whim.

As it should be.

Of course Vecchio had to be eliminated. With him gone, Ben would
come with her without hesitation. She had seen his hesitation that
night at the train station, him looking at Vecchio before deciding to
run to her. There would always be a tie here if the Italian lived.
Therefore, he could not.

A knock on the door. She rose, wariness in her voice as she asked,
"Who is it?"

"Bellboy, ma'am."

She opened the door and took the packet he handed her. She closed
the door and looked at the postmark. A Chicago postmark. Excellent.
She returned to her chair, placing the whip between her legs and opened
the packet.

She shrieked with fury and surprise, letting the first photo fall
to the floor. For several minutes, her chest heaved as she stared with
eyes lit from within at the far wall, then a sly smile spread across her
face. She retrieved the photo. So. Vecchio had finally used his power
and had bound Ben to him.

Rivals of the body as well as of the heart. She looked at the
other pictures, avidly running her gaze down the Italian's body. She
had been right. A panther, a gazelle, a man of grace and elegance who
knew how to use his attributes. He probably had Ben on his knees,
eating from the fruits of his table, feeding him just enough to leave
the beautiful one begging for more. A pity that such power and strength
worthy of her had to be destroyed.

Because now, Ben's grief would be that of a lover torn in half at
the death of his mate. True, Vecchio was only a diversion while Ben
waited for Victoria to return and claim him, but she knew her
possession. He was a Commitment Forever kind of guy. She chuckled and
began the pleasant task of entertaining notions of how her rival should
die.

Should it be some terribly poignant death, so very romantic as Ben
held him in his arms and weeped, covered in his dear one's blood? Or
perhaps a swift bullet in some random act? But then Ben would have that
romantic memory of his lover dying in his arms, or the endless dizzying
of a senseless death. It would be more difficult to get him to forget.

Perhaps an illness? One which the doctors would be helpless to
cure, with the proper suffering. After all, Vecchio deserved her
respect, as one rival to another. There would be great angst to his
dying, and time for heartfelt goodbyes. Combining romanticism with
senselessness might just be overwhelming enough to numb Ben completely.

But how to do it? She thought, then the mad light went on in her
eyes. Of course! Rudy, who worked in the Medical Research Center, was
bound to her by her body. He worked with dangerous viruses and had told
her one night after making love (how men loved to brag while in bed,
their cocks still hot against you, their semen drying on your thighs and
belly!) how a new virus had been discovered, one that was deadly and
extremely painful. Instead of burning with passion, Vecchio would burn
with death.

She squealed softly as she clutched the packet to her chest, her
tongue licking her lips. Dear Ben with her once again! And her rival
dispatched with the proper respect. Yes, yes, this would do.

She picked up the phone and dialed a number. "Hello, Rudy?"

Ray Vecchio was dead. All that was needed was for her to pick out
the flowers for his grave and drag a numbed Ben away from it.

Her body shuddered as she threw back her head in
ecstasy.*


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