The Cane and the Knife [erotic fiction]

“You”, says your voice from behind me, “are supposed to be resting”.

I'm feeling that horrible sensation in the pit of my stomach that you get when you know you've been caught out doing something, and you're not quite sure how bad it's going to be. I turn around, trying not to cringe, hoping that I'll see anyone but you.

Although my skin's prickling with the physical sensation of closeness, you're actually much further away than I thought, sitting at a table a few feet away. I realise the reason I hadn't seen you before was because you're surrounded by your friends, whose laughter and carousing tails off as the harmonics of your voice freeze in the air. I feel a chill as my eyes fail to meet yours and I stand, suddenly isolated by the quick backwards step everyone near me has taken - as if they don't want to be associated with someone who is shortly about to be in whole oceans of trouble. I stand hunched over, miserably, my mind racing, trying to think of a way to defend myself against the accusation…knowing my behaviour is indefensible.

“Baby”, you coax. “Come here”. I can feel tears getting closer because I know you really are mad at me, and you're right to be. I've just had a major operation and I promised, *promised* I'd be good and rest until I was completely better. And now you find me out clubbing, and what's worse, you caught me when I was busy flirting with someone I'd only just met. Could I possibly get caught in a more compromising position? I briefly consider whether openly sobbing would help or hinder my predicament. As I ponder this, and chew my lip in thought, my eyes absently wander upwards and unexpectedly meet your gaze. You look so disappointed in me.

“I never thought I'd have to do this”, you murmur, with your voice like wild silk on wet gravel. You snap your fingers and one of your friends comes forward. He leans over with his ear close to your mouth, and I see your lips move, but I can't hear what you're saying. His mouth curves up at the corners and I think, 'no, please no - not him!' I've always been afraid of that one. He wears full length biker leathers, and with his shaved head and piercings, he reeks of testosterone. He's the antithesis of the kind and loving touch with which you've always treated me.

My hands automatically rise to protect myself as you look me in the eye. You turn to him and indicate me with a gesture. “Take her”, is all you say.

I shift my weight to take a step backwards but before I can even move he's on me. He's holding my eyes and I want to look away but I can't, even as I know my expression is changing from pleading to sheer frightened terror. His long leather coat provides plenty of protection from the kick I aim at him, and he's grabbed me by the wrist and is dragging me away from you, away out of the room. Your face is sad but determined. I stumble in my high shoes, gasping for breathe in the tight laced burlesque corset I wear. The blonde dreadlocks which fall to my waist only provide a convenient handle for his other hand, to guide me as I'm dragged, partly walking, partly crawling on my knees, partly carried…out to the little room - an antechamber really - that leads on to the chillout area.

He's let go of my wrist now as he's thrown me down. He's still said not a word to me. I rub my wrist, glaring at him, as I crouch on the floor. My eyes are angry, my expression is cornered. My lip curls as he grabs my wrist again and uses it to lift me to my feet, and then positions himself between me and the exit. There's a little bench pushed against the side of the room, at hip height, that I come up against as I try to back away. Fuck! He can't really do anything to me that I don't want - can he? Surely someone would hear me - I'm in a club, after all.

What's happening? What's going to happen now? Can I get past him to the door? As I'm flicking through my options, he takes two strides towards me and suddenly he's close, so close. I struggle to meet his eyes, and I feel the blush rising, the flush that always fills me when I'm with someone who presses my buttons, as much as I don't want to react to him like this, right now. Ashamed, I look down, and he moves closer, his hands going around my waist and lifting me onto the table. With a firm but undeniable grip, he parts my legs and steps even closer, so close I can smell leather and sweat, and something else, something dark and violent and dirty. I hear his voice for the first time now, and it's as deep as I always imagined it would be. Fuck, his voice is so sexy. I don't want to be attracted to him, but every part of my body tells me it's too late, far too late. My skin is afire, my body aflame, my flesh burning. “You.” He makes the word sounds like an instruction. “Look at me”. I try to resist but my face turns up of its own accord, and I look at him under my lashes through the heat haze between us. The moment my eyes meet his, his hand moves with such speed to my throat, I don't have time to cry out. He lays his fingers oh so gently around my neck, applying the merest suggestion of pressure. With his other hand he draws my hips closer to his, and I feel his erection pressing against me. My body betrays me…I want him inside me…he smiles, leans back a little and runs his hand from my throat, down my body to between my legs, lightly touching, drawing a line in which I'm divided in two.

He touches me through the thin ruffled fabric between my legs. I'm so ashamed, I'm so wet…I flush even more and bite my lip, dropping my head sideways to my shoulder. He rubs, touches, explores with fingers and I can't stop myself, my back arches, my head falls backwards, I cry out…'no…you mustn't…I can't….please stop, please don't, please don't, stop…please, don't stop…'

He unzips himself and, with one hand holding my throat, pushing me back against the wall, and the other hand on the back of my waist, drawing me closer….I try to push my thighs closed, but he uses the greater strength in his legs to keep them apart. There's the small matter of my knickers, which proves no barrier at all to the sharp knife he carries sheathed under his coat. He slits the fabric as if it were skin, and despite the increased threat I suddenly go crazy, writhing and shoving him away, kicking, shouting out, pushing at him with my hands which moments before had wanted to pull his cock inside me…deep into my body…

His face changes expression. He releases me for a moment, zips himself back up as I slap and tear at him, and then inside a moment he has turned me so I'm facing the wall. Bent over on the bench, my wrists are captured in one of his hands and held behind my back, as he pulls out a cane from his boot. I kick backwards, aiming for his legs, but as the blows fall I quickly lose focus. Each stroke falls with the pain of a slap, the threat like a knife on my clit, the pleasure of a tongue warm inside me. I can feel my thighs slickly rubbing together, my pussy is throbbing, I'm grinding myself against the bench, desperate, desperate to cry out no, desperate to beg to be fucked…desperate for the pain to stop, to get worse, to end me, to begin me, complete me. Each stroke makes a sound that echoes in the small room, echoed by my moans and cries. He finishes off with three hard, painful staccato slaps on my rear, and then the feel of the cane is replaced by a thick, human, hot sensation between my legs.

He holds my arms down with his hands as he pushes against the warm, dripping wet flesh that cries out to be shoved into…my whimpers turn to pleading, I can no longer pretend I don't want it, I'm begging for it, please, please, I need it, fuck me like I need to be fucked, please, please…his fingers tangle in my hair, forcing my face into the wooden surface…his one solid, thick thrust up to the balls in me, sudden and deep, over and over…tears from my eyes, my head turning, sobbing…please Sir, finish it…he uses me and I want him to…his pleasure in me, his climax begins mine, I arch, cry out, clench and squeeze the last few drops inside me, the last few tears from my eyes…

And then I hear your voice from the corner…when did you come in?…

You smile benevolently at us both, and say, 'Well done, my darling'.

The Disciplinary [erotic fiction]

We're sitting on the sofa drinking tea when you notice the bruise. I'm sitting with my legs curled up under me, and my skirt hitches up more than I realise. I lean over your lap to put my tea down, and you playfully stroke your hand up the back of my leg, lifting the skirt even more, just enough for you to see the marks on my buttocks. You don't react, so I don't realise at first that you've seen it. I'd been hiding it all day, not knowing how you would respond. I'd promised to keep myself as white as snow for our play later, and I never meant to get so carried away.

You pat my back in a 'come on, up you get' gesture, and stand up and take our cups into your kitchen. I pad after you in my bare feet - it's cold in your lounge and I'm only wearing summer clothes. I stand in the doorway and cross my arms over my chest, feeling a little shivery.

You walk towards me and I smile at you, totally unprepared for what happens next. Your hand moves so fast, I don't even see it, but I feel the stinging slap as your palm meets my cheek. It's shock as well as the blow which makes me stagger back, eyes wide, and I trip over a table and stumble backwards onto the floor. You walk towards me, expressionless, but your words are full of absolute fury. “What…did…you….DO?!" you hiss at me, as you tower above me and I lie on the floor, too terrified to even protect myself.

“I…I…I…you know what I did, I told you I was going to the club last night with my friend, I told you I would let her play with me if she couldn't find anyone else to play with. You didn't want to come, you told me you were busy!'

“You little SLUT! You promised me you wouldn't let anyone touch your arse. That arse is mine, MINE, do you hear me? And if I tell you to keep it nice and alabaster white so I can mark you from scratch, then that's what you'll do. You filthy little hussy, you couldn't go for one week without taking a beating, could you?"

“I wanted you to do it, but you wouldn't! I needed it! Anyway, I didn't mean to….I just got carried away in the moment”

In all truth my bottom had been flogged so hard I could barely sit down. The huge bruises spreading purple, black and blue across my cheeks looked horrific, and felt oh so terribly, deliciously wrong as I lay with the hard carpet pressed against them. You lean down and grab the front of my shirt, yanking me up into a sitting position before belting me across the face again in a huge backhander. The ceiling spins and the ground moves underneath me for a moment but I don't have a second to catch my breath because you pull me up by my hair, using it as a handle to turn me around so I'm on my knees facing away from you. You take two handfuls of my shirt by my shoulders and pull sharply downwards, ripping the fabric, then tossing it to one side. With one hand in my hair, you use the other to unzip my skirt and tear it from me, pulling it roughly over my hips and splitting the seams. You don't even bother to try and remove my knickers, you just rip them off angrily. I twist and turn, trying to get away, but your hold on me is firm and uncompromising. You shove my head down towards the floor and tell me to get over your knees. I start to cry - I never meant to let anyone bruise me, it was just a stupid mistake, I didn't want to make you angry, you're not going to really hurt me are you?

“You dirty little piece of ass - you're so badly bruised now you're far too damaged to have any kind of play with you for pleasure. I might as well finish the job someone else has started and at least then I'll bring you in line. I'm going to give you a disciplinary that you won't forget in a hurry, you little bitch”, and all the time you're speaking, your fingers are firmly opening me, pushing inside me, telling me that you love me but you're going to hurt me very badly, for my own good.

I'm crying openly now, sobbing onto your thighs, wet with my tears and the juices running from your pussy and mine. You can smell my excitement and my fear, my sweatsoaked thighs fall open as you look down at me and see my face smeared with eyeliner, two huge red marks on my cheeks, and my buttocks so dark with bruises. You feel my wetness trickle down from between my legs onto yours as you position me so that you can administer the disciplinary.

WHACK!

Your hand crashes into my buttocks which are so so sore already. A wail comes from my lips, unbidden. The pain is shocking, like a bucket of cold water on a hot day, and as your hand comes down over and over again it reaches unbearable levels.

“Please please please please don't…you're hurting me so much…please….I can't bear it, don't, please, don't! Ahhhhhhhhh”

I shudder from my shoulders to my toes as your hand comes down one last time and I throw my head back and cry out so loudly the sound snaps in my chest and my voice breaks. I croak huskily “I won't ever do it again, please, please, I'm sorry”.

“You always say that, but you just can't control yourself. You need a firm hand, and you need my control. You've always been a handful, and what you really need is to have all that rebellion fucked out of you. Get off my lap and kneel on the sofa with your arse in the air”.

I whimper, cry out, my face stained with tears, and moan softly, no, please no…

You ignore my pleas, and pull my legs into the required position. I clamp my thighs together. “Open!” you instruct me. I whimper again. “Open up right now, you little slut, you know you need this fucking and whether you like it or not, I'm going to fuck you as hard as I want, as long as I want to, until I'm satisfied you've learned your lesson”.

I painfully spread my legs and without ceremony you force your fingers inside me to check whether I'm ready. I'm dripping, soaking, pouring with juices and as I peek around behind me I see the strap-on - I know it will hurt, but I can't help my breath pounding in my throat, my heart beating faster in my chest, my clit feels as if it's ready to explode and you grab one of my wrists with one hand, force it behind my back, then grab the other, and hold them together with your left hand while you hold the strap-on with the other. You force your way inside me, I try to wriggle away, but there's nowhere to go to. I try to bend my knees, writhe away from the hard thrusts but you stop and say “Open up. NOW.” I move back into the position you want me in.

You're fucking me hard, fast, you start to breathe faster yourself and you're so wet. You're doing this for my own good, I need to learn this lesson, but you take a grim kind of satisfaction from it as you pound into me. The other end of the strap-on grinds inside you and you feel yourself becoming closer to orgasm. You know you're hurting me, the strap-on is going in far too deep for my comfort, you know it must be banging into my cervix and causing me pain, but you don't care, you know I need to be used like this, you feel your clit rubbing into my buttocks each time you thrust, getting more and more swollen and I'm banging my head into the sofa, crying out, moaning, sobbing, begging you to stop, then in one shocking moment you push your finger into my arse, you feel my muscles tighten around the strap-on, and I arch my back, the flush shooting up to my neck and I cry out “please, I'm going to come, please can I come?”. Your own pussy tightens in response, you take pity on me, “Come for me baby, I'm going to let you have an orgasm, you can come now, baby”. And I cry out, spilling my hot shocking pleasure inside myself, waves shuddering through me, sighing and moaning. The sight of it sends you over the edge and you cry out “oh baby, I'm going to come, I'm going to come inside you, now” and your eyes go wide, you scream, you push inside me again and again, so hard, that it sends me crying once more. You collapse over me, then one last wave rolls over you, and you dig your nails deep into my flesh, blood fills the little white marks which turn to red on my back, and you comfort me as I cry, and cry, and cry because you hurt me so much, because it's over, because I want you to do it again and again and again…

Back in the game

One moment it seemed I was stuck at home, recovering from an operation, barely able to leave the house and being taken on outings by my friends like a day release from the local care centre. And the next, I've suddenly got my life back again, hardly a day free in my social diary, seeing my friends, going to kink events, playing again, and catching up on lost time with an energy and enthusiasm that seems to increase as every day goes by.

So first of all...let's just take a moment to say a big bloody 'hurrah!' for that!

Now I've got that out of the way, my next moment is one of reflection - how has not playing for two months affected me, and how did it feel to start playing again after that time?

It's difficult to separate out the different feelings and where they were coming from. Naturally, being stuck in the house with a great big healing wound, lacking in energy, being in pain and exhausted all the time, affected my self image, my confidence in myself, my relationships, and shook my sense of who I am. But I am fundamentally quite resilient, so once I started being able to get out and about again, my bounce returned pretty quickly.

The 22nd February was the day I became aware of the scene. On the 19th March I met N, and on the 3rd April I had my first play and dipped my toe in the waters of the scene properly. I had two months of regular public and private play, a HUGE and incredible range of experiences which without a doubt, changed my life, and then from the 1st June not a sausage, not even a little spank, for two months. TWO BLOODY MONTHS!!!

It's made me aware of how much I need to play, as well as want to. I love sex, and I love pain, and I love to play. If nothing else, it's taught me that this is who I am, and where my sexuality lays down. I can't turn back into who I was before, and I don't want to.

I was afraid, when I first started exploring BDSM, that my developing sexuality would threaten the person I am. I was quite happy and comfortable with being me - tatty, raggedy old me who sits at home knitting and making dinner for her husband. I'd put my sex drive in a box and padlocked it, and although it was rattling and shaking its chains crazily in the back of my mind, I'd closed the door and was blissfully ignoring it. I'd put my energy into being a nice, decent person, a lovely human being who did nice things for people and thought of others before herself. I LIKED me, and I was scared that connecting with a part of my character which I'd ignored for a long time - sexual and social me - would have a negative impact on my personality. But it hasn't. I'm more fulfilled, happier, more content, and I am starting - just beginning, mind, it's still pretty delicate - to feel beautiful, sexual, desirable. I feel like more of a whole person, and I've not lost any of the parts of me I felt were precious before. I've gone forward, not back.

There have been a few hiccups along the way. Not being able to play really shook me. I thought when I was well again, I'd go back to exactly where I'd left off, but for all sorts of reasons, that's not the way life works. I went to LAM this month and got myself into a total tizzy, completely unnecessarily, and nearly screwed up something really important to me because I was being a total and utter mook. I've sorted my head out now and am more relaxed about playing, as a result. I think maybe I thought I was only desirable during the moments when someone wanted to play with me, and all the rest of the time I was not. That's just not very clever. I don't stop being desirable just because life gets in the way of play. I knew that in my head of course, but now my heart begins to understand it, too.

N and I had little moments of naughty play, getting longer and bigger and better as I recovered. Mostly while we were fucking. Crikey, I've had the most incredible fleeting moments of play in the last month while we were having the most amazing sex. Also she teased me with a carpet beater while she was tidying up her toybox. Now that sounds like a euphemism if I've ever heard one.

My first proper play with N left me almost unable to walk! I had to crawl into the bedroom and get under the sheets, I was shivering, and felt really peculiar. She started off by spanking me. I am such a spanking slut, it's not even funny. I was making little moans and gasps and then realised I'd better shut the windows before the neighbours complained. Now my bottom is no longer off limits, she could give full range to her toybox, and we went through pretty much everything in it. Fuck, I'd forgotten how much that quirt hurts, and the dragon's tail. She warmed me up thoroughly and beat seven shades of shit out of me. I was being a bit of a wuss though, my pain threshold has gone right down again. When I play with N at home, she rarely ties me up - and I don't get angry like I do when I'm restrained. She dominates me almost purely psychologically, although occasionally she has to hold me down when I'm wriggling too much. Even though it hurt like a motherfucker, I wanted to take the pain, to please her, and because it turned me on. I was so wet it was almost embarassing. Seeing that look on her face, the 'don't fuck with me' look which is only for me; knowing that I've changed too, become pliant and melting under her dominance, pleading instead of demanding, whimpering instead of swearing, sobbing instead of shouting. I love letting that person inside me loose. It's such an uplifting experience, one that I can only have with her. She can close my mouth with a look.

I lay still, without anything tying me there, and took the beating she gave me, because I wanted to, because she wanted me to, to show her how much I loved her. She turned me over and cuffed my ankles and wrists together in such a way that my thighs were spread, my breasts positioned perfectly for a flogging. She worked me over on my front, and pushed me to my limit until I wasn't sure I could take much more. She always knows when to push, how to push, and when not to. I don't know how.

She pulled out the silver claws, and each finger on one hand was turned into a tiny weapon. She teased me, tormenting my pussy with the claws until I was almost in pain with the desire. I thought my head was going to explode. I simultaneously wanted to start crying, have a lie down and some cuddles, and have an explosive orgasm. We went with the lie down and cuddles option this time, which was a good choice, considering I don't think I had any explosions left in me. She held me and her skin felt so soft, her face so familiar but strange at the same time.

Pause for snack, drink, sleep. Fast forward to...

Spanking slut strikes again. Ooh, I can actually feel a warm sensation in my stomach and my pussy clench, just thinking about it. I was lying on the bed, rthymically grinding my hips against the covers as her hand came down over and over again. Then we had a session with the carpet beater followed by the cane. I've got a stripey bottom now, and sitting here knowing what my bruises look like at this precise moment, unbeknownst to anyone else, is making me smile. I just love the cane. It hurts sooooo much, especially when she goes over the same spot again and again. I was in agony....and dripping wet....and it was absolutely fucking mind-blowing.

Excuse me..this weblog now ends due to the need for a cold shower!

Obligatory annual whiny self-indulgent post

Don't know why, I just feel absolutely flattened by sadness right now, really overwhelmed by it. After three and a half weeks of being (relatively) stoic about slowly recovering from an operation which has left me debilitated to the point of constant exhaustion and not being able to walk for five minutes without hurting myself, I am absolutely sick and tired of grinning and bearing it, keeping my chin up, and staying positive.

Comparing myself to other people who are in a much worse boat, and being grateful as it 'could be worse' is all very well, but all of the things which give me a sense of achievement feel as if they're slipping through my fingers. I feel whiny and pathetic and am guilty right now of the criminal sin of 'making a fuss', but I just feel like I need to experience these feelings at the moment and then, I hope, let them go. I've been trying so hard to be patient and good, but I'm just so tired of getting left behind by everyone. And being told this week that it could be another 3-4 weeks before I'm healed and there are no more daily, painful, humiliating visit to the nurse, was the last straw.

I hate having to wait for other people to visit me, I hate not being able to do anything active, I hate not being able to help one of my best friends when she really needs me right now, and has asked me to do something for her, and I can't say an outright yes because of this stupid fucking problem.

I hate having to accept help from so many people, and being high maintenance, and having to keep asking for help.

And at the moment, I particularly hate watching N make plans for outings, with my friends, to events that I really wanted to go to my own self, and it's not that I don't her them to go, and have a good time - even if I can't come, I'd much rather she went, enjoyed themselves, came back and told me all about it. But there's a part of me that wants to scream and childishly kick my heels and say 'it's not FAIR!!!!!' And much as I don't like feeling that way, I have to admit that I feel sad because, while everyone is out having a grand old time, and yeah they'd rather I was there too, but they'll still have fun, and at the end of the day I'll be sitting at home trying not to brood jealously.

It's not exactly my finest hour, is it? I feel really negative about my body at the moment, and I'm starting to think I'm a bit of a twat personality wise as well.

Excuse me while I go to ground for a couple of days and lick my wounds.

Normal service will resume shortly. Merry, easily-pleased, fun-having Imp is on holiday and will be back soon to answer your enquiries. In the meantime cover will be provided by miserable mentalist Imp who will be filing your emails under 'who cares?'

Struggling

Day 10 of my imprisonment. I'm actually struggling a bit right now, feeling really tearful for the first time since the first day. Thought it might help to write it down a bit.

Things that are pissing me off.
Trapped inside the house. Need sky and earth and wild sounds. Need to be turning the world under my feet. At the very least, sitting on the stairs of our house as I always do this time of year, savouring the change of seasons, taking in the scent of growing things.

Horny. Can't do anything about it. Frustrated.

Serious lack of anyone to hug me and tell me it's going to be the fuck okay because they are there for me and they're gonna look after me. N is away, and seriously, I have to withdraw a little. I feel myself becoming needy and clingy and I don't like it. I don't want to be dependent on her. She's too busy living the high life on holiday and when I think of asking more from her, for her support, a shoulder to cry on over the phone - it makes me feel more self-disgusted than I already am.

Yes, she was really there for me in practical terms when I needed her. Even if she did let me down a bit that sunday the day before the op, when I was on a serious come-down from play and the emotional highs/lows. Nobody's perfect. But yes, I was disappointed in her, then. But actually, I could wish she'd not been there, not seen the wound, because I just can't imagine she can ever see me as romantic, beautiful, attractive, ever again. I've only just begun to see myself as sexually desirable and beautiful - mainly because she's held up a mirror to me, and shown me how she sees me through her eyes. She's the one person who's made me feel pretty in so long - and now all I can imagine she sees, when she thinks of me, is a suppurating wound. Yeah, real sexy, Imp. Good one. I let her see what I'm really like inside, and she rejected me.

The Vampire Novella / Chapter 5: Broken

The mirror is old and has a patina of cracks running over the surface. In my reflection, the cracks blur the bruises that run up my jaw to my cheekbone. But there is no hiding the fading yellow and purple pattern on my face in reality, and I meet my own eyes with only a hint of shame. I deliberately push my hair away from my face, and bind it into a knot at the top of my head, allowing my cheekbones and my neck to be seen, refusing to cover the marking; my skin's own veil.

I cover my lips in red, and they feel sore and swollen. I run my tongue over them, and fight the memory that makes me want to bite down…hard.

On my way back from the cloakroom, I pass a friend who looks at me– not with pity – with compassion. She's always been a kind person.

He is there, of course. Waiting in the booth, looking so right and at ease as always. This club could only exist in London, a kind of speakeasy, forties-inspired, cocktail bar where a long dress and diamonds or naked with a python are equally acceptable attire. His shaved head and black leather trenchcoat mark him out as impossibly disinterested in fitting in. One arm rests on the back of the couch, and he gestures with a slight movement of his hand, telling me I should sit down next to him and finish my drink.

He takes my face in his hand, turning it from side to side to examine it under the lamplight. His voice is low but gentle. “Bitch. Slut. Showing off your marking. Are you proud you made me hurt you? I can hurt you again. I can take you right here. I'll bend you over the table, pull your skirt up, push your knickers to one side and fuck you. Or maybe I'll just break your fucking arm this time”.

My face is flushed; my breathing has changed. I want him, I want him to fuck me over the table right now, in front of everybody, I don't care. Desire and terror and shame and confusion fight for dominance inside my falling heart. He will catch me.

He lifts up my glass and holds it in his hands, catching my eyes over the rim. I am silent and still. My focus has narrowed to him, this moment, in this place. With quick movements he scoops out the ice and holds it in the palm of his hand. He draws me closer and touches the inside of my wrist with the ice, keeping eye contact. A line, moving upwards along my arm, written on my body in a trail of cold water. He traces my collarbone, follows the curve of my neck and soothes my poor, sore face. As the last of the ice disintegrates, he lifts the glass and brings it to me to drink. I suck the last of the sticky drink into my mouth and hold it there. He pushes two fingers between my lips and I feel the heat and solid mass of him contrasting in texture with the cool liquid.

His hand moves sharply and the glass breaks with an explosive burst on the wooden table. The noise attracts the attention of the bar staff and he smiles apologetically; gesturing at the floor, as one of them comes to clean up the mess. They brush up the pieces on the carpet and take them away, while he palms the stem of the glass, sharp and jagged and fragile.

He turns. “Lucy, look at me”. I can't meet his eyes. I'm so afraid. He lifts my chin. I struggle a little, pointlessly. He insists…I yield…he holds my eyes, then releases me. With broken glass he draws upwards, following the line of ice. My wrist unfolds in red. I breathe out. I'm dizzy. He makes the shape of spirals on my arm. He shifts position. I see he's got hard. I want to touch him. I reach out…little splashes of colour mark the passage of my hand. I feel his cock stiffen as I touch him. His black jeans are turning even darker as the blood soaks into them. He leans forward, taking my hands and pushing me back into the seat. He lifts my skirt and parts my legs. He cuts deeply into my thigh. He unbuttons his jeans and I can't resist touching him, he rubs himself against my thigh until his cock is covered with blood. I'm so wet, it's all over my thighs, and it too adds to the sticky mixture.

His hands are covered in red. He uses his hands to lift me and push my knickers to one side. He slides a finger into my ass; the blood lubricates me, and when his cock slides in it feels so good, it feels so fucking good I can't bear it. I start to make a noise and he hushes me, takes my throat into his mouth and bites, hard, and hard again. His teeth cut, I'm bleeding from wrist, thigh and throat and I'm not sure whether I'll faint before I come. His fingers circle my wrist. He is immensely, inhumanly strong. I feel a bone snap. A wave of sickness, then a wave of something else. He's thrusting slowly, his hands on my shoulders then on my hips. I curl my legs around his back, drawing him closer. His hand on my throat, squeezing. He hits me in the face. I feel something crack. I surrender, finally, and scream. I'm aware of nothing more…nothing but the sensation on my thighs, the viscous combination of my pussy's wetness, blood, sweat, and finally, semen…

…Suddenly I'm wide awake. I'm lying on the floor in his arms; he's stroking me. Everyone else in the room is dead, apart from his friends. I'm guessing other people tried to interfere. That always pisses him off. Master D is not someone you want to irritate.

He's amusing himself by tossing and catching a knife – one I know is so sharp he would lose a finger if he missed. He's throwing it into the air just above my stomach – I can feel my hair rise and a prickle on the surface of my skin. I'm annoyed and everything aches. My bones have already healed, but I'm still sore. I shove his hand out the way, catch the knife and throw it across the room, then sit up and glare at him. He raises his eyebrows at me, and holds out a hand. One of his friends tosses the knife back at him and he catches it without looking. Without breaking eye contact he brings it blade-first under my chin, and nicks a tiny cut there. I lose my temper and feel a compulsion to smack the smugness out of him, so reach out and slap him hard in the face.

I've gone too far, his expression warns me. Before I can even speak the apology that jumps to my mouth, I'm over his lap and he's spanking me..not with his hand but with the blade of his knife. The pain of the impact jars with the pain of the cut, the double sensation brings me to whimpering even more quickly than usual, a state of pleading, hopeless submission… “anything… you can have anything, I want you to”.

His knife runs between my legs and over my clit. “Anything?”, he breathes into my ear. “Yes..please…yes”, I whisper. He starts to fuck me with the knife, carefully, so carefully, cutting only a little, just barely, on the outside. Then the knife travels over my body and he cuts more heavily, into the skin on my back, painting patterns and marks, symbols and drawing blood.

He turns me and holds me close. He strokes my hair, telling me I'm a good girl. “I want the wolf to fuck you”, he murmers. Is he asking me? He doesn't normally ask. But this is pushing my limits, and I don't know if I can do this. His eyes are as confident as normal but sadness hovers at the edges. I'll do anything to make it disappear. I nod, feeling a tremble go over me. “You'll have to tie me down”. Now it's me who is asking. And he nods in return.

My eyes dilate as he puts the cuffs on. For once I don't struggle. I lie back on the table, and he clips my arms above my head, chains them down. My ankles are cuffed to the legs of the table. “Get Wolf”, he says.

Even his friends look shocked, but in his animal form, Wolf is not as ugly as when he is the half-Wolf. I can do this, for him, for them both.

Claws on carpet. The smell of sunshine on fur. I hear the Wolf's breathing, just like any other dog, panting. A tongue touches me between my legs. I'm wet from the licking, the last traces of blood and semen are cleaned away. He mounts me in one swift penetration. Immediately he settles to a fast rhythm, I sense his relief and release. The shape inside me is strange, different, touching unusual places in my body, in my mind. A knot pushes at my entrance, knocking against the lips of my pussy with each fast thrust.

All at once I open up enough and the knot slides inside, sealing him into me. As each thrust presses deeply in, then pulls back out, the knot pulls at me, releasing another squirt of thick, hot semen. I shudder, to my distaste I am deeply aroused, finding myself filled with hot and sticky wolf come, so much more gushing liquid than from a man who is human or human-shaped. I pull and struggle away from my own desire, yanking at the cuffs, opening new wounds on my wrists and ankles. In moments, it is over; the wolf withdraws and licks me clean.

I feel used. I feel complete and ended.

The Vampire Novella / Chapter 4: Bitten

nvocation, awakening. Did I call your name in my sleep?

For the first time, burning bright, hope and wonder and fear and dissolution, twisting, binding. Bound in darkness as I am, I'll save myself.

Master D is staying for a few days. A visit, from one Master to another. I would have been gifted to him for the night, if not for my ruin. Instead, I'm one of dozens, bruised and used, surrendering to endurance as we fight to last through the day's drudgery. Tired and worn, I'm just another scullery slattern, working to make the rooms look perfect…no sign of disorder allowed to so much as hint at a weak spot in the household staff; a chink capable of being forced open and used.

The tiredness pulls at me as I carry the laundry down the corridor, constant blood loss and recovery all taking its toll. A young man with long, dark blonde hair, walks past me and to my frustration the shock makes me drop the linen I carry. He wears a very different form to the other times we've met…his body is changed, transformed, but his eyes are the same: innocent, hurting, puppy-like in their need to please but afraid, so afraid. My heart hurts for him. He kneels as I do, to help me collect the dropped sheets, spattered in red, his shoulders hunched in misery.

“I'm sorry”, he whispers. “I'm so, so sorry”. I put my arms around him and cuddle him, his long hair so strokeable, so lovable. “I'm not sorry”, I murmur in his ear. “You saved me. I hated him. It's better like this”. His beautiful, expressive eyes fill with a momentary hope, forgiveness so close, then a flinching fear of believing in it. I kiss him gently on the lips, so soft and pretty. Then I quickly pull my burden back into my arms and walk away, head down. I've got so much I need to do. A wolf puppy whimper trails in the air behind me.

I watch from a high window as Master D arrives. The out of town visitor pulls up his bike outside In a swirl of dust and noise, his companions limited to a few; less than I would expect in this potentially explosive situation. There's a tired look about them, as if they've been riding a long time. The smell of fumes and the shiny metal contrast jarringly with the surroundings of the estate.

The group seem cohesive, whole. They look similar – dirty, muscular, sleeveless t-shirts and black leather. It's obvious though, who the Master is. He looks the very definition of jagged-edged, uncompromised and unpolished masculinity; exuding an air of hunt, kill or fuck. He has a simple, undecorated sword belted to his waist.

I'm drawing almost to the bottom of my reserves of energy, with very little left. My body is trying to heal hundreds of injuries, do the work I've been given, and process the trauma of the last few months.

Thrown into the pool of servants who simply exist to work until they collapse, means I'm fair game for anyone who chooses to aim a kick at me. And plenty have.

I'm so tired I'm not thinking straight, and as I push open the heavy wood on the panelled door, I can't understand why I'm here, in this place, at this time. As I walk inside, I'm shocked outside of my own mind's exhaustion for a moment as I see Wolf, standing awkwardly. His expression mirrors the one I know must appear on my own face.

Then we both notice someone standing, looking out of the window, his back to us, his hands clasped behind him, long leather trenchcoat disguising his unmistakeable silhouette. He turns. The dim light shows him only faintly, one side of his face in darkness, the other in the light. His head is shaved, his piercings and tattoos both catch and reflect the light. His smile looks so gentle on such a harsh face, the kindness all the more sweet for the hardness it contrasts with – a single flower petal lying in a dusty desert valley.

“I called you here”. Again, his voice sounds too gentle for that body. I wait, anticipating a blow or new humiliation. Wolf's hand creeps, unnoticed, into mine. I feel the hair on the back of his hand start to alter into fur, the uncertainty and potential threat bringing on a glimpse of Change.

“I heard your sadness wherever I went. It spoke to me. It's why I've come here. I heard your call and I answered it with my own”. He is suddenly so much closer. His hand lifts my chin. I look into his eyes, still with a hint of pride inside me even now, but also a question. Am I ruined? The questions are pulling and blistering me. The dark pool of water that is always inside me, brackish and deep, locked in the cavern…sometimes the waves crash against the walls, the noise so loud it deafens me…I can't hear my own thoughts. I feel the water rising, trying to pull me nearer to the cliff edge, down into the surging, life-sucking sea.

Again, that smile. I feel my stomach tighten in response. He holds my gaze and won't let me fall. “Eyes like yours are too beautiful to waste on tears of sadness”, he says. He leans forward and for a moment I think he will kiss me; but instead he takes his hand from my chin and tucks a strand of hair behind my ear.

He turns to Wolf. “And such loyalty should not go unnoticed, unrewarded, unreturned”. His expression clouds, there is anger there for a moment. He speaks to us both now. “I can help you. I can make it better. But you have to ask for it. I'll never do anything to you that you haven't asked me to do”.

Wolf turns to me. His eyes are pleading. I know what his choice is, but he's leaving it up to me to decide. A thousand tears I've cried. Bleeding. Broken and torn. Against my will. And still I want more. But not from that Master, the beautiful one. No, not ever for him again. It's time for him to bleed, broken and torn, for me.

I nod once, slowly, and Wolf immediately kneels at Master D's feet, taking his hand into his mouth and biting down gently, licking at it. I know what has to come next. Blood. It's always about blood and sex. “I will only hurt you when I need to hurt you, Lucy, when you want me to. And you will want me to. I promise you”. My skin tingles. I know it's true. I want him to already. But it must also be his choice.

He knows when I make the decision, he can read my feelings as clearly as if I've voiced them. But he wants me to say it. I step closer, so close I feel the heat of his body as if he were human. “I want you”, I whisper in his ear. His arms go around me, holding me close. We are standing and his arms are around me…I fight down the rising panic. I put my hands behind his neck. He kisses me, his lips no longer smiling, nor kind, but demanding, insistent. His tongue slides inside, shocking, violating. I'm so wet. I feel as if he's raping me but he's barely touched me. His hands are on my ass, pulling at my clothes, tearing.

I lose my struggle not to panic and I start to pull away, helpless, but I can't move. He eases us onto the floor as I fight…I get my hands onto his face and push, turning his cheekbones back and forth under my palms. My lips are on his skin, sucking, biting, my panic subdued by this illusion of control, momentary, fleeting. I curl my fingers around his wrists, digging my nails in…hard…he lets me, and I know that he is letting me.

In a sudden movement he flips me, so that he is lying above my body, his arms above my head are holding my wrists, pinning me down. He's shockingly hard, I can feel his cock is thick and solid against my soaked pussy. Oh god, I need him…I want him… “Please, please, you can have anything,,.you can do anything to me…I want you to. I want you to rape me”.

His hand on my throat, his other hand in my hair, his eyes to mine. “Do you give yourself to me, do you give your body and your heart, your darkness and your light, to me? To use as I decide you need me to use you? My toy and my most precious possession, in blood, in loyalty, in pain, now and in death?” “Please, please, yes, I'm going to come, please, please”. “I'm going to rape you. I'm going to fuck your pussy until I come, then I'm going to come in your mouth. Then I'm going to fuck your ass until I've filled you up with my life. I'm going to drink you until I've taken yours”. “Please, please, I need you to”.

I feel the first few hard inches of his cock slide inside me. I'm so wet but I'm tight for him, and I feel myself tighten even more as he moves to get the next few inches inside. He takes me skilfully, but he's fucking me for his own pleasure, not mine, and his thrusts are frantic and fast. His hips are pumping even as mine move forward to meet them, I'm hindered by the pain in my arms and wrists as he presses his entire body weight down through his hands and his cock.

I come effortlessly this first time, furiously, my mouth opens, my head falls back, I'm calling out my need. His hands tighten, my pussy clenches, drawing him in deeper, releases, tightens, holds…his whole body shakes…his face is almost angelic, beautiful, as if lit from within. I'm transfixed, the sight of him so perfect that I come again, screaming this time, arching beneath him, as I feel him shoot hot, viscous, sticky come inside me, over and over and over again.

Tears on my face, but not of sadness, not this time. He licks up my tears, biting, nuzzling at my neck, hands on my breasts, squeezing, sucking, suckling.

I hear a whimper from Wolf and fur under my fingertips. He's used the energy release to complete his Change and I feel his concern for me. I pat and scratch at him so that he knows I'm happy, so happy and content.

Master D holds me so close….I feel the waves calm inside me…his hands pull me into a kneeling position in front of him. He takes hold of his rapidly stiffening cock and brings my head closer, pushing the end of his swollen tip, so sensitive, so smooth, into my mouth. I clean come and my own wetness from him with my tongue, swallowing down the taste of sunlight. I moan, and murmur his name…rub my face against his cock, needing it…licking, sucking, begging, teasing. I hold my own wrists behind my back, not trusting myself…I want to grab him and pull him roughly deeper inside. My legs widen unconsciously. I'm so wet my thighs are soaked. He sighs and takes handfuls of my hair, and he's fucking my face, deeply, rhythmically, pounding the back of my throat, letting me take him in all the way. He jerks…shallow movements although all of him is inside me. I have no conscious thought…my wrists stay obediently held together.

As I feel the first hot spurt hit the back of my throat, I try to moan, but my mouth is too filled with cock, the sound muffled by his balls pressed against my lips. He pounds into my mouth, shooting jet after jet of come into my willing throat. I swallow it down. I am so nearly replete. But I need one more kind of fucking before we're done.

There is no resting this time…I've barely begun to breathe normally again when he pulls me firmly across so that I'm straddling him, as he lies back on the floor. He lifts my buttocks and parts them. Unbelievably he's hard again already, and he uses my own wetness and come to lubricate me as he fingers my ass. My face shows my pain, and my satisfaction, as he pushes himself inside, gently, his cock soaking wet and slippery from the previous two fuckings.

Once he's inside me, he moves me back and forth in tiny thrusts, his hands on my hips. I'm crying, I'm crying for him now. My hands remain behind my back still, unmoving despite the painful ramming he begins giving me. He's pushing and shoving and forcing himself inside my ass, please god, I want, I need, I beg, I whimper for him, I live for him; soon, very soon I'll die for him, die of wanting him.

I'm frozen, then suddenly I'm coming, coming so hard, over and over again, my eyes wide and open and shocked, full of fear, contentment, pain, yearning, lust, looking into his fallen angel's face. His thrusts speed in rhythm, his hands on my hips dig tighter and deeper into the flesh, drawing new blood. Again, again, again, I feel the heat flush up my chest, I arch, raise up, one more time as he shoots me full, fucking me in the ass, filling me full of his come. In these last moments he pulls up, sitting, hands moving from my hips to holding my wrists behind my back. His teeth sink into my neck, he sucks, sucks and drinks down. Liquid pours out of me and into him, hot and sticky and full of life and light, and in return, pours from him into me, both for one final time.
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There is stillness. Peace.

Wrapped in darkness, gentle movement. Everything feels warmer to me now. So content, floating. And in the darkness, the water no longer surges. But there is something I need to do.
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I walk out of the chamber. I look only forward.

All doors are open for me. There is no-one who questions my right to walk this path.

The feasting hall is full. The Beautiful Master's serving toys, and his equals, his Wolf, the visitors, and Master D…all of these sit or stand as the hearth fire burns, shadows and half-light and illumination and illusion, all flickering.

Every face turns to me as I enter, barefoot and naked. But no longer ruined. The Beautiful Master is disgusted. His mouth opens, his lip curls. My sword slices through his throat…the sword I pulled from the hand which offered it to me. I clean the sword on the carcass and return it to its true owner. The Beautiful Master is severed, ended. I am new, complete.
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I call to Wolf. He consumes the carcass, leaving only bones to burn brightly in the hearth fire.
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I meet Master D's eyes. He knows I could take all of this, as is my right, to hold and keep for my own.
I walk to where he is sitting. I bend to one knee, lower my head, offer my throat to his sword, returned to him. He takes my face into his hands, and smiles sunlight for me. He kisses me…pulling me onto his knee and spanking me…hands sliding over my naked skin, reddening my flesh, my flesh for him.
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He pulls me into his lap. We drink from the same glass as Wolf growls throatily to himself, mauling the carcass, dragging pieces across the room so he can sit at his new Master's feet. He has one hand on Wolf's head, and one hand around my waist. I lift my cup to his lips for him to taste. “What shall we play next?”

The Vampire Novella / Chapter 3: Ruined

Very definitely a woman's hand on me. Yes, the size of the hand and the softness of the skin, trailing over my naked back, lifting and moving my hair to one side, fingertips flowing over my spine, nails digging in and leaving a trail of sparkling fire in my imagination. The blindfold makes the sensation so much more intense; sounds become colours, scents take shape and form. Another pair of hands joins the first, and these are female too, lingering over my ears, my neck, sending little convulsions through me.

My wrists are in cuffs behind my back. I'm sitting on a bed somewhere, but my mind shudders away from how I got here. I've been handled badly, used roughly, time now to think only of the present. The hands are moving again, using something soft to clean me. The soreness tells me blood as well as dirt is being sponged away. There is a mouth over my wrist, a deep breath inhales my scent, and I breathe in hers. There's something old about the smell, musty and unusual. Something scratches my wrist, something sharp. Again, my mind twists away from the recent past, not ready to embrace memory yet. I've always been good at repressing unpleasant events.

I'm barefoot, and can feel I'm naked. The soft body behind me presses against my back, two very hard nipples passing over my body, up and down, as hands run through my hair. Lips kiss my neck, and breathe in deeply. Again, I feel that scratching sensation, the odd smell, dusty and disused.

The inside of my thighs are gently sponged, a hand slipping up, touching; my nipples lifted and suckled, “please”, I whisper, “please let me go. What do I have to do to make you let me go?”. A hard mouth bites down on my nipple, a voice at my ear like paper on a hearth fire - “lie back, into my arms”. I lean backwards, embraced and held by these strange arms, while my thighs are wet and a finger slips over between my legs. Teasing, forever circling, never centring on the spot which burns and swells, so liquid and so hot, burning, burning. Slipping and sliding; then a change in sensation. Something hard and made of cold metal is between my thighs, moving. The skin hurts over which the object moves, a knife or, please, no, not a sword? Cold on my lips then, a taste of blood or metal? Running down my body, the hands behind still circling my breasts, pinching and squeezing, a hand on my throat holds my head still as the knife traces a line along my throat, then runs down sharply to drag a line over my clit.

As suddenly as it appeared, the cold hard sensation disappears, to be replaced by hot, swollen wet flesh. A weight above my legs, as she lowers herself down until her wetness touches mine, her swollen clit rubs over mine, and the flesh pulses together. With her hips she draws tiny circles and spirals, our lips slip and slide, over and under, slowly, slowly.

The weight is removed, the hot, wet body peeled from mine. The arms embracing me from behind become tighter, hands holding my shoulders against her soft but unyielding body. That cold sensation again is a line against my throat and the smell of iron and blood holds me still.

A door opens, slams shut. The room seems to darken even through the blindfold. An odd noise, cracking, displacing, bone juddering. An animal, in pain, making sounds of violence. Footsteps come closer, my skin crawls, a scream builds, I shake and start to sob. Tears trickle past the blindfold, my shoulders tense with the effort not to move and risk the knife cutting deep. Little prickles of terror running up and down my nerve endings. Something monstrous, something to be terrified of, is in the room with me. An ancient, physical fear compels my body and with all my strength I struggle, but the arms holding me are like the sea, pressing down, drowning me.

My legs are pushed apart by hands. Not an animal, then. A weight once again falls on me, but the shape is wrong, the feel of the skin is wrong, everything is wrong. A man's height, but not a man's body. A man's genitals press heavily on my still-swollen lips but a distorted, deformed shape presses into the space between my head and my neck. What is that sound, that smell, that feel? A snuffling, gutteral growl, the smell of damp, hot fur, a grossly shaped snout ending in protruding fangs…the moment my mind forms the image, my brain shuts down and a scream pours out of me, a shouting, wailing scream that rises and falls, juddering and cutting, the only way to express my profound terror and disgust.

A thrust and he's inside me, words pour from his poor deformed mouth, difficult to distinguish, his body moves over mine like he's rutting me, there's no intention to give pleasure, only to take, “I'm going to fucking tear you apart” he says, but a strange sense of pity fills me for this half-Wolf, and I stop struggling as his chest grinds into my nipples, his hips pumping, a whine becoming a howl as he tilts his head back and makes a sound expressing something more painful to hear than the scream he'd torn from my own body only moments earlier.

He collapses, spent, sprawled across my body and I feel an urge to take him in my arms and rock him. But my wrists are still bound behind my back, and my shoulders are held still as I lie in the lap of another woman, streams of come and blood trickling down my legs as they tangle with his.

The door to the room opens – bursts, explodes off its hinges and smacks into the walls at either side of the bed. The beautiful Master is there – his face, enraged, brings memories tumbling back to me. He's pulling the half-Wolf off me, the two women curl their bodies around me protectively, hiding my view. I can't see, but I can hear. There is violence and the smell of burning.

The sound of howling dies away to whimpering, then silence. The Master roughly strips me of my two protectors, but he doesn't touch me. Instead, he gives me one long gaze, his expression moving visibly through shock, to humiliation, then distaste, and finally…revulsion. Then, he leaves me.

The Vampire Novella / Chapter 2: Eaten

Drifting in and out of my endless reverie, I've lost track of time. I can feel velvet, gentle and rough and warm all at the same time, underneath my hand. Fresh linen scent, as I turn over. A clear but distant awareness of pain: some dull throbbing, some sharper and ragged; bruises, cuts, contusions; torn muscle, damaged flesh.

I open my eyes and I'm wide awake. I look at the bed I'm lying in – so right that the colour should be red. I sense that I'm quite close to the edge of something, with only a little fight left in me. Normally so defiant, so bold and unyielding, layers stripped back now to the secret self where everything is in flux. No longer any need to question, subliminal and silent, formless and free.

I sigh, and the sound attracts the attention of another person in the room. As I turn my head to the side, I see a young man stand up from a chair next to the bed and rush out. He has dark blonde, wavy long hair and a fragile, vulnerable face; although I sense an inner core, which is iron strong. He's dressed from the waist down only, and he's heavily marked…bruises and scars, both old and new, cover his torso. There's something about him…feral and yet tamed… his demeanour puts me in mind of a guard dog.

And then all thoughts of anyone else leave me, as a beautiful man walks into the room and I stare at him, completely absorbed by his incredible bone structure. His long hair falls like a rushing wave of dark water to his waist. His eyes are sweet and lost, childlike in their solemnity. His body is wiry, strong -muscular without being overly developed. He looks like he could easily swing me into his arms and carry me to the hospital to have my injuries attended to. But judging from his expression, that is very much not his intention.

His long military cut jacket sways as he walks across the room. His knee high biker boots make no sound at all on the floorboards. I see the moonlit glint of teeth in the humid night air. I'm terrified…and furiously angry.

“I have these…these thoughts sometimes”; he whispers in my ear, stroking back my hair with his fingers. (when did he move? I didn't even see him move) “I think…I really want to hurt some body. I want to see what would happen if I hurt you…so many things I want to do to you”. (his lips are so close. I feel the vibrations in the air on my skin. the hairs on my arms rise, my skin sensitised to his presence) “But first, we have to eat. And why have bread and water when you can have caviar and champagne?”

His arms slide underneath me and I'm lifted. He turns, and walks quickly to the door, all in one fluid movement. I realise belatedly that whilst I was unconscious, someone removed the remains of my shredded clothing, and re-dressed me. Thin strands of fabric wrap me around the shoulders, arms, waist and legs from the thigh down, leaving my neck, wrists, breasts and upper thighs uncovered. Pieces of chain pin the cloth together, providing the illusion of clothing without covering any of my body from view.

He carries me into a huge, cavernous chamber walled in stone, set with a long table for formal dining. A dozen or so of his people are already seated. I see the two who took me and brought me here, their faces eager, searching for his approval. In front of an immense hearth fire, a huge, dark blonde Wolf lies, cushioning its long snout in its paws. There is something fleetingly familiar about it, but I've never seen an animal like that before. Its tail wags half heartedly as it sees its Master, but as the man carrying me steps around the Wolf, he avoids contact by eye or touch. It seems to me that the Wolf adores his Master, but his Master is afraid, or repulsed, by him. That can't be right, I think.

He serves me up onto the table; a dozen hungry faces whip round to stare - only the tiny muscles near their eyes betraying the self-control they're exerting. The Master reaches for me first, and leans both hands on my thighs in a grip that makes my frantic attempts to wriggle away laughable. He opens my legs and I fight against him. He lowers his head between my thighs, inhales, and breathes out. He licks the skin, and then closes his eyes, savouring the taste. With a dancer's speed, he's biting into me and sucking down.

He's signalling to the others that they can begin their own meal, and each one takes either a space on my body for themselves, or waits patiently for their turn. One of them pulls my head back hard by the hair so that two others can take my neck. My wrists are claimed by another pair, as are the two spots at the side of my waist. The Master transfers his attention to my other thigh, and tastes the blood from there as well. I am struggling weakly, but I can feel the last of my strength trickling away.

Wolf is allowed to lick at the spots of blood falling from my body to the floor. He gazes up at his Master, begging, and nuzzles my fingers. My arm falls, overlooked, down the side of the table. Involuntarily I curl my fingers to scratch behind his ears…an automatic response…then stop, horrified.

The atmosphere changes. He's lifting his head from my thighs, and looking at me - his face still shockingly beguiling, despite the blood smeared across it. His expression is changing subtly, as if one kind of hunger, now satisfied, is being exchanged for another. His arms are flung, sudden and violent, out to the side, and the others drinking from me are knocked flying across the room; they land with a sharp crack against the walls.

For the first time I see him betray haste as he unzips his trousers in a manner that, from anyone else, would be described as clumsy. He's pulling himself out… I understand why… his cock is throbbing, filled with heat and blood and burning with the need to be enclosed in soft warm flesh. He's bigger than anyone I've ever seen before, bigger than I imagined was possible, and so wide that it terrifies me. Weak as I am, I use the rush of adrenaline to scramble backwards, my eyes huge and black with fear. With one hand he's holding himself, and with the other, grabs my arm and pins it against the table. The wood presses uncomfortably against my back as he rubs himself against my entrance. I realise with a true horror, that I'm wet. With blood - yes - but also something more. He's moving his cock back and forth, seeking the right angle and stimulating all the nerve endings so that my entire focus concentrates on that one area.

He's ramming himself inside me with no warning, and his free hand comes round to hold down my other arm. His fingers are digging into my flesh; bruises developing instantly. He starts to thrust in long, deep strokes, and he's so big, it's hurting so much, so badly, I scream.

“Please, please don't”. I'm crying out, finding my voice for the first time out of desperation. “It hurts so much; I can't breathe”. His only response is to thrust harder, and put one hand around my neck, gripping firmly. He's pounding into me now, and his face transfigures into a mask, as he fills me more than I've ever been fulfilled before.

“I'm begging you”. I'm whispering through the fingers closing on my neck, “please stop, don't, please don't”. He's smiling maliciously through that mask of intense emotion, and with one hand still on my throat, he's biting into my neck, hard. I'm feeling his groans vibrate on my skin through his mouth, as he pours himself inside me, in an explosive peak that I think will never end, the muscles in his body shimmering, swelling and releasing convulsively. His thrusts are slowing now, and then they finally stop. He takes his teeth out of my skin and his body out of mine.

I meet his eyes for a moment, then drop them, as for the first time in my life I find I can't hold my own and meet a man's gaze.

He smiles in an expression that could frighten a tiger, and says; “I think I'll keep you for a while…”

The Vampire Novella / Chapter 1: Taken

[This first chapter was the first porn I wrote, and has survived relatively intact, although the later chapters developed and changed. I wrote it for my first lover, N, and then finished the final chapter for my next lover, B]

Why was I taken? In a fragmented reverie afterwards, the half-dreaming where shadows turn to dust and the brightness and the cold is comforting, I wondered if it was because I had an empty space in my life. A strange sort of yearning for someone to take my hand and pull me, resisting, through the open door. A door through which I could see such glimpses, shapes which hinted at desire and fear and terror and need. Take me from the half-light into total darkness, cover me and close my eyes, fill me, my emptiness overflows, forever altered, wake me up, open me…

Was all of this what they saw in me, when they took me?

_______________________________________________________

I wake up and I'm not sure where I am. My head hurts and I remember something hitting it earlier. The room is dark; it looks like…some kind of cavern? I start to struggle as flashes of memory come to me, little bulbs of light exploding; talking to two men at the club, flirting, dancing, making it clear I wasn't taking it any further. Leaving on my own and starting to walk home. Then…some kind of accident? Did I fall?

My eyes start to adjust to the light and I start to come back to consciousness and a kind of clarity. My body is collapsed in a puddle on the rocky ground, my hands are in steel shackles attached to something over my head. My ankles are cuffed, and attached to a chain in the ground…what the fuck's going on? I start to panic and yank furiously at the chains - there must be some way out, some way of slipping out of them? I can feel already that my wrists will be bruised and they'll start to bleed soon - maybe the blood will help lubricate the chains and help me slip them. I don't shout or scream - it could only attract attention and I'm not sure what's happening yet.

A door closes, and my attention moves focus to the other side of the dark space. The two men from the club are sitting on a red leather sofa. They've been watching me all this time. They're smiling. One has short blonde hair, and he's slim but muscular, with a cruel face. The other is pretty looking, almost androgynous, with red wavy hair that falls almost to his waist. He looks kinder. I try to remember what to do in a kidnap situation - make a connection with your kidnappers, talk to them. What the hell do you say in a situation like this? I start with “let me out!”

The two men are talking, but not to me, to each other. They're discussing how pleased someone will be when he finds out what they've done. They're hoping it will earn them some status as he's been in a filthy mood recently. My escalating shouting starts to intrude, and they stand and walk towards me with such grace, I forget for a moment where I am. The blonde man pulls on the chains and I'm forced to my feet. The ankle cuffs hold my legs apart at an uncomfortable angle. He grabs my hair and pulls it back, sharply, and runs his face up my neck, breathing in. He steps back for a moment and smiles. I can see something in his mouth. Are those…his teeth? They're…sharp.

My head whips round to the redhead. He's smiling too, and his face no longer looks kind. His lips are drawn back in a smile, and his teeth look strange too. A sick feeling washes through me. With one blindingly fast move he rips my dress from my body so that I'm wearing only the shreds of my clothing, and my underwear. He forces my breasts out so that they balance on the cups of my bra. My knickers join the pile of shredded fabric, but he leaves my stockings intact. He starts unbuttoning his trousers, and I shake my head, speechless, and back away. But the chains won't let me move more than a few inches.

He brings an arm around my waist and pulls me towards him in one sharp move. His cock is pushed between my legs, searching. I realise to my utter self-disgust and shame, that I'm wet - so wet, but very tight still. He forces himself inside me, fighting for every inch. The blonde man is behind me, biting me, drawing blood, pinching my breasts, and playing with my body as if it's a toy. His cock starts to push insistently against my buttock cheeks, and then it's inside me, without lubrication, and it hurts. My two entrances are filled; I'm crushed in between them as they rhythmically beat me between them. They fuck me as if they're trying to punch a hole in me. They are both biting me now, torrents of blood pouring from my neck into their mouths. They climax at the same time, and thick hot warmth pours inside me until I feel as if I'm filling up and overflowing with it.

They pull out and suddenly I'm empty. My knees fold without their support and I collapse on the ground. As the room turns blacker, on the edge of consciousness I hear them say “that's warmed her up nicely, she should be able to accommodate him now. He always likes them broken in a little, first”.