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.