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Vampire lust, p.9

Vampire Lust, page 9


Vampire Lust

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  The distant but distinct street sounds drifting inside – a car honking at road rage decibels, a dog barking rabidly, gangsta rap out of a passing car – disappear. The noise the vacuum cleaner makes is overpowering.

  Chapter 8

  The sound the wooden paddle makes is one of the main reasons it’s so popular as the instrument of choice. The scantily dressed man leans forward, gripping the back of a chair. The big-breasted woman in her long latex dress swings the slapper. The noise of the slap suggests a big meaty ass much bigger than the man’s size.

  “You fill me with rage,” the woman says, sounding calm. Her arm back she let goes an underarm swing, table tennis style. Heavy contact with his buttocks uncovers her teeth in a leer. “You’re gonna be taught how to respect me!”

  With a bounce of her latex-supported bosoms and a shuffle of her remarkably light feet, she flings in a frenzied shot. His head jumps backwards – the yelp is dulled by the resounding fleshy spank sound. She gives his left and right butt-cheeks the same treatment, two successive blows for each side.

  “Oh hon, I love you,” he gasps, “you know I do.”

  “You fucking creep,” she scorns, glancing down to his ass: on the roundest part of each cheek is a rubefacient circle. Her lowered blue eyelids cover much of the eyes, defined cheekbones protrude into skin, a half smile without any teeth: in her expression is self-satisfaction. She doesn’t pause long to admire his warmed-up naked buttocks: the wooden paddle rockets in. “I’m gonna make sure you don’t forget this lesson in a long time.”

  The woman stalks off. A flash of a fleshy thigh as she returns behind the man, in her hands a long bundle of strung-together birches. She plants her feet in such a way that she has sufficient space for a long swing.

  With a haughty expression, legs apart, one hand on her hip she holds the birches vertically high in the air, her crooked arm extended away from her gorgeous body. Holds the pose for what seems to about half a minute, the splayed out birch rods level with her head. Then sweeps the air. The half-naked man’s frame shakes. One of the birch rods bends, almost snapping. Which it does on the next strike. She keeps swinging her arm, bringing the birches back and forth, cracking them across his butt-cheeks.

  Red pockmarks start to appear on his ass, the birches scrape his skin. The sharp nips, if restricted in number, are bearable, but the long rods cover a wide area. Though there are no deep cuts or blood trickles, the ass looks a bloody mess.

  Another rod splinters and breaks.

  “You learning that lesson, you learning your lesson?” the woman hollers, quickly bringing the remaining birches to his ass. The three rods twang.

  The girl turns the door handle, putting her shoulder to the door, sidling along inside the room with the vacuum cleaner in tow.

  “Oh yes, my sweet darling!” the man cries, with shrill enthusiasm. “Oooh yes.”

  Letting go of the vacuum cleaner, the girl swivels to the sound.

  On the small TV screen the dominatrix Empusa smiles cruelly. A quick cut to a rear view: the bundle of sticks striking a man’s well marked bottom. And Jason crouched in front of the TV, trousers down to his knees, erect member still in his hand.

  Empusa: that big porky bitch. The girl is familiar with what she does from time spent searching for vampires on the web. Shocked as the girl is by the whole situation, which includes seeing Jason’s penis unobstructed for the first time – and it’s huge – without one or other of the two Es’ heads in the way – and then only as a poor snatch of a peek - and the look of stupor on his face, she can’t stop herself from scoffing at his choice of porn actress to jerk off to. She’s got big tits. They’re as big as Anri’s but unlike her – who in her BDSM getup looks like a top-class glamour model roughing it – she’s genuinely rough stuff. The girl can easily imagine Empusa doing any kind of sexually depraved act. The woman calls herself a vampire. But the girl thinks Empusa’s the most unlikely possible vampire out there. Empusa’s too healthy, bordering on fat. Gross boobs – they have to be saline-filled – plump hips, lard ass and thighs. The likelihood of her being one of the Undead is unimaginable, laughable. Period.

  “Do you submit to my power?” Empusa asks, shows off her pointed fangs.

  The girl puts a hand over her mouth to hide her giggle.

  “What the hell …?” Jason yells, discomposed, yanking up his silk briefs.

  Dipping her gaze the girl can’t help herself. She keeps it located in the direction of his penis. The girth is supernaturally thick. She’s never seen it as big as that before.

  “Oooh yes, please! I want you, I want you. Please forgive me, hon.”

  Covering up, looking up from his fly, Jason shoots the girl a fierce glare. He freaks. “This is it, this is the ultimate piss-take. How dare you!”

  The girl’s face crumbles. “The vacuum cleaner, the noise … Anri said -”

  “Shut up! There’s no excuse,” Jason shouts, leaning to the TV-VCR combo to switch the power off.

  “You learned your lesson yet, pig? Or do you -”

  “Follow me.”

  On the way out of the room Jason trips on the vacuum cleaner and gets angrier. He stalks through the corridor and pushes open the bedroom door. He makes straight for a bamboo cane slanted on a side table and with it in his hand immediately sweeps the air. The double bed is neatly made-up, an embroidered bedcover tugged in at the sides and at the foot. The Victorian-style bedstead is cast-iron with a simple filigreed construction. Looking up from the uncrumpled bedspread Jason Winter fixes on the girl. A brutal look. Bringing the cane down, he thumps the hard mattress.

  “On the bed,” he commands, coming round to get in his accustomed position.

  She kneels up on the mattress and crouches forward. She doesn’t need to be ordered to doff her panties. Obediently, she rolls them down.

  Straight away the cane stings her behind and brings water to her eyes, the same as in the past. The cane moves with enough power behind it to force a groan. She wonders if she ought to have gotten used to it by now: the pain she gets from the feeling he’s shredding her backside is devastating. Jason doesn’t speak: she can hear him breathing heavily.

  “Mmmumm!” The girl stifles the cry, choking on it, stopping herself from calling out for her mom.

  What a waste of breath. This is how the girl sees it:

  Seconds after entering her parents’ home she is blocked by her mom in the living room part of the open plan living room/dining room/kitchen area. Her mom’s face is gigantic; she sees it like it’s an extreme close-up. Her face is stressed and heavily lined. Huge bloodshot eyes bulge out of her sockets: the transfixed stare of an overwrought neurotic. The girl feels her mom gripping her arm, pinching through the cotton of her T-shirt.

  “Where’ve you been?” her mom’s voice squalls. Dyed blonde hair, greasy and lank, falls over her eyes. She jerks it back. A tic pulses under a dark rimmed eye. “I can’t believe you can show your face here again, like this. Y’know what this did to your father? It was his mom’s mom’s gold bracelet and ring you stole! They were in the family for generations – how heartless can you be? And you sold them, for what?” shaking the girl in her grip, fingernails digging into skin. “Your father will never forgive you!”

  Behind her mom, slouching in the dining area, her teenage brother. A Goth-white sneering face, bug eyes mostly the whites, painted purple lips in an ugly, taunting grin.

  “As far as he’s concerned, you’re not his daughter any more. Nor mine. We called the police already, told them what you did, what you stole. When they get you, you’re going to be charged. Brad, ring them now,” the girl’s mom starts to grin, “I’m going to hold her till they come.”

  “No, mom, no you can’t,” the girl cries, struggling to get out of her mom’s grip. Her mom’s fingernails are beginning to hurt in her arm. “I didn’t mean to, i
t was a mistake.”

  “You make me laugh, you pathetic snivelling little girl.” And her mom does exactly that: lets out a crazy chortle. Her rigid eyes are deranged, and her crow’s feet as red as sore weals. “Fucking whore - where you been? In England, sucking your lord and master’s cock? Big one, was it? Hope it was worth it, ‘cause all you’re going to see for a while is Offenders’ Program pussy!”

  Passing through the upstairs corridor Anri hears the swish of the cane and the sound it makes catching the girl on the bones of her upper thighs. The door is ajar. A sharp crack rebounds explosively throughout the vast house. The blows come in fast, their frequency slow-paced; hissing at the girl Jason informs her at the end of the day she is going to end up in the Witches’ Chair.

  What Jason did with the girl hadn’t really interested Anri. Which is surprising. Watching a victim get whipped is part of her scene and the sight has always provoked excitement. In clubs, whenever the opportunity arises when men and women persistently offer themselves for punishment, she is a more than willing participant.

  Positioned in a way that she can see the girl propped up on her knees and elbows on the bed, she watches a few strokes coming in from one side. The cane makes a hollow as it hits the fleshy ass and as it pulls away her round cheek slightly quivers. The girl’s ass isn’t enormous but her cheeks are full enough with a little excess fat to dimple each time the cane hits the right spot.

  The girl’s eyelids clench on each blow. A powerful strike on thigh bones knocks her shoulders forward. She can’t hold back her pain and releases a muffled groan of pain. She grits her teeth; the blows come down harder.

  Her white ass sticking up invitingly in the air, discoloured by bruising in places and marked with straight and slanted welts, fascinates Anri, peering through the doorway. She feels her adrenaline pumping. The marks and the marbling effect, created by the bruises, are like artistic gestures applied on the blank surface of the girl’s white skin. She sees the ass as a work full of beauty and in recognising its aesthetic value also cannot deny part of her appreciation is down to the attractiveness of the ass itself. It arouses her.

  The final series of blows are frenzied. The end comes with the cane flying out of Jason Winter’s hand and ricocheting off the girl’s hipbone. The velocity knocks her forward and her chin drops over one side of the mattress. In the corridor Jason brushes past Anri and heads downstairs. A dew-like film of sweat coats his forehead.

  On the bed the girl rearranges herself into something resembling a lotus position, her back to the door. A dry sob gently rocks her shoulders. A hand is laid on her upper back; suddenly realising she is not alone her body jerks.

  “I scared you,” Anri states softly, sitting down behind the girl on the edge of the mattress. “I didn’t mean to,” her voice is delicate and hushed, with a passionate edge that makes the girl’s stomach clench. She runs fingers over the curvature of the girl’s right hip, fingertips moving slower as they scan and touch buttocks. Nearer to the girl now, Anri’s look full of awe and fixation is proof of her belief that up close the girl’s ass is an even bigger wonder. Her fingers begin to trace each mark and map bruises by lapping round in circles. Fingertips knead tenderly, slow deliberate strokes she delivers with care and attention to detail.

  Getting up on her haunches she moves in closer, gently kisses the girl’s shoulder blade, and murmurs, “Could you raise your bottom a little?”

  Anri runs her tongue along each welt in turn; she cannot resist flapping the tip in the girl’s ass crack.

  “My sweet girl,” Anri coos affectionately. Changing position Anri places her fingers under the girl’s chin and lifts it up slowly. And kisses her, her lips covering the girl’s mouth. Lips slowly peel away.

  “I don’t know why it took me so long to see it. When I see something I like I usually take it,” Anri murmurs, fondness in her eyes – an emotion the girl immediately recognizes and can’t entirely believe is there.

  Anri kisses the girl quickly over and over, her fingers pressing on the other’s hips. Her fingers inch their way to the girl’s clitoris. The girl, the impending weight of Anri gathering itself and pressing down, begins to gradually recline. She opens up her thighs.

  She sees a flash of incisors, glinting from sunlight entering the bedroom. Resting her head against a cast iron headboard, she gasps. Anri has gotten a finger inside. The opening is wet already. Wet enough for Anri to slot in another two fingers very quickly. Bending over the line in her cleavage darkens, a trickle of sweat races down. Her hand opens the girl up using a few fingers, they stretch out an opening wide enough for what she is about to bring inside.

  Gradually, bit by bit, Anri presses her hand down. She gets as far as possible and cups her hand involuntarily, the confines of the girl’s vaginal walls prompting her to do it. The dark brown eyes that search for and meet Anri’s are full of trust and delight. Staring down at the girl’s face and enjoying what she sees Anri starts working her fist in and out to her own rhythm. Fast, then slow, fast, and then slow. Then changes it completely when she wants to hear the girl pant with more and more passion, or is content dropping the pace and hushing the girl’s cries.

  Near the foot of the bed stands Jason Winter. The girl is the first to notice him; shock flows across her face. She doesn’t move and looks down at Anri, her hand still sliding back and forth.

  “So this is what goes on when I turn my back,” Jason comments contemptuously. “I know you like girls, Anri, but you two?” he laughs callously.

  Ignoring him Anri moves closer and reaches for the girl’s right breast. A wonderful, child-like bosom, the nipple large and sharply pointed, responding well to her gentle strokes. The feel of the girl’s hard bosom causes a reaction that works its way down to the nerve-endings in Anri’s already excited genitalia. It is a body with human peculiarities – in comparison with her own too faultless body - she finds beautifully imperfect and absolutely stunning.

  The girl moans uncontrollably, her toes tensed up by the power and relief coming from the best orgasm she has ever experienced. Her eyes open wide with delight when she realises Anri is beginning to crouch down.

  Giving the girl a peep of her pointed tongue she lowers her head. Still moving her hand in and out her tongue now teases and quivers on the one spot on the clitoral hood where she knows by instinct the girl will be most easily aroused. The girl is losing her perspective of things all around, lost as she is in the delirium of a new climax.

  Staring down, a hard-on in his trousers, Jason Winter wonders why he hasn’t thought of fucking the girl. All the time she has been in his home she has been an outlet for his S/M fantasies. But seeing them together he tells himself he’ll give them a few more minutes: then he’s going to screw and slap them. He’s going to fuck the girl hard up the ass.

  Using her tongue and lips, the tip of her nose bumping on the clit, Anri makes the girl yell out her gratitude. Jason Winter can’t take much more.

  “C’mon, off the bed. This time it’s my turn. You’re both going to blow me.”

  Anri rolls her eyes, lifts herself from between the girl’s legs. She leans forward and whispers in the girl’s ear. They get off opposite sides of the bed and walk over to Jason Winter. Neither of the women says a word as they remove his trousers and briefs. Anri takes his hand and leads him to the bed. By the time he gets there he has nickel handcuffs on one wrist. In an instant Anri shoves him front forward onto the bed. Immediately he is prone she jumps on his shoulders and secures the cuffs to one post of the bedstead. Quickly she shifts position and crouches on his back; the girl grabs hold of his left forearm and clips on another set of handcuffs. Anri scratches and punches him because he is struggling underneath. Her weight on top continues to pin him down.

  It is an effort securing cuffs to the opposite post, Jason Winter uses all his strength to keep his arm still. The girl inches back, then cracks he
r knee hard on his arm; simultaneously sharp nails dig deep into the side of his face. With Jason Winter groaning in pain he hardly notices nickel cuffs locking onto a bedstead post.

  “You’re pay for this, both of you,” Jason Winter promises, sullen rather than angry, knowing anger would be energy wasted while he is secured to the bed.

  “We haven’t finished yet,” Anri says, getting up. She walks to a side cupboard, smiling at the girl as she looks over and removes a black plastic dildo. Back at the bed she gazes into the girl’s eyes, an impish glint in hers. With the dildo held erect in between her massive bosoms, she asks, “Shall I?”

  “Go on, stick it right in,” the girl cries out excitedly, giggling.

  The long dildo goes in Jason’s asshole effortlessly. He gasps. Anri leaves it poking out halfway inside. Unlike the girl she isn’t surprised the dildo has gone in so smoothly. It only takes a filthy look or a glance at bodies that attract her, to get her wet. She can be ready for penetration in seconds. The same thing with his asshole, watching them together his ass lubricated and stretched out, awash from oozing secretions.

  “I’ll kill you, I gave you immortality, now I’m going to take it away!” he screams, the cuffs cutting into his wrists.

  “Yeah, right,” Anri says indifferently. She turns to the girl, “As a parting gift lean on that big black cock and work it, baby. I’ll get our stuff together.”

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