“Let that be a lesson to you,” he snarled, slamming shut my journal and tossing it onto the desk. “Now get back to your whorish stories. I want the next one to make me really hard.”
You and me both, I thought, but I didn’t speak. I did, however, wonder how much courage that little display demanded of him. After all, the last time I had someone’s prick in my mouth, I came close to biting it off. I bet that story went around the gang pretty quickly; maybe they drew lots to see who’d be the first guy to make sure it was really an accident, and that I wasn’t some kind of freaky blood-luster… or maybe find out if I was, before asking me to join their depraved little community. My God, Chrissie, you do think some absolute rubbish sometimes, don’t you?
The Magician arrived before I had even started writing again. I stood up as he advanced, saw him look me up and down, and then watched his eyes first focus on the thin cotton hanging from my tampon, and then twitch his entire face into a mask of purple fury.
“Who inserted that?”
“I did, Master.” Crack – he slapped my face; a second blow caught my temple, a third around the back of head, as I stumbled forward.
“Remove it. If you bleed, you will bleed. If there is to be blood in your veins, and blood in your heart, then there is blood in your cunt. Remove it now. And, for as long as you continue bleeding, all lighting privileges are suspended.”
Stunned, I started to ask why I’d been given the tampons if I wasn’t permitted to use them. But, barely had I opened my mouth than he grabbed me by one ear and dragged me across the room. As though I were a recalcitrant three year old. Halfway down the corridor, we went; then, stepping behind me, he began shoving me hard in the back, until I was half-running, half-flailing my way to the dungeon door, where he grasped my ear again, hurled me to the ground, affixed the chains and manacles, then left. The light was extinguished.
For a moment I sat, catching my breath and wishing desperately that my hands were free, to rub my bruised and swelling ear. I tried to look on the bright side. No light meant no visits from the Executioner, and his grotesque little peep show. It also meant no more trips outside of my usual world, to dangle spread-eagled from the ceiling for the delight of the gang. And it also meant… I held my breath… that I had no way of finding out what the noise was that I just heard. That one. Over there. Or, maybe, over there.
In all the hours I had spent in this dungeon, I had never heard a single thing that was not of my own making; the scraping of my chains, the rattle of the manacles, the sound of my tears and cries. But there it was again, a light scratching, a low whimper.
“Who’s there?” I called, although I knew nobody was; I’d have seen them when I was propelled in here just now. “Hello?”
Another scratching, another whimper. Rats? No, there was no way-in that I’d ever noticed, and there’d never been anything like that before. Rats that they’ve just brought in here, then? Oh shit. Rats don’t bother me as a rule; damn, when I was a little girl back in Jersey, I used to feed the ones that I saw in our garden, and only a vague instinct that adults liked to kill any animal that they couldn’t name Tiddles or Rover prevented me from telling the whole family about all my new pets.
But rats in the garden are one thing. Rats in a pitch-black dungeon, when you’re chained to the floor are another. But rats don’t whimper, do they? Rats squeak. I tried to think. What animal whimpers? Hurt ones. Baby ones. That wasn’t a whimper, though, was it? It was a breath. There is someone in here.
I tried to think. What if they were waiting behind the door when I came in, or even darted in after us, once we’d turned the dogleg corner that bisected the room? What if they weren’t wearing shoes, so I wouldn’t hear their footsteps; what if they weren’t wearing clothes, so I wouldn’t hear the fabric swish?
I held my breath again, but was met only by silence, and the sound of my own blood pounding in my ears. I called out again. Still nothing. But I knew I hadn’t imagined it because there it was again. Scratch, whimper, scratch, whimper. Like an old man with emphysema. The Austrian?
I scrambled for the handful of phrases I knew; or, at least, the handful that I knew were actually German, and not the bastardized phrases that I picked up from my brother’s war comics as a girl. “Guten morgen?”
Nothing. But if I counted to a hundred, sometimes a hundred and fifty, there it was again. Irregular, barely audible. But absolutely unmistakable.
I dozed. Nothing happened. Occasionally, I would hear the sound again, a little louder than before, and startle myself awake. But whatever, or wherever, it was, it was over there, I was over here and, to be honest, I was more discomforted by the menstrual blood that was now pooling and cooling between my open legs, clammy and damp.
My heart pounded suddenly. Is it rats that are attracted by the smell of blood? Or is that sharks?
My thoughts were wandering. I realized I was hungry, and wondered whether no light might mean no food as well. Or water. How long did my periods normally last? Three days, sometimes four. Could I even hold out that long? I shook my head, to try and clear it. They weren’t going to kill me. Hurt me, torture me, break me, perhaps. But they wouldn’t kill me, they couldn’t kill me. Whatever would the Austrian say? Corpses can’t fuck. Well, they can, but they don’t put much life into it.
It was good that I could still tell myself silly little jokes. I heard myself chuckle; and then I heard myself scream, a split second before I even realized that it was me. Or why.
Something had touched me, brushed against my foot. Despite the chains, I tried to raise myself from the ground; my feet skidded – in my blood? I don’t know. I collapsed back hard, felt the impact jarring up my tail bone, jangling my spine, as it touched me again, firmer this time, warmer. Hairy. Not a rat. Too big. Too dexterous.
A weight against my inner thighs, pushing them further apart than the chains already held them. My groin muscles protested. Too far. I was still screaming. Hands. Soft hands, but strong. I tried to close my legs, press them against whatever was now crouched… it felt as though it was
crouched… between my legs.
Fingers. Soft again. Strong again, but delicate. I could feel my cunt lips being opened, gently, tantalizingly. Like a lover, but a lover I could not see, could not imagine, did not want to imagine. Breath. Warm against my skin. The metallic odor of blood, my blood, tickled at my nostrils. A jet of air exhaled along the length of my slit. The fingers gently unfolding me, stroking, never penetrating. My screams echoing from the stone walls.
A new sensation, a moistness, a light pressure around my clitoris, prying back the tiny hood, coaxing the bud into flower. A tongue, swirling slowly at first, but faster and faster. Lips seeking, clutching, sucking. My screams subsiding, not all the way, but enough to allow me to catch my breath, then sigh, then groan. I don’t know what is happening to me, I don’t know what is doing this to me. But I have never, ever, been licked like this.
My hips began to move of their own accord, matching the movements between my legs with a languorous grind, undulating to a rhythm that I had now given up trying to understand. It was ecstasy, it was heavenly. I wished my hands were free, so that I could touch, hold, caress whoever, whatever, was filling me with such bliss. But the fact that I couldn’t only heightened the experience, the mystery, the excitement that blended with fear, that blended with confusion…that blended with such unbelievable,
unimaginable, unfathomable pleasure. I was cumming, and I battled it. I didn’t want to cum, for who knew if my lover would then decide to stop? I fought against the sensations building in my body, but they were stronger than I was, more determined as well, and they were damned if they were going to be held back for one moment longer than necessary. The next time I screamed, it was in the throes of the most powerful orgasm of my life.
The licking did not stop. The tongue was still working, lapping at my juices… I thought about the blood that was mingling with it, but if he… she… it… oh God, I hope it’s not an it�
�� didn’t care, neither did I. My clit felt as though it could burst. Faster than I had ever imagined possible, I felt another orgasm gathering speed, an express train hurtling down the hill with no brakes, plowing into my the pit of my stomach, exploding into a thousand shards of light and sound and electrical sparks, and another one right on top of it… okay, you have to stop now, just for a moment, I need to breathe, I need to laugh, I need to rest, I need to pause for just one second to scoop up all the pieces of my body that have flown across the room, and are now lying in great, uncontrollably quivering heaps of jelly, each one undergoing its own succession of shattering, battering, clattering cum fests.
I shrieked. “Stop.”
It stopped.
“Please. Who are you?” There was a pause, then a soft whisper, not much more than a purr. “Call me Sindy. With an ‘S’.”
“Hi Sindy.” I tried to keep my voice light, though my heart was still hammering in my breast. “That was fantastic… I’d love to look at you. Could you turn on the light… are you able?”
“Of course I’m able. But I don’t think so. I probably don’t look my best right now.” There was a giggle, and I felt a finger slide down my pussy lips. “You’re a little rare down here.”
The blood. “Oh God, I’m sorry about that.”
“Doesn’t matter. I rather enjoyed it, in fact. But it can be a little messy.” She leaned forward and her lips brushed mine with the tinny tang of my own blood.
“Let me taste you, then,” I gasped. “I can’t do much, hanging like this…” – I rattled my chains. “But my tongue is still free.”
I felt Sindy slip back a little, rise to her feet, then take my face gently in her hands, guiding me towards… her asshole?
She must have felt me recoil a little – in disgust, maybe; in shock, certainly. The smell was thick and cloying, it made me gag, and she heard that as well. For suddenly my head was hard against the wall, her ass cheeks pressed flat against my face, her anus at my lips… except now she was a he, and his voice was an angry rasp, growling and roaring, a heavy accent spreading guttural terror over its words.
“Lick it, bitch. Lick my hole. Deep. I want your tongue deep inside me, because if I don’t feel it there, you will die with my ass in your face. I will kill you with my ass in your face.”
I tried to obey. My tongue inched out, flicked at the flesh – it felt repellant.
“Aaaw, what’s wrong, bitch? Not to your taste?” His voice a mocking lilt now, his movements stopped for a moment. “You can take it, but you can’t give it?” I felt him move back. “You will learn. In the meantime, maybe this is more to your liking.” And, as I sat back panting,
breathing deeply through my open mouth, he whirled and slammed his erection into it, so deep that I had to fight not to start choking again, while his belly… fat, wiry … jiggled flat against my face.
For a moment he did not move; for a moment, it was as though he had simply plugged my throat with his cock, and intended staying there forever. Then, slowly, almost imperceptibly, he began to withdraw, a millimeter at a time, lessening the pressure on the back of my throat until the very tip of his dick was poised at my lips and I could move my tongue and take a deep breath– and then he slammed back inside.
Again, the infinitesimal withdrawal, again the violent thrust forward. And again. He was not fucking my mouth, he was battering it, punching my tonsils with his rock hard rod, and every blow was a little bit heavier, a little more brutal.
I moved my head a little, trying to distract him from the violence with the suggestion of pleasure; and, for a moment, I thought it had worked. “Ah, the bitch loves that, doesn’t she? She loves the cock and craves its cum. Look at her, pulling all her whoring tricks, trying to take control, trying to get what she wants so bad. Well, if cum is what she wants….”
There was a blinding flash – the overhead bulb had blazed alive, and a row of other lights too, a battery of floodlights arranged across the floor, each one casting monstrous shadows in every direction, illuminating the host of figures that now surrounded me, each one naked, each one pulling on its own erect penis, and every one pointing its swollen tip at me.
My eyes flickered from one to another. Of course they were men, but what manner of men? One, a double amputee, upright in his wheelchair; one, repulsively scarred and torn; one a twisted-limbed dwarf; another, encrusted in boils and sores. Ten, eleven, twelve of them, all masturbating furiously just inches from my face. I saw the Executioner, massaging that disgusting, distended dick of his, a cruel smile splitting his face below the mask.
“Oh Sindy, that was wonderful,” he
mimicked my words in the voice that had fooled me. “Oh Sindy, let me taste you.” And then, reverting to his own voice. “Taste this, bitch.” He thrust himself forward, a thick jet of white lashing my face, stinging my eyes. I caught some on my lips and tongue, spat it out, turned my face away – and caught a second jet full-face. And then they were all ejaculating, in my hair, my ears, my eyes, my nostrils, my mouth, and I was jerking and writhing in my chains, flinching as the streams of cum slapped my tits, my stomach, my legs, an endless shower of thick, white, stinking sperm that dripped and cooled and oozed across my body, that mingled with my tears, that swirled in the blood that had trickled from my pussy.
The Magician stepped forward. He had not taken part in my humiliation, of that I was certain. But he had watched it; might even have orchestrated it. For his next words were to push me to limits of revulsion that even the Executioner had only started to approach.
“You are wanted in the main hall. But you are a mess. Clean yourself.”
“Yes, Sir.” He unchained my right arm. “Clean yourself now. I will return in five minutes. I do not want to see a single speck of filth on your body. I want to see you licked clean. Yes, licked.”
The Executioner leaned forward, raised two of his own fingers, wiped them down his own arm and then placed them to his lips. “Clean.”
The room emptied. Using my fingers as a sponge, and my mouth as a drain, I started to clean myself.
CHAPTER SIX
I was in the harness once again, only this time it was my belly that rested on the column, so that my arms and legs were pulled painfully behind me, and stretched wide so that I felt myself gaping open. I had been permitted to insert a tampon before I was suspended… no bloody drips on that beautiful rug! But a thick leather gag had been strapped around my mouth, a metal bar forcing its way inside, pressing my tongue down. I was blindfolded.
I caught just a glimpse of my surroundings before my lights went out. The room looked subtly different; that long table had been removed, and more chairs had been arranged in its place. There were more people around as well and, as I entered, I sensed the room fall silent, as though the entire congregation had been awaiting my arrival. The show, it seemed, was about to begin.
Hands busied themselves at my ass. The all too familiar smell of rosewater wafted up to my nostrils, as the soft slurp of Vaseline was rubbed around my cleft, into my anus. Had I been able to gasp, I would have, as I felt something cold and smooth slide inside it – I visualized a test-tube, slicked in oil, testing the limits of my ass.
Instinctively, I felt the muscles tighten as it sank deeper; a moment of relief as the probe was removed, and then a stretching pain as another was inserted, thicker this time and longer. A voice that I did not recognize, somewhere off to my left, broke the silence. “She is ready.”
There was a scampering behind me. I imagined trained chimps, or Wizard Of Oz style Munchkins, packing up the tools of their trade, the perfumed oils and Vaseline, the test-tubes and dildoes and who-knows what else, and retreating to the wings, to await the next act of this grotesque pantomime.
Somebody stood in front of me. I inhaled the distinctive tang of an erect penis, felt it trace across my unseeing, untasting face. Hands were on my breasts, rubbing them roughly, pulling at the nipples, pinching them. A hard slap; my entire body jerked convulsively, an
d the harness jingled almost playfully. Another slap, on the other side this time. I could imagine my tits swinging from side to side, batted left and right between the unseen palms that slapped and whacked them; that paused to twist a nipple viciously between forefinger and thumb, then resumed their sadistic game of tittennis.
I was sobbing, my blindfold was soaked through, and the salt stung my skin. The cock at my face continued its maneuvers, jabbing at my cheeks, pushing against my sodden, sightless eye-sockets, nudging at my nostrils, as though they might flare wide enough to allow it entry… at the back of my mind, I gave thanks that it wasn’t the Doctor before me. He might well have fit up there.
My breasts were numb now. I could still feel the abuse, but it no longer hurt. Or, if it did, one agony had been supplanted by another, as two thick hands grasped my buttocks, hauled them apart, and the slow, agonizing entry of a thick cock began.
I tried to relax my body, knowing – from instinct and past experience alike – that the entrance would be effected much easier if my body could be persuaded not to fight. But the fear, the pain, the incessant battery of my breasts, and the pressure of the cock head on my face, those things would not allow me to relax; did, if anything, cause me to tense even further.
There was a cold slap of more Vaseline, a grunting and groaning from behind me… could he really be enjoying this? I imagined my tight rectum crushing his cock, the friction abrading his shaft as he pushed… pushed… and even, when he was as deep as he could get, then what? It wasn’t as if I would magically loosen.
He was inside at last, his groin and hips moving against me, his length pushing so deep that the slightest thrust shook my innards. I’d been fucked in the ass before, but it was always gently, carefully, cautiously, and never to the hilt. This was a new experience, a deep, painful, soul-shattering sensation that grew worse with every renewed stroke.
Miss America - a BDSM Vampire Tale Page 6