by Syra Bond
The two men stood back - one folding his arms, the other putting his hands in his pockets. They both seemed to be waiting for something.
I kept watching her as she rubbed her bottom and winced, as she coughed and wiped the spit from her mouth and chin. Suddenly she looked straight at me. She was not surprised or ashamed. I could see that it was obvious she had known I was there all the while. Yes, she had known all the time that I had been watching her, that I had seen her punishment, her pain and her terror.
Her penetrating stare confused me. I didn’t understand what was going on. The two men took no notice.
She reached out her hand. She motioned towards something - her hand was limp and weak, she could hardly lift it. She was pointing to the red leather bag which lay, undone and on its side. I widened my eyes to see if that was what she was pointing to. She nodded shakily. I didn’t know what to do.
‘It’s alright,’ she said. ‘It’s alright, really.’
I looked at the men. They both looked down to the ground.
Hesitantly, I walked around the edge of the wire mesh enclosure and in through the flimsy door. I was shaking all over. The zip of the bag was undone. It was her bag. I recognised it now. I opened the top. There was a wad of money held together with a plastic band.
‘Yes, yes,’ she said weakly. ‘Give them the money. Please. Give them the money. It’s alright, I promise you.’
My hands were shaking as I dipped them into the bag. I took the money out and, still on my knees, held it out to the man nearest. He leered, took it from me, sat down on a large wooden chest with his comrade, took the elastic band off and began counting it.
‘You see,’ she continued in a hoarse whisper. ‘You can get anything for the right price in Slovakia. Anything you want.’
I suddenly realised what was happening - she was paying them! She had paid them for her punishment and suffering! Anything could be had at the right price, she had said! This terrible punishment had been her need, and the price she had paid had been enough to satisfy it.
‘Anything you want,’ she said faintly as her eyes turned upwards and she dropped back to the ground unconscious.
The train stopped against the buffers in Bratislava station with a sudden heavy jolt. I leant out of the window of the guard’s van door. People gathered their belongings together and sidled their way down the corridors. They spilled out onto the platform and scurried off in every direction. There was no uniform flow - it was as if every direction led to an exit. I was caught up in the frantic confusion of movement.
Suddenly, in a panic, I ran down the corridor to the compartment I had been sitting in. It was empty. I bent down to pick up the box. It had gone! I couldn’t believe it! The box had gone!
I went hot. Sweat broke out on my forehead. My legs felt hollow. The box had gone! I had lost it! Someone had taken it! I spun around. I felt giddy. I looked for it on the seats, on the luggage racks, out of the window! It was nowhere to be seen. I darted out into the corridor and looked its full length each way. I ran from carriage to carriage, flinging open the WC doors, looking behind them, grabbing people, pulling at their luggage. But the box had gone! The box I had been entrusted with in San Francisco had gone!
My heart was beating madly. I was gasping for breath. I didn’t know what to do! In a blind panic and filled with confusion, I jumped off the train. I was shaking all over.
I saw two young women running away near the exit. Their shiny clothing flashed in the sunlight that broke in through the gaps in the high station roof. They were carrying the box between them - laughing, jumping excitedly, running through the bustling throng of people as though they weren’t there. They looked like elves on a mission for their lord.
I took a couple of paces in their direction. Straightaway I was stopped by a young man. He stood in front of me, holding out his hand, begging. I dodged him but he grabbed hold of my arm. I pushed him away but he pushed back and I fell on the ground. I sprawled on the dirty concrete platform, surrounded by the legs of the hurrying crowd, confused, desperate, filled with panic and struggling to get to my feet.
The man ran off. I looked for the two girls with the box but they had disappeared - like elfin spirits they had evaporated into the noise and movement of the bustling city.
I struggled onto my hands and knees, picking up the contents of my bag that had fallen out around me. I dragged my passport from underneath someone’s foot. People were staring at me, pointing in disgust. I realised that my short skirt had ridden up around my waist and my naked bottom was fully exposed to their glare. My face was red with embarrassment as I pulled it down and got to my feet.
THE MEETING
Confused and shaking all over, I muddled my way to an exit and stepped out into the street. I felt dishevelled and bewildered. It was as hot as it had been on the train, very noisy and the streets were packed with cars, taxis, trams and people. The air was filled with the scent of coffee and cigarettes. I felt giddy and rested against a large tattered street map pasted on the wall of a news kiosk.
I couldn’t believe what had happened. I had lost the box! I dropped my head and shook it from side to side in disbelief. I felt overcome, bent forward and vomited - right there, in the street, with everyone watching. I felt wretched. I had travelled all this way in the hope of exchanging the box for enough money to travel on. And now I’d lost it! I didn’t know what to do. I looked in my bag for a tissue to wipe my mouth. My money came out with it. At least I’d still got that!
I began to feel a bit calmer - to think straight. I needed a plan. I decided the only thing to do was to carry on as if I still had the box - to go to the meeting as planned and try and explain what had happened. Yes, that was the only thing that made sense.
I looked out the address that the man from Acme Couriers had scribbled on the envelope he had given to me in San Francisco. I poked at the faded street map and eventually found it. It wasn’t far - I could walk it in next to no time. I wiped my mouth, found a dirty public convenience and washed myself as well as I could. An old woman at the entrance demanded money. I gave her a dollar bill which seemed to satisfy her. I felt much better when I emerged. Everything looked good again.
The streets were full of people, the shops were bright and everywhere cafés spread out over the pavements. Elegant tanned women lounged back in wicker chairs smoking cigarettes and drinking wine. Most of them wore short skirts; I could not take my eyes off their long thighs - one folded over the other, both coming together in a delightful point which hinted at the beautiful crack which lay at their centre. Men leant forward and held their hands, made suggestions, ran their fingertips along their taut thighs, seeking that delectable point - wanting to probe it, to lick it, to drive their cocks into it, to fill it with their semen. I watched their flattering advances, their hungry eyes and sensed their appetite and heat.
I passed an alley and saw a woman being pressed against a wall by a man. Her light blue skirt was pushed up around her hips, her white blouse pulled down so that both her breasts were bared. The man thrust his cock into her cunt as she entwined his hips with one of her long legs.
I hung back on the corner - watching, licking my lips, fighting against the urge to run my finger along my cunt; realising it was a battle with myself I could not win.
I moved off the main street into the alley and stood behind a large galvanised waste bin that had been turned on its side. The woman was shouting out in joy. She lifted her other leg and rested her weight on the man’s hips. He lifted her with his thrusts. She clung to his neck, licking his forehead, staring ahead with glazed passion-filled eyes, gulping with each jarring heave as he penetrated her ever deeper, filled her ever fuller.
I listened to people passing by in the street. None of them were aware of what was happening in the alley, none of them knew that I was watching this man and woman, none of them knew that I could not re
sist releasing my own passion - that the brief battle with myself was now completely lost.
My excitement overcame me; my mind became confused. I didn’t know what was happening. For a second I thought of going up to the man and woman. It was ridiculous. I saw myself asking the woman if I could take her place, pressing myself back against the wall while the man pushed his heavy cock into my wet cunt. I imagined what she would say, how she would lift herself down, how she would smile graciously and step aside. Perhaps she would help me take off my skirt, perhaps he would prefer I keep it on. I thought of her standing by me, watching, holding my hand, squeezing it in time with my cries of joy as I climbed up higher on his cock. I thought of my body weight dropping down on the shaft, the base of it pressuring against my cunt, bruising the flesh, tugging at it when it withdrew before pounding in again with overbearing strength.
Yes, I could feel every inch of it, every vein on its pulsating surface. I could feel its heat, its power, its burgeoning tip, its swelling mass. I saw myself being lifted off it, the woman helping to hold me up against the wall. I saw myself gasping for breath, and I saw myself being lowered again. This time the massive cock was pressing against my anus, opening it, entering it, then, as it felt the tightening pressure around its end, thrusting deeply inside. I screamed and cried out - filled with the delightful union of pain and pleasure. It was so deep! And so big! I felt as if I was full to the gullet, stuffed completely, overcome by my whole weight bearing down on the heavy mass of the man’s stiff and powerful cock.
I couldn’t imagine how long it would go on - maybe hours, maybe until I was so sore I had to be laid on the floor to recover, I don’t know. I imagined the woman bending to me, licking me, offering me her nipples to suck, anything to bring me around, anything to bring me back from the land of the dead to the world of the living. And I knew it would not be enough, even the succulent nipple in my mouth, the woman’s firm breasts, her licking tongue and soft full lips were not enough to allow me to recover. I needed more and she knew it. I could see in her eyes a deeper yearning, a more desperate hunger, one that could not be fulfilled by licking up the wetness of my cunt. It was a deeper need, something more primitive, part of the primeval force of the earth, part of its ancient core, part of the very essence of life, of what life itself depended on - it was all of those things; it was the hunger for blood. It was the yearning to be nourished by that which gave life - the red essence which runs in the veins of every human being. This venous blood was the source of her hunger. Blood which has circulated the body, which carried its oxygen to all the body’s parts was what drove her need. Blood that had transmitted its essential food and now flowed with the contact it had made with all that was the living being in which it coursed, blood now ready to travel again into the world of air, to be reinvigorated and make its journey again - that was her need. This was what I saw in her eyes - her hunger for only this.
Would she feed from me or me from her? I didn’t know. I didn’t think I had the strength to take her blood. I didn’t think I had the strength to bite into her flesh, to bury my teeth into her, to suck and draw out her blood. But I must. It was me that needed the strength; it was me that needed the nourishment of her fluid. If she took from me then I would expire - perhaps never to regain consciousness again. If she took from me then I would be cast into an oblivion of unknowing - living eternally and yet never knowing of my existence; the most horrific of fates. No, I must feed on her. Somehow, I must find the strength to take some of her life. She would wait until I was stronger to feed from me. Yes, she would crouch naked at my feet waiting until I was sufficiently revived before she drank from my pulsating veins.
She knew this, of course. She would offer herself first. She would lie beside me, still panting from her own efforts. She would pull her skirt and blouse off so that she was naked. She would stretch out her arms so that her neck was easily accessible, so that I didn’t have to move too much to get to it, so that I didn’t have to use too much of my slackening strength to find the place of renewal.
I could taste it now - on my lips, in the alley, watching, knowing of her presence, I could taste her on my lips. Her skin would be so sweet, so clean and pure. I would press my mouth against it for a while - just enjoying contact with it, simply savouring its satiny surface. I would feel the beating of her heart even with the lightest touch of my lips. In the end, I would open my mouth. I would not be able to hold back any longer. But still I would be on the verge, on the edge of the wonderful promise of becoming. I would be filled to the brim with the excitement of anticipation - of knowing what was about to happen - but I would not be able to stop it overflowing and in the end would not be able to stop being overwhelmed by its need.
I leant against the alley wall. A deep and penetrating thrill passed through me. I was there, on the cusp, on the edge of the next moment, sensing the pleasures that it would contain, powerless to prevent its coming - a victim of my own terrible prescribed fate.
I could feel the points of my hollowed out canine teeth against her skin. I could feel their sharpness pressing into it - pressing it down, dishing it, testing its elasticity, its tension. I could feel the sustained pressure; I could sense that it would break through the barrier if I kept it up. I sensed the pulsating vein beneath, throbbing against my lips, inviting me, drawing me on. When would I decide to release it? How much longer could I exist on this boundary of expectation? No longer. The skin would break, suddenly opening itself up to me, allowing my teeth to press into the soft tissue, to find the vein, to puncture it, to draw its flowing contents into my hungry mouth. At last, all the potential would be released, my life would be complete, I would be nourished and renewed. I would drink my fill.
Oh, and the taste! Thick and creamy, lacking in oxygen, already used by its owner, already depleted but containing everything I needed - the power of the body, the knowledge of its every part contained in its corpuscles, waiting to be eaten. It had flowed completely through her; it had taken its breath to every corner of her body and had picked up nourishment of a different sort, the power of her being. I feasted on it, right there, in my mind, as I watched her rising time and again on the thrusting cock that filled her with so much pleasure. Yes, her blood, I could see myself devouring it, eating the delicious fluid that ran with her vital power. I could feel it entering my own body, lining my stomach, running into my intestines, filling my organs, seeping into every part of me, giving me the power of another, setting itself into my own flesh, breeding inside me, satisfying my eternal existence with the power to withstand death, the strength to take more and forever replenish myself.
I realised my fingers were deep inside my cunt. I realised I was being watched - two men from the street had seen me and had walked into the alley. A shiver of excitement went through me. But it wasn’t a thrill of fear or embarrassment; it was a thrill of expectation and anticipation. Straight away, I knew I wanted them to watch me, to see me. I was overcome with the need for them. I wanted to tell them what I was thinking, what I was imagining. I wanted them to know that I could only be satisfied if I drank the blood of another, fed on it, was nourished by it, replenished by it.
I didn’t stop to think. I bent over in front of them. I felt a need for punishment too. Perhaps I felt guilty about what had I had been thinking? I don’t know. I just hoped they would realise I needed to feel pain, to feel something that would drive my other desires away, if only for a while. My mind was too confused by it all. I just wanted to be hurt - to feel my body saturated with pain.
I raised my bottom and lifted my skirt. I didn’t know what they would do - it didn’t matter. I waited - panting, hoping, eager for what I needed. I closed my eyes for a moment. I listened to the woman still crying out in delight as the man continued to thrust her against the dirty brick wall. The sound only inflamed me more. I couldn’t get the images of bloodlust out of my mind - I was overtaken by them, overwhelmed by them, lost to their power and control
. The only pictures in my head were red, flowing, hot, and saturating.
It was foolish to think they would simply spank me, foolish to imagine they would just bring their hands down against my bottom - smacking it, stinging it, filling me with the simple delight of clear pain. Yes, it was so foolish, but that was what I had been thinking, somewhere in my confusion that was what I had imagined.
I felt hands around my hips. Still, I thought it was a prelude to the spanking. Perhaps they were placing me exactly where they wanted me, making sure their hands would fall flatly against my taut skin? Yes, that was it. But I was wrong. They were not intent on providing me with exactly what I had in my mind - they were intent on fulfilling only their own pleasure, and eagerly, and roughly and without any consideration for me or for any of my desires. At the same moment that I realised this, I felt a wave of darkness come over me - a feeling of the unknown, the danger of it, the presence of evil. I was filled with a naked sense of terrible foreboding.
They flung me down face forward in the alley. I don’t know if the man or woman were aware of what was happening - I doubt it, I could still just hear the woman’s cries, building to a crescendo but still not released. One of the men held my legs apart, the other lifted my skirt - it was so short it barely covered my bottom anyway. I had no panties on, my cunt was wet. I felt desperately exposed. I didn’t know what was going to happen. I tensed myself. I brought my buttocks together. I tightened my thighs. But it was pointless - they were too strong, too determined, too committed to their own purpose.
It was so brutal! So terrifying! I didn’t know what was happening to start with - which way I was being pulled, how the pain I was feeling was being inflicted. My mind was in turmoil. I felt giddy and wasn’t sure whether I was on my back or face down on my front. I felt as if I was being spun around, twisted - turned in every direction. I saw images - confused and frightening - but they didn’t make any sense. I heard the woman’s cries, but they were fragmented, broken by the sound of my own gasps, my own panicky gulping.
