Little Miss Mute
Page 6
against her backside firmly enough that, even through all of that clothing, she knew just how honest my words had been. She pushed back, ground herself against me, and took my right hand from her hip to guide it straight to one of her firm breasts.
“Tell me what you want,” I murmured. She only let out a breathy sigh. “Tell me what you want … exactly what you want … and in English.”
“You,” she said, whirling around to face me directly and pressing her lips straight to mine.
I’ve never been kissed so hard by a woman before. She was so passionate, so intense with that first major kiss that I felt a pinch at my lower lip and tasted blood a moment or two later. Bettie pawed at me, pulling off my jacket and fumbling to undo my tie. She didn’t bother with the buttons of my shirt – she gave it one solid yank with both hands and sent buttons flying everywhere.
Ordinarily, having one of my only good shirts destroyed like that would have killed the mood, but for this doll, I wouldn’t have cared if she’d taken a pair of scissors to every piece of clothing that I owned. I didn’t even care when she started slipping off the straps of my shoulder holster, although I did have to make her hesitate just long enough for me to unbutton it from my trousers. Rather than waiting for me to finish getting all of that loose, she took to disassembling my pants with an equally fevered enthusiasm. Big Bertha clunked to the floor in her holster along with my trousers, and I was in the middle of trying to kick off my shoes when Bettie gave my boxers that one last frantic tug that made the moment official.
Bettie knelt there for a moment in silence, glanced aside, then looked up to me with an almost impish smirk. In that very moment, when she nodded toward the bed, I knew that this was going to be one hell of a night. She jumped to her feet, took my hand, and paused only long enough for me to strip off my socks, shoes, and shirt before she all but dragged me across the place to my bed. Without a word, Little Miss Mute took hold of me and planted another soul-searching kiss on me for a few moments before turning and suddenly shoving me down almost violently onto the bed. She kicked off her muddied dress shoes, hiked up her skirt just a bit, and straddled my midsection as she pinned me with both of her hands on my chest.
Hovering over me like that, Bettie looked down upon me with an almost triumphant, mocking sort of smirk. In that moment, as she raked those long, well-manicured nails of hers down my bare, fuzzy chest and chuckled softly under her breath, I suddenly realized that I wasn’t just excited by all of this. I was scared as hell. I was so taken aback by her brand of lovemaking that I didn’t know how else to feel about it. Women just weren’t like this, or at least they weren’t supposed to be like this – so controlling, so unhinged, so damned wild. It just wasn’t natural or normal in any sense of the word. And y’know what? I loved it. God help me, I loved it. And I would have loved her, too, if only we hadn’t just met an hour or so before.
She suddenly swung her leg over and dismounted to stand beside the bed again in a quick but fluid motion. I moved to sit up, but she slapped the heel of her palm into my chest and shoved me back down onto the bed. She wagged a finger in my face the way you would scold a puppy, no longer smiling.
Slowly, yet gracefully, she made me lay there and watch as she slid off one of her black silk stockings, and then the other. Without a word, not even bothering to ask if I was okay with it, she grabbed one of my hands and pinned it high above my head, then took to tying my wrist to the tubular metal bed frame with one of her stockings. It was weird, maybe a little bit scary, but then Little Miss Mute was an incarnation of weirdness. Besides, I’d never met a gal that even had the faintest bit of interest in doing anything kinky.
When she finished tying my other wrist to the frame, she stood back for a moment and admired her handiwork. For a fleeting moment, I had this sinking feeling that she was going to just put on her shoes and take off, leaving me to lie there naked, stupid, and tied to my own damned bed. That was, of course, until she turned her back to me, reached under her dress, and slowly drew down her knickers. I glimpsed nothing more than a bit of leg just above knee level, but the gesture was no less pleasant to watch. Stepping out of them, I was surprised to see she’d been wearing black silk there as well. Not only was she a strangely but attractively unique dresser, but she also had expensive tastes.
“So, what comes next?” I asked. Bettie laid a slim finger across her lips for me to be silent. “What, you want me to play mute, too? What for?”
Shaking her head and smiling, she wadded those silk panties up and promptly shoved them into my mouth as an improvised gag, effectively shutting me up. If this was what the boys meant by “kinky” when they talked about wild women, I wasn’t sure I wanted to settle for normal ever again.
Without further ado, Little Miss Mute straddled me once more and settled right down with a shuddering sigh. Her dress completely obscured my view of our union, but the sight of her heavy-lidded eyes looking into mine was nothing less of a treat. I felt as though I might drown in the black abyss of her incredibly dilated pupils, adrift in the center of those perfect green seas of her irises. She yanked out the gag an instant before she kissed me hard as she rode me just the same. I needed only to lay there and do everything I could to hang onto my restraint. She didn’t just pinch me against my own teeth this time. She deliberately bit my lower lip, hard. I cried out into her mouth, the taste of her kiss so sweet, even mixed with the sharp coppery flavor of my own blood, and it only seemed to excite her all the more.
Bettie sat upright as she moved upon me, throwing her head back and then tossing her hair from one side to the other … beautiful, just beautiful. She breathed in time with me, my zeal echoing hers, her fervor a mirror image of my own in sound. I knew that this would not last, that I could only hold back for so long before it would end, and I used every last ounce of my control to hold back the inevitable. It was too much, just too much, and this was one form of excess in which I would have gladly died while indulging.
“Hold on,” I breathed. “Wait. Stop. Slow down, there.”
She only shook her head at me, groaning as she changed her rhythm to a grinding sort of motion that made my loins practically melt. I started yammering, not even caring what nonsense rolled out of my mouth as I felt myself giving in that last bit of self-control to the moment. Bettie crammed that bundle of silk back into my mouth again. I tried to warn her, tried to buck her off, kicking my legs. Hell, I was in a panic. I didn’t want to father a child with this dame on the very first time we were together.
She would have none of it. She was every bit as absorbed as I was, if not more so. Her eyes rolled back until nothing but the whites were visible, she threw her head back, and she let out a low, long, and guttural but womanly moan that told me she was just as close to the edge as I was. Her hands balled up into fists, pulling hairs from my chest as she did so, and she threw herself forward as she changed her rhythm one last time to devote her efforts to finishing us both off at once.
That was when it happened. For the first time, I saw her true smile as her lips parted when she was overtaken by the start of our shared climax. The flash of those pearly, perfectly-aligned whites was beautiful and terrifying at the same time. I felt that heart-stopping flash of terror as her eyes opened and met mine in the same instant that I saw fangs.
“Ich liebe dich,” she breathed, switching to German an instant before she struck. It was German, a phrase that I knew. I love you.
I was screaming when she sank those elongated upper canines into me. She appeared to hesitate in mid-lunge, at first going for my throat and then suddenly deciding to instead bury her fangs into my upper left shoulder. As I continued to cry out, it was not so much in pain as it was just plain, raw horror. Sure, it hurt, but not nearly as much as it should have, especially after a few seconds had passed. What was even more surprising to me wasn’t just that she hadn’t gone for my jugular, but the fact that she still moved upon me at the same time that she was wetly sucking from the wound she’d just created.
; It wasn’t a horrible bite, either. It wasn’t like a wolf taking a giant chunk of meat from its prey and … well, wolfing it down. Rather, she only bit me with just her fangs – just her right fang, actually, because of the location she bit – and she then sucked and lapped at the readily seeping wound with reckless abandon. Her whole body convulsed as she lay on top of me, possessed by the sublime pleasures of intimacy and blood at once. She paused amidst her feeding to turn her face aside, messily smearing her chin and both cheeks with my blood as she moaned and gasped for breath for several seconds, only resuming her devilish drink when she had caught her breath.
I had stopped screaming after awhile. In fact, I had stopped struggling, as well. I had become practically paralyzed, and I had no idea how. Erzsebet Something-Something, the vampire, had conquered me with the oldest and simplest of seductive ploys, and I had fallen into my fate just like any common fool would have. So, this was how I was going to die. In spite of all my caution, all of my strengths and experience, and in spite of how I’d always insisted that I wasn’t like all of the other guys, I was going to die just like any other dumb sheep in the flock.
What a way to go, though, huh? It could have been worse. I could have hurt a lot more. In fact, the more she lapped and sucked at that little wound, the less it hurt. I barely even felt it when she bit me again, sinking both fangs into my flesh this time as she began to feed from my right shoulder. Over and over again, between her sucking sounds and her gasps, she whispered that one sacred phrase over and over again – I love you – in German, English, French, and every other language that she knew, as well. By the time she finally laid into my neck with those fangs, I was all but thanking her for it. If I was going to die a bloody death, at least I could do so in the comfort of my own home, in the arms of the most beautiful woman I’d ever met … in the arms of someone that loved me. Or rather, someone that loved me to death…
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About the author:
Born in the Midwest and an avid writer since the age of 13, David M. Bachman's works of fiction span over 25 years. His first published work, "When Raindrops Come Crashing," marked the start of his foray into publishing in December 2000. Since then, he has written a number of other fiction novels and short stories, including a carefully-crafted, nine-volume vampire series and many short stories and other novels. He currently resides in the East Valley area of Phoenix, AZ, where many of his recent stories are based.
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“Little Miss Mute”
“Belladonna”
“The Darkest Colors”
“The Darkest Colors: Exsanguinations”
“The Darkest Colors: Children of Asmodeus”
“Kat & Katarina”
“Grace of Smoke”
“Beautiful Reaper”
“Consecration”
“Swatted”
“The Rider of Los Muertos”
“For the Wicked”
“Mortal Consumption”
“Immortal Debts”
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