by Syra Bond
Suddenly, I felt tension in my arms as they were yanked up behind me. I gasped for breath. I felt the narrow cold steel bands of the handcuffs around my wrists. They were pulled up quickly on their serrated ends and snapped shut. Each one was given an extra click of tension - an extra notch on their ratcheted clasps. They pinched my skin. I felt the blood pulsating in my hands.
They pulled me off the table and held me in a standing position. I was gasping, and too breathless to speak. The beautiful woman was on my left, holding onto my arm, the young male officer was on my right, his fingers digging deeply into the pressure point in my upper arm.
I slumped as my knees went weak. The two officers stopped me from falling. I felt giddy and wanted to vomit.
‘Put her on her knees!’ commanded the ‘FBI’ man. ‘She needs to understand what is expected of her.’
They dropped me to my knees. I looked up at the ‘FBI’ man. He frowned.
‘Syra, I thought you had learnt obedience under the instruction of Father Dawson. It is disappointing to find you have so quickly forgotten his orders. But I have not. He has passed the flock onto me. It is I, Pastor Wick, to whom you are answerable. I know you have been punished many times before. Obviously I need to remind you of the sting that pain can bring about, and the way of rightfulness that it can point to.’ He stood back. ‘Make her ready!’
The beautiful woman ripped open the front of my shirt and pulled it down. It hung like a rag on my arms. They pulled me back to the edge of the table and bent me forward across it. One of them pulled up my short skirt so that the hem was around my waist. My panties were yanked down in harsh jerks until they were just above my knees.
It must have been the sergeant who turned my head and pressed my face against the smooth top of the table. I was gasping loudly, still unable to speak, still petrified and filled with shock at the suddenness and ferocity of the attack. My arms were lifted higher so that they were completely clear of my now naked exposed bottom.
I squirmed but it was pointless - handcuffed, it was impossible to escape, and the weight of the officers’ bodies as they pressed down on me meant I could hardly move. I knew my cunt was wet - I felt its flesh as I squirmed my hips and legs - and the thought of it being seen between my upturned buttocks sent a wave of embarrassment through me.
I waited - I don’t know what for. I felt overcome with confusion, embarrassment and fear. I smelled the beautiful woman’s hair - it was spread across my face. I inhaled her breath. Her mouth was right by mine - I heard her breathing, swallowing, licking her lips! Terrified as I was, the sound of it still sent thrills through my body. Her licking lips struck up a rhythm with my pounding heart. I matched her breathing with mine.
Suddenly I jerked back, even against the tight handcuffs and the weight of the two officers pressing down on me I rose up and strained. I could not tell if it was a belt, or a strap or even a thick whip, but I knew it was leather, I knew it was smooth, I knew it had hard edges and I knew it was brought down with great force. I dropped back - forced back by the weight on top of me, relieved as the sting began to reduce. My heart was pounding even faster. I smelled the beautiful woman’s warm breath - she was panting, as if she too had felt the pain of the cutting stroke across my buttocks.
Another smacking crack came down across my upturned bottom. There was no warning. I did not hear a swishing sound, nor the grunt of effort as the flail was wielded. I did not see the look in the eye of a punisher as he anticipated the delight of seeing the strap he wielded coming down, slapping down, against my tender taut skin. I yelped and rose up again, and again I was crushed back onto the hard surface of the table by the weight of my captors. I gasped, I shuddered, I wanted to scream but could not get enough breath.
I felt the heat of the beautiful woman’s breath - I knew her mouth must be so close to mine, her white teeth so near, her soft wet tongue perhaps able to touch mine if she reached it out and probed it into my mouth. I stared ahead, looking for her without turning my head, expecting her to press her mouth against mine, to stifle my pain, to suck at my spit as she licked my tongue.
Another cracking blow came down. I was gripped with another seizure of pain, another spasm of involuntary effort as I rose and again, crushed by the weight of others, I fell against the table, and was filled with the pain of my punishment. My cunt ached; the strap had caught its soft edges. I tightened my buttocks then relaxed them. I opened them. For a moment I couldn’t believe what I was doing! I waited for the next hoping this time that the strap would cut into the edges of my cunt again, but this time more deeply, more painfully, more deliberately.
I shrieked as it came down. I tightened the tops of my thighs around the pain but it was deep inside me - in my hips, my chest, my head. I could hardly bear it. I turned my head and my face was against the beautiful woman’s mouth.
She opened her lips and licked out her tongue. She ran the sharp edges of her teeth along my chin and down the front of my throat. I felt her pulling them at the side of my neck. I felt the tightness as she closed them against my skin. I let my head drop to the side - opening myself to her, offering myself, wanting her to take my blood, wanting her to feed on me.
Another smacking blow came down. I shrieked again, I felt the increased pressure of her teeth on my neck. My desire rose in heavy waves. The pressure of the weight above me made me gasp for breath. I submitted completely. I listened for the rush of blood as she took it. I waited to be her food.
Suddenly, I was on the floor, twisting on my side.
The beautiful woman was being dragged off me by the ‘FBI’ man and the sergeant. They pulled her to her feet, tore open the front of her shirt and exposed her pink, tight fitting bra.
‘You are out of control!’ yelled the sergeant. ‘How dare you try to feed like this? You know this is the carrier of the germ. You know she is to be treated properly. The punishment is to her taste. It is to satisfy her. It is not an excuse for you to take her valuable blood.’
‘I’m so sorry, sir. Forgive me, please. I was overwhelmed, to be so close to her, the carrier - ’
‘That’s enough whining. Officer! Handcuff her to the pegs on the wall. And remove her shorts and panties. She will feel some of the punishment for herself. We shall see if she takes it as well! We shall see if the germ has given her the same taste for the pleasure of pain that is locked within the carrier of the germ.’
The male officer pulled her up again the wall where a heavy coat peg was fixed. He felt his belt, looking for his handcuffs - he had left them in the office.
‘Remove these!’ shouted the sergeant angrily as he held up my wrists. ‘Remove them!’
The officer unclipped the handcuffs from my wrists and secured the beautiful woman instead. Relieved of the tension around my wrists, and suddenly free of their bondage, I collapsed on the floor. I pulled my knees up to my chin and felt the soft edges of my cunt squeezed between the tops of my thighs.
The officer hung the beautiful woman onto the peg on the wall. She slumped against it as he pulled down her shorts to her ankles then ripped down her pink panties. She twisted slowly from side to side in fearful anticipation of the pain that was to come.
The ‘FBI’ man - Pastor Wick - pulled back a wide black belt and brought it down against her taut, rounded buttocks. There was loud crack as the leather made contact with her skin, then a penetrating shriek of pain as she felt its anger. She twisted the full weight of her body heavily on the peg, stretching the well defined muscles in her arms and thighs. Another blow came down and she shrieked again. She turned her head. Her mass of hair was tangled and wet across her tear soaked eyes and wet gaping mouth. Another blow and she bit into her hair. Her eyes were full of pain and remorse.
My heart was pounding. No one was looking at me. They had forgotten me for a moment. I tightened my legs together - again feeling the tension around the soft edges of my
cunt. I remembered again my fear and my need to escape. It flooded over me. I clenched my fists, jumped up and ran for the door.
I was still pulling on my shirt as I ran out into the main office. Everything was a blur but I saw my passport, still sitting behind the desk. Without stopping, I reached over and grabbed it. I knocked over a large jar full of charity money. It smashed on the floor with a bang. Coins and dollar bills spread around my feet. I scooped up as much as I could and ran to the door.
They were behind me - the male officer hissing and barking, the sergeant baring his teeth and drooling spit in frothy streams down his chin. I grabbed a cord on one of the window blinds and yanked it hard. The light burst in - it was morning, the sun was already high. The sergeant stopped in his tracks, the male officer dropped to his knees. Spit bubbled from his mouth as he tried to shield his eyes from the light.
I released another blind. The sergeant and the officer clawed their way backwards towards the interview room. The beautiful woman was hanging on the peg, her hair still in her mouth, her eyes still soaked with tears. I just saw Pastor Wick in the darkness of the room before I pushed the door open and ran out into the street.
It was hot. I didn’t even look behind. I jumped into the back of a waiting taxi and threw myself into the seat. I dragged at the hem of my short skirt as it rode up high on my thighs.
‘Airport! Quick!’ I shouted to the driver. ‘As quick as you can!’
He looked in his mirror. I realised how dishevelled I was - I felt like a tramp. I opened my knees wider so that he could see the gleaming wetness of my naked cunt. It felt so good! I leant back and opened them more. I was filled with a need for relief.
I ran my hand down across my stomach until my fingers reached into the top of my crack. I felt comforted by their touch. My mind was filled with confusion. I needed to get away altogether. Just escaping from Pacific Heights was not enough. I needed to get out of the country. And I was not sure even that would be enough. I realised that although I had been cured of the pain of the day - the fear of light and need for the darkness - the lust was still within me. Although I was independent of the curse of the germ I carried within me, I could not resist the desire for blood that it brought with it.
I slipped my fingers into the wet flesh of my cunt and dropped my head back on the taxi seat. My heart pounded with excitement as the taxi pulled into a dingy alley and stopped. I drove my fingers deeper into the moist clinging flesh and waited for the release the driver would bring.
He climbed over the back of his seat and, without saying a word, turned me onto my front. He pulled up my skirt and exposed my wet cunt - squeezed between the tops of my thighs, glistening and expectant.
He smacked my bottom hard and I lifted myself to it, squirming under every blow as I sought out the stinging pain. He held my ankles wide as he drove his cock into my exposed anus. Spit ran from my mouth in sticky globs as he thrust me deeply in the rectum. He pulled it out and I sucked hard on his cock as his semen ran copiously from its end. I gulped it down and when I had swallowed it all, I turned onto my hands and knees again and begged for more.
THE BOX
The driver opened the door of the taxi and held out his hand, palm upwards, for a tip. I walked forward, hitched up my short skirt, and slid my cunt over his upturned hand, squeezing it against my wet flesh as I gripped its edges with the tops of my thighs. I licked his face, knowing I would never see him again, yet realising that the taste of his skin - the hide that protected his warm succulent blood - would remain forever in my mind. I pushed my face against his neck and pressed my teeth against it - just imagining biting into it filled my stomach with a wave of nervous excitement. I licked him again - a slow sloppy stroke of my tongue - this time running my lips along his throat as well. He did not know it but I was secretly offering him my germ, my ability to transform him into another kind - a form of existence that persisted beyond the light. I imagined my spit was his blood, rushing out of his veins and into my mouth - hot, spurting, filled with life and energy, nourishing, satisfying. I sucked it back, warm and glutinous, and tasted again his semen on my tongue. It was glorious! For a second I thought of his cock plugging my throat and how I had held it there as long as I could until finally, gasping for breath and with my body jerking and straining, I had pulled back and choked. I thought of how he had thrust it in again - not giving me time to get my breath back - and had driven it even deeper, forcing it in brutally as far as it would go. I thought of how I had choked and how he had kept it in, and I thought of how I had heaved and felt vomit somewhere deep in my gullet, and how I had felt his semen washing inside me, and the end of his cock expanding and pressing against the inside of my throat until, giddy and disoriented, I thought I would pass out.
I pressed a ten dollar bill into his still waiting and wet hand and left.
San Francisco International Airport terminal loomed above me; three long connected architectural waves - the Pacific swell in burnished steel. Inside it was frantic. Beautiful tanned women strode along confidently between down-and-out buskers, beggars and leftover hippies. Nobody took any notice of my tousled hair, ripped shirt and semen smeared face - I was just part of the incongruity, the absurdity of Southern California.
I felt as if I was caught in a dream. It was as though the surroundings in the airport were like my life - confused, polarized and ill-matched. Yes, it was as if everything must be a delusion - Pacific Heights, the execution of Father Dawson, the infection, the vampires and now the pursuing flock and Pastor Wick. It all seemed ridiculous. I would be locked up as insane if I told anyone, I thought. But it was true! I couldn’t get away from it. I looked behind me, suddenly fearful of being followed. I was paranoid as well!
I went to the restroom. I stood in front of a brightly lit mirror and doused my face with water. A middle aged woman holding a small poodle in the crook of her arm came out of a cubicle and stood beside me. The dog barked at me as though it was startled. The woman looked me up and down haughtily and with disgust.
I stared at myself in the mirror. The two small puncture marks in my neck convinced me that even though everything seemed ridiculous, or fantastic, or unbelievable, there was no doubt about it - what I thought had happened, really had happened! I went cold as the undeniable realisation flooded over me. I saw my lips trembling and I shivered all over.
The dog barked again and the woman shielded its eyes, as if the sight of me somehow upset its sensitivity. I turned to it and exposed my teeth. It made a frightened bleating sound and curled up in the woman’s protective arms.
I walked through the main concourse. The buff coloured surface of the shiny marble floor reflected the brightness of the lighting panels in the ceiling. I saw a tacky sign stuck at an angle over a glass door squeezed between a bureau de change and a fire exit: “Acme Couriers - worldwide non-registered couriers”. Beneath it a white plaque hung on a chromium linked chain: “Couriers wanted - free travel”. A tall dark haired woman walked away from the door into the concourse.
The door stuck as I tried to push it open. I looked around it.
It was a cramped room, stacked with boxes and envelopes. A man with a sallow complexion sat on the edge of a small desk holding the wrists of a frightened looking young woman who was sitting forward on a leather covered typist’s chair. The man’s black hair was slicked back and he had a small black moustache and a goatee beard. The young woman had a mane of tousled blonde hair and was wearing a short, red plaid skirt and a red blouse with a frilly white collar. She looked up at him enquiringly with wide blue eyes. She seemed sorry for something - unsure how to make good her mistake. Neither of them saw me peering around the door.
He poked his face towards her and shouted. She bit her lips fearfully.
‘This is the last time you will make a mistake like this, Kristy. You’ve done it before and I have had to discipline you. And now you’ve done it again! Sometimes
I think you want me to punish you! I can’t let this pass, you know that, Kristy. You know that don’t you?’
Kristy bit her lips. Her eyes were tearful but she kept looking at him, as if her suppliant gaze would somehow save her from chastisement.
‘I’m so sorry,’ she said falteringly. ‘So, so sorry. It won’t happen again, sir. I promise. It really won’t happen again.’
‘I know you think that, Kristy, but I must make sure. If we lose much more business we’ll both be out of a job. And what then?’
Kristy dropped her gaze. It was as if she was at last admitting her mistake and now acknowledging she must be punished for it. Her hair fell forward around her flushed cheeks.
I clung to the edge of the door-frame. I could not take my eyes from the scene inside the room.
‘You know what to do, Kristy.’
‘Yes, sir, I know.’
He let go of her wrists. For a second she sat back on the typist’s chair. She opened her mouth and licked the tip of her tongue across the edges of her bottom teeth. I could see how white they were - perfect Californian teeth. She took a deep breath - her pert breasts rose, her taut cleavage deepened. She looked like a homecoming queen, or a vibrant cheerleader - athletic, tanned, physical, and filled with youthful sexuality.
He nodded as if to prompt her.
She twisted sideways on the chair and stood up. Her waist was narrow and the taut curve of her buttocks pressed out beneath her short tartan skirt. She looked at him again, this time for permission, and again he nodded.
He stood up from the desk. On it there was a heavy black typewriter and on the left hand side a pile of white paper. She moved the typewriter slightly and tidied the paper - neatening the edges of the pile, making sure it was symmetrically placed alongside the typewriter. She opened a drawer in the desk and removed a long wooden ruler. She placed it neatly on the right hand side of the typewriter.
