Broken Blue: The Complete Series

by Amy Cross

  Slowly, he pushes his fingers into my bush of pubic hair. I bite my lower lip as I feel his fingertips inching closer and closer to my clitoris, and finally he applies just enough pressure to send a light thrill racing up my spine. I want to turn to him, take off the blindfold, and examine his body in return, but I know he wants me to just stay like this. As his finger tip starts to gently circle the area around my clitoris, I take a slow, steady breath and swallow hard, realizing that he's planning to finger me. After the whipping and the blood and the blindfold, this seems strangely tender and tentative, but I figure I should just relax and enjoy myself. I open my legs a little wider and let out a quiet moan of pleasure as he continues to massage the area around my clitoris, and moments later he leans closer to my face and kisses me directly on the lips. Smiling, I open my mouth and accept the kiss.

  "Tell me how it feels," he quietly says after a few minutes.

  "How what feels?" I ask, uncertain as to how much detail he wants me to give him.

  "What I'm doing to you".

  I pause, feeling a rush of sexual energy. "I don't know," I say, smiling in an embarrassed kind of way. "It feels good".

  "But in what way," he continues. "Talk to me".

  I bite my lower lip for a moment, realizing he wants me to talk dirty. "It feels like you know what you're doing," I say, before letting out a small, nervous laugh. For some strange reason, the thought of talking dirty is making me feel really embarrassed. "It feels like you're in just the right spot," I continue, "and I really like that you're not pressing on my clit directly".

  "What else do you want me to do?" he asks.

  I pause for a moment. "I don't know," I say eventually, feeling as if I'm doing pretty badly at this whole thing. "Is there anything you want to do?"

  "What about this?" he asks, and I feel him slip a finger into my vagina, sliding it all the way until he's knuckle-deep. "Is that nice?"

  "Yeah," I reply, although to be honest the finger doesn't really make much difference and I'm more interested in the way his finger is continuing to manipulate my clitoris. "You know what I'd really like?" I ask after a moment. "Can I take the blindfold off? I want to be able to see your hot body".

  "Not yet," he says, "but you can feel me". With that, he moves his body closer and I feel his hard cock against my thigh. "What about this?" he asks, continuing to massage my clitoris while he uses his other hand to stroke my breasts.

  "That's nice," I say.

  "And this?" Suddenly he takes one of my nipples in his mouth and gives it a gentle suck. I've never felt that my nipples are particularly sensitive, but feeling Mark's tongue against the skin sends a shiver of excitement through my body. He sucks a little harder, stretching the nipple as he draws it into his mouth, and then finally he carefully places his teeth around it and gives me a little bite.

  "Yeah," I say, getting short of breath. I reach out and run my hand over his shoulder, and I position myself a little differently, so he can get a better view of my breasts.

  "You like it when I play with your tits?" he asks.

  "Yeah," I say again. He's started to increase the pressure with his finger in my crotch, and I can feel the pleasure beginning to build.

  "Do you want to go on top?" he asks suddenly, and I feel him roll over onto his back. Without a second thought, I climb on top, reaching down to take his cock in my hand and guide him into the entrance of my vagina. I slide myself down onto him, and then I reach up to remove the blindfold.

  "No," he says, moving my hand away. "Keep it on".

  Smiling, I adjust my position a little and then I slowly start to ride him, moving my hips so that I get just the right amount of pressure against my crotch. I can feel his thick, hard cock deep in my vagina and everything feels completely right, as if he was designed to fit perfectly inside me. He reaches up and starts caressing my breasts, and I feel myself starting to get even wetter as I increase my speed. Eventually I lean down and give him a long, wet kiss, and he continues to fondle my breasts as they hang down over his chest. Right now, I'm consumed by desire, determined to have him completely. When I sit back up, he places his hands on my hips and I start working toward an orgasm.

  After a couple of minutes, I realize I'm ready to cum. I start raising and lowering my hips a little more, so that I can feel his cock sliding through my vagina. I let out a slow moan and I feel one of his hands reach up and gently touch my left breast. It feels as if I'm totally in control of the moment, and all I want right now is to cum. I hold my breath for a moment before letting out a loud gasp, and finally I feel the orgasm getting closer and closer. With Mark's hand still touching my bouncing breasts, I keep pushing and pushing toward the pleasure and finally it happens. It's not as powerful as the orgasms I had earlier this evening, but it's still good: I feel waves of pleasure breaking through my crotch, and I let out a series of high-pitched gasps. As the orgasm starts to fade, I grind my crotch harder against Mark's body, feeling his cock pressed against the inside of my vagina, and finally it's over.

  "Get on your back," Mark says.

  Without even asking why, I climb off and lie down. I feel Mark moving around me, and after a moment he straddles my chest.

  "What are you doing?" I ask after a moment.

  "I need to cum again," he says.

  I smile. "Well that's okay," I reply. "Let me -"

  "Just let me do it," he says breathlessly, and I can hear him frantically rubbing himself.

  "Where are you going to do it?" I ask.

  "Your face," he says.

  I can't help but grin. "Okay," I say. Earlier, he seemed to find it so hard to cum, and now he's about to do it for the second time. When I was with Rob, I never let him ejaculate on my face, but with Mark I actually want him to do it. "If you want," I say after a moment, "you can do it in my mouth". Reaching up, I carefully slip the blindfold up a little. I half expect Mark to tell me to put it back down, but he's too busy jerking off. He's got his crotch right in my face, with the tip of his penis just an inch or two from my mouth. As he continues to pump himself, I stare at the bulbous dome and try to prepare myself for his sperm to erupt from the little hole in the tip.

  After a couple of minutes, I realize he's getting close, and I open my mouth. His breathing has become deep and rapid, and it's almost as if his cock has grown even more. Eventually he gasps, and I see his cock throb a little before a huge wad of thick, creamy white semen squirts out the end and hits my nose and upper lip. He continues to rub himself, and a second blob of semen squirts directly into my mouth, followed by a third load that spreads a stringy wad below my left eye and down onto my cheek. Another load comes out but drips down onto my neck in a translucent, cloudy white mess, and finally some clearer liquid flows out as he stops rubbing himself.

  "Was that good?" I ask, swallowing the sperm that came into my mouth. I look down at the cum that landed on my neck, and I see that some of it ended up on my left breast. I collect some of it on my finger and slip it into my mouth, and then I lean forward and take Mark's hot, sticky cock deep into my throat, sucking some more of the sperm off. Finally, I let him back out of my mouth and take a deep breath, before I spread some of the cloudy, milky semen over my breast. Mark lies next to me, still out of breath, while I reach up and feel a thick, stringy wad of sperm on my face. I'd usually be totally grossed out by something like this, but there's something different about Mark; it's as if the sperm is a sign that I got something right, and a symbol of our intimacy. There was a time earlier tonight when I thought he wasn't going to cum at all, so it feels like I've won a small but important victory.

  "Have you got a mirror?" I ask, staring down at my shiny, cum-covered breasts.

  "By the bed," he says breathlessly.

  Feeling completely comfortable being naked in his presence, almost as if this is how things are meant to be, I look over at the bedside table and spot a small table-top mirror pushed up against the wall. I grab it and take a look at my face, smiling as I see a series of blob
s and strings of sperm.

  "You almost gave me a pearl necklace," I say, staring at my reflection. When Mark doesn't reply, I tilt the mirror a little until I can see him image; he's staring up at the ceiling, still catching his breath. There's something about his stare that makes me wonder what's really going on inside his mind. There's a kind of darkness in his soul that seems to come to the surface occasionally. Pulling the blindfold all the way off, I smile as I turn the mirror slowly so I can see along his firm, glistening body. When I see his cock, I stare at the reflection for a moment, almost feeling as if I want to start fucking him again. After a moment, I feel a pang of sadness at the thought that maybe we're done, in which case maybe I'll never be able to sleep with him again. When I came here tonight, I assumed it was a one-off deal with a hot guy, and I was actually pleased that there was no chance it would come to mean anything. Suddenly I feel the opposite: I don't want this to be the only time we're together, and I don't want to walk away from here tonight knowing that I'll never be with him again.

  "Mark," I say cautiously.

  "What is it?" he asks.

  I pause. My heart is racing, and I want to ask him whether we'll see each other again. At the same time, I know Mark probably isn't the kind of guy to have a deep heart-to-heart immediately after we've spent a few hours having sex, and I'm worried about scaring him off. I suppose the best approach would be to casually see about arranging another encounter, and testing the water by maybe suggesting we go to dinner. After all, I know he's been to dinner with women before, so maybe his fear of commitment and closeness isn't quite as great as I'd assumed. I'm having to be very careful not to get carried away with myself right now, and I have to remind myself over and over again: I'm not falling in love with him. Because I'm not. I'm definitely not.

  "Nothing," I say eventually, figuring I should wait until the right moment. I tilt the mirror to get a better view of his face, and I see a kind of blank, impassive expression in his eyes as he stares at the ceiling. Just as I'm about to put the mirror down, I spot something in the darkness over in the corner of the room. It looks for a moment like legs in a white pair of trousers, and to my shock I angle the mirror up a little and see what appears to be the torso of a person. Telling myself that it must be something else, I angle the mirror a little more and suddenly see a man's face, staring directly at me from the gloom. Assuming it must be a painting, I turn and look over into the gloomy corner, and I realize with mounting shock that there's a man sitting there, smiling at me. Not a painting of a man, or an image of a man; an actual man, sitting in the corner of the room and watching us.

  "Mark..." I say, frozen to the spot in fear as I stare at the man. A feeling of panic is rising through my body; I should run screaming out of here, but the whole situation is so absurd, I keep telling myself I must be making a mistake. It has to be a ghost, or maybe a hallucination; maybe I'm having some kind of seizure or... There's no way a man could have entered the room without either of us noticing. Even if I was wearing a blindfold, surely Mark would have seen him...

  "I want you to meet an associate of mine," Mark replies, glancing over at the man before turning back to look at me with a pained look in his eyes, "Elly, this is Mr. White".

  Book 7

  Driven

  One

  1896

  The pain is intense, searing through my flesh. With every step I take, it feels a thousand times worse: the bone is broken just above the knee, and sharp, ragged edges slice through the muscle. The surface of the skin isn't broken, but I have no doubt that the damage inside is serious; when I stop to slip my trousers down and take a look, I see a dark, discolored patch running around from my calf. There can be no doubt: if I don't get this fixed fast, I'm going to die. Whether it's blood loss or some kind of poisoning within the bloodstream, I'm facing a painful and potentially protracted death. There's only one man in London who can help me, who can possibly perform the kind of work that I need while also maintaining the level of discretion that is vital if I'm to avoid the attentions of my enemies.

  "John!" I shout, banging on the back door of the King's Arms. "John!"

  I wait. It's past midnight, and ordinarily I would never even dare to come close to this place at such an hour. Darius Wolff, the owner of the pub, is the kind of man who'd happily tear the flesh from a man's face merely for giving him a questionable look, so I can't imagine how angry he'll be now that I'm slamming my fists against his door and demanding his attention at 4am. Still, I have no choice: if I don't come here right now, I'll just die out in the alley, and by morning my body will have been picked clean by rodents.

  "John!" I shout again, and this time I hear movement on the other side of the door. Moments later, the lock is slid open and the door opens inward, to reveal the tall, imposing figure of Darius Wolff staring back at me.

  "You're just in time," he says, a broad grin revealing two rows of rotten teeth. "I was just thinking I'd like to rip some noisy little bag of shit apart".

  "I need John," I say, stumbling through the doorway. My mind is starting to feel groggy, as if something's seriously wrong; if it's a fever, I'm as good as dead already. "Get me John the Pig," I mutter, steadying myself against the wall. My face feels as if it's on fire.

  "John the Pig doesn't provide funeral services," Wolff says as he slams the door shut, "and funeral services are all you'll need when I've ripped your spine out of your back with my bare hands. Then again -" He suddenly grabs my collar and hauls me along the corridor, before dragging me down a dark flight of steps and into a dimly-lit basement. There's a nearby scratching sound, and after he drops me onto the cold floor, I hear him pushing some wood aside. "Meet the boys," he says as he holds a lantern close to my face. "Boys, meet your next meal".

  It takes me a moment to focus on the sight in front of me. In the middle of the room, there's a pit, and down in the pit there are rats. Hundreds of rats, maybe even thousands; squirming and wriggling and climbing over one another, they squeak as they desperately try to climb up the side of the pit. Some of them are fighting, and I watch as one particular rat bites through the neck of another, severing its head. It looks like they're crazy, or starved, or both.

  "The boys are hungry," Wolff says, looking down at me with contempt. "I usually throw them some old bones at the end of the night. It's been a while since they got a big, live one". Grabbing my collar again, he pulls me to the very edge of the pit. "I'd like to say it won't hurt," he continues, "but that wouldn't be true at all. The last fellow who went down there, he was full of screams. Almost an hour, he kept it up. I imagine you'll find his bones if you sink down deep enough, but you know what they say about London. Anyone who stays here long enough, ends up with rats chewing on their corpse".

  "I need John," I mutter. "My leg's broken. I need help".

  "Fuck your leg," Wolff replies. "Your leg's the least of your fucking problems". With that, he tosses my body into the pit. I land on a bed of squirming little furry bodies, and as I try to steady myself, I hear the wooden cover being slid back into place, and everything goes dark. With my leg still burning with pain, I roll onto my back, but finally I feel a sharp pain on my hand as one of the rats sinks his teeth into my flesh; as soon as they get a taste for blood, they all start attacking together, and soon I'm being bitten all over. I struggle to rise up from the pit of rats, but with a broken leg I can barely even move, and all that happens is that I start sinking down into the bites. Finally, just as it feels that I'm going to die here, I manage to pull together one last burst of energy and I force myself to stand. Although the pain in my leg is intense, I'm able to push the lid off the pit and haul myself out. Rolling over, I brush a few remaining rats away, before sliding the cover back across.

  "Impressive," says Wolff, sitting on a nearby barrel. "No-one's ever managed to get out before".

  I open my mouth to reply to him, but I'm out of breath and I barely feel human anymore. I look at my hands and see they're covered in small bite marks.

&nbs
p; "I always thought that if anyone got out," Wolff says, walking over and crouching in front of me, "that I'd just send 'em straight back in. But do you want to know something weird, Mr. Pope? Turns out I've got a heart of gold. Wait 'ere". He gets to his feet and walks up the stairs, leaving me gasping in pain on the cold cellar floor. I try to drag myself across the room, but the pain is too stark and eventually I'm forced to just wait until finally I hear footsteps coming down to join me. I'm still out of breath, and I'm starting to think that maybe I should have just let myself die. At least this would all be over.

  "Here's your man," Wolff says.

  Summoning up the remainder of my strength, I look up and see that Wolff has brought John the Pig down to me.

  "I don't want anything to do with him," John says, staring at me with a look of fear in his eyes. "Why haven't you just thrown him to the rats? Do you know what he's been up to?"

  "I did throw him to the rats," Wolff replies. "He crawled out".

  "Seriously?" John narrows his eyes. "I suppose they didn't want to eat one of their own. Still, Pope and I didn't part on very good terms earlier tonight. In fact, one might say we had quite a run-in. I don't see why I should help him".

  "Consider it an experiment," Wolff says, turning and heading to the steps. "Think of it as practice, in case I ever need you to operate on someone who actually matters. At least if he dies, you'll know what not to do next time".

  Once Wolff has gone back upstairs, I'm left alone with John. He walks slowly around me, keeping a safe distance as he tries to assess the problem.

  "So what is it?" he asks eventually. "You've got a lot of rat bites, and God knows what diseases they'll bring, but I'm assuming there's something else".

  "Leg..." I gasp, pointing to the spot where I'm hurt the most.