House of Blood

by Bryan Smith

  He stood poised behind her, rigid behind her upturned ass.

  Making her wait again.

  “Please … ”she breathed.

  So he gave it to her again, one more swift, brutal shove. She felt faint. White light crowded the edges of her vision. She was sure the next thrust of his cock would rupture her vaginal walls, maybe pierce her uterus. He was that endowed. That powerful. It was incredible. No man she’d ever had could compare. It was like being fucked by a god. Each stroke was like an exorcism, banishing forever the ghosts of Dan Bishop and Chad Robbins, rendering them meaningless. He earned her adoration for that feat alone. He looped some of her blond hair in a hand and pulled her head back.

  He leaned over and whispered in her ear. “What would you do for me, sweet Dream?”

  She struggled to form coherent words. “Any… anything … you want. …”

  He pulled her straight back and his other hand, so

  232

  muscled and strong, roamed over her hanging breasts, pinching her nipples, squeezing. “Would you kill for me?”

  He arched up into her and tears rolled down her face. “Yes.”

  She meant it as she said it. It was insanity. It was sinful. It was wrong. A part of her even felt an echo of shame. Later, when she was no longer under the spell of Eros, the memory of the exchange would horrify her. That didn’t matter now. Nothing mattered. All she cared about was this extraordinary thing he was doing to her.

  Because it was extraordinary, of that there was no doubt.

  Dream could think of no legitimate comparison with anyone from her past. The whole experience was a series of erotic revelations, exploding epiphanies of carnality. She’d been fucked a variety of ways by her former lovers. Gently. Roughly. Passionately. She’d had beautiful experiences, indifferent experiences, even some fairly exotic experiences. King was a different species of lover altogether, a man for whom the word “exotic” seemed barely adequate. No word was adequate. He used his organ to manipulate her, punish her, and she loved it. It wasn’t like making love, with that term’s connotations of intimacy and rhythmic, gentle coupling.

  It was just fucking, proffering herself as an object for his pleasure. And being extravagantly, acutely pleasured in return. It was as if she existed only to perform this act. There was something dehumanizing about that, a depersonalization.

  She loved that, too.

  Losing herself.

  233

  It was raw, animalistic, primal.

  She didn’t want it ever to end.

  He pulled out of her, relinquished her hair, and flipped her over. She spread her legs wide, and he climbed on top of her. She ground her teeth and ripped the flesh on his back with her nails as he reentered her.

  His voice was hoarse. “Will you kill that black bitch for me, Dream?”

  Her mouth opened wide.

  She couldn’t say anything. She was entranced by the sight of his magnificently muscled torso looming above her. The way it looked, the pecs and biceps flexing as he moved against her, was beautiful. So fucking beautiful.

  He stopped moving. “Answer me, Dream.”

  She cleared mucus from her throat. “Yes.”

  What?

  How could she say such a thing, even during the altered state of consciousness induced by lust? It was awful. She was troubled, in a detached way, that he was even asking her such creepy questions. He couldn’t mean them literally. He had to know she would never hurt her friends. She knew, though, that some people got off in strange ways. Asphyxiation, for instance. Slapping. Biting. Bondage. This was just his version of that.

  His kink.

  She decided there was no harm in playing along.

  He slid slowly in and out of her. His brow furrowed and his mouth twitched. She loved the way he groaned and twisted his neck. He was so turned on. Being able to do that to him thrilled her, heightened her own already elevated state of arousal.

  234

  “And what about the Asian slut?”

  “Yes.”

  He closed his eyes. His voice seemed far away. “Would you slit her throat, Dream?” His head arched back. “Would you drink her blood for me?”

  She felt it coming.

  Saw the muscles in his shoulders tensing.

  Her eyes went wide with anticipation.

  His voice was barely audible. “Say it, Dream.”

  “Yes!” she cried. “I’d drink her blood.”

  He opened his eyes.

  And smiled.

  Then his body spasmed against hers, rocking the bed, threatening to push her through the mattress. She locked her legs around him and held on for dear life. It went on far longer than any normal male orgasm should. When his body finally stopped pistoning and settled on top of her, she felt the way she imagined champion bull riders must feel at the end of a grueling tournament.

  Her voice sounded frail when she said, “Oh my God.”

  He rolled off her and beckoned her to the head of the bed. She felt weak, enervated, but she managed somehow, curling her small, toned body around his muscular frame. Their bodies meshed perfectly together, like two halves of a whole. Dream realized she was smiling. She knew why.

  Who wouldn’t smile after having the best sex of their life?

  It was true.

  She had never felt this drained, this completely satisfied, or more inextricably linked to a partner. She didn’t think anything in her life had ever made her feel this good. No

  235

  food, no emotional experience, no professional accomplishment-nothing. It was nice beyond words to finally feel fully alive, to not hurt, to not want to die. The suicidal impulses were quiet again, and she felt their absence like the lifting of a heavy physical burden. She suspected they were only lurking somewhere in a dark corner of her psyche, biding their time until she was vulnerable again, but that was okay. They wouldn’t trouble her while she was in the arms of this amazing man.

  She traced a finger along the edge of his rib cage. “Mmm, I want to do that again. …”

  He chuckled. “As you wish. …”

  She arched an eyebrow at him. “Oh, shit, no, not now.”

  He was smiling. “Why not?”

  She sighed, her face flush with perfect contentment. “I don’t think I could survive another round of… that… so soon.” She kissed his chest. “You’re … my God, there’s no word for you … you’re like nothing else on earth.”

  He laughed. “You’re right about that, Dream.”

  Dream rolled her eyes. He had a healthy ego. Well, what else would she expect? Any man who could do the things he did had to be brimming with confidence. A lot of guys out there came on like God’s gift, but Ed here was the real deal. He knew it, too, which was sickening on one level, but also pretty thrilling.

  She sprinkled his chest with soft, slow kisses. She was content for the moment to enjoy a period of serene afterglow. And what a wonderful place to wallow in postcoital bliss. The bed was massive, big enough for an orgy. The soft feather mattress was deliciously pliant under her, creating an illusion of being adrift on the open sea. A fire

  236

  crackled in the fireplace, warming them and providing the room’s only illumination. The flickering flames looked far away, like a campfire on a distant shore. A marble bust of Alexander the Great sat on an ornate pedestal next to the fireplace. The spacious room was enormous, bigger than many luxury apartments in their entirety. As in the living room downstairs, bookshelves lined the walls, filled with leather-bound volumes she supposed were ancient and valuable. The hardwood floor was dotted with throw rugs; they looked hand-loomed, the work of artisans of various ethnicities. French doors opened onto a long balcony, which overlooked a panorama of mountain and trees that would be beautiful by daylight.

  It was just heavenly, a wondrous sanctuary from a coarse world.

  She thought it might be very nice to stay here forever. The notion should have been alarming. How smart could it be to consider
that level of commitment to a person she’d known only hours? She knew what Alicia’s answer to that would be.

  Shit.

  Thinking of Alicia was a jarring dose of reality. She’d managed to keep the memory of King’s kinky interrogation at bay for several minutes, but now the perverse words resonated in her head, making her skin crawl. She turned her head to gaze into King’s dark, soulful eyes. “Ed … can I make a request?”

  He ran a hand through her hair. “Of course.”

  Be like Alicia, she thought.

  Get right to the point.

  She sighed. “I loved everything you did to me. I loved

  237

  surrendering my will to you, letting you have your way with me, and you can have me again any time you want, any way you want, as much as you want, but, please, don’t make me say that sick shit about my friends again. That was awful.”

  A flicker of some indiscernible emotion passed over his face. “Was it?”

  Dream nodded. “Yes. Hey, I don’t care what you’re into, Ed. Any kind of freaky shit you like, cool, go for it. I’m yours to do with as you wish.”

  Hearing the words replay in her mind, she shuddered-yet she knew they were true.

  She took a deep breath and continued. “I only ask that you leave my friends out of it, and that you not make me say things that offend my heart.”

  His arms encircled her, drawing her closer. “Then I will honor your wishes. Your willingness to surrender yourself to me is humbling, but it is profoundly unnecessary. I don’t seek your submission.”

  An odd flicker of disappointment made Dream frown. “You don’t?”

  He smiled. “No. Quite the opposite. I’ll tell you something I believe, Dream. I believe your arrival here was no accident of fate. I believe destiny brought you here. Your destiny. My destiny.” He laid a hand upon her face and stroked her cheek. His gaze never wavered as he said, “It’s like a fairy tale, Dream, though not of the sanitized, storybook variety. I’m a King. King of this place.” His arm swept away from her in an all-inclusive gesture she supposed was meant to indicate his home and the surrounding mountain region. “But I was a lonely King, A tired, sad old King.

  238

  A King who had grown weary of life, weary of existence itself. Then, on a dark night full of magic, a miracle happened, a Queen arrived at the King’s door.”

  Dream swallowed hard. It was hard not to be entranced by King’s words. What woman wouldn’t enjoy being likened to a fairy-tale queen?

  She smiled. “But how can a King be a King without subjects to rule?”

  The vaguest wisp of a smile played at the corners of his mouth. “Oh, but there are subjects. A great many of them, in fact. I want you to take a trip with me, Dream. A great journey. Are you up to that?”

  She nodded, murmured against his chest.

  “Good.” He kissed her mouth. “Now I need you to do something for me.”

  “Anything.”

  “I need you to close your eyes, Dream. Close them and imagine yourself far away from here. Envision yourself floating on a cloud, weightless, insubstantial, a free spirit soaring high above the earth. Glory in that freedom, Dream, revel in it.”

  She closed her eyes.

  She listened to his voice, let herself be captivated by the imagery it described.

  At first what she was experiencing was very similar to the kind of visualizations therapists had tried on her as a way to reduce stress. Her mind filled with an image like the one King described. She was high above the ground, soaring through the clouds over East Tennessee. She was a nude figure, a winged goddess, an image worthy of fantasy tales. It was nice. Soothing. Relaxing. A great way to

  239

  escape the mess she’d made of her life. And King’s droning, sensuous voice only magnified the sense of exhilaration. Still, she was always aware of it as an exercise-while she swooped over mountains in her mind she nonetheless remained conscious of the mattress beneath her, of King’s arm around her, of the shifting of logs in the fireplace.

  But then an astonishing thing happened.

  The tactile reality of the mattress began to fade. The crackle of fire dimmed, then was gone. She had a sense of falling…

  … of plummeting from a great height. …

  Then she felt the wind on her face, buffeting her hair and caressing her body like the ephemeral hand of God. She opened her eyes, looked down, and her mouth opened in a silent scream. A green carpet of treetops was rushing to meet her. What happened next was reflex. She flexed her arms, turned her gaze heavenward, and soared back toward the clouds. She entered the swirling white mist, continued moving upward, and emerged above the clouds. She continued up, up, up. She knew if she kept going she would pass through the earth’s atmosphere and enter the icy blackness of space. The prospect initially frightened her, but intuition told her she would be fine. Nothing could hurt her. Especially not the lack of oxygen she didn’t need in this form.

  So she kept going.

  Slipping the bonds of the tarnished planet that was her home. Earth receded behind her, shrinking to a globe the size of a basketball. She circled the moon, her mouth open in awe as she surveyed the gray, rocky landscape familiar from old NASA films. She swooped back toward

  240

  earth and hovered above it, raised her arms over her head, and danced like a ballerina, a solo dancer in the celestial spotlight.

  The sensation was beyond liberation.

  It was empowering.

  More intoxicating by far than the most potent drink ever distilled.

  And it was real.

  She didn’t question it. There was no point. She was reminded of Karen’s angry words to Alicia about the thing that killed Shane. She was seeing what she was seeing. She trusted her own mind and senses. This was her essence up here in space. Her corporeal body was still on the bed in King’s room, but she could feel and experience everything in an exalted way no physical, flesh-and-blood construct ever could.

  King’s disembodied voice spoke to her. “Do you like this, Dream?”

  Her face had a hard time containing her exultant smile. “Yes!”

  “Good.” She felt his smile. “Come back to earth. I have things to show you.”

  She released a squeal of delight, flexed her knees, changed direction, and dove back toward earth. She was free of all fear now, and she moved toward the spinning planet at a speed that should have been terrifying. The earth’s atmosphere was like a lover’s hand this time, warm, welcoming, stimulating. She plunged through the clouds and overlooked a desert vista far from King’s mountain home. She saw a pyramid in the distance, a ruddy, four-sided triangle rising up out of the sand. A

  241

  burst of excitement emboldened her, and she sluiced through the sky-she’d only seen pyramids in pictures, and she coveted this new experience. The wonder of it all filled her like a dazzling inner light, made her marvel at the limitless possibilities.

  She could go anywhere.

  Do anything.

  See anything.

  People in primitive attire milled about the base of the pyramid. She flew low and studied their faces. They were workers. Their bodies glistened with sweat as they struggled with their burdens. Dream realized they were slaves.

  “This is a glimpse, Dream.” King’s voice was right in her ear, although she was alone in the air. “You asked about subjects. This is the kingdom of one of my forebears. These are his… subjects.”

  Realization dawned in Dream. “You were telling the truth about being a King. It wasn’t just a story.”

  “No, Dream, it wasn’t. And what you’re seeing is real, but it’s just a glimpse. It’s the past. We can only have glimpses of it, unfortunately. All those people are long dead.”

  The vision faded, broke apart like an old television with bad reception, and there was a sense of displacement, a temporal shift. All of existence was blinding whiteness for a millisecond, then a new scene revealed itself, a remote section o
f English countryside in the early twentieth century. She flew low between hills, passed grazing sheep, and approached a stately old house. A man who looked nothing like King stood on the porch, yet she realized it was King. A fully formed awareness appeared in her brain.

  242

  He could look like anything. He wasn’t human. He was something … more.

  Something better, she hoped.

  The knowledge should have been frightening, but it wasn’t.

  “Here’s another glimpse, Dream. This is from my own past, so we can linger longer here. For days, if we had the inclination. We won’t be that long, however, a few minutes should suffice.”

  The man on the porch-King, she reminded herself-turned and went back into the house. Dream passed effortlessly through the front door. It was insubstantial to her, offering no more resistance than a breath of air. The man, who was wearing a tweed jacket and sported an Oxford class ring on one finger, turned down a hallway.

  “Leave him, Dream.”

  She hovered next to a staircase. “Where should I go?”

  “To your left, through that archway, into the kitchen.”

  Dream did as he bade. Part of her wanted to fly away and see other wonders, but he was her guide through this process of enlightenment, so she went without hesitation.

  The kitchen was large and outfitted in the usual way.

  “Where now?”

  “See that door next to the pantry?”

  “Yes.”

  “That’s the cellar door. I want to take you down there.”

  Dream experienced her first real twinge of apprehension since the beginning of this astounding journey. It was a precognitive, unsettling feeling. Something disturbing lurked beyond that door. But she decided to trust him. It

  243

  wasn’t like she really had a choice, right? She was on this ride for the duration. So she passed through the cellar door, glided over a dark staircase, and arrived in a dank room. It was empty, but there was an opening in the far wall, a passage carved from the earth. She understood King meant her to go there, so she did, ignoring the renewed sense of trepidation.