The Darker Passions

by Nancy Kilpatrick

  To keep her from becoming overcooked, I alternate the cat: a smart one to her left cheek, then one to her right, both hitting the underside, then one to the quivering pink folds. My entire body gets behind me. Her bottom is now verging on purple, the marks indistinguishable from one another. I leave off with her derriere and again concentrate fully on that crack of fire, flailing until her words convey her need. "Master Hyde, fuck me, I plead with you sir, my cunny needs a visit from your solid manhood now."

  I take her at her word. I free my swollen cock and mount her from behind. Her well whipped ass feels deliciously hot against my stomach and groin. She is scalding and the folds within her lead me directly towards the fireplace. No sooner have I skewered her than that searing muscle contracts, basting my cock with hot slippery juices.

  Her cries of pleasure fill the chamber and are music to my ears. My own muscle, engorged, eager for release, has received a direct order from the chef: this female meat can be cooked again and it will be all the better to consume her as she reaches tender perfection.

  Slowly I disengage myself. Sweet Marie moans, as if she is sorely disappointed. In fact she says, "Master, you have satisfied me and I thank you." But I know she can better than.

  I use the cat again, starting easily, finding areas that are not as well colored, concentrating on her hips and thighs, places she is not used to having stimulated so. When I have her panting my name, I climb atop the table once more and renew my acquaintance with her inviting labia. The cat's nine tails lick at her there and at her bottom hole, neglected during the first round. Soon my strokes increase in both speed and hardness and Marie begs me to take her again. Before doing so I rub her ass and her bottom hole with the Oriental ointment, making certain to press some deep inside. Now that it has vulnerable skin to speak to, the spider's oil elicits a reaction that thrills me. Marie's ass actually quivers.

  Her pussy glistens with moisture. My tongue laps at it slowly from front to back, then again. The skin there is hot from the lash and sensitive. With every lick her entire body convulses. "Master, Sir. Please, you must pierce me with your rod!" Her voice tells me that she is ready. My cock tells me a similar story.

  I impale her immediately, my long thick cock buried as far as he will go into her swollen womanhood. Immediately she clamps her muscles around me, pulsing out her song of passion as it echoes again throughout the laboratory. But this time my fellow will harmonize. I thrust in and out of her, sliding through her wetness until the tunnel once more narrows. Her raw bottom lifts to meet my strokes so that I may enter as deeply as I please. She is open to me now, prepared to take what I give her and to give me all the pleasure I demand.

  I pump harder. My testicles tighten and a surge runs from them and up through my shaft and I come inside her shooting my seed deep.

  Outside the bells of Big Ben chime the hour. It is four a.m. Jekyll will be needing this laboratory at eight. Until then it is mine. And so is sweet Marie.

  But the night is closing quickly and I must make the most of the time I have left. I tie one of my new leather thongs around Marie's forehead and use two more to attach it to the sides of the table, pulling taut, forcing her head back. Her face is a picture of bliss. I know she has had no Master like me before and yet she will not have me again, but this she does not yet realize.

  Once her head is back I command her, "Marie, open your mouth." She obeys instantly, expectantly, hoping my still hard cock will favor her in this manner.

  I walk to my cabinet and remove three leather phalluses. The short one I insert into her mouth and tie behind her head, to act as a muffler. The second I insert into her freshly fucked cunny, tying it fast to the table sides with two more thongs. The last I reserve temporarily for her other orifice, which will no doubt need stretching before it is able to accommodate me. But before that expansion takes place, I remove the smallest cat I own from the cupboard, the one with thirteen tails. Marie sees this and her eyes bulge. She has not tasted such a stimulator before and I see both eagerness and fear.

  She wonders where I shall apply it, but there is no question in my mind. I bring it down hard on an ass already sore beyond what she has ever endured. A loud muffled groan slips around the sides of the gag and her body quakes.

  This night, before the cock crows, Marie shall enter a new realm, one she has not yet experienced. The realm of Master Hyde.

  Chapter Two

  "No, Poole, I'm not hungry."

  "But Doctor Jekyll, sir, you've barely eaten."

  "Poole, remember your place!"

  Whatever is the matter with me. Now I'm snapping at the servants. And for what? Simply because I'm exhausted from lack of sleep. And I have only that devil Hyde to thank for it. Him and his carryings on until all hours. He kept me awake, doing God only knows what. And now here it is, 7:30 in the morning, and I am required in one short half hour from now to give a lecture and demonstration in my laboratory before two colleagues. As if I can keep my eyes open and my mind focused!

  "You must excuse me, Poole. I have slept badly again. I really am not hungry and think it best I head to the laboratory to set up my experiment before Dr. Lanyon and Mr. Utterson arrive."

  "Very good, sir."

  I move through the house sluggishly, climbing the stairs that lead to the lab. I step into the room and am horrified. In the theater below, there, on my dissecting table, lies a naked female. Naked and well whipped. This can only be the work of Hyde!

  I hurry down, for my guests will be arriving shortly and for all I know this female is dead. She has long dark hair fanned out across her shoulders, and a face comely enough. Her body is the shape known as hour-glass; her purple bottom sprinkled with enormous welts is propped high up, accentuating her delectable female shape. As I near I realize she is breathing deeply. I am relieved. She's asleep.

  "Miss. Miss!" I shake her roughly until she wakes.

  "What's that, then, Master Hyde...? Well, who might you be?" she says, an invitation in her voice.

  I draw myself up to my full six feet. "I am Dr. Henry Jekyll, and you are in my laboratory. How did you come to be here?" As if I didn't know.

  "Why, my Master Hyde brought me here.""Your Master Hyde? It appears you know him intimately."

  She offers me a lascivious grin. I can put up with no more of her foolishness and begin untying her one bound wrist and both her ankles.

  Her bottom is a sight. Hyde has outdone himself this time.

  "Remain on the table," I tell her. "I've a salve that will alleviate your suffering."

  "Oh, there's no need for that, sir." She scurries from the table to stand before me stark naked. Her breasts are large and pendulous, the nipples firm with excitement. Embarrassed, I glance away. Certainly I have seen women and their parts before. After all, I am a physician and my vocation requires that in the course of healing the sick I must needs see bodies from time to time. But this woman is not in need of my services, or so she claims.

  "Turn around," I tell her. "Let me have a closer look at those wounds."

  She does so willingly and quickly, bracing herself against the table. She thrusts her colorful rump at me. This is good. I must have her out of here shortly. What would Lanyon and Utterson think? Even as I examine the cuts and welts on her swollen bottom, I think how much I resent always dealing with Hyde's leavings. I pull up my examination stool in order to have a better look. "Lean further over the table," I say, and she does so eagerly.

  Her bottom is soft and round, plump in a manner that is pleasing to most men, with flesh enough to grip. I, of course, have but a professional interest.

  She sways her hips from side to side and I am forced to order her, "Hold still, if you please, Miss..."

  "Marie," she says, turning her head slightly to give me a crafty smile. "Master Hyde mentioned you."

  "I'm certain he did," I say coldly, secretly horrified that I was a subject of discussion between them. To whom else has Hyde mentioned my name?

  Her bottom is very hot to
the touch and I wonder how in the world she can stand such injury. "This Hyde," I say, spreading those melon-like cheeks apart, "do you fancy him?"

  "Oh yes, Dr. Jekyll. There is no man quite like him."

  "That is certain," I say.

  Her bottom hole is swollen and a far darker shade than it ought to be. Obviously his whips found this vulnerable spot. It is also distended. Clearly she has been entered here, and recently. I decide I may as well examine all of her, lest I miss a wound that needs immediate attention. I slide my stool back and tell her, "Please bend further down so that I may make a proper job of this."

  "Yes, Doctor," she says meekly, a seductive tone to her voice.

  I slide forward again until my face is close to her womanly slit. The flesh here is moist and swollen, the scent sharp and sweet at once, and again that fiery color. I spread her apart and find more folds, wet and glistening like lips begging to be kissed.

  Whether she has moved back or I have moved forward, I do not know, but suddenly I am tasting her moist lips. Horrified, I pull back.

  I sense something in my lap and I glance down. A hand has reached between her legs and is skillfully unbuttoning the buttons at my fly. "Now, Miss Marie..."

  "Oh, Doctor Jekyll, it burns so."

  "Where?" I ask, full of concern for my patient and her punished derriere. Her fingers reach inside my trousers and my member is astonished by the shock of her warm flesh caressing him.

  "Inside," she says. "Oh how he took me. Again and again throughout the night. Without ever once asking me if I so desired him. He thrust so hard and firmly, sir, I could not catch my breath. And when he was not keeping rhythm with his wand he kept time with the whips. Oh, Doctor Jekyll, you cannot imagine!"

  Indeed, I need not imagine. She strokes my penis, which is now long and hard, as if she means business. I try to concentrate and spread her labia major further apart. The moisture seems to increase the deeper in I probe and my fingers are slick. At each touch her bottom trembles and her folds seem to open further. "And did you not find this offensive?" I manage, having great difficulty concentrating.

  "Oh, not in the least, sir. I found him manly and forthright. Thrilling, if you must know." As she speaks her bottom continues to quiver. I sense her falling towards me, slowly easing down my chest, while her fingers play a tune on my attentive member as if he were a recorder.

  "Then...then you enjoyed yourself?" My words will hardly come from between my lips. Her fingers stroke the head of my cock and he reaches full height under her ministrations. My eyes blur and I cannot seem to focus. I feel exhausted, no doubt from lack of a decent night's sleep, and my head falls back. Suddenly the sensitive head of my fellow is swallowed by hot flesh and I groan.

  "There there, Dr. Jekyll. This won't hurt a bit," Marie says.

  She sits full upon him, engulfing him in her hot wine. I can hardly breath. My genitals feel tight, constrained, aching for action and release.

  Slowly at first and then faster, Marie pumps me, her deliciously reddened bottom rising and falling, rising and falling. What a pleasant sight. I grasp her waist, guiding her, although she needs no guidance, really. She is adept at riding. I feel her canal tighten, creating additional pressure on my swollen member. He can not bear much more of this without a reaction.

  Marie moves faster. She tightens still more around me, stimulating me so that I know my time for control is short. Suddenly her slippery vagina contracts fiercely, squeezing me.

  A wave of heat rushes through my groin. I groan loudly and shoot semen deep into her until all of it is released.

  I am hardly aware of what is occurring as Marie extricates herself and dresses. "Shall I return tonight, Dr. Jekyll? Will Master Hyde be in then?"

  "No," I say, regaining my senses. "Hyde is away. Until further notice."

  "And what about you, then? Are you in need of the company of a lady?"

  I have the presence of mind to reach into my pocket and extract a five pound note for the girl, an amount mentioned in Mayhew's book as being paid to the top women of her profession. "No, Marie, but thank you," I say. She takes the money easily enough.

  I struggle to compose myself. "Miss...Marie. I'm expecting guests."

  She yawns and stretches like a cat, her firm nipples visible through the sheer fabric of her blouse. She throws her jacket over her shoulder and turns towards the back door. "I can find me way out, sir, just as I found me way in. Tell Mr. Hyde to call on me, won't you? He knows where to find me."

  "I'm certain he does," I mumble as she departs.

  What have I done? I wonder. Quickly I dress and repair myself, all the while wondering what has possessed me. What a despicable act, I think. She is nothing but a common woman, ready to go with any man—didn't she attend both Hyde and myself? And in the same night? I wipe sweat from my brow and tuck in my shirt.

  I have my dignity to preserve, and my reputation to think of. Hyde will be the ruin of me, bringing women like this here.

  And he will not listen to reason. I am a prisoner as surely as if he barred me from leaving at will. And a prisoner of my own making. For am I not responsible for bringing Hyde into this house? And now that he is here, he refuses to leave. And while he goes about his nasty midnight escapades, I must clean up after him, all the while struggling to avoid an association. These struggle between us for power seems to be getting harder and harder.

  "Doctor Lanyon and Mr. Utterson to see you, Doctor Jekyll."

  I turn to find my oldest friends and former school chums hurrying down the steps.

  "Hastie," I cry, grabbing Lanyon's slim hand. He winces. I know he finds physical contact repugnant. "And Gabriel John Utterson, my good fellow. How's the law business?" His meaty paw engulfs mine.

  "Much like medicine. As with you and Lanyon, we barristers are rarely without clients." His hearty laugh brings me to the present, for which I am grateful.

  "Poole, some brandy," I call.

  "What? At this hour?" Lanyon asks.

  "Well, perhaps it is a bit early." Suddenly I realize the clock has barely struck eight. After all I've been through, it feels to me like midnight. "Tea, then," I tell the servant.

  "Very good, sir."

  "Gentlemen, please, be seated." I offer them chairs near the dissection table. "I am more than grateful to you both for coming."

  "As you should be," Hastie says, only half teasing. He was never one to give himself over to the frivolous and on that serious level we have overlapped on occasion. Then, with a slight frown on his tight face, "Henry, you looked peaked. Have you been under the weather?"

  I wave a hand impatiently, using a handkerchief to wipe beads of sweat from my forehead. "Lack of sleep, that's all."

  "I've said it before and I'll say it once again," Utterson announces in his inimitable fashion. "If there were a Mrs. Jekyll, I should think your nights might be better spent."

  "Is that a medical opinion, coming from a lawyer?" I laugh.

  "It is an opinion coming from a friend."

  "Two friends," Hastie chimes in.

  Once Poole serves the tea with hot scones and Devon cream and when they've had their fill,—I cannot eat a morsel—Utterson and Lanyon both demand to know what is this discovery of mine that so urgently needs demonstration. "After all," says Gabriel, popping another scone into his mouth, "your note was urgent, as I read between the lines, and you did say confidential." He sips his tea loudly, as is his wont, and pours himself a second cup, adding cream and several teaspoons of sugar.

  "Best you cut back, Gabriel," the slender, dark-haired Lanyon warns him. "As your personal physician I've told you before that your gout can be cured, but only by exercising hand to mouth restraint."

  "Hump!" Utterson says, the polar opposite of Hastie's restraining nature. The fact that Gabriel is also rotund and strawberry-haired pits them further at odds, and yet they remain friends.

  Their convivial chatter makes me feel almost normal. We three go back so many years. They have been privy to
my innermost secrets, and most of the major events of my life. And now they are to learn of another aspect of my nature that they are likely ill prepared for. I need to unfold this slowly, carefully, so as not to upset them unduly.

  "Gentlemen, I called you here on a matter of the utmost urgency. Before I begin I must ask you both to swear an oath of silence."

  "I swear it," Utterson says.

  "And I," Hastie says, "and now carry on."

  "I have isolated a compound, a thing that has been searched for since Adam first took Eve."

  "What?" laughs Utterson, "the fountain of youth?"

  "Very close, my old friend. What I have isolated is perhaps far more valuable, and destructive."

  "Well, don't keep us in suspense, Henry. What is it?" Hastie chide me.

  Rather than tell them, I have decided to show them. That way, what their eyes perceive, their brains will not easily disavowal.

  I ring for Poole. "Bring the cages."

  Within moments he returns with two large wicker cages, each containing a hound of the type used for fox hunts. I have him place them on top of the dissection table. One cage I open immediately. A bitch bolts out, leaps off the table and races out into the theater, sniffing, tail wagging, generally enjoying herself as these animals do. She is a fine dog, of the blood hound variety, with glistening brown fur and bright eyes, of an age where she could easily procreate. "Mandy," I say, introducing her.

  Utterson rubs the canine behind her left ear as she laps scone crumbs from his plate.

  Hastie looks on with horror, lest Mandy lick him too. "Well, have you taken to breeding dogs now?"

  "If you will be patient," I tell him. I open the second cage. The hound within does not bound out like the first but moves slowly, arthritically. "Horace," I say.

  "What's the matter with this one?" Lanyon inquires, with that medical tone to his voice.

  "Nothing more than age. In the equivalent of human years, Horace is well into his nineties."

  The old beast finally does make an appearance, only to immediately lie down. His fur is dull, with white hairs here and there, his eyes rheumy.