Friday, October 19, 2012

Scene: Slave (1)

The room was cold. He stood by the chair, his hands at his side and his head bowed. Dressed in only a pair of light slacks, he shivered and watched as his toes turned blue. He knew that she'd be coming but he wasn't sure when. He shifted on his feet, trying to will warmth back into his feet. The cold flagstones had a small pool of warmth beneath his feet, but it wasn't enough to make up for the fact that they were bare. Outside the leaded window at his back, the wind howled and snow danced in wild dervish dances.

He contemplated going across the room and turning on the heat, but he knew she'd be displeased. The room wasn't freezing, thus she felt it was warm enough. He tried to figure out how he managed to find himself in this place, waiting on her attention. Things started out innocently enough and then, somehow, everything changed. He heard the door rattle as the one in the outer hallway slammed shut. She was home. He gave a quick glance at the clock, daring to lift his head for a moment.

She was fifteen minutes late. It wasn't just his perception that may have been altered by the fact that he was uncomfortable. He listened to the crisp clicking of her heels on the floor in the hallway. As she opened the door, he quickly ducked his head. She stood in the doorway and regarded him. He was a youthful thing and easy on the eyes. The way he humbled himself for her pleasure simply added to his charm. Everything in his posture bespoke his submission. She smiled. After having a long and rather miserable day at work, it was reassuring to return home to her ever so obedient boy.

She crossed the room to the chair he stood beside. The red leather wingback chair was chilly but inviting. With a sigh, she sat down, glad to be off her feet. She gestured with an elegantly manicured hand towards the thermostat across the room. He adjusted the temperature up to her preferred one and shut the door, taking a quick peek to make sure that the entryway was well secured against the weather.

He silently made his way about the room, turning on lights and picking up her papers and the mail. He finished his circuit and knelt beside her, holding the papers and letters up for her to take. His dark head was bowed, but she knew that he'd have a small smile just for her. She took the papers from him, letting her hand linger against his. He took a small breath in, startled by the warmth of her touch.

“Look at me,” she said quietly. He lifted his gaze and stared at her with his ice blue eyes. She gently set a hand against his cheek. “Are you cold, boy?” she asked. His gaze started to flick away from her face. She knew he was uncertain how to answer. His discomfort was a dissonant note in the subtle visual song of his appearance. “Answer me,” she ordered, her tone turning hard. His eyes widened slightly as they snapped to looking directly into her face.

“I... I am comfortable, my Lady,” he said. She frowned. He failed to resist the urge to look away at her displeasure. The hand that rested lightly on his cheek pulled away and then struck him in a single quick stinging blow. He looked back at her face, seeing her expression wintry and hard as ice. “Forgive me, my Lady,” he said, sounding remorseful.
“What is my rule, boy?” she said.

“To never lie, my Lady,” he said, his words edged with chagrin.

“Now, answer my question, boy,” she said, her tone and expression mild again.

“I am cold, my Lady,” he said.

“Why did you lie?” she asked. He looked away, a flush creeping over his cheek. She allowed him this lapse in protocol, watching as his expression turned flustered. He mumbled something at the floor. She cupped his chin with her hand and raised his gaze up to her face. “Again,” she said.

“I didn't want to trouble you, my Lady,” he quietly murmured, looking utterly chastened. She sighed and lightly rubbed a thumb against his jaw. She regarded him for a long moment and his expression turned increasingly despairing. “I apologize, my Lady,” he said as he looked away, his shoulders sagging with disappointment, “I presume too much.”

“I believe that I have been to hard with you, boy,” she said thoughtfully. He hesitantly raised his eyes and looked at her. His mind flailed as sudden panic slammed into him, was she going to tell him to leave? She smiled kindly and placed a fingertip on his lips. “Stop,” she said, “Just stop. Be still.” He swallowed nervously. “Come with me,” she said, getting up out of the chair and crossing the room.

He followed a pace behind her. Before they left the room, he turned the heat back down. She waited at the door, watching him. Her azure eyes held some kind of softness that he missed as he focused his attention back at the ground. He waited, standing at parade rest as she looked at him. She stepped out of the room and he resumed his quiet following. They walked to the grand entrance and she lead the way up the stairs.

Inwardly, a part of him was delighted. He loved watching the way her hips swayed as she walked and the heels only served to exaggerate this element of her motion. They reached the first doorway at the top of the stairs. She pulled a key ring out of her pocket. She unlocked the room and walked in. He quietly walked to the thermostat and reset the temperature. “Higher,” she said, closing the burgundy velvet curtains hanging at the front of the room.

Outside, snow danced and whirled, sparkling brilliantly in the cold glare of the sun. She shut the cold and the stark light out with the curtains and looked over her shoulder at her slave. He assumed his waiting position near the door. “Close it,” she said, “Then get the light.” She walked over to the large bed sitting in the center of the room. As the honeyed glow of the oil lamp pooled at the dresser and was reflected in the mirror, he seemed to catch the light and shimmer with an aura of sadness.

“Shut the door and come here, boy,” she said, sitting down on the bed. He walked over and knelt at her feet. She held one foot out and he carefully unbuckled the straps. He set the patent leather shoe aside and then did the same for the other foot. She sighed softly as he massaged her aching feet. As he began to turn his attention to her ankles, she lightly tapped her toes on his chest. He looked up.

“My stockings, boy,” she said, her voice almost lost in the whistle of the wind around the corner of the building. He reverently slid his hands up her right leg and beneath her skirt. His fingers skillfully freed the top of the stocking from the garter belt and rolled the silk down her leg. His heart began to beat faster as the warm, soft fabric gathered in his hands. As he slipped it off her foot, she sighed with pleasure. He repeated the action on her left leg, daring for a moment to let his fingertips linger against her ankle.

She smiled down at him again. “You want to touch me,” she said, raising her ankle and pressing the ball of her left foot to his shoulder beside his neck, “Don't you?” He struggled to keep is expression neutral. “It's ok,” she said encouragingly. He looked up at her with a tormented expression. Her eyes lit with realization and her smile became wider. “Ah, my dear, sweet boy,” she said, her tone warm, “Oh, so, so very obedient. Yes, you may touch me.” Relief mingled with pleasure as he turned his head and pressed his cheek against her ankle.

He ran his hands up her calf, delighting in the softness of her skin. He took in a deep breath, tasting the subtle scent of her flesh as he inhaled. He pressed his lips against the inside of her left ankle. His hands shook slightly as he reached higher up her leg. One of her hands settled on his as he covered her knee. He opened his eyes and looked up at her, unable to keep the hunger out of his gaze.

She took her foot off of his shoulder and set it down between his knees. She stood up and he leaned forward, wrapping his arms about her thighs. His face was pressed against her skirt as he just breathed her scent. A mingled rush of lust and gratitude rolled over him as she stroked his hair. He shivered as her fingertips brushed against the back of his neck. His eyes were tightly closed as he pressed his cheek against her thighs.

“Stand up,” she said, running her fingers through his hair. He reluctantly let go and stood. She lightly placed her right hand against his cheek. He closed his eyes and nuzzled her palm, giving a soft sigh. Slowly, she moved her hand down his throat and along the ridge of his collarbone. He stood stone still with a faint tremble as she touched him, his breath catching in his throat.

Gradually, she glided her hand down his chest and across his abdomen until it came to rest on his left hip. She stepped forward, smiling as he opened his eyes. She wrapped her free arm about his body, weaving it under his right arm. As she held him tightly, she pressed her cheek against his. “Kiss me,” she breathed in his ear. He leaned back a little and looked over at her. Her warm smile was all the encouragement he needed.

He returned her embrace and closed his mouth over hers. Their tongues met in a snake dance that drew a small noise of pleasure from her. Emboldened by this, he tightened his grip and kissed her with greater fervor. Her right hand moved up his side and then between them. Gently, she pressed on his chest and he drew back. “My clothes,” she said, unable to keep the touch of huskiness out of her voice.

With the same quiet obedience of earlier, he began to unbutton her blouse. As he slipped the linen off her shoulders, he mentally began to consider if she'd require her robe and which one would be best. He figured that the warmth of the room would make the satin one pleasurable, however, if she were to go to another room, the thick wool one would be superior. Caught up in these thoughts, he failed to notice how she watched him hungrily.

She stood still, almost like a living doll as he gently and efficiently stripped her. His expression was thoughtful but distracted. She decided that she could forgive the inattentiveness. The warmth of his hands despite his state of undress made her heart beat faster. The small, secret smile on his face as he considered how to make her most comfortable belied his own pleasurable reverie. His thoughts of providing simple comfort and making her usual afternoon cup of tea were markedly more innocent then hers.
He waited as she stepped out of the skirt and turned to fold her clothes neatly upon the chair. She stepped forward, pressing her nude body against him. He froze, thoughts shattered like a broken crystal cup on the floor. Her cool hands wandered over his chest as her warm mouth put soft kisses against his right shoulder. His world focused down to the feeling of her skin against his and he suddenly found it hard to breathe.

One hand made its way down to his waist. Ever so lightly, she ran her fingertips along the waistline of his pants, slipping one in to dance against his skin. “Get rid of these,” she said in his ear, tugging at his slacks. She stepped back and he straightened. With the same attention to neatness, he removed his clothes and folded them. They sat in a tidy little pile with hers on the chair. He looked down at the garments, torn between the urge to fall at her feet and beg for more and the earnest desire to maintain the air of composure she preferred him to affect.

The bed springs squeaked softly as she sat down on it. “Come here,” she said, her voice rich with amusement, “Come warm me up, boy.” He turned to face her. His stiffening erection caught her eye and her smile grew wider. He walked to the edge of the bed and pulled back the blankets. Sliding beneath the covers, a part of him struggled with the urge to simply pleasure himself. She slipped beneath the covers and wrapped a leg around his waist as she pressed herself against him.

Again they kissed. He knew that he wanted to do more but he was reluctant to act. She took hold of one of his hands and put it on her left breast. With a groan, his control slipped and he broke the kiss. He buried his face between her breasts, licking and nipping at them. She gave a husky laugh of triumph as he wrapped his arms around her.

Pinning her against himself, he covered her bosom with kisses and tiny bites. His mouth felt almost scaldingly hot against her skin, but she didn't mind. In fact, she gave a liquid sigh of pleasure and relaxed in his arms. He bared his teeth and lightly took her nipple in them. Gently, he rolled it between them, sighing at how she seemed to just melt in his arms.

He lifted his head and looked up at her face. Her eyes were half closed with pleasure as a small look of ecstasy seemed to make her almost beatific. He pulled the blankets up higher over them, covering her with their warmth as he turned his attention lower down her body. With tender devotion, he lapped at her sex. Each shuddering sigh made his blood burn hotter but she hadn't told him to do more yet. Instead, he focused upon pleasuring her with his mouth.

As her first climax rolled over her, he could feel her entire body tense. Eagerly, he pursued a second one, wringing small, helpless noises from her. He knew that if he wanted, he could change the tables but he preferred the idea of his gratification waiting on hers. He was, however, for a moment powerfully tempted. As that temptation became almost painful, she lifted the blankets. “Now,” she gasped.

He crawled up her body, pressing himself against her. He couldn't stop himself from delighting in how she squirmed. He knew it was wicked of him to do but the feeling was too strong for him to resist. She wrapped her legs about his waist and with a swift motion, sheathed him deeply inside her. They lay together entwined for a moment.

The bone deep need that drove them into bed was both satiated and inflamed at the same time. Slowly, he began to thrust into her. She made an inarticulate noise of frustration but he paid it no mind. Gradually, he drew successive, hard climaxes out of her. She tossed her head and wept but he continued at his even pace. And then she grabbed hold of his head. She pulled him down into a savagely fierce kiss and that was his signal. He broke the kiss and sought his own pleasure, riding her hard and fast. As his orgasm burst over him, she arched and gave an ear splitting shriek as her hardest and longest orgasm rocked her.

She abruptly collapsed beneath him. Her face was soft and utterly helpless. He smiled at how she had fainted with the force of her pleasure. It was always a sign that he had done well. He disentangled himself from her arms and slipped out of the bed when he felt that he could manage to walk with out stumbling. He tucked the blankets more tightly about his mistress and dressed in silence. He opened her closet and placed her heavy robe over the back of the chair. Making sure that the silver bell to call him was at the nightstand, he then blew out the light and left to go wash her clothes.

Monday, October 15, 2012

Scene: revenge

The shelter was just ahead of us. She resisted and thus, I struck her and sent her to the ground stunned. I stepped away from her and returned with a length of sisal twine. Carefully, I bound her ankles together. Putting the other end of the length over my shoulder, I dragged my captive the remaining distance. I knew I didn't have much for time, however I knew that I didn't need much time.

Her shoes were lost somewhere in the wood between the road and here, deep in the green. Like a female Achilles with a female Hector, I dragged the woman over rocks and rubble on my way to the entrance of the ramshakle hovel. Blood seeped down from cuts to the soles of her feet and blisters stood out prominently. The forced march was harsh on her. I pushed her at a hard pace down three miles of the old gravel road with out even a sock to protect her bare toes.

I pushed aside the length of tarp hanging across the entrance and paused to look up at the sky. The sun rode high but dark clouds were threatening. I took a breath and let the air slowly roll over my tongue. The faint musk of the forest floor contrasted with the clean smell of the pines. There, beneath those scents, there was the faintest suggestion of water. This, combined with the heaviness of the air told me that rain was coming. Rain, in this moment, was my friend.

I dragged my prize into the hovel and across the sawdust strewn floor. A pair of large shackles hung from the rings that were secured to one of the few appropriately sturdy beams running along the ceiling of the old smoke house. I took up a pair of handcuffs and snapped them on her limp wrists. With a grunt of effort, I lifted my victim up and stood on the step stool. With another grunt of effort, I passed the chain between the cuffs through the opening of the left shackle before securing it.

I kicked the box out from beneath her feet and then untied her ankles. As she began to make a low, pained moan with her return to wakefulness, I busily secured her right ankle out almost 45 degrees away from the left that hung limply. Securing the left similarly, I allowed myself a small smile at the keening sound of pain and fear that came from her. I stood up and stepped back. With a frown, I looked over my work. the woman was secure and unless a blow torch was used or the wood gave way (which was highly doubtful), she'd remain that way until I chose to release her.

In a high, thin voice, she said, "I didn't mean to do anything to you. I was just doing my job. Please, let me go. I... I won't..." The anger was rising again at each of her simpering words. I let fly a sharp back handed blow with my gloved left hand. she shrieked in terror and pain. I struck her again with an open hand. Three, four, five blows landed until she just sobbed. I turned away from her and walked over to the table.

A rough woolen blanket lay over my tools. I stood before them and sighed. I asked myself if this was truly what I wanted to do. Then she spoke. "You're crazy. You're fucking crazy," she spat at me. That was when I made my decision. The world would be a better place with out this lying, treacherous bitch. She had ruined countless lives with her zeal to "do her job" and completely failed to uphold the spirit of her work.

"I may be crazy," I said in a low voice, "But you're really in no position to hurl insults, Miss Smythe." I knew she was looking at me and staring at the table. Reveling in a moment of dramatic tension, I slowly peeled back the cloth. Lengths of cord lay upon the matte black fabric, gleaming and white like sinews. Clothespins with tacks glued to the tips sat neatly in a row like well mannered school children. A braided length of sisal with a stone almost the size of my fist tied at one end waited ominously. Beside all this sat a black wooden box.

Carefully, reverently I opened the box. the heavens opened up and heavy rain began to fall with a stark clap of thunder. I would have laughed at the tawdry drama of it, if the situation wasn't so serious. I stepped aside to allow Miss Smythe a clear view of what prized possession was in that blue velvet lined box. Her face paled as she saw the long knife.

"Oh god... you're going to kill me, aren't you?" she whimpered. I smiled. Her eyes widened and she took a deep breath. with my gloved right hand, I delivered a swift punch to her solar plexus. the air rushed out as quickly as she sucked it in and utter terror was in her eyes. "Puh.. please don't kill me," she rasped.

"Oh, I'm not going to kill you," I purred, gently moving aside a lock of hair from her face. Relief bubbled up in her features. "Yet," I added, satisfied by how it went out like a candle flame in a hurricane. "First, you are going to pay for what you've done to my family," I said, sounding as though I was discussing something mundane, like how to bake a pie. "Then, you are going to be educated as to the meaning of the word pain and the word terror," I continued, walking around her to the other table where a crop sat waiting. "Then, you are going to beg me for the release of death," I finished.

I took up the crop and struck a hard blow across her shoulders. She gave a sudden, breathy scream of pain. I shook my head. it was too easy. It was a scream like she thought I wanted to hear. It made me suspect that she also faked her orgasms. I took the crop and struck another blow, this time across the lower back. this brought a genuine, gasping scream of pain. I landed a rapid trio of more blows.

"Hurts like a motherfucker, doesn't it?" I said conversationally, "I'm pretty sure you're trying like hell to steel yourself for another blow. That's ok. I'm not going to hit you again." I stood there behind her, watching as the tension slowly eased out of her shoulders.

Stealthily, I set the crop aside and moved up close behind her. I reached up and took hold of the neckline of her prim and proper button down shirt. With a hard jerk, I started to tear it off her. this evoked a different cry of fear from her. She didn't believe I would sexually assault her, I was a woman after all. It, however, didn't stop the images from coming to mind. She didn't know what to expect as I continued to tear at her clothes. soon, the fabric was tattered rags at her feet.

A-- Smythe hung before me functionally naked. Her cotton panties were wet and gave off the acrid scent of urine. I wasn't surprised. I was annoyed with how difficult it was to unhook her strapless bra through the thick leather work gloves. A part of me said that I should just get rid of them but I knew that was the entirely wrong thing to do if I were going to get away with this. Her smooth white flesh was marred with bruises where the tree branches slapped her as we jogged through the woods. Across her back, vivid lines stood up where the crop had landed.

It was a beginning, I thought to myself. I walked around in front of her with the crop in hand. I tipped my head slightly to the left and squinted. Something was missing. her face was bruising where I had slapped her earlier. The outsides of her legs had the beginnings of marks from her jaunt through the woods. I twirled the crop as I thought. Then inspiration struck me. I brought the crop down hard across the inside of her thighs, striking them as though I was ringing the dinner bell to call the menfolk in from the fields.

My victim screamed a dry, howling scream of pain as tears streamed down her face. I set aside the crop. A part of me said that I should just bleed her and be done with it. Instead, I turned and took up the tack adorned clothespins. I applied one to each nipple, smiling as blood welled up around the points that drove deep into her tender flesh. I held the third up before her eyes.

She shook her head in a panicked gesture, her eyes wide with horror. I had to admit, there was a rough measure of beauty in her bruised face with how she shone in her terror. I sighed inwardly. if things wouldn't have been complicated, I could have kept her for a long while and explored what made that light burn so brilliantly in her eyes. Instead, I applied the third clip through her panties to her labia.

Again, she hoarsely screamed and sobbed. "Stop, please stop," she begged, "Oh god, please stop." I smiled. her god wouldn't hear her here. This was cursed ground and I doubted that even the blessed angels of mercy could have eased her pain by casting a shroud of mystical quality over her senses. I turned away from her and picked up the length of braided cord.

In a calm, almost pleasant tone, Isaid, "Do you know what you've done wrong, Miss Smythe?" the woman sobbed incoherently. "I'll take that as a no," I continued, slowly winding one end of the cord about my hand. "You, Miss Smythe, forced my husband to leave me. You stole our children away. And, Miss Smythe, you cast me into the world with such a blight upon my name that i was unable to regain my life." Smythe's eyes rolled in terror.

I stepped up to her and gripped her jaw hard , forcing her to look me in the face. "Think, woman," I hissed, "Think where you last saw me." Smythe attempted to cast her gaze else where when I shook her hard. Her gaze snapped back to my face. wWe remained thus for a long moment when she suddenly realized who I was. I was the mental health case that made her career.  I was the woman that she perjured herself to crucify for the sake of her advancement.

"Oh my god," she whispered. I stepped back and let fly with my rough whip. The stone caught her in the teeth. As a bloody cry escaped her, I struck her again and again. knots of bruises began to blossom over her body as I walked around her, swinging with fury. The sickening crunching snap of bones breaking told me it was time to put down my current toy. I cast it at the ground at her feet.

A rattle was in her chest as she struggled to breathe enough to sob. I knew I had broken some ribs and her legs were no longer elegant in their restrained positions. I turned back to the table and took up the knife. The steel gleamed like a bit of starlight in that dim hovel. Now, Ii decided, now she would pay in blood for her crimes. I turned to face her and she was painfully coughing up frothy blood. Upon seeing that, I decided it was better not to disgrace such a pure, beautiful blade upon such a wretch.

I returned the blade to her box.

I picked up the box and put it under my arm. I turned to walk out of the hovel. "Don't... don't leave me here..." Smythe scarcely managed to plea. I looked over my shoulder.

"You won't be alone for long. The coyotes will come. The crows and turkey vultures. Probably a bear too," I said calmly, "if you're lucky, you'll have bled to death by then." Smythe gave a weak, bloody sob. "Imagine it, their teeth tearing into you. Ripping chucks out and your blood pouring on the floor. You may get to see your entrails, blue and raw, dangling from the snout of some carrion eater and feel the deep pull of them dragging out," I continued.

"Nooo," moaned Smythe, coughing bloodily.

"I could give you mercy. The thing you failed to give me and mine," I said.

Smythe looked at me with her perfect crystal blue eyes. abject despair, terror, and pleading combined to give her gaze an almost hypnotic beauty. "Please," she said.

I nodded briskly. I could see her steel herself for the kiss of the blade. I, however, was not that kind.

The flames roared high as I made my way deeper into the wood. the look of betrayal in her eyes as I lit the fire told me that she was now utterly broken. I had no use for a broken thing where I was going so I granted her the release she begged for by way of purifying fire.

Friday, October 12, 2012

Scene: Feeding

He sat at the bar bored. His day had been long and filled with mindless details. He was dreading going into work the next day to the same mind numbing, soul crushing business. He stared at his drink. The ice had melted significantly into the alcohol, forming a thin layer of water in the beverage. He considered just drinking the whole thing in one shot and leaving for home. It had been a rotten day and he saw no signs of it improving.

A woman wove her way through the press to the bar and took the only free seat. He looked over in mild curiosity as she leaned forward and flagged down the bartender. Her dark hair was pulled back into a severe looking bun and long earrings dangled against her neck. Dressed in a suit nearly as nondescript as his own, she managed to look enticing. He wasn't sure if it was the way her slacks hugged her hips or how the unbuttoned jacket fell open enough to reveal her low cut blouse and a hint of cleavage. Something however, set her apart from the other office workers that crowded in for 'happy hour'.

She order whiskey neat and he arched an eyebrow. It wasn't a typical drink for a woman to order. As the bartender put her drink down, she looked over at him. The look wasn't challenging but it wasn't one that told him to leave her alone. Instead, she offered her hand and said in her dulcet tones, “Hi, Maria Saint Claire. And you are?”

He blinked. “Mark,” he answered, “Mark Smythe.” She nodded and picked up her drink. She threw back the shot like it was a thimble of water and set it down on the bar. She tapped the up ended shot glass and the bartender poured her another. “I haven't seen you here before,” he said, praying that his words didn't come off as lame as they sounded to himself.

“I usually show up as you're leaving. We pass each other at the door most nights,” she said, pointing at him with one elegant finger as she held the shot glass. “You, Mr. Smythe, are a miserable man.” His eyes widened and he stared at her in shock as she continued. “I have a proposition for you,” she said, “And I believe that you will find it most agreeable. I have seen the way you have been getting crushed by that middle management position and I have a solution.” She threw back her second shot and up ended the glass beside the other. She tapped the bar and the bartender gave her a glass of water.

She drank the water, watching him out of the corner of her eye. He looked confused and uncomfortable. She smiled as she set the glass down. It was a wicked smirk, one that gave her an cat like air of playful malice. She turned her attention back to him. “I don't see what you have to offer,” he said. She set her fingertips on the back of his wrist and he was surprised by how cold they were. He was also surprised by the almost electric quality of her touch.

Some where, at the back of his mind, something was insisting this was a bad idea. She leaned forward towards him as he looked away hastly at his glass. Her lips brushed his ear as she said in a voice rich with promise, “I'm offering you passion.” He picked up his drink and took a swallow, striving to master the sudden response he had to her. She breathes softly in his ear and the anxious thought that he was on the verge of something truly horrible passed into silence. He set his glass down. “Come with me,” she whispered.

She stood and fished a bill out of her cleavage. Setting the twenty down on the bar, she offered her hand. Mark cautiously took it and her electric touch sent another thrill through him. They made their way through the crowd to the backroom. The large man standing near the door straightened to attention when he saw Maria. She walked boldly forward, pulling Mark along behind her as the burly, tattooed giant opened the door. The room they walked into was curiously empty given how crowded the bar was.
She pulled him over to a leather sofa and gave him that wicked grin again. He looked around the room and didn't notice anyone else. With a playful push, she made him sit down. Mark looked up at her as she straddled his knees. If nothing else, her pert breasts were tantalizingly close. He was seized with the urge to suckle one of them, unable to keep the mental image of her nude chest out. He reached up as Maria reached down to her blouse.

She swatted his hand with a single sharp motion before unbuttoning her blouse. With a flick of her fingertips, she unclasped the front of her bra and Mark's curiosity was sated. Her skin was white and surprisingly cool as he reached up and touched her chest. She settled into his lap, pushing her breasts into his face. Mark took a deep breath. He could smell her perfume and something earthy beneath it. Something was missing, but he couldn't figure it out as lust crowded out logical thought.

He closed his mouth over her right breast, wrapping his arms around her as he did so. Her cool fingers ran through is hair as he groaned. Maria ground her hips against his, giving a low, sensual chuckle as she rubbed against his erection. He stopped suckling her breast and ran his tongue over the lower curve of her breast. She gave a delicate shiver and made a noise of pleasure. As he slipped his hands beneath her shirt, she gave another erotic little laugh.

Maria slipped out of his arms to stretch out beside him on the couch. Mark made a stifled noise of frustration and turned to face her. She sat up and pulled his face to hers. As she leaned back and pulled Mark to lie over her, she kissed him. After a long moment, he began to become breathless and attempted to pull out of her arms. For a moment, her grip tightened and lust briefly turned to panic. She then let him lean back.

She wrapped a leg around his hips even as her arms wrapped around his chest. He looked down at her, expecting to see her face soft and yeilding. Instead he saw that playful, catlike smirk. “Where you going, lover?” she purred as he tried to push himself off her. “Come back here,” she said, pulling him back down against her. Mark groaned as she squirmed beneath him, soft and inviting in all the right ways.

She buried her face in the hollow of his shoulder, giving a sigh after taking in a deep breath. “Mmm,” she whispered in his ear, “You smell so good.” He rolled his eyes and shuddered in pleasure. Holding him tightly against herself, she rocked her hips against his rhythmically. He groaned, aching with need. Her lips were soft against his throat and then her teeth were there.

He felt a brief moment of pain as she bit him and then pleasure washed over him. He cried out and arched, and yet she still held him against her. Her mouth suckled the wound in his neck, her tounge teasing and caressing it as he had considered doing to her labia. He made a liquid noise of pleasure and shuddered as his strength began to wane. His body felt as though every inch was in her mouth and being caressed with her surprisingly warm tongue.

His erection became nigh on painful and then the first orgasm hit him. Mark made a strangled noise as phantom touches teased and cradled his aching balls. He became confused, some how feeling her hands all over him even as she held him tightly. Phantom touches tickled, teased, and scratched at him in all the ways that he loved. He thrashed in her unnaturally powerful grip, almost looking as though he was seizing as successive orgasms rolled over him, driving him deeper into the pleasurable trance she had enveloped him in. “Oh...” he gasped, “oh god...”

He shuddered and twitched as the supernatural force of her grip held him still. Blinded by the force of pleasure, helpless in her arms, Mark whimpered as she dragged her tongue over the wound. Woozy and weak, he set his head on her chest. He briefly looked up at her face and was confused by how she could have had lipstick on her chin and how wet it looked. As unconsciousness dragged him down into darkness, she slipped out from beneath him, warmer. Maria buttoned her shirt, and readjusted her clothes before grabbing a blanket off a nearby chair and throwing it over her victim. She wiped the droplet of blood off her chin and sucked it off her fingertip as a figure stepped forward out of the shadows. “You just couldn't help yourself, could you?” they said. The vampiress looked over at her companion and gave a wicked grin.

Monday, October 1, 2012

Scene: Park

She sat knitting in the corner of the room. Her back against the wall and her knees pulled up, she would have been easy to miss if it wasn't for the bright pink of the shawl she was working on. The coffee shop was filled with low sounds and rich scents. College students lounged like lions towards the front of the room, lazy in the languid afternoon light. The cup of tea at her elbow had grown cold as she ignored it and worked on her project.

Her hiking boots rested on the pine wood paneling that made up the seat of the booth, looking some how out of place. Her hair was hidden beneath an elaborately folded and styled scarf of an equally bright pink, a shock of color against her black slacks and her black shirt. He watched her as he crossed the room. He knew that she was waiting for him but he was surprised to see that she wasn't watching for him. A small frown on her face suggested that she was frustrated with her project.

He stopped at the counter across from the booth she was sitting in. As he ordered an espresso, he watched her out the corner of his eye. She bit her lower lip and paused, counting stitches. She looked up as he turned with the demitasse in hand. A smile bloomed on her face and she set the knitting down in her lap. She moved to get up and he wave a hand at her, silently telling her to stay in her seat. He slid into the seat across from her and looked at the shawl.

From what he could tell, it was relatively basic knitting but even he could see where the tension of the stitches changed as she worked on it. “So, what's on your mind?” he said casually, putting the demitasse squarely in front of himself. She reached over and set a hand on his. It was a small gesture that was utterly innocuous but it was like a quick jolt of electricity came from her fingertips as they settled on the back of his right hand.

“Nothing much,” she said coyly, her smile turning mischevious. He raised his eyebrows and slipped his hand away from hers. At that sudden lack of contact, she felt a yearning ache and struggled with the urge to reach for him again. “I was thinking we could go do something,” she said. It was his turn to give a wry smile. As he picked up the demitasse, he couldn't help the quick flash of heat in his eyes.

“We're not doing something now?” he said, feigning innocense. Her coy expression turned droll as she looked flatly at him. “I thought we were having coffee,” he said, “Isn't that what we're doing?” She opened her mouth to make a sarcastic response and thought better of it as his expression turned a touch serious. The seriousness in his expression gave way to a slow, suggestive smile. “Oh, I know,” he said, “We're talking as well. How could I forget that part?”

For a moment annoyance at his teasing warred with something else in her eyes, again she seemed about to comment and changed her mind. He carefully set the demitasse down on its saucer and moved it aside. As she started to pull her hand away and turn her attention back to her knitting, he caught her wrist. Her gaze whipped from the fabric she was making to his face. In that moment, excitement, desire, and fear shone in her eyes. He could tell that she desperately wanted to say or do something but was struggling with herself. He ran a fingertip along the inside of her wrist, noting how her pulse throbbed wildly. “You had something you wanted to say,” he urged, his light touch putting chills through her.

“I... It...” she stuttered and she started to pull her hand away again. His grip hardened and her gaze went from their hands to his face again. “It's nothing,” she said suddenly, looking everywhere but in his eyes, “Really.” He scooted forward in his seat, turning her wrist over until the back of her hand was flat against the table. With his freehand, he traced random lines over the inside of her wrist, watching how she struggled against rising arousal.

“It's a bitch to want something and you just can't bring yourself to ask for it, isn't it?” he said, amusement shining in his eyes. He watched as the flush rose over her cheeks and the way she looked demurely at her knitting. His grip on her wrist grew harder, making her gasp softly and her gaze flick to his eyes. “Trying so hard to be proper when there's nothing proper about this at all,” he said softly, his tone rich with amusement, “That's cute.”

“I didn't say anything about that,” she replied primly, with a faint edge of panic to her voice. His smile turned wolfish “Really, I don't know what you're talking about,” she said quickly, giving a small tug on her captured wrist. He dug his nails into the sides of her wrists. Her next protestation faded away into a soft sigh as she shivered and her eyes fluttered shut. “Oh my,” she said nervously after a long moment of silence.

“Open your eyes,” he said, his tone hard edged and demanding despite its softness. She opened them slowly and looked over at him. His grip on her wrist softened but she made no move to break contact. “Now, tell me what it is you wanted to say,” he said firmly. The blush deepened and she started to look away. “Look at me,” he said in that unyeilding tone. She looked back at his face, unable to help the feeling of being trapped, pinned like a butterfly beneath that hungry look in his eye.

That was when she realized that some where along the line, she stumbled past the point of no return. “I,” she said in a voice that was the ghost of a whisper, “I've missed you. I've missed...” She fell quiet uncomfortable with admitting what she was feeling out loud. He looked at her, raising his eyebrows in a silent exhortation for her to continue. She suddenly reached for her cup of tea and took a sip. She looked down into the cup.

She felt like an idiot. She was a grown woman, not a girl out on a first date. Looking at him, however, just sent the words right out of her mind. Vivid images of what she lusted for burned in her mind. She struggled with the sense that voicing such things was entirely improper, something that she should never do. “You've missed...” he prompted, choosing to ignore the way she stared uncomfortably into her tea cup. He was fairly certain that she managed to render herself tongue tied. On one hand, it was entertaining to watch her struggle, but it made carrying on a conversation rather challenging.

A soft sigh answered him. She continued to stare down into the cup in her left hand as she said very quietly, “I've missed your touch.” He smiled. The small admission spoke volumes about her state. He could see that her indomitable will was bending like the summer grass in a breeze. He could hear in her voice a tremble of uncertainty. In answer to her quiet words, he again caressed the inside of her right wrist. Her breath caught in her throat.

“Come with me,” he said quietly, letting go of her wrist. She blinked as though suddenly awakening from a light doze and hurriedly put her knitting back into the tote bag. As she reached under the table for her purse, he slid out of the booth. He watched her make her way out of the booth before gesturing for her to lead the way out of the coffeehouse. When the reached the door, he reached past her and opened it, standing so close that they nearly touched.

She paused once they were out on the street, unsure what way they were going to go. He reached over and took her hand, leading her to his car. They got in and he started it. They drove in pregnant silence, words hanging unsaid between them like some sort of perfume. As they made their way out of town, he reached over and put his hand high on her thigh. She swallowed, her mouth suddenly gone dry.

Soon, they were driving to a small park well past the outskirts of town. The trees were brilliant in their autumn glory as the sunlight slanted gold through them. As they stopped in the parking lot, which was little more then a glorified square of gravel, she noted that cool weather had served to leave the park as deserted as a graveyard. He reached to the back seat and pulled a woolen blanket from beneath her purple knitting bag. “Let's take a walk,” he said, smiling as she blushed. They got out of the car and he locked it. He stepped up close beside her and took one of her hands in his.

They walked along a trail that crossed the burbling creek and took them deep into the treeline. Soon, he had lead her to a pine grove that was still but for the call of a whippoorwill. Safely ensconced in the privacy of the forest, they were well and truly hidden from the parking lot or the paths of the park. He spread the blanket out on the forest floor as she looked demurely down at her hands. He sat down on the blanket and opened his arms.

She sat beside him, entirely unsure what to say or do. He reached up and pulled the pink scarf off of her head. He balled the silk up and shoved it into his pocket as he gently tugged her hair free of the bun it was pinned up in. He leaned close to her, pressing his face against her hair and taking in a deep breath. The lavender scent of her shampoo only served to be a pleasant counterpoint to the subtle scent of her. He pressed a kiss against her brow as he gathered her into his arms.

She started to duck away when he put a hand against her cheek. Gently, he guided her face to his and slowly kissed her. He began to lean back, holding her against his chest. Soon, they were laying side by side on the blanket, kissing until they were nigh on breathless. He broke the kiss and ran a hand through her hair. With a light tug, he encouraged her to lean her head back.

His mouth settled warmly over her pulse point and she gasped. He threw a leg over her hip and pulled her tightly against him. His hands smoothed down her shirt before slipping under it at the waist. With an almost painfully light touch, he retraced his motion, capturing her breasts in his hands. She gave a soft, liquid sigh, her hands settling lightly on his shoulders. Gently, he kneaded her breasts, smiling at how she squirmed.

“Sit up,” he breathed in her ear. She sat up, as did he, and took her shirt off. He smiled at her lack of bra before wrapping an arm about her waist. His mouth closed over her right nipple and she gasped at the heat of it. She maneuvered herself to be sitting in his lap, her legs wrapped around his hips as he suckled at her breast. She sighed and moaned softly, her sounds of pleasure all but lost in the breeze.

His hands wandered over her back as she lightly wrapped her arms about his shoulders, snarling her fingers into his hair. Where ever he touched, she felt as though she was burned. The lightness of his caresses brought tears to her eyes as she ached for him to be more heavy handed. His hands settled on her hips as he leaned back. She looked down into his eyes, all self-consciousness washed away by the arousal he invoked in to her.

They readjusted themselves so that she lay beneath him upon the scratchy woolen blanket. He covered her mouth with a hungry kiss as she ran her hands down his back. He pushed himself up on his arms, looking down at her. His eyes drank greedily in the sight of her face soft and flushed with arousal, the way her white flesh seemed to glow in the late afternoon light, and the dark rosebuds of her erect nipples. He realized that he could just stare at her and it would be enough to make him happy. At that realization, his smile turned soft and sweet. Her lust clouded eyes briefly cleared with confusion before he kissed her again.

Unlike his earlier kisses, this one was harsh and demanding. She stiffened in surprise. His touch turned much more heavy handed, gripping her hard and kneading her soft flesh insistently. She gasped and shuddered in pleasure. In a fit if pique, he leaned back and tore her shoes off her feet, casting them to the side with irritation. He reached forward and peeled her slacks off her, removing her panties as well in a single practiced gesture.

She went to reach for his clothes when he put a hand on her chest. This hand moved down to her stomach, pressing her down to the hard earth beneath them as he brought his face close to her thighs. He took in a deep breath, savoring the scent of her arousal. He put a hand on either side of her hips and dragged his tongue over her sex with a groan of pleasure. She gasped again. Slowly, deliberately, he explored her sex with his tongue, tasting every inch he could.

She moaned and groaned at every slight movement of he tongue. She spread her legs wide, attempting to make it easier for him to continue, whimpering as she brought her hips up to his face. His relentless assault with his tongue soon brought her to a shuddering and gasping climax. Encouraged by this, he did so two more times. He brought her close to the edge of a fourth climax and stopped. She squirmed as he went to his knees.

She watched him with lust fevered eyes as he pulled his shirt off. He sat down beside her, briskly removing his clothes as she stared at him. He couldn't help the sigh of pleasure as he worked his erection free of his clothes. He knelt between her legs and took hold of her hips. She stared up at him as though entranced. Watching her face, he slowly entered her. Her eyes widened and then fluttered shut as she gave a low, gutteral sound of pleasure. Exerting all of his will, he set a slow pace, watching the changes play over her body as she drew close to climaxing again.

She threw her head back and took in a deep breath as she began to tremble. As the orgasm broke over her like a wave, she gave a long keening cry of pleasure. Encouraged by this, he began to thrust harder and faster. Successive waves of orgasm shook her and she gasped and shrieked, weeping with pleasure and flailing beneath him. Soon, her enthusiastic response dragged his own orgasm out of him, ending their pleasure play earlier then he wanted. As she collapsed to the ground beneath him, he slipped out of her. He took a corner of the blanket and pulled it over them before gathering her into his arms. Feeling utterly sated, his dissatisfaction with their lovemaking ending so soon only an intellectual thing, he kissed her forehead and allowed himself the luxury of dropping down into a light doze.

Thursday, September 27, 2012

Scene: Blood

He woke with a groan, his memory of the night before hazy. He moved to sit up and his eyes snapped open. He attempted to raise his head to look and discover what was holding him down as panic bloomed in his breast like some kind of exotic flower. Metal bands over his wrists and upper arms, near the shoulder, held his upper body immobile. A similar band went about his hips, and then two more secured each leg. A single band went about his brow and forced him to stare up at the ceiling.

The metal table beneath him was cold, as was the room. He looked from side to side and saw only the sterile white walls and ceiling. The sound of footsteps on the tile floor clicked loudly in his ears. A tall, graceful woman with her hair bound up into an intricate knot wearing a white set of scrubs approached him. Her face was implacable and he suddenly wondered if he was in a hospital. The incongruity of the scrubs and the high heels he heard clicking on the floor took a long moment to connect.

A small wheeled cart was brought up on his left side, he could hear one of the wheels squeaking as it turned. “Hey,” he said, “What happened? Where am I?” Her flat expression moved to his face. Something in the utter lack of emotion told a primal part of his brain that he was in danger. “What's going on?” he said, unable to keep the fear from creeping into his voice. A small hand settled on his wrist as she turned her gaze to her watch. The fog in his mind suddenly became much more ominous as she turned away from him.

There was a small click and an electronic whirr of a tape recorder. The woman spoke quietly into it. “Subject 43 is conscious. He appears to have no ill effects from the sedative. No visible defect is apparent from confinement procedure.” she said emotionlessly, as though she were reading a grocery list. She clicked the tape recorder off and set it back on the tray. She turned her attention to the man restrained on the table before her. After a moment, she picked up a pen light and shined it into his eyes. “Open your mouth,” she said, wielding a tongue depressor.

Obedient to the 'nurse', he complied. She looked into his mouth and took the popsicle stick out. She put it aside and shuffled some items around. “What's going on? Did something happen?” he said anxiously. She looked over at him. After a moment, she gave a small, tired seeming sigh. He did a mental checklist, discovering that he didn't feel injured. He flexed his fingers and toes, finding them to be entirely under his command. She wheeled the cart away from him and walked out of the room, leaving her nude 'patient' in the middle of the room. He wracked his brain trying to determine how he landed himself in this position.

After what felt to be an eternity, she came back into the room. A small paper mask was over her face as she took up an item he couldn't identify at first. As she turned it in her hand, his eyes widened in horror. The scalpel glittered cold in the flourescent light. She brought it down and rested it flat on his chest. “Oh god,” he gasped, “I...” she looked at him, that cold, flat look in her eyes. She dragged the unsharpened side of the blade along his ribs. He let out a shriek of terror, certain that she was going to carve him to pieces. At his cry, she gave a low, sinister chuckle.

The cold steel wandered over his flesh, occasionally pressing harder and making him cry out in fear. She lifted it away and turned it around in her hand. Slowly, she lowered it down to his left cheek. Lightly, the sharpened edge whispered over his skin. Gradually, she applied pressure as his eyes rolled and he pissed himself in fear. A thin, stinging line was scored along his cheekbone before she lifted the scalpel away. She leaned back away from him, turning to the side with her menacing blade. She set it down upon the wheeled cart.

“I'll do what ever you want,” he gasped, “I...” She turned and walked out of the room. He screamed after her, “No! Don't leave me! Don't leave me here!” He writhed, attempting to free himself from his bonds. He only succeeded in exhausting himself. “Goddamn it!” he shouted, his voice nearly deafening in the small room, “Let me go!” As he gave up the fight against his metal bonds, she returned to the room still wearing her paper mask. She pushed the cart over to against the wall.

She picked up a hose from off the floor and began to hose him down, washing away the urine with ice cold water. He thrashed against his bonds, listening to the liquid drip down to the floor and then run down the drain positioned beneath the table. She put the hose aside and walked out of the room again. She returned with a bottle of isopropal alcohol and a handful of gauze. She set her supplies down on the cart across the room and looked over at him with a calculating expression. She picked up a q-tip and walked over.

Rolling it gently over his wound, she took a sample of his blood. She dropped this into a test tube when she returned to the cart. After a few minutes of rustling, he heard the click and whirr of the tape recorder. “Subject 43's blood type is O negative,” she said in her eerie, dispassionate tone, “There is reasonable speculation that the RNA type will be compatible. Additional testing is required.” She turned off the tape recorder before picking up a syringe. She approached him again and put a cold hand on his forearm. Ignoring his entreaties and pleas, she took a larger sample of his blood.

She took her syringe full of blood back to the cart and shuffled some things around. She then walked out of the room, leaving him alone again. Minutes ticked by and time seemed to lose meaning. He wept softly despite himself, worried that he was going to be murdered by the silent woman. As he was on the verge of giving up all hope, the door into the room opened again. There was a soft shuffling, as though someone was stumbling in slippers.

A masked woman in a hospital gown looked nervously towards the door. “Do what she wants,” she whispered, “Then she won't hurt you.” The masked woman looked around the room, her body speaking fear. “I'll come back again. Don't tell her,” she whispered. The masked woman shuffled out of the room as quickly as she could. Time ticked by and then the 'nurse' returned. She wheeled an IV stand into the room and with ruthless efficiency, she hooked him up to it. As the slow drip fed fluids into him, his heart began to hammer with panic.

The 'nurse' made a few notes on a clipboard which she rehung at his feet. She turned to the cart and picked up vial. As she put a syringe tip into it, his mouth went dry with fear. She filled it with a clear liquid. As she flicked the syringe and pushed the bubbles out of the needle, he began to thrash again. “Let me go,” he howled, “Let me go!” She walked over to the IV, ignoring his protestations, and put the fluid into his veins. Warmth spread from where it flowed. With the warmth came a deep relaxation of his muscles. His thoughts became confused and disjointed as the syringe's contents took full effect.

Suddenly, he felt comfortable and a tad tired. The fact that he was laying down seemed to make things all that much easier. And the quiet, ominous woman at his side, while disturbing, was no longer a source of utter terror. “You need rest,” she said primly, “You have a big day ahead of you tomorrow.” She turned and took a blanket off of the lower portion of the cart and covered him with it in all the seeming tenderness of a mother's care for her child. She adjusted the bags of fluid hanging off the IV stand and brought a bed pan.

She unlocked the restraints holding his legs and hips down, lifting them with relative ease. She slipped the bedpan under him and left him to the drugs. As his body voided into the pan, he blinked owlishly, feeling his strength run out of him like water through a sieve. A part of him insisted that the situation had gone from bad to worse but he couldn't think of the reason why for the life of him.

When he woke, he was restrained again. The IV bag had been changed. He was hooked up to a catheter and a colostomy bag. A mask was strapped over his nose and mouth with a hose that snaked down over his chest. The quiet woman was back, writing notes on her clipboard. Groggy from the drugs, he looked around himself. He found no change to the room and groaned. She hung the clipboard from the foot of the table and turned back to the cart. She manipulated something and he could feel cool air blowing against his face from the mask.

He held his breath, determined to resist what ever she was doing. She walked around him, watching how his body tensed with his struggle. She looked him over and made a tsking sound. She walked back to the cart. She picked up something that looked unfamiliar and ominous. The tiny vise was cold on his fingers as she slipped it on to one of his hands. He opened and closed his fingers, attempting to resist in some small way. She took hold one of his fingers and wrenched it back.

He screamed in pain. That cold, distant look in her eye gave way to something hungry, but he had missed it. She gradually closed the vise over the first knuckle of his right index finger as he breathed hard, trying not to scream again. His left hand flexed and he pulled against his restraints as the crushing pressure reached excruciating degrees. She stopped as he made pained noises. She walked around the foot of the table and to the cart.

She picked up another set of thumbscrews and walked to his left side. “Oh god no,” he moaned, “No, please don't. No!” Her cold, cold hands applied the thumbscrews to his left hand, grinding down the horrible pressure against his fingers. Screaming hoarsely, he flailed against his bonds. As he did so, she watched him. The colostomy bag and the catheter did their jobs as terror went to work on his bladder and bowels.

The cold kiss of the scalpel's edge pressed against his throat. He went dead silent, eyes rolling in terror. She ran it down his throbbing vein and over his chest. With a lover's caress, she traced the lines of his body with the razor sharp blade, careful not to break the skin. While he couldn't see it, she was breathing faster and hunger made her gaze wild. She scored a long, shallow cut over his pectoral muscles.

As the blood welled up, she could feel her heart hammering in her chest. It took all of her will not to rub her face in that ruby, salty sweet fluid. Her hand shook slightly as she struggled with the temptation to cut him again. She turned away, her harsh groan lost in the sobbing of her victim. Her control slipped as she turned back to face him. With a single, feather light touch, she dipped her fingers into the oozing blood. It burned hotly against her cold fingertips.

She turned away, determined not to let her victim see the look on her face. He was too busy crying in pain and fear, convinced that she was going to kill him. She put her bloody fingertips to her lips. Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath in, savoring the scent even as her tongue flicked out and gathered the few drops. With a small growl of frustration, she wiped her fingers on the white apron she wore and walked out of the room, her heels clicking a staccato beat.

He was blinded by pain, unable to tell how long had passed when the woman in the mask stole into the room. She looked him over for a moment. She then took the thumbscrews off of his fingers. At the sudden release of the relentless pressure, he wept. Feather light kisses landed on his bruising hands. “Oh, I'm so sorry,” she sighed, “I'm so, so sorry.” Her pity filled voice moved him to greater sobs. She lay light kisses over his face as she cast her arms about him.

The light in the room dimmed. She looked up suddenly, her eyes widening in what could be presumed to be fear. As she fled from the room, he wailed, “Don't leave me. Don't go.” She fled from the room, taking the thumbscrews with her. The door stood open wide and a cold breeze blew in. Outside of it, he could only hear the sound of feet on the floor until the slam of another door down some phantom hallway. Then came the sound of another door opening followed by the click of high heels. The slow pace stopped at the entrance into his room and his heart hammered.

She walked in, closing the door behind her. The white paper mask was replaced with another, this one with mint green elastic. Her apron was pristine white, not showing even a trace of his blood from her fingertips on it. One slender hand reached towards his face and he stared at her, paling. The thought of possibly biting her hand flew through his mind and then he realized he couldn't see her other hand. A wild vision of her slashing his throat open after biting the hand that was near his face made his blood run cold. He bit his lips and gave a silent prayer that this strange monster would just go away.

With a light touch, she looked his face over, carefully checking the bones of his cheeks and then moving along either side of his jaw. The temptation to bare his teeth was so strong that he wasn't sure if he did for a moment. As her free hand came up, he closed his eyes. She dragged her nails against the column of his throat. Beneath her mask, she licked her lips in a small, nervous gesture. She could feel his pulse throbbing, fluttering like a trapped bird beneath her fingertips. In the back of her mind, a small, quiet voice said she could just drug him again, rip all the equipment out, bundle him in clothes, and drop him in a bad part of town. It said that she could go back and let all of this be like some kind of awful dream.

The look in his eyes as he stared up at her fanned the hunger inside her. She struggled to maintain detachment as she continued to run her hands over him. When her fingertips came to the line of clotted blood where she had cut him, her control wavered and she dug them into the minor wound. He bared his teeth in a hiss of pain. She stared down at him, seemingly entranced by how his whole body vibrated with sudden tension. She pressed her nails down hard into the scratch, drawing blood again.

She slowly lifted her hand away, looking at it as though it belonged to someone else. With that same mute fascination, she turned and picked up the scalpel. He said in an angry voice, “Just kill me. That's what you're going to do isn't?” She looked over at him as though seeing him for the first time. While he couldn't see the beautiful smile that curved her lips, he could see hellfire that lit her eyes. She stepped up close to him.

She leaned down, her body heat warm against his nude side. Beneath the rustling paper mask, she again licked her lips as she brought her face close to his throat. She took in a deep breath, enjoying the musky scent of his body and the acrid tang of fear in his sweat. She stood there, her eyes closed and breathing. “C'mon,” he yelled at her, his tone wild with panic, “Just do it!” She moved her face until it was near his left ear.

Her voice was rich and sensual, just a touch breathy with excitement, as she said, “You are in no position to tell me what to do.” He thrashed against his restraints and gave a wordless scream. She looked him over, giving a soft growl as she set the scalpel down flat on his chest. At the cold, cold touch of steel, he froze. “I'm not going to kill you,” she whispered, “Though you may wish I had later.” She stood up and turned. As she walked out of the room, he realized that she left the scalpel laying on his chest. He struggled to think of some way to possibly manipulate his bonds or anything about the situation to free himself. When he realized that he was too securely fixed, he screamed. An angry, hoarse sound, it echoed in the room and nearly deafened him. He heard the sound of some sort of broken weeping, realizing in some abstract way that it was himself.

The room was plunged into darkness and he silently begged what ever gods that would hear him that all of this was a hellish nightmare. Trembling, he dropped into fitful sleep. When he woke the room was unchanged. As he dropped deeper into sleep, the lights gradually came on. She returned with a syringe and injected the sedative into his IV.

Hours later, he woke to his chest, arms, and legs feeling like they were on fire. He lifted his head, discovering that he was free from what ever strange place he had been. Shallow cuts crisscrossed his body. He ached all over and felt his gorge rising. He rolled onto his side and dry heaved before pulling the thin blanket over himself. Sitting in the corner was the masked woman with her arms wrapped tightly around herself. He looked at her in her thin hospital gown. He saw faded cuts healing on her arms and legs.

He slowly sat up on the cot, rubbing his aching brow. As he looked about the room, he realized that there was no window. He slipped out from beneath the blanket and moved to try the door, feeling unsteady on his feet. “It's locked,” the woman said in a voice that sounded vaguely familiar. He looked over at her, despair in his eyes. She stepped up to him and put one of his arms over her shoulders. With greater strength then he had expected in her small frame, she helped him back to the cot. He pulled the blanket over his lap and sat with his head hanging down.

The masked woman's hands moved over his shoulders in a comforting gesture. At her kindness, he gave a sudden sob. “Oh no,” she gasped, “No, no, no, no.” Her hands shook when he took them suddenly in his own. He brought them to his lips. The sight of the 'nurse's' eyes burning with unholy lust rolled over his mind. He shuddered and turned away. The masked woman wrapped her arms around him, gently but firmly guiding his head to be pillowed against her breast.

He wrapped his arms around her waist, breathing in the scent of her and striving to forget the cold, antiseptic sterility of the chamber he had been held in earlier. The sudden rush of the fact that he was alive having seen what he was sure was his own death staring him in the face rolled over him like a wave of heat. He buried his face in the hollow of her neck, ignoring the musky sweetness of the leather mask and breathed in the heat of her skin. She moved against him, somehow knowing what he ached for.

In a smooth motion, she settled herself in his lap, taking his erection deep inside her. He leaned back against the cot, letting her take hold of his wrists and press them down firmly against his chest. With wild abandon, she rode him giving loud moans and groans that just heightened his arousal. When his orgasm finally came he shuddered from head to toe, surprised by the force of it. He collapsed back against the cot, dropping down into deep, dreamless sleep, exhausted by the horrors he had experienced and the desperate fucking that happened.

She stood and picked up the blanket that had fallen to the floor. She dropped it over him with a smile. As she turned and walked out of the room, she reached up and unbuckled the mask. She let the door swing shut and locked it before taking the mask off. She brought her fingers to her lips. Fresh blood from his pleasantly aggravated cuts clung to the heel of her hand and on the backs of her fingers. With a catlike expression, she licked the blood. She decided that she would bleed him again later, but first she wanted to rest.

Tuesday, September 25, 2012

scene: assault

She held a hand over her head in an attempt to keep the rain off her face as she stepped out of the building. Doing her best to keep an air of confidence, she walked towards the parking lot. In the dim light of the broken streetlamp, a pair of eyes watched her as they had done for weeks. As she walked up to her car, the man came forward out of the shadows at a quick pace.

A hand reached forward and grabbed her shoulder. She moved to pull herself free when he leaned forward and gripped her around the waist with his other arm. She gave an angry shriek as he dragged her back. Kicking and flailing, she attempted to break free, losing a shoe in the process. He turned and used his momentum to throw her to the ground.

Her head struck the pavement hard enough that she saw stars. Her purse flew away from her and for a moment she hoped that he'd just take it and run. Then the man standing over her leaned down, grabbing at her throat. She gave a throaty scream, beating at his wrist and kicking like a wild horse. He expertly applied pressure to her throat, replacing her screaming with a wide eyed gasp of terror.

As he loomed over her, she looked about herself in some desperate hope for aid. In a sudden burst of courage, she slapped him across the face as he leaned close. He squeezed harder and she took a desperate breath in. Her eyes rolled in terror as his shadowed visage drew close to her. A tongue licked the tears rolling down as she said, "Oh god. Stop. Please... just stop. Let me go."

His voice was harsh in her ear as he growled, "Shut up." He looked quickly around them as she silently prayed that someone, anyone would see them and come to her aid. He grabbed a fistful of her hair and dragged her to her feet. He took her left wrist and twisted it up behind her back, putting her into a lock. He forced her ahead of him, shrugging his hoodie farther up over his face. She looked back at him, her face white with fear. When they reached a battered looking van, she had another burst of desperation.

She attempted to dig her feet in and resist him as he pushed her forward. She managed to twist herself free from his shoulder lock when he suddenly yanked her back as she attempted to bolt. She slammed into the side of the van, staggering after the initial impact. He backhanded her hard enough to drive her to her knees with a cry. He opened the door and shoved her in before slamming it shut. She frantically scrambled to the front, reaching to open a door when it flew open before her.

He looked up at her as she retreated before him. The dome light of the van clicked off as he got in and slammed the door. He picked up the roll of duct tape that sat on the seat as he made his way into the back of the van. She pulled desperately on the door handle, only to have him grab her from behind again. He threw her to the floor of the van and put a knee on her chest. She flailed as he ripped of a piece of tape and put it over her mouth. He then mercilessly bound her wrists and ankles despite her struggles.

Thus restrained, she lay helplessly on the floor of the van as he made his way to the driver's seat. She sobbed as she failed to free her wrists as the van began to move. Laying on her side, she tried not to think about what ever was going to happen next. She could hear miscellaneous items rolling around in the back of the van with her. She gave a pained noise as an aluminum baseball bat bounced across the back of the van and into her chest as he took a hard turn.

When they finally stopped, she had curled herself up into a ball in the back of the van. Her face was wet with tears and snot. She was shaking with terror as he got out of the van. When he opened the door to the back of the van, she cringed away from him. She looked past him and realized that they were somewhere unfamiliar. Rows of storage lockers awaited behind some shoddy chainlink fencing. He picked her up, carrying her on his shoulder, and pulled a key out of his pocket.

He unlocked the padlock on the gate and opened it. As he walked in, she raised her head and looked desperately towards the road. No signs of life before them, she sobbed harder. He put her down on the cold, damp concrete before turning and locking the padlock. Leaving her alone in the darkness, he walked towards one of the sheds. The cough of a generator starting sounded and she looked over. After what felt to be an eternity, he walked back over and with a grunt, he picked her up again.

She blinked at the sudden brilliance of the lights in the small space, giving a whimper. He put her into a hard chair with arms on it. As he turned away to the workbench nearby, she looked around the room. An array of dire looking items sat on the bench, some looking familiar like the butcher's knife, and some looking horrifyingly threatening, like the whip coiled beside it. On the wall above the workbench, she saw a series of photographs. At first, her mind wouldn't make sense of what she was seeing and then it crystallized, they were all photos of her.

Her blood ran cold as she realized that the photos were from various parts of her daily routine and different locations she frequented around the city. The sheer volume of photographs told her that he had been stalking her for quite some time. She looked from the photographs to the mattress laying on the floor and a second workbench along the other wall. Straps lay tangled on it that he was attending to neatening after he shut the door and barred it. After a long moment, he turned to the first workbench.

He picked up the butcher's knife and her eyes widened as the blood drained out of her face. The hood of his jacket fell back as he turned and she got her first clear view of his face. Blue eyes glittered like sapphires, hard and unrelenting, as he looked at her. Hunger burned in his gaze and she cringed away from him. Full lips curved into a cupid's bow of what almost looked to be amusement, if his gaze wasn't so emotionless. "Don't move," he said as she desperately tried to think of where she had seen him before.

He put the edge of the knife against her throat and she closed her eyes with a frightened sob. The cold steel glided over her wildly throbbing pulse, moving up until the tip was just below her ear. Slowly, it moved down her neck until the tip was just under the neckline of her blouse. Just barely brushing her skin, he made the slow circuit up and down her throat. He lifted the knife away from her throat and she opened her eyes.

She looked tearfully up at him, not daring to move or make a sound as he looked down at her with the knife in hand. He set it back on the bench before picking up a pair of handcuffs. He snapped one end onto the left arm of the chair. He picked up the knife again and she cringed away from him. Slipping the tip beneath the edge of the duct tape restraining her wrists, he noticed how she trembled. He cut the tape and dropped the knife, quickly grabbing her left wrist and slamming it down on the arm of the chair.

As she tried to pull it out of his grip, he snapped the free end of the handcuff about her wrist and cinched it down. He picked up the butcher's knife and pointed it at her. She froze, watching him as he turned and took the second set of handcuffs in hand. He secured his victim's right wrist to the right arm of the chair. He put the knife aside and picked up a pair of scissors.

As he walked up to her, she gave a muffled scream and struggled against her restraints. His hand crashed into her face, stilling her and leaving her shivering. He slipped the scissors under the neckline of her shirt and began to cut the fabric off her. When he was finished, she was nude from the waist up. He leaned down and pressed his face against her neck. As he moved his head to put his lips by her ear, he took in a deep breath, putting a shudder through her.

Quietly he whispered, "We're going to play a game. If you're good, you'll get to walk out of here. If you're bad, I'll punish you. Either way, you're going to scream for me." Softly, she began to weep again. He put his hands on her forearms, caressing lightly from her elbows to her wrists. He looked down at her breasts, noting how fear and the chill in the room combined to make her nipples stand at attention. He smiled. "I know you," he said, "every last little dark secret. Every line you've written in your journals. I know everything."

His breath curled hot against her neck, arousing her even as she rolled her eyes in terror. He smiled before burying his face in the hollow of her neck. He bared his teeth and nipped at her tender flesh as she tried to pull away from him. His large, warm hands slid up her arms to her shoulders. With a lover's gentleness, he caressed her. He ran his hands over her chest, toying with her breasts even as he kissed and nipped his way along her shoulders. As his relentless, skilled manipulation of her body left her in a confused state. A part of her was desperately afraid as another was growing soft and hungry for more.

He closed his mouth gently over her left breast. His tongue moved in lazy circles about her nipple, drawing a moan from his prisoner. His hands danced lightly along her sides, making her squirm and whimper. The faint note of fear in her whimpering was fading as he continued his gentle assault on her senses. He pressed his cheek to her thigh, taking in a deep breath, closing his eyes and savoring the smell of her sex through the fabric of her skirt. He slipped his hands up under the hem of the skirt and she began to pull at the restraints again, fear rising up and washing away arousal.

He looked up at her, the horrible emptiness in his eyes replaced with an equally distressing hunger. She kicked her legs out, catching him in the upper thigh with her bound ankles. He reached up as he rose up from his knees into a half crouch, closing his left hand about her throat. She gasped and went incredibly still. Hunger and the emptiness mingled together in his gaze as he looked at her. Slowly, he began to squeeze.

She tossed her head and struggled to pull her wrists free, giving a muffled scream of terror, convinced he was going to kill her. The world began to go gray and her screams gave way to sobs. The fight eased out of her as unconsciousness rolled over her. Her last waking thought was her utter certainty that she was as good as dead.

When she woke, she was flat on her back on the rough wooden worktable. Her wrists and ankles were strapped down. The world felt terribly cold, and that was when she realized that she was naked. She lifted her head and looked about the room, discovering that the bare bulb that lit the room was out. Plunged into utter darkness, naked, cold, and alone, she began to weep with fear again.

The door of the storage unit rattled as he unlocked it. He walked in, the wan light of the moon making him look even more ominous then he had in the shadows earlier. He set a small electric heater down beside the chair she had been in earlier. He flipped on the light switch before locking and barring the door into the unit. He turned to the worktable beside him and picked up what seemed to be a mass of wires attached to a box with electrodes hanging off it.

He walked over and set the box down beside her right hip and began applying electrodes to her. He picked up the power cord and plugged it into the extension cord laying on the floor. With that empty look, he powered the device on, ignoring her fearful crying. He turned a few dials and adjusted the settings to his liking. He then flicked a switch. Her world turned white with pain as the TENS unit made several of her major muscle groups knot painfully. She screamed and writhed, attempting to rip herself free of the leather bonds.

He watched her thrash and looked down at the TENS unit. Seconds ticked by until the first minute was done. Her screaming dropped down to sobbing as the unit complied with the program and dropped the intensity. This lasted for a few seconds before restoring the crippling pressure into her limbs. After five minutes of this, the unit switched off. She cringed as his hand went near the switch that powered the unit, expecting him to turn it on again. “Are you going to behave?” he said. Tearful, she nodded her head, her eyes begging him not to do more. “If that's a lie, you will get it again, twice as long.” Her eyes widened. “You're not lying to me, are you?” he asked. She shook her head.

Leaving the electrodes on her, he began to run his hands over her legs. Hunger began to show in his eyes again and he slipped a hand between her thighs. Gently, he tickled her labia, noting that fear left her dry. After a few moments of flicking her clit with a fingertip, he decided that he wanted to touch her inside. He lifted his hand away and walked over to the other table. The sharp scent of hand sanitizer wafted in the air as he stood with his back to her. He turned around, a bottle of lubricant in his hand.

He dropped a few fat drips onto his fingertips before he set the bottle down beside the TENS unit. He placed one hand on her abdomen before sliding his fingers deep into her. She tensed and would have jumped off the table if it weren't for the restraints. Slowly and firmly, he rubbed the inside of her vagina, paying special attention to the g-spot. After a while, his victim's fearful whimpers began to become replaced with sensual moans

As her juices began to flow, the rich scent of her sex tickled his nose. He dipped his head and took another deep breath in, making her gasp. Tension began to build in her thighs and she began to breathe faster. Deciding that she was aroused enough, he pulled his fingers out of her and brushed them on her thigh. Despite herself, she moaned for more and he smiled. As he turned away, she watched him, desperately attempting to figure out where she had seen him before.

He picked up a wide wooden spoon and turned it over in his hands before setting it aside. He picked up a black matte item, keeping it carefully out of her sight as he walked over. He turned on the vibrator and slipped it in her. She arched and flailed at the sudden violation. Holding it in her as she thrashed, he reached over with his free hand, turning on the TENS unit. She screamed and sobbed, blinded by the pain of her muscles knotting themselves up tightly. As she writhed, he moved the toy in and out of her. He noted how the dildo became even slicker, though his victim was in horrific pain.

The TENS unit cycled through the program and he continued to stimulate her. When it turned off, the slightest motion of the dildo shot through her and she arched suddenly. Her eyes were wide and staring up at the roof of the unit with shock. Slowly, he pushed her to the edge of climax, noting with satisfaction how her eyes rolled and she shuddered with pleasure with each thrust of the toy. When he stopped, she gave a muffled groan of frustration and confusion. He took the toy away and then disconnected the TENS unit. Each brush of his fingertips against her skin, his victim shivered.

He unsecured her ankles and she stared at him, dreading what he was going to do next. When he released her wrists, she lay still before him, to afraid to do anything else and convinced that he had something worse then the TENS unit waiting if she did. “Up,” he commanded. She sat up and he took hold of her left wrist. Half dragging her off the workbench, he guided her over to the wall farthest from the door. There, a pair of handcuffs were secured to a steel shackle spot welded to the iron support. He moved to secure her wrist and she hesitated to comply. “Do you want more?” he said quietly, “Because I have hours of power available.” She froze and looked at him.

He secured her wrists above her head, her back facing him. He walked about the edge of the mattress that she stood on. He picked up the whip on the workbench by the chair and turned to face her. The single tail cracked like thunder and she screamed in terror. Again, he cracked the whip, not making contact but letting her feel the air disturbed by it's passing. Again, she screamed and tried to press herself to the cold metal wall to avoid the lashes.

He brought the whip down in a sharp blow to her shoulders, giving a soft grunt with the effort. As the lash sent a line of burning fire through her senses, she twisted in her restraints. Again he struck her with the whip and again she tried to squirm out of her imprisonment. He painted more scarlet stripes across her white flesh, smiling at how she eventually gave up trying to escape and just sagged, her head bowed in defeat. He put the whip aside and walked up to her.

He breathed softly over the mark immediately before him. She shuddered and moaned. With a silken touch, he teased her angry, raw back. Soon, she arched and wept in unwilling pleasure. As he wrung noises of pleasure out of her, he let his hands move around to her front. He pressed himself against her back as he smoothed a hand over her abdomen.

Her head lolled back, eyes rolling. He bit her throat, gripping her hard in his arms. She shivered. As a hand moved to her sex, he put his lips close to her ear. “Sing for me, little bird,” he said. Her eyes flew open and she abruptly stiffened, all relaxation that had come with arousal chased away by her realization who he was. She suddenly began to pull against the restraints in a burst of terror. The man that she had been corresponding with on a dating website, the one that she had decided that morning to stop talking to because he was becoming disturbingly insistent on talking sex, was none other then her captor.

His calling her 'little bird' was a direct reference to a more explicit conversation that they had. She threw her head back as she flailed. He gave a dark little chuckle and pressed her hard against the wall. “Oh no,” he said in rich amusement, “the cat has caught you, little bird. You're not going anywhere.” He dragged his nails along her sides, digging into her skin. “Now, you're going to sing for me,” he purred. He reached up and ripped the tape off of her mouth. Incoherent words tumbled out of her mouth as he pulled her head back.

He wrapped an arm around her waist and buried his right hand in her sex. His clever fingers brought her to a sudden climax as she clawed at the air. He wrenched a second and a third orgasm out of her, stopping when she was on the edge of another. She weakly pulled on the restraints, confused, frightened, and painfully aroused. He stepped away and picked up the wooden spoon he had eyed earlier.

The sharp smack of the spoon hitting her ass sent a shudder through her and a started yelp. He hit her again and she tried to squirm away. “I'll do worse,” he warned and she froze. Her ass, thighs, and shoulders all soon had bright red welts rising up as she hung limply from her wrists, weeping. In a light touch, he began to caress her developing bruises, making her gasp. He continued relentlessly, giving a smile at how her head hung down in utter defeat.

He reached up and unchained her wrists, catching her as she staggered. With unexpected care, he laid her down on the mattress. He spread her legs wide and blew softly on her labia. She gasped and arched, before meweling in pain at the way the fabric of the mattress scraped at her raw back. As his mouth closed over her sex, she gave a fearful whimper. This soon gave way to languid sighs and soft moans as he slaked his hunger for her pussy with enthusiasim.

Patiently, he brought her to orgasm. Once again, he brought her to the edge of another. This time, he stood up and slipped off his pants. Taking his turgid erection in hand, he knelt between her thighs. In a single smooth motion, he lifted her hips and buried himself within her. She gave a surprised cry that dropped down into a low, shuddering moan as he began to pump with in her. He breathed harder as he thrust vigorously, closing his eyes to focus more on the pleasure of her flesh. As his orgasm rose up and rolled over him, he listened to the various small, animalistic sounds of pleasure she made, delighting in how she shivered and climaxed beneath him.

She made a small, pained noise and fell silent as he loomed over her. He opened his eyes and found that his victim had succumbed to the weariness of the last few hours. Bruised and battered, she seemed smaller and more fragile before him. With an evil chuckle, he disentangled himself and then lifted her up. He placed her upon the worktable with the straps and secured her down. He took up a strap of duct tape and covered her mouth. She was so deeply unconscious that all she did was moan in protest.