Blood Slave

by Syra Bond

  She stared hard at me; I stared back. Her eyes were like burning coals. The red glow of the torches flickered across her naked glistening skin. She moved again, this time with more purpose. This time she was not just avoiding the blow, she was escaping him - crawling forward, scuttling on her hands and knees towards me. She looked like a demon - possessed with purpose.

  The man lurched forward and brought the rubber tubing down viciously, but now she had moved completely out of the way. By the time his fury broke out on his face, she was scuttling towards me - out of his reach, away from the crowd gathered around her, and up the grassy terrace.

  I wanted to cheer her on, to encourage her, to help her find the strength to escape her tormentor. As she clawed her way up the bank, she slipped on the grass - now wet with dew - and she had to struggle to get herself to the top of the slope. I saw her face emerge over the crest of the terrace, she was beautiful - her wide mouth open, her hair wet, and her face glistening with sweat.

  She came towards me, still fixing me with her demonic red eyed stare. She crawled between my legs. I opened my knees as much as I could. She pressed herself forward. I was filled with excitement as I felt her wet hair against the insides of my thighs. Her head pushed up my flimsy smock and straightaway I felt the moistness of her full lips against the flesh of my exposed cunt.

  I lifted myself against her mouth as much as I could. Her tongue went inside my slit - probing, deep, spreading its own moisture against the wet lining of my throbbing flesh. I couldn’t move - it was so violating, so overpowering, so perfect. I felt myself crying out - groaning, muttering words I did not understand, calling out to her to give me more. I felt possessed by this delectable demon.

  I saw the man approaching behind her. I saw the rubber tubing curling behind his shoulder as he lifted it high, and I heard the swiping smack as it came down on her raised buttocks. There was no delay - no gap between the rubber tubing making contact with her skin and her painful reaction. As soon as it touched her, she passed her response straight through to me - I felt her pain as surely as if it had been me bent before the man with the rubber hose. As it struck, her tongue reached even further inside my cunt, her mouth clasped even tighter against my flesh, her tightening body forced itself even more between my trembling thighs.

  She licked me so hard, so deep - it was as if she was inside me. And I felt her pain with every lapping stroke - it penetrated me, signalled my delight, filled me with delicious agony. I watched the rubber tubing come down time and again - I watched the man’s muscular arm rising behind his shoulders, I saw him fixing his aim, and I felt the cracking smack as it landed. It was a delightful anticipation. She began to bite into me - I felt the cutting edge of her teeth against my clitoris, and then against the soft flesh that surrounded it. I wanted her to bite deep - to draw my blood and drink it down. I wanted her to press her face so much against my flesh that I could absorb her. I yearned to bend down to her, to push my face against her neck, to open my mouth, to sink my teeth into the smooth skin of her delectable neck. I longed to hear the crunching sound of tearing skin as my teeth broke through the surface, and I longed to feel the gurgling of her blood as I sucked it out and drew it up through my drilled out canine teeth. I dribbled with the excitement of it all and imagined the stream of spit that ran from the corners of my mouth were red and hot and satisfyingly thick.

  I don’t know how long it went on, but in the end they pulled the woman away by her hair. She showed no signs of pain - she looked too exhausted and depleted. They dumped her in a heap near the rear wall of the chalet. She fell to the floor heavily; the breath had been knocked from her. I wanted to go and help her - at least to see if she was alright - but of course it was impossible. The man behind me did not move - he looked as if his mind had been on something else all the time.

  It started to get light. I felt the pain in my eyes first, then, as the sun began to rise, I felt a heavy pounding in my head. I closed my eyes but the pounding did not stop, and the glare of the new day shone onto my eyeballs as if my eyelids were not there at all; it was as if they had been torn away. I felt someone behind me - perhaps the man, yes, it must have been him - then I felt something being pulled down over my head - a hood, a covering of some sort. I felt no fear; I was so relieved to be veiled in its darkness.

  I sat all day in the wheelchair. I urinated twice and felt the heat of it against my cunt and buttocks. Finally, it drained away through holes along the sides of the wheelchair seat - I listened to it dripping throughout the day. I flinched as the hood was removed, and squeezed my eyes up tightly as I anticipated the painful glare of sunlight - but it was night again, and I was safe.

  It was completely dark by the time the woman slowly roused. She looked distressed - her eyes were blackened, her hair was still wet and shiny from the vinegar, and I could tell she was in pain as she struggled slowly to her feet. Vinegar ran down her face. She licked at it and seemed refreshed by its astringency. Her hard nipples were encircled with bruises. The insides of her thighs were wet and her bottom was cut and bruised.

  ‘My name is Syra,’ I said.

  She looked at me confused. Her short black hair stuck to her forehead, her cheeks were reddened, and her lips were puffed up. She opened her mouth but no words came out. She squeezed her eyelids together as if once more feeling the sting of vinegar on their sensitive edges. She tried again.

  ‘I’m Madison,’ she replied falteringly in a soft Californian accent.

  ‘Why are they doing this to you?’

  As if trying to stand had become too much for her, she dropped to her knees by the side of me.

  ‘Purification, that’s what they call it. Purification!’ she gasped. ‘Getting rid of the vile odours, they say - making us pure for the master. God, how did I let myself get into this?’

  ‘What happened? Why are you here?’

  ‘It’s a long story.’

  I smiled at her, hoping she would tell me.

  She got up from her knees and flopped down in one of the large chairs near the table. The man stood behind her, still staring ahead, “at ease” with his hands behind his back.

  ‘You asked for it,’ she said brushing her vinegar soaked hair from her forehead. ‘So here goes.’

  THE SCORPION

  Madison sat forward on the large chair nearest the table. The man who had pushed me to the chalet still remained standing behind her, his arms behind his back.

  ‘I was driving in Arizona,’ she started. ‘God! It seems so long ago now! I was wealthy then; still am, I suppose - an inheritance from a close uncle who had known me when I was young. Yes, he certainly had known me, and I was certainly young! It was so hot in the desert. I picked up this hitchhiker - miles from nowhere. I hadn’t seen another car all day. Can you imagine! I know. How stupid can you get? He was friendly enough though, not bad looking either. And his trousers couldn’t disguise his enthusiasm! As we drove along I could hardly stop myself from reaching over and grabbing it - you know, his cock. Well I didn’t stop myself actually - my God, it was a real mouthful! I used to think I could get anything into my throat, but that certainly wasn’t easy. And when he finished it was a real deluge. I can tell you, I didn’t need lunch after that!

  ‘In between our little “sessions”, we kept driving. He chatted about things - women mostly - then he got onto religion. You know what these religious types are like; once they start they never stop - quoting this, quoting that. Then I let it slip I had plenty of money. Talk about naive! He was onto it straightaway. Said he could put my money to good use, it could help his preacher build a fine new church in the desert. He got so excited we stopped again and he stuffed his cock right down my throat! As soon as I could speak, I agreed to drive him to his “isolated church”.

  ‘Midway through the afternoon he said he wanted to stop again. I thought I was in for another feed. We got out and had a couple of
beers. He took off his shirt. I couldn’t get my panties off quick enough, but this time he wasn’t so interested. He flexed his biceps in the sun. He had these amazing tattoos on his forearms. On the left one, an Indian Krait snake - the most venomous snake in the world, he said; on the right one, a Death Stalker scorpion. Yes, you’ve guessed it, the most deadly scorpion in the world. He took a lot of pleasure telling me how quickly you died if you were bitten by either of these horrors - his favourite creatures, he told me. He was a bit weird, I suppose, but then he got his cock out and I forgot about everything else!

  ‘Well, his “church” certainly was out of the way! We drove for hours along an unpaved road right out in the desert. The church wasn’t built yet, he said, that’s where my money would come in.

  ‘Finally, we arrived. It was no more than a couple of caravans, a few scrap cars and a pile of junk really. There was nothing else in sight in any direction. It was like Mars. There were some coloured lanterns hanging from a rope strung between two posts. From one a tangled electric cable ran down to a rusty old generator. He said the ‘priest’ of their order was away preaching and searching for new communicants; he had been left him in charge. I couldn’t really see what he’d been left in charge of, to be honest. Oh, I didn’t say, his name did I? It was Manuel - mostly Mexican, I think.

  ‘I thought I’d just hang around with him for a few days then move on. How wrong can you be? It was strange. I really started to like him - a lot! He was so strong. He fucked me really hard - in my cunt and in my anus - and he buried that cock of his right down my throat. It was great. He asked me lots of questions and I gave him answers. I was really stupid, I know - gullible and stupid, but hot as well!

  ‘On Sundays the congregation, such as they were, turned up for a service. God knows where they came from? They were a ragged lot. They stood in front of the rope of lanterns and sang hymns. The generator made so much noise you could hardly hear them. Manuel read out a passage from the Bible then preached a sermon of some sort. I joined in. It was good - weird but good. He looked really great standing at the front beneath the line of twinkling lanterns, everyone listening to him, shouting out agreement, or ‘amen’ or something similar. Yes, I fell for him in a big way. I’d do anything for him, and I told him so. I can see what you’re thinking, and you’re right, I was a real fool. Once he knew how I felt that was it.

  ‘Anyway, that’s how it started. I couldn’t stop myself. He somehow tapped into something in me that I couldn’t resist - I just couldn’t hold back. It had never happened to me before. It was incredible, and it made me do some really strange things. To begin with I couldn’t understand it at all - the things that frightened me most were the things that excited me most. There seemed to be no limit to what fear or pain, or dread of something horrible could turn on in me. The first time was when he asked me to unhook the generator from the light. I pulled at the old plug in its side and got a shock. I jumped back holding my hand and jumping about. He told me again to take the plug out. I said I’d just got a shock. He said it didn’t matter and that I was to do as he said and take the plug out. He was a bit angry and when I hesitated he raised his hand as if he was going to strike me across the face. “Go on!” he said. “Do as you are told! Take it out!”. I reached forward nervously. It was incredible; I could still feel the jolting in my arm from the first time. My stomach was filled with nerves. I couldn’t understand what I was doing - why I was doing it. I reached out further. I felt my cunt getting wet. I couldn’t believe it! “Go on!” he kept shouting. “Go on, or it will be worse for you!” When finally I touched it I got another heavy shock and drew back. It really hurt - my arm went stiff. He hit me hard - right across the cheek. My eyes filled with tears. I didn’t know what to do. My cunt was tingling with pleasure. I sank my hand between my thighs and ran my fingers into the slit. I couldn’t help myself! “Again! Keep hold of it until you have removed the plug!” I kept my one hand against my cunt - kept my fingers in between the wet slit - and with my other hand took hold of the plug. I got a heavy kick but this time I didn’t let go. My arm went stiff, my chest was rigid - I could hardly breathe. Another jolting shock hit me like a hammer. I drove my fingers into my cunt and pulled at the plug. Another jolt. I dropped my jaw, but otherwise I could hardly move. I sensed a wave of ecstasy between my hips. I couldn’t move my fingers - they were tightly fixed around the plug. My mouth went dry. Another jolt. I wanted to scream but couldn’t. I saw his hand above me, waiting to strike me if I failed. As I got another shock, the plug came free. I dropped to my knees still gripping it in my rigid fingers. The wetness from my cunt was running across my hand. He dropped his cock against my lips. I sucked it down all in one go, swallowed heavily on it and, as he fed me with his semen, I shook with the explosion of an overwhelming orgasm. While I was still shaking he dragged me to a nearby chair, bent me over his knee and spanked me so hard that in the end I couldn’t even whimper.

  ‘Every evening after that, he took me out to the posts where the lanterns hung. He tied me to one of them and caned me or thrashed me with a rope. As he was doing it, if my hand was free, I reached out towards the generator in the hope that he would allow me to take hold of the plug again. I couldn’t get enough of it. On Sundays, at the end of the service, he tied me up like this and caned me in front of the congregation. It was incredible, hanging against the post, feeling the cane coming down against my bare buttocks, crying out with the pain, watching the expressions of execration on the faces of the congregation. I used to start my orgasm sometimes even on the first strike of the cane - and they just kept coming. Sometimes the congregation would shout abuse at me and that only made it better - the humiliation and their revulsion only filled me with more delight. Once he allowed me to take hold of the generator plug but he had to drag me off it because I wouldn’t pull it out and I wouldn’t let it go. He knew I was addicted to it - the public humiliation, the dangerous shocks, the sensation of pain that brought out unbridled pleasure in me. That’s how he got me to do all the other things. He promised to keep up the thrashings, particularly the Sunday ones, and that was enough - in return I just took everything that he wanted to do. I couldn’t say no. Syra, how could I say no? As if I’d want to anyway.

  ‘Sometimes, when I felt guilty, I used to tell myself it wasn’t entirely my fault. You know that uncle I told you about? Well, he liked to spank me sometimes, often after the church service. You see how it fits? He would take me into a small vestry, bend me over his knee, pull my panties down and spank me. Oh I used to love the feeling of my panties coming down - the expectation, the soft material slipping against my taut bottom. Yes, he’d spank me there and then! And so hard it made my bottom so red. I used to worry that someone would come in and see us but that only made it more exciting. Once a man put his head around the door and stayed there looking. That was the best time of all. I remember I bit into his leg as my orgasm swept through me. He had to punish me even more after that. You see, Syra, it wasn’t really my fault.

  ‘So, one Sunday, after Manuel had beaten me in front of the congregation with a really thin cane, he told me he had something “a bit different” planned. My bottom was still sore from the caning, I can tell you, but that didn’t stop me wanting more. Sometimes the pain is more exquisite when the soreness is still there. It tingles afterwards for hours. Yes, I was still sore. I was wearing thin cotton panties but my bottom was still impossible to touch. After he had caned me like this he used to make me put my panties back on in front of the congregation. I used to love the sticky feeling as the gusset came against the soft flesh of my cunt. I always pulled them up tightly - I liked the way it pulled into the cleft of my slit. I used to squirm around it.

  ‘A few of the congregation hung around as he led me to a space between a couple of scrap cars and a pickup. The pickup, used by some of the congregation to drive out into the desert, had on its load bed a cage - just about big enough from someone to get inside. I actually thoug
ht that when I saw it! They took the cage down and placed it on the sand between the scrap cars. “In!” Manuel said, as if he was commanding a dog. “Inside the cage!” One side of the cage was a hinged door. It was opened. “On your knees! Crawl inside! Like an animal!” I dropped to my knees, stared at the open door for a moment then moved forward. I crawled slowly into the cage. I felt the heat from the bars radiating in the hot sun. I pushed my shoulder against one of them and shrank back as I felt its burning sting. As soon as my feet entered the cage they slammed the door shut. I stared ahead. There was not enough room to turn around - I was completely trapped and could hardly move.

  ‘They all walked around the cage in slow circles, chanting, singing hymns, repeating prayers - “Lord, forgive this poor sinner. Lord, forgive this poor wretch...” I looked up at them through the bars, like a captured beast trapped and awaiting its destiny.

  ‘Manuel brought a small cardboard box and held it above the cage. He took off the lid and members of the congregation peered inside. Some drew back in revulsion, some seemed fascinated, some excited. My stomach filled with anxiety as I heard a hard scratching sound coming from inside the box.

  “Release them! Release them!” shouted the congregation.

  Manuel held the box over my head. My heart was thumping so loudly I could hear nothing else. My head was pounding so much it felt as if my eyes were bulging out of their sockets. I was shaking all over. I watched the box tipping. The scratching sound increased - whatever was in there was desperate to stay in there, fighting to prevent itself being tipped out. He tilted it further. I saw something inside - something black, shiny, hard. He tipped the box and shook it. Suddenly, something dropped from the edge of the box into my hair - it felt hard, mobile, and quick. I reached up to knock it off and it fell onto the ground in front of me - it was a black scorpion! Another fell from the box, and another. He tipped the whole contents out and they all ran around, twisting their bodies back, snapping their claws, lifting their stings threateningly on inwardly arched tails. I was terrified! All I could think of was the scorpion tattoo on his arm - the deadly Death Stalker scorpion, the most deadly scorpion in the world!