The Vampire's Slave



 
The Vampire's Slave:
Horror Stories
2009-06-05
Shawn’s long red hair swept over her shoulder as she slipped her shoes
off then bent to pull off her pants. She straightened, folding them
neatly and placing them on a hanger which she then hung on the hook next
to her, over her blouse and jacket.

She turned in the small changing room and reached behind her,
undoing her bra. The weight of her breasts pulled it down as she let the
straps slide over her shoulders, and she hung the bra from the hook, as
well. She felt a small tingle of excitement mixed with wariness, her
eyes darting from side to side. Undressing in a public changing room
always made her nervous, and yet also aroused her.

It was the strange dichotomy she lived with, that within her was
a deeply sensual, sexual person, an exhibitionist with an open mind
willing to try anything, however lewd, but without she was tightly bound
in society’s conventions, in the lessons ingrained in her by her parents
since she was a little girl, and an absolute need for respect and
dignity. She was not shy, but she was terribly conscious of her image,
especially of her body image.

She was an extremely attractive woman, but had never allowed
herself to truly accept that. She had been a skinny, bespectacled,
awkward, flat chested girl, the victim of taunts and teasing through
most of her teenage years, until a spurt of growth had filled out her
body and smoothed the angular lines of her face.

Her hair had been a ragged mass of crinkly curls, impossible to
tame when long, laughably unkempt when short, too dry, too thin, and a
fierce, dark red. And while the curls had now softened into loose
ringlets which were - almost - attractive - her hair was still, to her
mind, a hideous mess.

Her eyes were a bright, brilliant, amazing shade of green, but
were, for the most part, hidden behind her glasses. She had inquired
into laser surgery, now that she had money, only to be told her eyesight
was too poor to be so easily corrected. And so she still wore glasses,
if small ones, glasses which had made her feel ugly and inferior since
the third grade, when she had donned them for the first time.

Now twenty eight, Shawn was willing to admit she was no longer
ugly, no longer even really unattractive. People had attempted to tell
her she was actually quite pretty, but she put that off as patronising
false compliments. Like many women, she was her own worse critic. She
did not see her brilliant green eyes, lovely lashes, small, but sensuous
lips or beautiful smile. She saw only her glasses.

She did not see her long, lovely legs, but only cellulite in her
thighs. She did not see her smooth, trim belly, but only her too thin
hips. She did not notice her firm, full breasts, but only the slight sag
to them. To her mind, her body was not at all like those beautiful
models and actresses’ society held up as the standard bearers of beauty,
and so, she was not beautiful.

And yet she did enjoy the tactile pleasure of running her fingers
over her downy smooth skin, of cupping and kneading her sensitive
breasts, of posing and preening before her mirror in the privacy of her
apartment. And in a small, locked box there she had all manner of sexual
toys with which to vent her strong sexual urges without fear of
rejection or ridicule, without losing her dignity where any could see.

And beneath her always dignified exterior, her sleek, expensive
business suits, she wore lingerie which would accentuate her body’s
curves and give her a pleasant sense of secret sexual attractiveness. In
particular, the only feature she was willing to admit was quite clearly
beautiful, with only the occasional doubt or hesitation, was her bottom.
It had filled out considerably from the flat, boyish rear she’d had as a
teenager, and was now firm and rounded like an apple.

And it looked absolutely marvellous in a thong. Which was what
she was buying now. But it had to be a particular type of thong, a thong
with thin strings slicing up high across the hips, and a very small,
narrow triangle of fabric at the very top of her cleft. With her
conservative upbringing she continued to think of thongs as wicked and
sexual, despite how common they now were, and so it always gave her a
little thrill to be wearing them beneath her suits.

She slipped off her thong now, and then stepped into one of those
she had brought with her. Again, nude now, she felt a little thrill of
excitement, and paused to enjoy being naked with people all around her,
a few feet on either side of the door and walls, their voices filling
the air around her.

She stepped into the dark blue thong, pulling it up her hips,
then slipped the matching bra on and pulled it tight, adjusting the
straps. When she was seventeen her breasts had grown two cup sizes and
four inches in eight months. She was now a thirty-six D cup, and only
her height - six feet, two inches, kept her from seeming busty.

Which would have given her another reason to feel self conscious.

She straightened her back and turned, rising slightly on the
balls of her feet, examining her bottom in the mirror and nodding. The
thong looked truly excellent on her.

The bra did too, with triangles which firmly supported her
breasts, yet were comfortable, which exposed the curving ivory flesh of
her cleavage in a way which was pleasing to the eye - though only her
eyes would ever see it.

She shook her head and her hair fanned out around her head like a
lion’s mane, spilling across her forehead, floating up above her, and
twisting in from the sides so that she was constantly brushing it back.

She removed the bra and then gasped at a sudden noise. But it was
not someone shaking at the door’s handle, but only her cell phone. She
felt suddenly even more naked, more self conscious, as the cell phone’s
ring drew attention to that room. She snatched at her purse quickly and
pulled it free.

“Hello?”

“Miss Frasier?”

“Yes.”

It felt odd speaking to someone wearing only a thong, with people
still passing to and fro outside the change room.

“Mr. Eldon Moore wishes to speak with you.”

“All right,” she said cautiously.

“In person,” the voice said dryly. “A helicopter will pick you up
at pad twenty four at the airport in one hour.”

“I’m sorry but - .”

“Mr. Moore does not like to be kept waiting, as I’m sure you
know. He is not a patient man. One hour, Miss Frasier.”

“But - .”

The phone clicked as he hung up, leaving her staring at it in
irritation. She should have simply said no. No, and no again. She did
not want to work for Eldon Moore again. She regretted having done it
once. The man gave her the creeps. What good was having your own
company, being your own boss; if you had to come running every time some
asshole crooked his finger?

And Moore was an asshole. There was absolutely no question about
that. He was also seven kinds of nuts. And not a man to be spurned.

She sighed and slipped off the thong, then pulled on her old
things. She quickly tried three more bra and panty sets, deciding to buy
two of them, then dressed and hurried out to the cash register.

Her jeans and tank top were hardly appropriate for a meeting with
a multi billionaire, but she had no time to go home or to the office if
she was to get to the airport on time. She would keep her black jacket
zipped.

She put her bag in the back of the Ford Explorer (tinted glass,
speed control, tilt steering, air conditioning, mouldable leather
captain chairs, AM/FM stereo/ CD player, etc.), which was a gift of the
federal government (a business expense), and headed For Washington
National Airport.

Elden Moore was notorious crank, notorious on an international
level because he was also a filthy rich, immensely powerful crank. No
one wanted to get on his bad side because there was no telling to what
lengths he'd go to get even. Moore was well-known for running people out
of business on a whim, something a multi-billionaire who ran one of the
world's bigger multinationals could often do with ease.

Shawn had met him five months earlier after her one girl agency
had done a job for one of the subsidiaries of Moore's company. She'd
been called in to an electronics factory to put a stop to employee theft
that had gotten to epidemic proportions. Hidden cameras had caught
everything from janitors slipping walkmans into their jumpers to senior
office staff embezzling expense funds.

When she'd arrived to present the videos Moore had been there,
along with his ever-present bodyguards. That had been a shocker. It had
taken a major effort to maintain her composure. Moore was not a
particularly intimidating presence, but he was rude, arrogant and as
obnoxious a man as she'd ever run across in her life.

Luckily, once she'd started up the videos he'd lost interest in
her entirely. He'd sat in the president's executive chair laughing
gleefully as he watched them. He'd munched on popcorn and laughed out
loud as he witnessed each new instance of theft.

The factory managers who'd been lined up along the wall behind
him were somewhat less enthusiastic, especially the ones who had been
unwittingly caught on tape ripping off the company.

Moore was known to have a thing about disloyalty. He took
enormous offence at employees who didn't show sufficient gratitude to
the throne, and it was rumoured Moore had an entire department dedicated
to making the lives of people he was annoyed with miserable.

After watching the tapes Moore got up, smiled all around, patted
her cheek... and her behind, then left without a word.

The next day bulldozers had arrived and knocked the factory down
with all the stock and equipment still inside. Then everything was
trucked to a landfill and ploughed under. Half the employees were
transferred, the rest fired. All the managers were fired, the ones
caught on tape arrested and sued. Moore had bought air time and played
the videos on TV, and published still photos in the local papers where
the former managers lived.

Shawn wanted nothing to do with a man who could put her out of
business on a whim, especially when he gave into his whims so often.
She'd put a lot of time and effort into Tech Tron Consulting, not to
mention every penny she owned.

She'd gone for an upscale image from the start, while providing
very specific services. She didn't call herself a private investigator
because it carried too many images of seedy television PI's gunning down
mobsters. Her company was high tech all the way, making extensive use of
computers and computerized information.

She did still have to get out and interview people sometimes, and
even did some old-fashioned stakeouts, usually for insurance purposes.
But the computers were the heart and soul of things now. Companies
contacted her for information and the computers provided it.

She pulled into National and parked, combed her hair as best she
could, pulled it back into a loose braid, set the alarm and headed for
the heliport.

Half an hour later she was in a Bell-100 heading west. The
scenery was nice but it didn't do much to distract her from her dilemma.
Working for Moore was dangerous, but turning Moore down was even more
dangerous. All she could hope was that whatever he wanted was fairly
easy to accomplish and she could be rid of him quickly.

The helicopter settled gently onto the pad next to an enormous
ranch style house surrounded by broad lawns and gardens. She'd heard
about Moore's private little paradise but never expected... or wanted to
actually see it. She braced herself against the largesse Moore was
famous for, determined to maintain an air of professional detachment no
matter what.

Two enormous men wearing expensively tailored blue suits escorted
her to the house. They were both extremely handsome, like a pair of male
models, and she wondered if Moore selected all his employees for their
looks. She'd heard enough about the women but hadn't thought he did the
same with men.

The front doors were at least ten feet high. They were covered in
gold with an intricately cut family crest spreading across them. Inside
was all marble, crystal and mahogany. The floors gleamed. Surprisingly,
directly in front of her was a rail looking out on the several lower
floors. What had seemed like a single story ranch house was built on the
edge of a hill and the far end of it was made up of a fifty foot high
wall of glass.

Enormous multi layered crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling,
and past them, just inside the glass wall, was an enormous oak tree,
beneath which as a pond, gardens and a waterfall spilling down one rocky
wall.

The guard had closed the door behind him, but now another showed,
and her eyes widened. He wore a robe of some kind, with Moore’s crest on
the chest. The crest was set just in front of a large blue cross - as if
the man were a crusader or something. Even more bizarrely, he had what
seemed to be a machine pistol at his left hip, and a long dagger at his
right.

“This way,” the guard said, nodding to her right.

“There a costume party or something?” she asked doubtfully.

He jerked his head curtly to the left, not speaking.

She followed him, impressed despite herself, as they circled to
an open style elevator and stepped inside. The floor fell sank beneath
her feet. It was slightly unnerving to have no walls or rails, but the
ride was smooth as the floor dropped her to the lowest level and she
stepped out onto more marble. A few feet ahead it turned into grass -
real or false she didn’t know, and Moore, sitting on a chaise lounge
next to the pond sipping on some fruity drink and speaking on a cell phone.

He ignored her, and she looked around. It was some view. The pond
was seventy or eighty feet across. The tree sprouted from a small, neat,
round island in its centre. A wall of what had to be faux rock rose up
to the right, and the water spilled down it into the pond below. Past
the tree, the land fell away further so she had a view of the entire
valley, and distant homes and buildings.

Off to the left she saw another robed guard, also wearing a
machine pistol, and standing before a twenty foot high silver cross
rising from the floor. She shook her head. Moore was getting wackier
every day. There were rumours he had thrown his support to Campbell
Rutherford, the born again fundamentalist politician who was trying to
build enough support to make a run at the Republican Party nomination in
the next election. Given his wealth and power that support would be
considerable.

Moore hung up and looked at her. She made an attempt at a
pleasant smile.

“Miss Frasier,” he said, looking her up and down. “I have a job
for you.”

“Well, I am a little busy at the moment, Mr. Moore,” she said.
“You’ll understand how my reputation requires...”

“I’ll pay a flat rate of one million dollars.”

She halted in mid-word, staring at him.

“It’s dangerous, however. Very dangerous.”

“Uhm, you know I’m not a former FBI agent or cop like some...”

“This isn’t a job which can be done face to face. They’ll know in
a second if... never mind. I need someone good with computers.
Computers, robots, mindless. They ought to be safe,” he said to himself,
nodding a little.

Shawn stared at him.

“But first I have to make sure you’re not one of them.”

“Uhm, one of whom, sir?”

He gave her a tight, sneaky little smile. “Whom indeed, Miss.
Frasier. Whom indeed? Only the greatest threat mankind has ever faced.
Only the evil warned of since biblical times.”

He had snapped. That was the only explanation. Still, a million
dollars!

“Go with Peter and see. We’ll see how the monster reacts to you.
We’ll see how you react to him. We’ll see. Oh yes. Oh yes, we’ll see.
When you come back you’ll know what has to be done. You’ll know.”

He gave her a smirking grin and she shook her head for a moment,
forgetting herself. Then the robed guard took her arm and led her to one
side, beneath a wide, rounded stairwell leading up, and then into a
narrow corridor.

“What is going on? Has the old man lost his mind?” she asked
anxiously.

He didn’t answer. At the end of the corridor was a steel door
bracketed by two more robed men. One of them pressed a button and the
door slid smoothly aside. It was at least six inches thick, and Shawn
stared at it in disbelief. The corridor beyond led downwards, curving
into the hillside. It was very brightly lit with what looked like the
kind of lamps used in tanning salons. She drew on a pair of sunglasses
and shook her head at the heat pouring down.

The corridor widened and as it turned she saw another steel door,
again bracketed by gun wielding guards. This slid up and they walked
into near darkness, or so it seemed compared to the absurdly lit corridor.

Several Asian men were inside, like the others, carrying
automatic pistols. The guard leading her spoke to them, but Shawn did
not recognize the language. The Asian men nodded, glowering at her, then
two of them led her deeper into the dimly lit room to another steel
door. Heavy bolts were drawn back, and then she was led down a steep,
narrow flight of stairs to emerge in another corridor. Yet another heavy
door just to one side was unbolted and opened.

Inside was a room, perhaps twelve feet square. It was empty, but
its centre consisted of a cage made of iron bars as thick as her arm.
The cage was eight feet high and perhaps the same wide and long. Inside
sat a nude man. He was tall, but cadaverously thin, his ribs visible
beneath his skinny chest, his hip bones protruding. He had sunken eyes
which seemed to glow darkly as he stared at them.

“What in the...”

The front of the cage had a small entrance tunnel, blocked at
both ends by iron doors. One of the guards slid the first one up as she
gaped at the man in the cage, then the other roughly thrust her through.

She stumbled, clutching the bars and turning”Hey!”

The outer door clanged shut and the two men quickly locked and
bolted it.

“What are you doing?” she demanded.

She glanced up at the nearest corner, at the television camera there.

“What is going on!?” she demanded angrily.

One of the men moved to the side and she heard the inner door
cranking open. She whirled, her heart pounding as nude man’s eyes
gleamed. He rose from the floor, and she thought she might have heard
his bones creaking. He seemed old, worn out, barely able to stand, but
even so she saw his cock was thickening. And what a cock it was! The
thing hung halfway to his knees! And she backed against the outer door
as he shambled forward.

“If you don’t want me to hurt him get him back!” she cried, fear
and anxiety raising her voice several pitches higher.

He entered the narrow entrance, his hands, like clawed, stretched
out to her.

Shawn was a fourth degree black belt and though wildly
disconcerted, knew how to handle men attacking her. She reached for one
wrist, gripping it tightly, and twisted.

It was like trying to twist steel. He came on, pushing her hands
aside as easily as a grown man with a four year old child. And then he
was slamming her against the bars, crushing the light out of her. His
left hand gripped her long hair, twisting it roughly back so that her
throat was exposed, and he growled as his teeth sank into her exposed
throat.

She rammed a foot into his knee, drove a fist into his side,
clawed at his chest. None of it drew the slightest reaction, and
suddenly she felt an intense pain at the side of her throat, a sharp,
piercing pain that made her cry out. She continued to struggle, his face
buried in the nape of her neck. He should have been as easy to dislodge
as a scarecrow, yet even throwing all her weight against him did nothing.

She felt him sucking at her throat, sucking, swallowing, again
and again. She could actually, incredibly, feel the flow of blood as he
gulped it down. Her heart pounded, her body spasming and twisting. She
whimpered, helpless, terrified now. She felt herself growing weaker,
felt faint. Black dots danced before her eyes and she felt herself
sinking into a peaceful haze.

He pulled his head back, and she saw the blood covering long
fangs and sharp teeth. His face seemed different now, stronger, less
pale, fleshing out. He backed up, gripping her by the front of her
jacket bunched in a suddenly meaty fist. He dragged her along as if she
were weightless, dragged her back into the centre of the cage. She hung
from his fist, eyes glazed, legs dragging on the floor, looking up at
him. Blood dripped down from her throat and trickled into the front of
her blouse, then down between her breasts.

He pulled her up higher and licked a long, slow trail across the
wounded side of her throat. She felt a shudder inside her, an easing of
a pain she hadn’t been aware of. Then he threw her onto the floor so
hard her glasses slipped off and bounced away, dropping atop her. Her
tank top and jacket were torn open and off her as though made of paper,
exposing her filmy green lace bra. Then her jeans were torn off, even
the belt ripped in two.

She felt no embarrassment, only a strange, soft, sense of
contentment as he stripped her nude and roughly forced her legs wide. He
knelt between them, his face hovering over hers, and then he bent in and
licked a slow trail down the middle of her chest, following the line of
blood, down onto her right breast, slowly circling in towards the nipple.

He raised his face and his jaw opened wide to reveal a predator’s
teeth. There were fangs on both sides, upper and lower, each more than
an inch long and curved slightly inwards. He hissed at her and then his
mouth plunged down, his jaw closing on the centre of her breast. She
shuddered as his teeth pierced her breast, driving deep into the soft,
warm flesh, drawing it up into his mouth. Her back arched weakly and her
hands trembled on the floor beside her.

His tongue slid slowly, sensuously, hotly over her nipple. He
began to suckle, his tongue swirling and twisting, his breath pulling at
her nipple in long, deep, rhythmic, suctioning actions. It was like
nothing she had ever felt in her life, and the centre of her breast
burned and throbbed and tingled. He drew his head back and her nipple
continued to crackle with sensations which were midway between pleasure
and pain.

Her eyes lost focus, then cleared. Her nipple was swollen to an
absurd size, pulsing and throbbing with a life of its own. It was
bracketed by four neat round holes. Tiny trickles of blood oozed slowly
from each. And then his mouth bit into her other breast and again she
shuddered, arching her back, her legs spasming on the floor as she
gurgled at the pain.

Again his tongue slid over her nipple with an immensely sensual
feeling that sent a flood of heat into her loins. She found it difficult
to breath, and gulped air in small, quick, desperate panting breaths.
She felt intensely weak, drained. Fear began to rise in her, yet she
could not bring herself to move.

His head rose again, bloody fangs exposed as he leered down at
her. He moved with sinuous speed now, and she wondered in a dreamy way,
how he had gone from a shambling ruin to this so quickly.

His mouth darted down, like a snake striking, and she cried out
again as he bit into her arm just below her shoulder, then into the side
of her left breast, then into her belly, teeth driving deep. His hands
gripped her thighs and yanked them up and painfully wide, lifting her
lower torso off the floor and holding it with ease as he struck again.

His wide mouth closed on her groin and the four needle sharp
fangs drove deep into her soft flesh. She gurgled helplessly, her head
rolling behind her, beneath her as he hefted her lower torso higher. She
felt his tongue coast wetly along her slit, then push between her pussy
lips. It felt like a wet, slimy snake as it pierced her and drove
shockingly, impossibly deep into her sex.

She felt it intimately caressing the walls of her sex, stroking
and coiling, twisting and squirming inside her. She grunted and gasped
as it drove deeper, and yet deeper, and then it was licking at her
cervix, teasing and caressing her there as her insides squirmed and spasmed.

The long, thick tongue withdrew, then slid across her clitoris
like a hot, wet snake.

The orgasm came unbidden, flowing through her groin, spilling out
of her sex and sweeping up through her nervous system. She bucked
frenziedly, her muscles spasming and jerking as the heat of climax
washed over her.

He dropped her legs onto the floor, splayed wide, and gripped his
manhood, now thick and long, thrusting the uncircumcised head against
her moist opening. He thrust into her with brutal force, and the pain
was such that she finally could scream, split open, the lips of her sex
torn apart by brute force as his cock, thick as a baseball bat, was
rammed down the narrow, constricted tunnel of her sex.

His weight fell atop her writhing, twisting body, and his hand
gripped her hair to still her thrashing head. His mouth closed on hers
and she felt his fangs driven into her as his tongue slid across her
own, crushing it down against the base of her mouth.

A sudden thrust and she screamed into his mouth as his cock drove
deeper still, ramming against the base of her sex, against her cervix,
then past. It was purest agony. And she came, the orgasm more powerful
than anything she had ever experienced, anything she had ever imagined.

He was all but eating at her mouth, his sharp teeth and writhing
tongue twisting and biting as he growled wildly. She tasted blood, and
felt the suction of his mouth as he drew it into his own mouth. His cock
was driving in and out of her now, spearing her, driving deep into her
abdomen with every agonizing thrust.

The orgasm grew and spread. Every fibre of her being swooned to
the glorious pleasure. Between her legs, in her burning lower belly, she
felt the orgasm shift, change, and grow still more powerful. Yet it was
unlike any she had ever felt, for it began to break up, from a long,
continuous roar into tiny, wondrous explosions of purest ecstasy
coinciding with every thrust of his monstrous cock.

Again and again and again and again they orgasms tore through
her, each like a bolt of lightning, striking her and surging through her
bones and nerves and sinew until her body writhed and twisted in
helpless convulsions.

She had never felt such pleasure or such pain. She could feel the
tip of his cock now and it had driven well past her cervix. He had torn
through the back wall of her sex, she knew, and the tip was driving up
into the base of her belly, prodding at her stomach.

And yet she did not care. The glorious pleasure rolled her mind
over and over and over, and she had no thought but for the wonders of
the sexual electricity coursing through her body and fading.

Pain drew her out of her reverie, the pain of his fist in her
hair, yanking her head cruelly back as he snarled down at her. Her eyes
fluttered weakly, and she murmured against his wrist as he jammed it
into her mouth. Warm blood dripped from a cut in his wrist onto her
tongue and her entire body spasmed at its touch. Her mouth burned and
she tried to twist away. His fist tightened in her hair, forcing her
head back. His wrist bruised her lips as he jammed it harder into her mouth.

Blood trickled softly into her mouth and down her throat, and a
dark, terrible heat followed as he held her tightly against his body.
Her legs kicked and spasmed, her arms flopping and bouncing on the floor
of the cage.

The world faded into blackness.

And then shadows fell slowly away and she heard a soft, weak
groan. Her eyes fluttered and then slowly, ever so slowly, opened to see
bars overhead. Her mind remained in a state of semi conscious confusion
for long minutes. Then clarity began to appear, and memory surfaced. She
groaned again, and reached out, fingers closing around thick iron bars
by her head. She dragged herself to a sitting position, fighting off
dizziness.

The world came into a semblance of focus. She closed her eyes,
squinting. The light seemed unusually bright, and her vision oddly
clear, though she wasn’t wearing her glasses. She could make out his
shape across from her, and even his face as he watched her with cool,
grey eyes.

She abruptly remembered her nudity, and then what he had done to
her. She cringed, both mentally and physically, drawing her knees up
against her chest, gasping in pain as they pressed in against her
breasts. The sting was enough to jerk her eyes downwards. Her breasts
were covered in bite marks, in dark bruised, discoloured areas where the
blood had been sucked to the surface of the skin. Her nipples were fat
and swollen as small raspberries, aching to the touch.

There was something wrong with her vision. Everything seemed
unnaturally sharp and clear around her. She could even see her glasses
lying on the floor five feet away. She shouldn’t have been able to see
them, not at that distance. Perhaps it was the bright light.

The man sitting across from her bore only a faint resemblance to
the one she remembered. This man too was nude. But his chest was
powerfully built, his shoulders broad, his hips well muscled, his legs
thick and strong. His face was filled out, his hair lush and soft as it
flowed around his face. He looked back at her, but without any great
interest or curiosity.

Shawn grunted with pain as she moved. Her entire body felt like
one vast bruise, and she had an ache deep inside her belly. Not taking
her eyes off him she slowly dragged herself further away, to the
farthest extent the cage permitted and sat huddled there, trying to
inspect herself while still keeping her eyes on him. She had scooped up
her glasses along the way, and slipped them on, yet while her vision
sharpened everything continued to look blurry. She wondered if she had a
concussion.

She dropped a hand to her sex, then, and winced. He had torn her
open, and her sex felt raw and swollen, so swollen it hurt to even try
to slide a finger into her body.

Suddenly she noticed bowls of fruit and a pot of water in the
next corner. In an instant she was ravenous. All but ignoring her own
pain, fear and embarrassment she slid along the bars to the food,
snatched up an apple, and bit into it. The warm liquid trickled into her
parched throat and she moaned in relief from a thirst she had not
realized she possessed. She finished it to the core in seconds, then bit
into an apple, her teeth tearing at the flesh.

A grapefruit, three bananas and a half dozen more oranges went
into her mouth, and then weakness overcame her and she sank against the
bars, fighting and failing to keep her eyes open.

She woke again. This time she came out of the darkness quicker.
Her mind felt sharper, her body very much recovered. The pain had
largely faded, though she still felt an ache deep in her belly. The man
was still there, as if he had not moved at all. Perhaps he hadn’t.

Her nipples were still swollen, still tingled at a touch. Her sex
lips were less swollen, much less sore. Her hunger remained, and she
feasted on several more grapefruit and oranges as she stared at him,
squinting, her vision still blurry.

“Who are you?” she asked finally, her throat raw, her voice gravelly.

He ignored her.

“What are you?”

She might as well have not spoken at all.

“Bastard,” she snarled under her breath.

His head turned at last, his eyes tightening and - .

Shawn blinked and her vision seemed to fog for an instant. Her
hands, which had been gripping a half eaten banana, fell away, dropping
it to the floor. She leaned forward unconsciously, her hands dropping to
the floor without her realizing it. Then she was drawing her knees
beneath her, crawling slowly across the floor towards him. Her eyes
never left his, did not blink, did not see anything around her. She was
lost in those eyes, those dark, bottomless eyes.

She crawled to his feet, crawled up his legs, her eyes seeking
his, transfixed, despite his blurred image.

He gripped her long, braided hair and twisted her onto her back
as he dragged her up across his lap. Her eyes broke free of his and for
an instant she started, as if suddenly waking. Then she was caught again
as he looked down at her, and she stared in dazed confusion.

His free hand moved over her breasts, and she shuddered as he
pressed his thumb and forefinger against her nipple, catching it between
them, squeezing and rolling it so that it burned and throbbed and made
her entire breast pulse with need.

His fingers sank into the soft flesh of her breast, kneading it
almost carelessly, then glided down her body, between her legs. She
whimpered in pain as he pierced her, as his long, thin fingers drove up
into her body.

And then she cried out as she came, her body writhing, back
arching as pleasure washed over her.

He forced her head up and she saw him drag his sharpened fangs
across his wrist. Blood flowed, and she stared, stupefied, as he jammed
his wrist against her mouth. His blood was too hot, the taste like acid
as it flowed into her mouth. She jerked convulsively, her hands rising,
gripping his arm, trying to tear it away. Yet he held her easily, and
she thought her entire head would burst into flames as the heat poured
through her mouth and down her throat.

Then he flung her off him and she went sprawling onto the floor.
The world swam around her, colours shifting and changing, everything
doubling, moving in and out of focus.

She was hardly aware of his fist in her hair, his hand beneath
her groin as he yanked her up onto all fours and moved behind her. Her
arms gave way almost at once, her chest and face and shoulders dropping
to the floor. Yet he held her hips aloft, kneeing her thighs apart.

She felt the pressure against her sex but only as a distant
thing. She was drunk, and more than drunk, high on - on nothing she
could understand, her mind floating amid a scalding heat even as he
rammed himself into her from behind. She became aware of the pain now -
vaguely - but neither understood its source or even what it was.

She grunted as his hips slammed into her upraised bottom, grunted
and jerked repeatedly on the floor as he hammered himself against her
from behind. Her insides ached, burned as his long, thick tool sliced
through the still aching flesh and up into her belly. The world shook
violently, or her body did, as she was pummelled by the force of his
thrusts.

Again she felt her sex tunnel torn, felt his cock, impossibly
long, thrusting up into her abdominal cavity, punching against her very
stomach - from the inside. The pain was terrible, but still she did not
care.

Her long hair wrapped around his wrist and gripped in his fist,
he yanked her head up, raising her upper body from the floor and holding
it before him as he pounded against her. His right hand moved beneath
her, crushing her breast in a cruel grip. She mewled dazedly, but showed
no other response. He yanked her head up and back and bit into the side
of her throat, his incisors sinking deep into her flesh.

The climax spilled through her body, and warbling moans of nearly
insensible pleasure poured from her open mouth. Shawn hardly knew who
she was, much less what was going on. And did not care. She had no more
mind than an animal, and reacted as an animal, writhing in the grip of
unknown but wondrous pleasure.

She felt the tight, taut grip of her sex lips around the fat
shaft of his cock, felt the hard, rasping caress of his flesh as that
shaft pumped wildly back and forth. Deep within her, she felt the hard
punch of his cock against something too high, far too high in her belly.

She could feel how slick that shaft was at it moved in and out of
her, far too slick to be coated by her juices.

The orgasm was like fire playing along the nerve endings of her
body, and she thrashed and twisted mindlessly in the throes of a
firestorm of pleasure.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

From the ebook Vampires’ Slave - by Argus. Argus novels have been
published by Nexus, Olympia, Beeline, Silver Moon, Star, and Chimera.
His e-books can be downloaded at http://www.ebookblue.com

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