Women Of The Bite Part 6

Gently, Claire began like a kiss, tasting every blushing inch of the angel's virginal flesh, tonguing every drop, swallowing the honeyed nectar of her hot, sultry p.u.s.s.y.

Betrayed by her mortal body, Lisiel could only stand and be ravaged, Claire's insatiable mouth eating her, tormenting her aching quim.

Moans wracked her, bliss spasmed through her. White feathers fell around her and within her, and something hot, something insidious, began to kindle.

Desolate, she bucked against Claire's face. She wanted to spill herself, wanted to come against the girl, gushing over her lips in a violent flood of l.u.s.t.

Her wings began to smolder. Gasping, she tore away.

Dismay stabbed the light in Claire's eyes, but she smiled gently. Offering her hand, she drew Lisiel closer to the altar. Dutifully, the angel lifted her up. Claire lay back, her skin pale against the pure white cloth, her hair like a dark halo.

Crippled desire blazed within Lisiel, hot and wild. Then, she was on the altar, above the preacher's daughter, straddling her. Claire's eyes went wide as the slight weight of the angel pressed down upon her, Lisiel's leg sliding between hers.

At the first touch of her smooth thigh upon Claire's longing c.u.n.t, the preacher's daughter began to thrust. She clutched at Lisiel's back, riding against her, slicking her own thigh with the hot elixir of angelic p.u.s.s.y.

Lisiel's cries rose in the church, giving voice to her sin. Her sacred covenant with G.o.d broken, her body consecrated with the chrism of her blasphemy. Enslaved to her own pa.s.sion, she f.u.c.ked the preacher's daughter, begging only for the absolution of o.r.g.a.s.m.

Underneath her, Claire thrashed. Moans ripped from her throat. Without warning, she came hard, shuddering in the angel's embrace.

Lisiel came with her, screaming, praying for the immolation of her soul. She felt the hot gush of her own errant l.u.s.t tainting the girl's skin, slicking the altar, anointing it with the arrogance of her sin.

Wracked, she shivered in the final throes; then, shamed, she slipped from the altar and turned to flee.

Claire captured her.

She burned hotter than the furnaces of h.e.l.l. Lisiel could not withstand the feverish torrent igniting her soul, she could not withstand the mortal collapse- She smoldered, flesh and blood, her wings alight with sparks.

Grabbing the girl's shoulders, she turned her roughly. Obediently, Claire placed her hands upon the altar. Grasping the damp chemise at the shoulder, Lisiel tore down, exposing Claire's naked body to the sinners, to the saints, to any who was watching.

The preacher's daughter fought to catch her breath.

Lisiel groped her from behind, her hands grabbing at the girl's b.r.e.a.s.t.s, cupping them, squeezing her taut nipples. Claire's head rolled back, resting on her shoulder.

The angel's hands left the soft bosom, sliding down over the girl's slim hips, lingering on her tight a.s.s. Claire leaned heavily on the altar, hoa.r.s.e groans purring in the back of her throat. She took a wider stance, spreading her legs, inviting.

Lisiel's fingers fluttered over her hot gash. She slipped a finger inside the girl, sliding in slow, inch by inch, exploring her wet and willing hole. The muscles convulsed around her hand. Exhilaration leapt within her, and a desire to go harder, faster, enflamed her.

Savagely, Lisiel pulled her upright, grabbing the girl hard under the chin. Holding her steady, she plunged two fingers in deep, shafting the preacher's daughter. Claire cried out in pleasure, in pain. She bucked in Lisiel's grip, exulting in the thrill of being held prisoner by a creature of G.o.d.

A deep and insidious pa.s.sion kicked out inside Lisiel, fire flashing over her mortal body. White feathers began to fall, igniting in their descent, burning to embers around them. Uncaring, Lisiel began to f.u.c.k her deep, spreading her s.e.x wide with each thrust. Gasping, Claire squirmed in her arms, her bare back pressed against the angel's bare b.r.e.a.s.t.s.

Lisiel's wings spasmed, then burst into fiery sparks. She screamed, white feathers blackening, consumed by the pa.s.sion of her immortal soul. Still, she could not stop. She buried her face in Claire's shoulder and continued to f.u.c.k her, driven by the lure of the girl's wanton p.u.s.s.y.

They staggered forward, Claire sprawling across the altar, Lisiel's body raging hotter and hotter against her. Panting, she glanced down upon the arms holding her. The pale skin rippled, turning pink, then a deep, h.e.l.lish crimson. The heat between her legs expanded, stretching her slit, as the fingers f.u.c.king her turned red, black claws shearing from their tips.

She gasped, feeling them stab deep within her, spreading her wider.

A trickle of blood ran down her inner thigh.

Caught in an iron grip, she struggled, her excitement rising, the angel-turned-demon breathing guttural groans hot in her ear.

The scald of tormented flesh against her own burned Claire, branding her a sinner, a wh.o.r.e, a wanton b.i.t.c.h. Screaming, she came against her captor, fighting for every inch of taut fingers and black claws.

Unsated, the demon Lisiel did not let her go. Throaty moans echoed, shattering against the stained gla.s.s. Claire shuddered and shrieked, wracking under the hard thrusts. Her body could barely withstand the ecstasy. At any moment, she felt she would break. Tears of joy burned on her lashes.

Grasping her shoulders, Lisiel turned her.

Standing in the shadow of the demon, Claire let the ardor of her l.u.s.t consume her fear. Her small hands encircling the demon's neck, she came into her arms, pressing her naked body against the hot, red flesh, writhing against it, christening the fiend with her sweat, and blood, and chrism.

Pleasure a.s.saulted Lisiel, but it was not enough. The scent of Claire's s.e.x, of her o.r.g.a.s.m still shuddering within her, was torture beyond h.e.l.l. She grabbed the girl around the waist, and fairly threw her on the altar.

Claire gasped, the forcefulness stealing her breath. She nearly came in her excitement. Submissively, she spread her legs.

The demon was upon her, penetrating her spasming quim with two fingers. A third pressed urgently against her hole. Claire was a virgin, tight and unused, but the fiend forced it in, shafting her hard.

Nearly sobbing, she struggled. Stretched to splitting, her body could not withstand such ravishing ecstasy.

The demon rutted above her. Black, leathery wings unfurled, still wet from their nativity. Cloven hooves struck sparks against the altar. The fiend knew no hesitation, only the end desire, f.u.c.king Claire without mercy, her only salvation the o.r.g.a.s.m that threatened to tear her apart.

The preacher's daughter cried out, her voice rising to G.o.d, to the saints, to the sinners, to any who would listen. Caught between heaven below and h.e.l.l above, her body laid open upon the altar, Claire whimpered, her body spasming with the rapture of her first true f.u.c.king.

Hoa.r.s.e, afflicted cries shuddered through Lisiel. The stained gla.s.s rattled with the force of her demonic screams.

Grabbing Claire's leg, she pulled her thighs wide and slid forward. The soft, wet collision of their aching c.u.n.ts was pure suffering, and she pumped her hot gash against Claire's wet p.u.s.s.y, sliding hard against her, a torrent of come slicking their thighs.

Nearly delirious, Clare shuddered in the grip of the demon. She swooned, and the molten gush from the fiend's throbbing c.u.n.t scalded her, driving her to wrenching, sobbing o.r.g.a.s.m. Lisiel rode her, bucking in the throes of her own crisis, spilling sacraments like the scattering of embers.

And as the last of the white feathers fell, Claire lay across the altar, alone and ravaged. The wings of an angel scorched to cinders and fallen around her.

In a place where sinners lied to be forgiven.

A Sunny Sky M. Johnston I caught a glimpse of tawny hair in my peripheral vision, and a lightning bolt shot from the small of my back to my groin.

Toby was here.

She had been the object of my l.u.s.t for years. The sight of her crossing the room would make my knees go weak. She was androgynously beautiful, with pale skin and tawny gold hair perennially falling into her blue eyes. She was medium height with a slender, boyish body in superb shape. Given the choice between watching a girl strip, or watching Toby lean casually against the bar, I'd choose Toby. Despite her youthful, almost dewy completion, the wisdom and maturity in her level gaze suggested she'd lived through several lifetimes, none of them altogether easy.

A freelance ill.u.s.trator who worked at home, she was known for her nocturnal habits. Rumor has it that a girl had better not accept an invitation to breakfast if she had anything to do the next day, because she'd be kept coming and coming all night and all day, to be escorted on trembling legs at sunset to a greasy spoon with twenty-four-hour breakfasts. We knew each other, always spoke, but I'd never been able to get close to her. We'd share a moment, and then she would withdraw into the company of her constellation of femmes, most of them with pupils sparkling with fireworks of E.

The play party was just getting interesting, women bent or tied to a variety of equipment, the air electric with soft cries and crisp smacks. I hoped I'd get to watch Toby play with the beautiful femme whose crimson-lace draped curves snuggled against her leathers, and the heavy bag slung over her shoulder suggested I would.

I was alone tonight, as usual. I'd always found the dating scene too much like elementary school; the cool kids never wanted to play with me. I joined some friends on an overstuffed couch, and settled in to watch the show. Toby was going to play.

She pushed her femme over to a wide ladder constructed of st.u.r.dy black slats. Her girl shed her dress, leaving crimson panties that came halfway down her cheeks, setting off the firm globes of her a.s.s. Toby guided her hands up to grab the wood, and pushed her feet shoulder-width apart. Toby had that quality the best tops have, that of absolute gentleness and control. Her hands might inflict exquisite torture, but never a rough or careless touch.

Toby bent and whispered in the girl's ear, and she nodded, taking a firm grip on the wooden slats. I guessed she'd been warned not to let go, no matter what happened. Toby ran her hands over the girl's back, loosening her up, alternately ma.s.saging her and gently scoring her nails across her back. The girl relaxed against the ladder, her body long and open. Toby went to work.

The crack of Toby's belt struck the girl's fine a.s.s before she could have realized the ma.s.sage had stopped. She flinched, but didn't let go. Toby spanked like a master, varying the speed and intensity of her blows, alternating smacks with gentle, tickling touches to flushed and sensitive skin. When the girl's a.s.s had been warmed to a glowing red, Toby dropped the belt and picked up a thick leather flogger. With this, she began to brush the girl's upper back. She didn't forget about her a.s.s, either. At unpredictable intervals, the rhythmic thumping across her back was interrupted with a sharp crack across her sore a.s.s from the cane Toby held in her other hand, its ruby acrylic length gleaming in the light like a spray of blood. The girl cried out at the strokes of the cane, but didn't let go. After a particularly vicious stroke, at which her hands jumped but retained their grip, Toby, clearly determined to make the girl fail, let her weapons slip to the floor.

She stepped back to survey her work so far. Deep red patches that would be black and blue tomorrow crisscrossed the girl's a.s.s, and her reddened upper back was slick with sweat. Toby ran a fingertip from the divot in the base of the girl's scull to her coccyx, making her arch into the ladder. Toby bent to her bag and came up with a plumy ostrich feather. She began bushing it over the girl's back, winning peals of agonized laughter and a great deal of squirming, but the girl maintained her grip. By this point, every top in the room was itching to get their hands on this luscious bottom.

Toby stepped back, considering. She stretched out the pause, watching the girl try to steel herself against what might come next. Every muscle tightened in antic.i.p.ation, and she shivered as the sweat on her back began to dry. Finally, Toby extended her arm and ever so gently brushed the feather against the girl's armpit. It worked. She dropped her hands, squealing and curling inward to protect herself.

Toby stood still, watching.

Catching her breath, the girl dropped to her knees, terrified. "Master, I'm so sorry. Master, I didn't mean to, forgive me, Sir, please," she babbled, her voice breaking.

Toby looked her up and down as the girl knelt, every inch of her expressing fear and abject sorrow.

"Hush, now," Toby told her, her voice calm, soothing. "Don't be upset." The girl looked up, a light of hope springing in her eyes. Had she been good enough that her failure might be overlooked? "You made a choice to move, and that choice has consequences which you now have to face. It's very simple." The girl cowered at Toby's soft words. Toby had a reputation as an extremely sick and inventive top. She was even rumored to draw copious amounts of blood when she was at home, away from the cautious eyes of the dungeon monitors, though she was known for impeccable safety precautions.

"Yes, Master," the girl managed. Toby bent and pulled a coiled single-tail whip from her bag. "Oh, no, Master, please," the girl begged, throwing herself at Toby's boots. "Anything but that. I'm terrified of it, I can't, please..." she whimpered.

Toby bent and cupped her cheek gently. "Ah, don't worry, angel, I won't hit you with it," she crooned, her low voice carrying across the room. Everyone had stopped playing, enthralled by this drama. "That is," Toby pulled the girl up and pushed her back into position, "as long as you stay perfectly still."

The girl blanched and moaned. No safe word, though. Toby pulled out a handful of clothespins, and attached them to the girl's a.s.s and upper body. They must have hurt, pinned onto already bruised flesh, but the girl gave no sign, clearly petrified. "How many is that?" Toby asked.

"Six," she quavered.

"You will count," Toby ordered. I could barely breathe. Was Toby such a master of the single tail that she could knock off the pins one by one without touching the girl? She uncoiled the whip, and swung it, testing its length. She cracked it twice, near the girl, causing her to ripple with fear. The room held its breath. Crack! The whip flashed out, sending a clothespin clattering across the room.

"One," the girl called in a tortured squeak. Toby gently brushed her hand over the spot where the pin had been, then drew back for another strike. "Two," the girl's voice rose. With each stroke, the volume of her voice went up. She kept control, though, and didn't stir beyond the involuntary quiver of her muscles.

"Five!" she yelled.

Toby paused, drawing the tension out unbearably. At last, she drew back to strike.

"Six!"

With the echo of the crack still ringing through the room, the girl crumbled, caught in Toby's waiting arms. She scooped her up, carried her over to a deep armchair, and crooned to her, stroking her hair and rocking her gently. An occasional bottom of Toby's brought water, earning a kiss from Toby, and took it upon herself to begin swabbing down the station with bleach. The obliging bottom didn't touch any of Toby's toys, though. No one touched Toby's things.

I stayed for a while after Toby's scene, but nothing interesting happened. As I walked home through the cool night, the manic grin I got from watching bad things happen to good people fell away, and I could feel the weight of loneliness settle back around my shoulders like a lead cape. That was the b.i.t.c.h of being single. A warm band of hope sustained me for most of the night, but coming home to an empty bed was much harder than staying curled up in it with a book would've been.

I sighed, replaying the evening's footage of Toby in my mind. Through my distraction, a sudden awareness of danger shot down my spine-too late. A hand gripped me from behind and pulled me into an alley. I thrust back with my elbow as hard as I could and kicked with my steel-toed boots. I connected several times, felt the sickening thud of bone on bone, heard him grunt and momentarily loosen his grasp. I tried to break free, but he was too fast. His hard hands refastened themselves on me as fast as I could shrug them off. I sensed rather than saw the wall behind us, and I squatted slightly, then sprang back with all my force. Even as I thrust back, I felt a needle of pain in my neck. Whatever it was sank deeper as we collided with the wall, and even though I felt him weaken, I couldn't spring away as I had intended. My hesitation was enough for him to get a fresh grip on me. I kept struggling, though, and he put one arm up, over my mouth, to stifle my cries.

Infuriated, I bit down, and it happened. Before I bit him, I hadn't realized the needle in my neck was his teeth, that he was drinking me, but it became clear as the circuit closed, and the blood he took from me came back, infused with whatever magic it was that made him a vampire. There was a pause, out of time, when I felt suspended, lost, in the pure release of blood letting, the cleanse of it, and the sweet infantile delight of sucking nourishment, coupled with something more, the transformation that was taking place, a liminal explosion that held me suspended for an unknowable period.

As the sensation faded, it hit me. Rage. Fury. I tore away from him, dimly aware of shredding tissue as I ripped my neck from the grip of his teeth, and twirled to face him.

He shrieked with loss and stumbled forward, his face a grotesque mask of reflexive need, distorted by the wash of blood pouring down his chin. There was a desperate, feral gleam in his eye. With my own cry of rage, I kicked at him, as high and hard as skier's legs and blind fury would allow me. My boot connected, and his head snapped sideways like a bad kung fu minion. I had practiced kicks many times, but this was the first time I had ever hit someone.

He fell to the ground and groped toward me, mewling. He resembled nothing so much as a blind rat pup, groping toward its mother.

I kicked out again and fled, barely able to suppress the wave of nausea that hit me at the half-sound, half-sensation my boot made as it landed. I didn't look behind me as I ran, finally collapsing on the rock-strewn edge of the toxic waters of False Creek, rats streaming away into the darkness as I was sick, vainly trying to purge the experience.

I didn't remember getting home.

When I woke up, every cell in my body ached. I stumbled into the shower and let the water pound my body until it ran cold. It wasn't until I looked in the mirror that I realized the extent of what was wrong. Despite the throbbing I felt, there was not a mark on me. My skin was faintly luminous, and I could trace every vein, a network of blue rivers glowing just under my skin. As I probed the places that should have been black and blue, the fight can back to me in flashes. Being grabbed, hitting out, his teeth in my neck. His teeth. I gently brushed my fingertips over the side of my neck, probing the spot that had been a b.l.o.o.d.y mess the night before. Not a mark. Just white skin, somewhat paler and smoother than my usual anemic pallor, and marked by unnaturally blue and prominent veins.

Dear G.o.d. The truth, dismissed last night in my shock and sickness, came down on me like an Acme anvil. I saw his teeth, his desperation. A vampire. No. I couldn't. I wouldn't.

I grabbed a razor from the bathtub and slashed across my forearm. Blood welled, and a complex aroma a.s.saulted my nose, far different from the metallic tang I knew. I could smell iron, and the strange non-smell of copper, but also spices, and the warm, rich smell of an excited woman. The crimson drops that poured down my arm glowed like Swarovski crystal, each drip spreading a ruby incandescence across the matte white of my arm. I looked up, and the mirrors were tilted so they caught each other's reflections. I looked into my own eyes and saw my predatory grimace, the blood dripping sensuously down my arm, the vision repeated into infinity, an endless tunnel of me, the blood, my future. Forever.

I fainted.

I didn't know how long it was before I woke, the stale mildew of the bathmat I was lying on mingling with the newly enticing smell of blood that still hung in the air. I looked at my arm. Under the rusty crust of dried blood, there was nothing. The scratch was gone. I rinsed my arm, and carefully searched my skin. There were fine traces of old, white scars, each of which I knew and regretted, but no sign of my last razor slash. Looking at my arm, watching the veins softly pulse, I was struck by a wave of hunger so intense I clutched at the countertop to stay upright. Hunger wasn't really the word for it. It was the most desperate thirst, profound hunger and clawing need I have ever experienced. I don't think a human can feel a need that deep; our brains and bodies mercifully pump out dulling chemicals that blunt the edges of our most crippling drives. I was gasping, drooling, my mind churning with images of women, their delicate necks whispering in and out of their heavy hair, or bravely exposed in their exquisite vulnerability by short hair and a shaved nape. I felt for the first time the sharp bite of my newly vicious canines pressing on the inside of my lip.

"No, no, no. I will not!" My voice rang out, hoa.r.s.e and shrill. I rushed outside, tormented by memories of playful bites to the neck, hickeys, teasing nuzzles I had given to various women. My salivary glands pumped like a hundred lemons had been squeezed into my throat. I was half-hoping the sun would be out, that I would be immolated, and I wouldn't have anything further to worry about. But it was dark. The shock of cold calmed me down somewhat. I was still only wearing a towel. I sank to my knees, the icy grit of the sidewalk grounding me.

My mind churned. What could I do? Because the stories are wrong. You don't lose your soul when you become a vampire. That's the true h.e.l.l of it. It's like a killer has moved into a room in your mind, but the rest of you is still you.

I tried to think of anyone I could turn to, anyone from whom I could get help. I didn't think there was a Paranormal Anonymous hotline, and I didn't fancy being locked up as a delusional psychopath. I moaned, hugging myself, rocking in the chill night air. From out of the jumble of images swirling through my head, I saw a face. Toby. The way she moved, the age and suffering in her eyes, the aloof intensity of her. All the strange pieces I had noticed about her seemed to click into place.

She was a vampire.

But would she help me?

I picked myself up off the cold ground, went inside, and got some clothing on. I slung my leather jacket over my shoulders, and headed out. I wasn't sure where Toby lived, but I had spotted her once, lounging in the bay windows of a painted lady in Strathcona, Vancouver's worst neighborhood. I'd been astonished at the time at the lush white flowers growing in pots up and down the generous porch. Anything in that part of town that wasn't nailed down, studded with sensors and watched over by a nasty Rottweiler, disappeared. It might have been a friend's house, but the untouched pots argued otherwise. Anyway, it was all I had to go on.

I walked, keeping away from streets likely to be busy. I knew I couldn't trust myself around people. Fear from the attack and my newly acute hearing combined to make me a twitchy, jumpy wreck. No matter-looking like a crystal meth addict tends to keep you safer than otherwise in the Downtown Eastside.

As I approached the house I thought was hers, I was struck by the fragrance of flowers wafting on the crisp, early autumn air. Her garden was all white and lushly scented, filled with jasmine, climbing roses, white violets. A night garden. The lights were out in the house, but the vivid clarity of even the darkest corners I glanced into told me that didn't mean she wasn't home. She wasn't, though. I rang and rang, but no answer. Never mind, I'd wait. If sunlight found me still on her porch, then my problem would be solved, anyway.

I sat on her white rocking chair, miraculously present and intact, and waited. A group of young girls, the whorishness of their tiny skirts and garish makeup unable to conceal the still fresh but rapidly fading bloom of their cheeks, stumbled down the street. Their drunken laughter echoed in my ears. A wave of longing hit me, an urge so strong I snapped the chair arms under my clutching hands, and was halfway out of my seat before I could control myself. My whole body was bathed in sweat and I was shaking like a leaf. My mouth filled with a coppery bloom as my canines pierced my own tongue, and I moaned aloud.

"Oh no."

Toby was there, blue eyes boring into me, her cool fingers smooth and hard against my feverish wrists. "Go inside," she ordered the giggling femme straggling up the stairs behind her. The girl made a face and tripped on indoors. Toby laid her hand against my forehead, and brushed her fingertips over the side of neck. "When did it happen?" she asked, her voice straightforward and concerned.

"Umm," I stuttered, trying to unstick my tongue from the roof of my mouth. I was becoming sicker by the second. My heart was racing, and the white flowers were burning brighter and brighter, the lights of pa.s.sing cars blazing across my visual field. "Sat.u.r.day night. He grabbed me and..." I felt my throat close, choking on the words.

"Shhh," she hushed me. "You won't have any more trouble with him. I ran across that..." She took a deep breath. "Anyway, he's gone." She looked at the street for a moment, then turned her level gaze back to my face. "You were the one who messed him up like that?"

I nodded.

"Impressive. It's hard to hurt a...a vampire," she stumbled slightly over the word, "as badly as you did."

I tried to shrug, but the movement made the rocking chair move slightly, and I moaned with vertigo.

"You haven't fed?" Her finely molded, androgynous face was calm, impa.s.sive, her voice low and steady, but I could tell that her control was hard-won.

"No. I wanted to, but I just couldn't, I can't." I spat out the words, and drew a shaky breath. I gripped her solid forearm. "What can I do? I won't hurt anyone. Please help me." If I hadn't been so sick, I would have cried, but I could only croak through my nausea.

She half smiled and nodded gently. "I understand. But you don't need to kill to feed. There are ways." She sighed, looking out into the night. "I'll show you. But you are too hungry now to be trusted. I'm amazed that you could control yourself. You must be very strong." She looked at my face, a.s.sessing me. "Here," she said, sliding an arm around my neck and pulling me up to her. She bit her lip, and I watched a single ruby drop, indescribably beautiful, roll down her chin, before she laid her mouth on mine.

I tasted wine, women, metal, chocolate, the faint aftertaste of lightning and rain after a close summer day. Her lips were soft, firm, and after a moment of chaste, maternal connection, her mouth opened to me, and I fed not just on her blood, but her desire, her need, the hunger that the silly femme in the house couldn't possibly fill in a woman like her. I drank her, lost in the wine-dark pulse of blood behind my eyes, the feel of her lips, the electrical flow of her blood into me. All my weakness and nausea fell away, and I was filled with exuberance, coupled with a belly-deep urge for more, more. I rose up, drawing Toby against me, her slender body, so much harder than mine, dense with muscle, collapsing, softening against me.

"Enough." She wrenched away from me with enough force to send her halfway across the porch. She wiped her mouth, chest heaving. I dropped into the chair as if hamstrung, the tingling ecstasy in my veins abruptly stilled. She took a deep breath, drew the mantle of control back around herself. "I'm sorry," she said, crossing back to me, her heavy boots thudding on the weathered wood. "It's just that no one has, for a long time..." she stuttered, running a hand through her dangling hair, which promptly fell back into her eyes.