THE BEAUTIFUL TEMPTRESS

Tasha Mournet was nearly two-metres tall, with caramel-coloured skin looking like a young Jessica Alba: gorgeous, sensual, and exotic all rolled into one. Completely with a traditional hourglass figure.

Hips swaying, Tasha sashayed into the lobby of the Dorset Hotel in Duchess Lane, off Gordon Street, in LePage. Strolling across to the reception desk she ting-tinged the bell to attract the attention of the huge burly landlord who was half hidden behind a full-sized newspaper.

"Hold your..." he said lowering the paper. Stopping to stare at the gorgeous visage facing him.

"I'm sorry if I interrupted you," apologised Tasha.

"No, not at all," said George Mulberry the proprietor. He hurriedly dropped his newspaper behind the reception counter. "What can I do for you?"

"I have booked a reservation for two weeks," she said, handing him a single A4 sheet: "This is my confirmation letter."

He checked his PC and then said: "Oh yes. Do you have luggage?"

"My cases are outside, the taxi man just dumped them there."

"Yes, they're so rude, these days," said George. He ting-tinged the bell three times and a tall lanky, twenty-something porter appeared from the dining room.

"Desi, help me get this lady's luggage inside," said George, walking around the counter.

Desi was about to complain that he was on his tea break. Then he saw Tasha, and, eyes almost popping out, he said: "Er, sure, Mr. Mulberry."

The two men hurried outside and soon returned carrying four large suitcases between them, bringing them across to the reception desk.

"If you'll sign here," said George, turning the registry book toward the beautiful woman.

She scrawled her name, then George gave a key card to Desi and said: "Take Ms. Mournet up to room 148. Then come back for the rest of her luggage."

"Miss Mournet," corrected Tasha: "I don't want to scare off any eligible single men."

"You got it," said Desi. He no longer worried about working through his tea break. He picked up two of her large suitcases, transferring the key card to his mouth, then led her across to the white-doored elevator. Which seemed out of place in the lobby, which otherwise was painted dark blue, with yellow trim on the skirting boards and other doors.

"Dark blue and yellow, that's an unusual combination," said Tasha as they stepped into the elevator.

"Tacky, if you ask me, but he barracks for the West Coast Eagles in the Australian Football League," said Desi: "Don't tell him I said it was tacky, though."

"Don't worry, it can be our little secret," said Tasha. She did a zipping motion across her sensual full lips.


On the first floor, Desi put down the cases to open the door to room 148. Which was painted in a more pleasing pale violet with white trim.

"More pleasing than downstairs," said Tasha as they entered.

"Yeah, all the upstairs rooms are in pastel shades. His wife, Annette would only let him paint the lobby in West Coast Eagles blue and yellow."

"A wise woman by the sounds of it."

"Well, she's less colour-blind than him, that's for sure," said Desi, making the gorgeous woman laugh.

"You are a very funny and charming young man," said Tasha.

"I'd umm ... better go get your other bags," he said, reluctantly backing out of the room.

"Is it too late to have dinner?" she asked.

"No, they've just started serving."

"Then why don't we go down together? And you can bring my bags up afterward," Tasha suggested.

"Sounds good to me," said Desi. Admiring the swaying of her backside as she led the way back to the elevator.


Over at Deidre Morton's boarding house in Rochester Road, Merridale, they were also sitting down to tea.

"I've got a nice beef roast for you tonight," said Deidre. A short, plumpish sixty-something lady, who should have received at least seven Michelin stars for her cooking prowess: "Followed by peach cobbler for dessert."

"Oh, lovely," said Natasha Lipzing. A tall, thin grey-haired lady. Who at seventy had spent the second half of her life at the boarding house.

"I'm having mine with brandy poured across it," insisted Tommy Turner. A short blonde retiree, with a gut to match his appetite ... large!

"Oh God, must you?' asked Freddy Kingston. Also a retiree, tall, plump, and bald - other than a Larry Fine Style ruff of black hair around the sides and back of his head.

"I can make it rum if you prefer."

"You should have quit while you were behind, Freddy," said Colin Klein. A tall redheaded London Crime reporter who had recently been taken on as a special investigator by the Glen Hartwell Police. He also dated Terri Scott.

"We really should arrest him for crimes against gourmet cooking," said Terri Scott. A tall, beautiful ash blonde, aged thirty-two, she was Senior Sergeant and chief cop in the Glen Hartwell to Willamby region of the Victorian countryside.

"Yeh, let's throw the book at him, followed by the bookcase, then the whole firkin' library," said Sheila Bennett. Also thirty-two, Sheila was a tall, muscular Goth chick, with orange-and-black-striped shoulder-length hair. As Chief Constable of the region, she was the second-top cop in the area.

"Language!" said Deidre Morton.

"Sorry, Mum!" teased Sheila.

"So, do I get my brandy on my peach cobbers?" asked Tommy.

"Instead of on your roast?"

"Okay," conceded Tommy, a reforming alcoholic. Only reforming because Deidre had seized his secret stash and meted it out to him one glass or dram per meal.


Over at the Dorset hotel in Duchess Lane, LePage, they had finished tea, and Desi and the gorgeous Tasha Mournet were walking across to the white-doored elevator. Desi was carrying the last of her large suitcases, but barely noticed their weight, so enthralled was he by the caramel-coloured beauty.


After he had placed the cases into her room, he turned to leave, however, Tasha stopped him, saying:

"You must let me give you a tip for all of your kind help."

"That really isn't necessary," insisted the tall, thin young man.

"But I insist," said Tasha. She reached around to untie the top of her dress. Then shimmed her wide hips, to make the dress slide down to the floor, revealing her wonderful body in all of its luscious splendour.

"Well, um ... if you insist," said Desi, careful to close and lock the door to the corridor.

Smiling lasciviously, Tasha ripped the quilt and top sheet off her king-single bed. She leapt onto her bed, spread her full creamy thighs wide, and said: "Boarding time!"

"Here, comes the HMAS Horny Bastard!" said Desi, leaping onto the bed.

Tasha laughed in delight as she welcomed the young man's manhood deep into her body and wrapped her strong legs around him. Pulling him almost sadistically down into her.

Not that Desi was complaining. At twenty-five he had only had sex once before. And that had been an unsatisfying experience with a fifty-something, fat blonde prostitute. Although curvacious, there was nothing fat, or unsatisfying about Tasha Mournet, as she pulled the young man's engorged penis into her body with such force that it almost seemed as though Desi was going to be unborn and get sucked deep into the gorgeous woman's womb.

"Oh God, I hope this lasts forever," said Desi aloud. Unable to believe the level of pleasure of the beautiful woman's soft, curvaceous body. Let alone the soft, sucking, vicelike grip of her sex, as he ploughed in and out of it at a frantic pace.

"Slow down, handsome," said Tasha: "No need to rush it, we have all night."

"No, I've gotta come quickly the first time, then we can go slowly after that."

"Whatever you say, lover," said Tasha. A little frustrated, knowing that the first time would also be the last time. There would be no second time ever for Desi Arnold.

Doing her best not to be frustrated, Tasha matched Desi thrust for thrust as he ploughed in and out of her till he sprayed his semen deep within her hungry body. More hungry than he could imagine, since after taking his seed, it continued to suck body fluids from his system until like a leaf in summer his whole body started to dry up like stop-gap photography. Until he was dead and his body had been reduced to something akin to a vaguely man-shaped sheet of ancient cheesecloth. Which Tasha managed to extract from herself and toss onto the bed, seconds before it disintegrated into nothing more than fine ash.

"So much for that!" said Tasha, strangely satisfied and frustrated at the same time. Nowadays men still satisfied her physical appetites, but never seemed to be able to satisfy her vast sexual appetites anymore. Not like the men of the past! she thought: The ancient Greek and Roman legions, Genghis Khan's armies, the Cavaliers, the Conquistadors! Now those were mighty, mighty men who knew how to satisfy all of a girl's needs. Not like the emasculated sissified men of the twenty-first century!


Over at Deidre Morton's boarding house they had finished eating and were in the lounge room, ready to watch TV. All except for Terri Scott, and Colin Klein who were heading upstairs, hand-in-hand.

"Good night, everyone," called Terri.

"Goodnight," Mrs. Morton and the others called back.


"I'm not sure about them sharing a room under my roof, without even getting married," said Deidre. After Colin and Terri went upstairs to the room that they now shared.

"Well, it was your idea to get them together," pointed out Natasha Lipzing.

"She's got ya there, Mrs. M.," teased Sheila Bennett.

"Yes, but I meant for them to get married first."

"Marriage isn't so important to young people anymore," said Freddy Kingston.

"You speak much wisdom," said Sheila.

"They're right," said Tommy Turner: "Without even having conjugal rights anymore, a man would be insane to get married these days. It's amazing the difference in the amount of times a woman says no when they're living together, and when she's got him on the leash!"

"You are so coarse!" said Natasha.

"She's right, mate," said Freddy: "You've got no romance in your soul!"

"I'll take sex over romance any day."

"I doubt that there are too many women who would give you either anymore," said Sheila. Making everyone except Tommy laugh.


Upstairs Colin and Terri were making passionate love. A lot less frantically, and a lot more lovingly than what had gone on between Tasha Mournet and Desi Arnold.


By the time morning rolled around Tasha had had a good night's sleep. After first sweeping up Desi's remains into a small brown-paper bag, which she then placed into her bedside dustbin. Before carefully wiping down her bottom sheet with a dust brush.

He disappointed me once, she had thought: No reason for him to keep me awake as well!


"Now where the Hell is that lazy sod, Desi?" asked Annette Mulberry the next morning as they were preparing breakfast for the residents. A tall, forty-something, buxom redhead, she was used to people jumping to obey her orders.

"Who knows," said her husband George: "He always was a waste of space. We really should fire him."

"Well, if he's not here in ten minutes, he can consider himself fired!" said Annette.

Huge, burly man that he was, George knew better than to contradict his wife when she had her dander up. Hell hath no fury like a redhead pissed off! he thought.

"Who's fired," asked twenty-year-old waitress-cum-maid-cum-general factotum, Lizzie Enrich. A tall, leggy brunette, wearing a micro-mini skirt. She figured: If you've got great legs why hide them away?

"That stupid bugger, Desi," said Annette.

"Ah, good riddance," said Lizzie. She had never liked Desi since he had said that her legs were scrawny. I've got great legs! she thought looking down at them.

"Stop ogling your own gams, and get into the dining room," ordered Annette, as the first of the residents started to arrive.

"Chow time!" called Lizzie. Just jumping forward in time to avoid having her backside swatted by a redhead pissed off.

"Ah, Miss Mournet,' said Annette, as the gorgeous newcomer arrived at the dining room. "I hope you slept well last night."

"Wonderfully well," enthused Tasha: "Your beds have just the right amount of firmness. Not too hard, not too soft."

She sashayed into the dining room. Relieved to see that the walls were painted white, with lime-coloured skirting boards, instead of the garish blue and yellow of the reception area.

As she waited to be served, she carefully checked out the male residents in the dining room. Most of them were in their fifties or much older. Still killers, can't be choosers! she thought. Having to cover her face with one hand so that no one could see her wicked smirk.

At the next table sat a tall, dark-haired man, mid to late forties, with Richard Burton-style rugged good looks. Thinking back to the Egyptian, Greek, Roman, and Wallachian warriors whom she had mated with and consumed the essence of down the millennia, she thought: Yes, a likely possibility. Handsome, but in a manly way. Nothing sissified about him.

"Mr. Lansdale, your usual?" asked Lizzie, not afraid to flash her long legs at him.

"Yes, porridge and treacle ... with a side order of saucy wench," he said, making a grab for her generous backside.

"Mr. Lansdale?" said Lizzie. Pretending to be shocked, but not fooling anyone. Like Tasha, the twenty-year-old found Nate Lansdale a turn-on and had had her eyes on him for the past six months.

Not on my watch, Little Sister! thought Tasha glaring at the younger woman: He's my supper for tonight, and no young slut is going to steal him away from me.

"Miss Mournet?" said Annette for the second time.

"Sorry, I was kilometres away. Two very rare breakfast steaks, please."

"They're quite small, I'd better bring you three," said the redhead turning to take the order to their chef, Pierre. As he liked to be called, despite being of Italian-Australian heritage.

"What?" he asked, forgetting to put on his bogus French accent.

"Three very rare breakfast steaks."


"Mind if I sit here?" asked Tasha, surreptitiously changing seats to be at the same table as Nate Lansdale.

"Not at all, beautiful lady," he said.

This is going to be easier than I dared hope! thought Tasha, licking her lips.

Taking it as a come-on, Nate placed his right hand on her left knee and slowly started easing it upwards.

"Wait until tonight, after supper, when we're alone," promised Tasha with her sexiest voice. Licking her lips seductively again.

"My room or yours?' he whispered back at her?"

"Yours I think," she said: "Perhaps 9:30?"

"Your wish is mine too," he said, making her laugh. Thinking: "My luck has finally changed. Not realising how horrifically it had changed! He added: "Room 223 on the second storey."

"I'll be there," said Tasha, returning to her own table. Smiling suggestively at her coming night's dinner.


By noon Matilda Arnold had reported her son Desmond missing to the local police.

"Missing persons case," said Terri Scott hanging up the phone at the Mitchell Street Police Station in Glen Hartwell. "Mattie Arnold hasn't seen Desi in twenty-four hours."

"Don't they have to be missing forty-eight hours before we get involved?" asked Colin Klein. He had been helping out with filing, which had mounted up over the last few months due to the great abundance of goofy cases.

"Technically," admitted Terri: "But I thought it might make a pleasant change from chasing monsters and psychotic mass murderers as we've been doing since early October. A simple missing persons case."

"You have much wisdom blonde-type woman!" said Sheila Bennett. Picking up the keys to Terri's police-blue Lexus as they started outside."


After a few hours of trying all of Desi's favourite haunts, including interviewing the people at the Dorset Hotel in Duchess Lane, LePage, Sheila asked:

"So do we put an APB out on him ...? Or do we just ring around all the blokes and sheilas and ask them to keep a butcher's out for him?"

"The second," said Terri, starting to ring with her mobile: "I'll ring Stanlee Dempsey, Don Esk, Drew Braidwood, Paul Bell, and Jessie Baker. You ring the pro rata ladies: Wendy Pearson, Hilly Hindmarsh, Greta Goddard, and Alice Walker, and let them know that they're back on the payroll for a few days."

"Whacko," said Sheila: "They'll be thrilled to get a little extra housekeeping coming in."

"And hopefully they can help us to track down Desi Arnold also," pointed out Colin Klein.

"That too, of course."


By the start of nightfall, however, there was no sign of Desi. Although his second-hand Honda Accord had been found parked in the employee car park of the Dorset Hotel.

"It was Lizzie Enrich, our maid-cum-waitress, who noticed it as she was taking the rubbish out to the bin after lunch," explained Annette Mulberry, whom they had already met earlier in the day.

They interviewed everyone staying at the hotel for the second time that day, then had the car towed away to Ed Bussy's car repairs in Wentworth Street Glen Hartwell. They had a pro-rata payment deal with Ed to store any cars they impounded.


Then finally they managed to finish for the day and return to Deidre Morton's boarding house for a sumptuous dinner of roast duck in cherry sauce.

"Whacko," said Sheila as they settled down to eat.


Over at the Dorset Hotel in LePage, Tasha Mournet had her usual meal of very rare steaks and plain water. Then excused herself to head up to bed. Managing to give Nate Lansdale another sensual lick of her lips, to let him know that she had not forgotten their 9:30 appointment.

He gave her what he hoped was a surreptitious nod, then headed off to room 223, a few minutes later. Where he undressed and had a long shower to be at his best for the gorgeous caramel-coloured woman.

At 9:30 on the dot, he heard gentle wrapping on the door to his room.

"Please, come in beautiful lady," he invited, having brought up a bottle of Australia's superior Champagne and a plate of caviar and crackers for them to dine upon before making love.

"Please," said Tasha: "We have no need for preliminaries. I just want you inside of me as soon as possible."

Having reached for the champagne cork, Nate stopped and placed the bottle back onto the small coffee table, and allowed the Deadly Temptress to lead him by the hand across to his bed. On which he had already carefully turned down the sheets.

Undoing the top of her dress, she shimmied out of it, then climbed onto his bed and said: "Take me now! Take me cruelly, violently! Don't make love to me! Fuck the living shit out of me!"

Only too happy to oblige, Nate hurried out of his clothes, almost falling to the grey-carpeted floor in his haste.

"Don't hurt yourself," said Tasha, genuinely concerned. A damaged man who could not perform was of no use to her. And she was so hungry! The rare steaks had done nothing to quench her famine-like need for sustenance!

Managing to stay on his feet, Nate climbed onto the bed and scooted across to where the gorgeous creature's long legs were spread wide, waiting for him to climb aboard her and begin his penetration.

"Take me roughly! Take me cruelly!" she begged him. And the forty-eight-year-old man was only too happy to oblige. His wife, Tanya, had died of breast cancer seven years ago, and he had not had any kind of sex let alone lovemaking since.

Soon he was ploughing his manhood in and out of her. To her pleasure with a lot more staying power than Desi Arnold had been able to display the previous night!

This is why I need a mature man, not a child! thought Tasha. Wrapping her long legs around Nate's strong back she helped to pull him deeper and deeper into her curvacious body, as they engaged in an epic lovemaking session, which lasted for nearly ninety minutes before finally, Nate Lansdale ejaculated what felt like a small ocean into her.

"Yes! Yes! I need a real man to fuck me!" she cried, continuing to suck Nate deeper into her body. Continuing to draw the vital juices, the vital life forces out of him.

Exhausted from his efforts, Nate was unable to comprehend what was happening, let alone fight it, until it was too late. He had been reduced to a lifeless corpse, then the frail essence of a former corpse as Tasha left behind the same cheese cloth-like outline of the once-man, that she had done with Desi Arnold.

Trying to separate from the outline without it bursting across her, the creature calling itself Tasha Mournet brought a waste basket across to the bed. Then did her best to sweep the fragile remains of Nate Lansdale into the basket. To be emptied into the rubbish bin the next morning.

She hurriedly redressed, then making certain no one was in the corridor outside, she hurried downstairs to her own room 148, on the storey below.


The next morning, George and Annette Mulberry, and Lizzie Enrich were racing around trying to serve the guests. Over the summer, residencies were at a premium. Although that was good money-wise, it was a pain at meal times, when everyone had to be served. Which was probably why none of them noticed that Nate Lansdale was missing until they had finished serving.

"It's not like him to miss breakfast," said Lizzie. Genuinely concerned for the handsome widower, whom she had designs upon.

"Well, we can't look for him now," said Annette, as they started to clean away some of the dishes as residents started to leave: "Once all the dishes are cleaned away, you can go see if he's all right."

"But what if he's had a heart attack or something and needs immediate help?" asked Lizzie.

"She's right," said George, for one of the very few times in their married life overruling his wife: "Lizzie, you go to see if he's all right, while we clear up in here."

"Yes, Mr. Mulberry," she said. Trying to make it seem like his idea. So that he would cop any backlash from Annette, not Lizzie herself.

Striding along on her long legs, Lizzie did not bother with the elevator, but raced up the two flights of stairs, two steps at a time, until she was soon outside the door to room 223.

"Mr. Lansdale, are you all right?" she called after wrapping upon the door.

Finally, she used her pass key to let herself in, calling: "Mr. Lansdale, it's Lizzie. Are you all right?" She could see that there was no one in the main room, so she trotted across to the en suite in case he had had a fall in the shower. However, she doubted that such a virile-looking man would fall in the shower; and as expected, there was no sign of him.

Puzzled, she carefully looked around the room, until spotting the yellow-white dust in the waste basket. Putting on a blue cleaning glove, she picked up a small handful and looked at it, then took a careful sniff.

"What the...?" she said, recognising the scent, although she could not say from where.

Deciding that it might be important she took the waste basket downstairs to show to the Mulberrys.


Annette reluctantly took a sniff of the powder and wondered if she could just smell the tiniest trace of Nate Lansdale's Old Spice aftershave.

"We'd better call in the police, and let them analyse it," said Annette.

"Aren't we jumping the gun?" asked George.

"No!" said Annette and Lizzie together.

George had learnt in a long, happy marriage that a man should never argue with his wife about anything except sex ... and only then if he was absolutely desperate. Also, when two women agreed on something a man just had to accept that he was outvoted. So he switched on his mobile phone and rang Terri Scott. Interrupting her breakfast.


"Why do they always call when we're having breakfast?" demanded Sheila Bennett.

"Just get as many vegemite crumpets down your neck as you can while she's still talking," advised Tommy Turner.

Realising he was right Sheila started wolfing her food down.

"Slow down, Sheils, before you choke," said Terri: "It's another missing person's case, this time combined with some kooky yellow-white dust they've found."

"So we don't have to race off?" asked Colin Klein.

"I don't see why we should," agreed Terri, before going on with her own breakfast.


An hour or so later they had collected the yellow-white dust, which did indeed smell vaguely like Old Spice, and had conducted a thorough search of the Dorset Hotel, from top to basement, and around the outbuildings in case he'd taken a spill outside.

"He is a very fit man," insisted Lizzie.

"That's right," agreed George: "Nate's only forty-eight and keeps himself in great shape."

"Even fit people can have falls," insisted Terri. She left Stanlee Dempsey and pro rata police woman Alice Walker: a forty-six-year-old brunette. An amateur weight-lifter, and gym mate of Sheila, Derek, and Cheryl, Alice was a tall, attractive widow. "Ask around the neighbourhood to find out if anyone has seen him this morning."

"Gotcha," said Stanlee, a powerful ox of a man, nearly two metres tall.


Half an hour later they were at the Glen Hartwell and Daley Community Hospital, watching on as Tilly Lombstrom and Jesus Costello examined the yellow-white powder. Jesus, pronounced 'Hee-Zeus', was the chief administrator and head surgeon at the hospital. Tilly, a tall curvacious fifty-something brunette, was his second in charge,

"Any conclusions yet, docs?" asked Terri.

"Well, it definitely smells vaguely of Old Spice," said Jesus.

"I see now why he's the number one doctor in the Glen Hartwell to Willamby area," teased Sheila Bennett.

"It seems vaguely like human dermis," said Tilly.

"That means skin?" asked Colin Klein.

"Yes," said Tilly: "Although it hasn't been cremated, so Jesus knows how it got in this condition."

"He prefers to be called 'Hee-Zeus'," teased Sheila.

"If you're going into wacky backy mode, we'll only talk to Terri, and Colin," teased back Jesus Costello. "Besides, cremation involves fires of six-thousand degrees and above. You would have noticed substantial damage to the bedroom if that had been the case."

"No, no sign of burning in the room at all," said Terri.

"So we've all but ruled out spontaneous human combustion," said Sheila, unable to contain herself.

"As Jesus said, we are now only talking to Terri, and Colin," said Tilly Lombstrom.


Over at the Dorset Hotel in LePage, they were sitting around in the lounge room reading or talking. Tasha Mournet had managed to get herself seated on a four-person sofa, between two likely subjects for her next main meal: Captain Tom Roberts, retired, was a tall grey-haired man, who could still hold his own with much younger men in a fight -- Tasha loved to see men fight; especially over her. Jayden Cooper was a retired boxer, who looked like he could still go a few rounds -- either with other boxers or with Tasha between the sheets. His broken nose gave him a rugged, mysterious look which made him attractive to the Deadly Temptress.

After a moment of indecision, she started talking at a whisper to Jayden Cooper, asking him about his career as a boxer.

"You don't want to hear about that, I was never a serious contender."

"But you were manly enough to take up the gentlemanly art of fisticuffs," she cooed. Leaning over to whisper into his ears: "And some of we women find that a major turn-on."

"Well, I held my own against some tough blokes," said Jayden.

"I'm certain that you did," said Tasha, cuddling up to him. She decided that she would have Jayden for supper tonight; then Tom Roberts tomorrow night. Then it might be time to move on? she thought. Realising that the more men that she consumed in one place, the more likely she was to be tracked down.

"Well," he said, risking putting one hand onto her shapely backside and giving it a generous squeeze. When she did not protest, he kept the hand there while talking: "I fought and knocked out some really tough types..." He then went on to give her a long, boring rundown of most of his fights, forgetting to mention when he was knocked out, TKOed, or lost on points. "I was hot stuff once," he boasted.

"You still are," she cooed into his ear. Pressing up so hard that she was almost sitting upon his lap: "Maybe you would like to show me at 9:30 tonight just what Hotstuff you still are." She sneaked her tongue deep into his ear for a second to keep his attention, then added: "Room 148, Hotstuff. Don't be late ... I need a real man tonight ... and that real man is you!"

Almost creaming his trousers, Jayden said: "I won't be ... 9:30 room 148."

She stuck her tongue into his ear again, then got up and sashayed out, with every eye in the room watching her swaying behind as she walked.

"The great hussy!" said a blue-rinse old lady.

"Yes, but what a hussy!" said her husband, getting an elbow in the ribs for his troubles.


By the end of the day, the Glen Hartwell and Daley Community Hospital had received DNA tests performed in Melbourne on Nate Lansdale's older brother.

"Here they come," said Tilly Lombstrom as they stood around watching the hospital computer screen.

"Well, I'm no doctor," said Terri Scott: "But even I can see the similarities between the two charts."

"No doubt about it," said Jesus Costello: "Our dehydrated-ash-man is definitely Nate Lansdale. Or was, I should say!"

"So now the only question is, how the Hell did he get in that condition?" said the redheaded reporter, Colin Klein.

"And who the Hell swept his remains into the waste basket?" pointed out Sheila.

"You're not just the beauty and the muscles in our team, Sheils," said Terri. Making the orange-and-black-haired Goth chick blush in pleasure.


At exactly 9:30 PM there came a knock on the door of room 148. To cut through unnecessary preliminaries, Tasha was wearing a loosely tied pink dressing gown, with nothing on underneath.

"Open up, my beautiful angel," whispered Jayden Cooper.

"Come inside, my rugged lover," said Tasha opening the door for him.

He turned to close the door, then when he looked around again the Deadly Temptress was standing naked before him.

"Holy..." he sighed.

"There's nothing holy about what I have in mind for my strong manly lover tonight," she said more truthfully than he realised.

Ripping the top sheet right off her bed, she climbed onto the bed, spread herself wide for him with her fingers, and then said:

"Don't keep me waiting, Jayden honey."

He stared in stunned silence for a moment. Then hurried across to the bed and climbed on top: first of the bed, then on top of Tasha.

"Oh yes!" she cried as his large manhood entered her.

They kissed deeply for a moment, then he started thrusting in and out of her body. Like Nate Lansdale, Jayden was able to keep going for well over an hour. Taking Tasha to and beyond the throes of orgasm no less than three times.

Before finally he reached his own peak and shrieked as though he was being murdered, as technically he was about to be, as he ejaculated, flooding her luscious body with what seemed like half a litre of spermatozoa.

"That was the best..." he started to say.

Then his body continued to surrender its vital fluids to the Deadly Temptress. Far more than just his semen, but his blood, saliva, and all vital fluids, until he had been reduced to a yellowy husk-like ancient cheesecloth like Desi Arnold and Nate Lansdale before him.

"So good," said Tasha, gently rolling the yellow-white remains off herself, so that it collapsed into ashes upon her bed. "It almost seems a pity to have to devour the really manly ones ... Still a girl has to eat!"

Again she used a small brush to sweep up his ashes. Which she put into a small resealable plastic bag, which she deposited in the waste basket. Then after having a hot shower, she turned off the bedroom light and went to sleep on top of the sheets.


At breakfast the next morning Tasha Mournet sat at the same table as Tom Roberts, and apologised for rejecting him the night before:

"I gambled that a former boxer would be able to satisfy all of my womanly needs. But he was such a disappointment under the covers," she said. Feeling a little guilty for lying, since Jayden had been terrific at lovemaking. As well as a delicious supper! she thought. "Please forgive me."

"Well," said Tom, a little chagrined at first. But as the Deadly Temptress pressed her desirable body up against himself, Tom quickly decided to forgive her.

Seeing his throbbing erection through his trousers, Tasha thought: It's certainly true that when a man's penis gives the orders, he jumps to obey!


After breakfast, George and Annette went to Jayden Cooper's room to see if anything had happened to him. Since he had not come down to breakfast.

Lizzie Enrich helped clear the breakfast dishes, then dried them while Pierre washed them. Then after a ten-minute coffee break, she went upstairs to begin tidying the rooms and making the beds. A task that Annette usually helped with.

It was nearly two hours later, after another short break, when Lizzie found the resealable green plastic bag of dehydrated dermis, plus a few scraps of yellow-white powder on the floor beside Tasha's king-single bed.

Not bothering to ask the Mulberrys for permission, the maid-cum-waitress used her mobile phone to ring through to the Glen Hartwell and Daley Community Hospital. Then through to Terri Scott at the Mitchell Street Police Station in Glen Hartwell.


Less than an hour later Terri, Sheila, Colin, Tilly, Jesus, and Elvis were at the Dorset Hotel on LePage. Along with two other burly cops under Terri's command: Donald Esk, and Stanlee Dempsey.

After examining the dust and also room 148, Terri asked: "Whose room is this?"

"A new resident, Tasha Mournet," said Annette Mulberry.

"She's quite a hottie," said George Mulberry. Ignoring the glares he got from both his wife and Lizzie.

"How long has she been here?" asked Colin Klein.

"She arrived the day that Desi Arnold vanished," said Lizzie.

"But you found no dehydrated dermis in the waste basket the next morning?" asked Terri.

"No what?"

"The yellowy-whitish powder," said Sheila Bennett.

"No, but I think there was one of those resealable green plastic bags. But the rubbish has since been collected."

"Well, let's go talk to Miss...?"

"Tasha Mournet," repeated Annette.

"Let's go then," said Terri and they headed downstairs. Sheila and Don by the elevator. The rest by the stairs, so that they couldn't miss her.


At first Tasha Mournet refused to admit involvement in the deaths and dehydration of the three men. But finally, more from anger than contrition, she said: "So I have killed a few men down the millennia! A girl has to eat."

"Is that how you eat?" asked Tilly Lombstrom, sounding fascinated.

"Yes, I lure the gullible men with sex, then suck their vital life forces out of them through my vagina. That is how my species gets sustenance."

Colin whispered to Terri: "Now do you understand why most men don't want to get their faces near a woman's pussy?"

Ignoring her lover, Terri said: "Well, you won't be sucking the life forces out of any more men in the Glen Hartwell to Willamby area." Then to Sheila and Donald Esk: "Cuff her."

As she was led away, Tasha turned toward Tom Roberts, licked her lips, then said:

"You were going to be my supper tonight, honey!"


At the Glen Hartwell Police Station, they locked Tasha in the steel-walled security cell, at the back of the building.

"But how will I survive?" protested Tasha.

"We'll feed you anything you like, except live people," said Terri Scott.

"But that is the only thing that my species can live off! I have been doing this for thousands of years."

"Killing another man every night?" asked Colin Klein.

"Yes," admitted the Deadly Temptress with no sign of remorse.

"Sounds like it's about time you died then," said Sheila Bennett. Without her usual display of levity.


It would be six days in fact before the creature calling itself Tasha Mournet finally passed away in the steel-walled security cell. It was as though her own vital fluids somehow leached out of her, as she had leached them from her victims. First, she aged, then she became emasculated, and finally, she faded into little more than a passable resemblance of one of her victims with all of the life fluids sucked out of her. A cheesecloth-like replica of the Deadly Temptress, which finally disintegrated into yellow-white powder.

"Well, there's irony in that," said Sheila Bennett, as they stood round looking at what little was left of the once beautiful-looking creature.

On Terri's orders, they doused the 'ashes' in kerosene, and then cremated them within the cell. Then placed them in a fireproof bag and locked them away in their basement evidence locker.

THE END
© Copyright 2024 Philip Roberts
Melbourne, Victoria, Australia