Mistress of the Undead

by Isabelle Drake

  A bundle on the intriguing antique bed, a flickering candle, a stack of books...

  Yes, it was just what he needed to capture the air of danger and intrigue.

  After starting the live feed, he grabbed his phone, started doing posts announcing the livestream feed of the ritual. He started with the obvious hashtags, #sexcultzombie #livestream #ritual, then added ones for The Weekly, and McKinon and his movie and a bunch of other random ones he thought might do the trick. How many people had to log on? Was a virtual audience even going to provide enough sexual energy?

  Viewers started to log on. Some posted questions, more just waited, watching for the promised sex zombie ritual to begin.

  The door banged open, slammed shut.

  Belmont appeared in the bedroom doorway holding one tiny cup of coffee aloft. “I hate those places. Look at the size of this.” He tipped it upside down. “Gone. Already. Three gulps for four dollars.”

  Done bouncing between media platforms and posting, Hayden turned the ringer off his phone then set it on the dresser. “Fuck off with the coffee.”

  “Glad you feel that way because I didn’t get you any.” The old man tossed the empty cup into the waste basket. “That thing on?”

  Hayden nodded. “Just the video. Not the sound.”

  After Belmont checked the screen, he pulled one of the bed pillows to the side because it was partially blocking the view. “Good idea about the sound. Listening to us talking probably would not make for exciting viewing.”

  The compliment caught Hayden’s attention. “Thanks.” He got up, looked down at the wrapped bundle that was Mattie. “You really think its going to work?”

  “Don’t know about this livestream thing, but an audience is an audience I guess.” The old man took the pilfered bottle of oil from his coat, set it on the nightstand next to the books. “If the virtual audience is good enough, it’s going to work.” He pulled back enough of the burlap to see the tangles of her hair, then looked over at Hayden. “I get it. Why you want to do this.”

  “I need to.”

  He covered her face. “You want to.”

  He did. It was true. Fucked up as it was.

  Belmont climbed onto the bed, motioned for Hayden to do the same. “You take the top. I’ll take the bottom.”

  Once they were both on, Hayden grabbed the oil, set it beside him, then began unwrapping the cover. He touched the tangles of her hair, fingering the strands gently for the first time. He pulled back more to expose her face. Her eyes, grey and unfocused started at the ceiling.

  He thought of the bodies in the crypt. Dozens of people who’d given up their lives, their souls, for something more than being human. A life without fear, maybe? A life where you were always in control? Got to take whatever you wanted?

  No. That was a lie.

  He traced her jaw with his fingertips, ran one across her cold lips. The touch of a human hand, what she needed to come back. He bent down, pressed his lips to her forehead. After tossing the cork aside, he poured some oil into his palm, applied it to the side of her neck, smoothed it under her chin and gently across her face.

  Belmont had unwrapped her legs and was running his hands over her calves, the tattered fishnets rippling over her skin. Hayden drew back more of the cover. The red bindings were twisted around her breasts. He tugged the wool down, then drizzled oil across her skin, massaged it in. Moving consistently, he went to her stomach, rubbed the oil across her pale skin. The gentle, slow caress was completely new, completely different from the last time they’d been together.

  The skin of his palms was beginning to heat, the first effects of the oil on him. He looked up, “Open the window.”

  The bed shifted as Belmont climbed off, bounced when he got back on.

  The chill of the night drifted in, floating above the bed, cooling the surface of Hayden’s skin, but deep inside he felt the warmth, seeping into his muscles, making his blood stir. A new fervor made itself known, a sensation inside him but not of him. Hayden lifted the hem of Mattie’s skirt, grabbed at her thighs, smeared them with the oil from his palms then went back for the bottle. He held the bottle above her crotch, poured the oil over her bare pussy, across the patch of bare skin above her tights. Hands beginning to shake, fingers beginning to twitch, he rubbed the oil in, pinching her skin now, kneading it with firm pressure. He picked up the bottle, crawled over her, poured the oil over the tights, rubbing it in, feeling the edges of the rough black netting under his palms.

  Once her front was complete, he set the bottle on the nightstand, put his mouth on hers and then filled her lungs with his air. Each time he breathed into her, her chest rose, reminding him of how strong and powerful she was and would be again.

  The oil was really working on him now. But this time he knew what to expect, understood where the hostility inside him was coming from. This time he would use the emotion, harness it and direct all its energy into Mattie. Hayden worked steadily, breathing into her with a rhythm synced to the beat of his heart.

  “We need to turn her over.”

  It was Belmont. He’d forgotten about the other man.

  “Hayden.” The old man was already lifting Mattie’s arm, preparing to turn her over. “Now.”

  Hayden crawled backwards, watched while Belmont rolled her over onto her stomach, then got off the bed to get the bottle of ink from his coat pocket. He twisted off the top. “Shit. How are we going to ink her?

  Too far gone to understand what Belmont was saying, Hayden sat staring at the man.

  “Get me a knife.” He jabbed at her spine. “Get me a knife. Now.”

  Hayden slid off the bed, ran to the kitchen, came back with a steak knife and handed it to Belmont. Immediately, Belmont started stabbing Mattie’s spine. Once he had a row of tiny holes, he dipped the knife into the jar and then went back to her spine. Back and forth he went, adding more ink to the row she already had. His application wasn’t artful, but it was quick.

  “What else?” Hayden asked. “What else is there.”

  “Nothing. Just this.”

  Chapter Eleven

  “I’m not like him.”

  “But I—”

  “Ran out of the bar. We don’t need to go over that again.” Belmont’s hand was a blur, tapping the tiny holes into the dimpled skin along Mattie’s spine. “She’ll either make the turn, or she won’t.” He continued applying the ink with steady pokes.

  The air from outside had filled the room. It had started to snow, and the flurries were coming in, collecting on the window ledge and drifting down to dot the bed. Hayden rolled back onto his heels, watched the clouds of his breath float over the body, noted that he didn’t feel cold. He was burning, the blood in his veins cursing through with such a force it felt as though his veins could pop. The twitching of his skin was visible, tiny puckers appearing than vanishing, showing up somewhere else.

  “Oil her back.”

  It was Belmont again, breaking through the intense haze.

  “Her back, her ass. Get the oil.”

  Hayden grabbed the bottle, poured some directly on to Mattie’s solid back. Avoiding the spine, to stay out of Belmont’s way, he rubbed the oil up and down. He climbed off the bed, swung around the did her ass then the backs of her legs. It was difficult though; his hands were shaking.

  “That’s enough,” Belmont said, then shoved Hayden off the lower part of the bed. After setting the bottle on the nightstand, he got on and sat near the headboard.

  He groaned, flexed the muscles in his thighs, then rolled his shoulders back. Using all his will, he resisted grabbing his crotch to massage his cock through his pants. The light on his laptop continued to blink. The livestream was rolling, the audience continuing to watch. It had to be enough. He needed it to be enough.

  Belmont slowed and looked up. “It’s taking too long, I—”

  The muscles of her back rippled.

  “Is she moving?” The old man jabbed her again. “Did she move?”

&n
bsp; Belmont continued jabbing at her spine, went back for more ink and poked at her again.

  Hayden put his hand on her shoulder. It was cool but vibrating. “I think so.”

  Belmont paused, watching, but she remained still. He went back to dip the knife again, but Mattie’s leg swung to the side, sending the bottle to the floor. Her hands slid upward, stopped by her ribcage and then she pushed herself up, throwing her head back with a bottomless, teeth gnashed, growl.

  Belmont threw the knife, scrambled off the bed, then stood by the door. “Deal’s a deal, Hayden.”

  Mattie growled again, shaking her head, making the tangles of hair smack her face. The cords in her neck stuck out, pulling taut as she tossed her head side to side. Her whole body began to quiver, her breasts shook as she threw herself side to side, her spine curving backward.

  “Take me to my wife,” Belmont said, loud enough to be heard over the hissing and growling.

  Hayden crawled backward, pressed himself against the headboard. The mixture of fear and need was becoming still more intense, and he was fighting urges he didn’t understand. Instinctively, he knew that she would know what he needed. She alone could release the pressure mounting inside him.

  Mattie, now crouched on all fours, stared at him with glittering green eyes.

  Banging his fist on the wall, Belmont yelled, “You have your monster back, Hayden. Take me to Juliana.”

  “She’s—she’s—she’s—” The oil was reaching full impact. Hayden had little control or rational thought.

  “Now!” Belmont barked, his face hard, eyes even harder.

  Hayden finally forced the words out of his trembling throat. “She’s under the bed.”

  It was Belmont’s turn to stare, speechless and stunned.

  His arm cocked at an odd angle, Hayden pointed downward. “This bed. She’s under this bed.”

  Belmont dove to the floor, lifted the bed skirt, then exhaled a long sob. He reached under, pulling out the bundle in one sweep, then tugged back the plastic sheeting and burlap to look into its eyes. “She’s mine, finally she’s mine.” He grabbed the other bottle of oil and picked up the jar of ink. Some black liquid had spilled onto the floor, so he started pinching it with his fingers, trying to put some back into the small bottle.

  Mattie was rocking back and forth, her spine quirking side to side, her hips shaking. “Hello Hayden.” She looked around, her bright eyes flashing in the darkness. “How sweet to be in your bed this time.”

  She began running her hands over her body, her fingers gliding over the bindings. “Is your girlfriend hiding somewhere? Ready to slither over and strangle me again?” She dropped her hands, bared her teeth, then exhaled a guttural growl.

  From the corner of his eyes, Hayden saw Belmont set the bottles in the hall, then slide the bundle across the floor and through the door. Then the old man reached up to snatch the laptop, livefeed still running, and was gone.

  And Hayden was alone with her.

  It.

  She rocked forward, arm muscles twitching, eyes flashing the deepest green. “Is it just you and me?”

  Her scent had enveloped him now, coated his skin, lined the insides of his nostrils. The saliva came, sharp as always, make him open his mouth and wince from the pain.

  “Well?”

  “It is. Just us” He reached down, attempting to unbuckle his belt.

  “How totally sweet.” She grabbed his hand, squeezed his fingers. “But a lie. I know you didn’t bring me back by yourself.”

  “Belmont.” Tugging proved useless, her grip was too tight.

  “That old man doesn’t have enough sexual energy to turn a mouse.”

  His cock was fully erect now, pressing into the zipper. “We livestreamed it.”

  “Yes, of course. For Bob? For your paper? A clever solution, Hayden. Very clever. Helps me. Helps you too, doesn’t it?” She let go of his hand, rose up on her knees and looked around. “Where is Belmont now?”

  “Left.” He freed his belt buckle, started on his zipper.

  “Not like him at all.” As though she was trying to find herself again, she shimmied her breasts and rocked her hips back and forth. “Why didn’t he stay for the show?”

  After her breasts stopped bouncing, he replied. “I gave him is dormant back.”

  She stopped moving, bent low and looked into his eyes. There was no defense, if he’d done the wrong thing. He lay there, heart-pounding, mind blank. Inch by inch, she leaned back.

  The snow outside had intensified, coming into the room faster and thicker. Behind her, the thick flakes floated in, over the bed. Some stuck in her hair. Some landed on his legs. Others swirled above, turning into bright points when the moonlight reflected off them.

  Something close to a smile moved over her mouth as her eyebrows rose. She grabbed his hands again, stopped him from undressing. “The precious Juliana?”

  Fear passed and was replaced by frustration. Yet another layer of deception. Or was it simply a secret? “You knew that was his wife?”

  She yanked down the waistband of his jeans. “What of the very special Lila?”

  How special was Lila to Mattie?

  That probably mattered. But his dick was almost free, and her pussy was so, so close. He needed her possession. Ached for it. His body was begging for the fiery, soul-stealing release. “She’s… at the camp.”

  “Who cares about that tag-a-long nothing.” She backed up, grabbed Hayden’s legs and pulled until he was beneath her.

  Again, he tried to get his cock out, but again she stopped him. She shoved his hands out of the way, then yanked at the legs of his pants until they were completely off. Finally, his cock was free, and she was poised above him. No more waiting.

  Now. Fuck me now.

  But instead of thrusting down, sheathing him with her cool pussy, she glared at him with glittering emerald eyes. “You want to know if this time, it’ll be the last time.”

  “I brought you back,” he said. Why did it sound so lame? As though it had been his duty, rather than his choice? “We’re even now,” he added, aware of how ridiculous that sounded. He was pinned beneath her, cock ready, nearly begging to be fucked. She could do anything to him and they both knew it.

  She grabbed his cock, wrapped her chilly hand around the shaft. The caress was something, but not enough. He wanted it all. Her wanted her.

  “So, you think I’m not going to kill you?” she said. “That I’m not going to turn you into something… ugly.”

  All Hayden wanted was sex. Not this conversation. His mind began to fight against him. Flipping thoughts though, teasing him. He heard the growls and hisses of things in McKinon’s cages. Felt the softness of Rachelle’s neck under his hands. “We’re even,” he said again, managing to not look at the box on the floor. “You aren’t the only one with friends.”

  “Yes, of course.” She squeezed his cock, the pressure near pain. “Bob Keeler. Man in high places.”

  The cool of her hand, the heat radiating from deep inside his body, the need to fuck her, the want to understand her… he was never going to be done. He knew that now. Accepted it. He grabbed her hips as he lifted his own, forcing her to let go and give him access. Finally, she dropped down, and he was fully inside her.

  She possessed him. Owned him. And he’d give her whatever she needed. And also, what she wanted. Hayden bucked his hips, rocking until he matched her rhythm. The fall into abyss was smooth and effortless, the reward excruciating perfection. There was no conscious effort, only movement, and an out of body reality that was so true it made him never want to come back.

  “Good boy, that’s right.” From a different woman the words would’ve been encouragement, a compliment if even a condensing one. From here they were a threat. A message. Be good—or else.

  He willingly heeded the threat, pumping his hips upward each time she thrust down, driving his cock all the way in, so far, so deep. The coils of tension stung as they tightened even more, his nerve ending
s on fire. The edges of his own thoughts were well and truly vanished, the boundaries of himself disappearing. They had become one. No, he had become a part of her.

  Still holding her hips, he gradually increased his speed. She dropped down and placed her hands on either side of his head. The peaked tips of her breasts grazed his chin, the sensitive points a remnant of her humanity, the chill of them a reminder that she no longer was.

  Yet still, he pistoned into her, quickening his pace, fueled by darkness, energized by her icy control. She responded lifting her body back upright and riding him. She matched his speed and ground into him, squeezing her wet pussy around his cock. The first loops of his release were taking hold, far inside him. The chill from her body enveloped him, and he breathed it, and the bitter iron smell, deep into his lungs.

  She was grunting, pounding into him.

  He was holding her and taking her abuse.

  The loops widened, crawling through his body, gnawing at his muscles, eating at his soul. There was no coming back. As his orgasm took hold, he knew, he was one step closer to death, to a soulless existence. But it was too late. The fierce pleasure was through him, her cold pussy walls convulsing, squeezing the hot cum from his cock. The sounds of his own groans echoed in his ears, surrounded him. She too was at the end, growling, and hissing as her body stiffened and twitched. The muscles in her arms tensed and tightened around his head. She grabbed at him, her arms circled his head, moving down to his neck.

  He gasped for air, fought to get his hand in between her arm and his neck. Using all his strength, he pulled down, gave himself some space to breath. Air wisped in, just enough to keep him conscious. He kept pulling, finally managed to get her arm away from his neck.

  She was laughing, the sound at odds with the hard expression of concentration and anguish on her face. “Take it easy, Hayden. I’m not going to strangle you.”

  He coughed. “You were strangling me.”

  “Whatever.” She swung off him, went to the window.