by Syra Bond
‘Yes, I have. You’re right, I have.’
‘I’m so pleased. Not pleased that you’ve lost something, of course, but pleased that I’m right, and that I’m going to help you find it. This is the most exciting thing that’s ever happened to me!’
She was a flurry of excitement. She danced around me, ran her outstretched hands against walls, jumped over bollards, and pinched people’s cheeks playfully as they passed us in the street. We spent the afternoon walking around the city, sitting at terrace cafés, and staring at people or the river.
Sparky came back with me to the hotel. Without taking her clothes off, she curled up at the bottom of my bed and went to sleep.
The next thing I knew, it was morning. Sparky was still asleep at the bottom of the bed - she looked like a beautiful elf. Her panty covered bottom was taut, and the crease between her buttocks precisely defined. I wanted to run my tongue along it. I wanted to taste the sweetness of her cunt through the silky pink material, I wanted to smell her, to press my eyes and nose against her barely covered flesh, I wanted to inhale her. I reached my hand out and touched the delectable fold of flesh that was squeezed within the gusset between her legs. It was so soft, so perfect. I felt its warmth and, like a jolting shock of electricity, a shivering tingle of excitement ran through me. She was irresistible.
She did not stir as I bent my face towards that delightful crease of her cunt. I felt her sweet flavour in my nostrils. She moved slightly, bringing one leg up higher and pushing the other one down straight. Her soft flesh was squeezed even tighter by the covering of thin material. I looked along the dark valley at its centre, imagining what it covered - the pink slit of her soft, moist cunt.
I reached out and felt the edge of the material - just the touch of it made me tremble with excitement. And the boundary where it met her skin formed the most perfect union. I lifted it slightly away from her skin. My hand was shaking with the thrill of it - seeing her body revealed beneath it, uncovered, exposed. She did not move. I lifted it further. I saw the flesh of her cunt - the soft edge, slightly raised from the centre, flattened at the side. I lifted the material further. I could hardly bear it - my heart was pounding so loudly, my head was thumping. I saw the crack - pink, moist, warm, beckoning. I couldn’t imagine anything more faultless. I just wanted to stare at it, absorb it without ever approaching it. But I couldn’t hold myself back. I bent my face towards it. I smelled her sweetness - like honey, like new mown hay, like damp spring air in the warming sun. I licked out my tongue. I could taste her before I even touched her with its eager tip. My saliva ran over my lip and dripped onto her cunt. I pulled back, thinking she would be roused by its dewy touch - somehow startled, awoken from her dream. I waited, frozen, my heart thumping, my temples pounding. She did not move.
Finally, I let the tip of my tongue make contact with her flesh. I pulled the material aside, so that I could run it fully along the delectable crack. It opened at the first touch - easily, readily, keenly. Her taste was ambrosia - the very food of the gods. I could not stop my eyes closing - it was as though I was transported to a different world, made unconscious simply being in the presence of its heavenly sweetness.
I don’t know how long I licked her cunt - it could have been an hour, a year, it was impossible to tell. She moved occasionally - bringing her leg up higher, opening her legs slightly, moaning once, and once turning her head to the side. At one point she started to stretch but stopped just as she began bending her elbows. I thought of her bending down in the narrow street outside the club - so keen, so eager for punishment. I thought of spanking her myself. I imagined turning her over the end of the bed now, pressing her face down on the brown shiny eiderdown, pulling her panties down, exposing her bottom, checking all the time that she was still asleep. I imagined rubbing my hand across the cheeks of her bare bottom - feeling their tautness, their heat, their elasticity. I wondered when I would first bring my hand down. I knew that as soon as I did she would wake and then the spell would be broken. I pictured myself holding my hand high above her bottom - waiting, expecting, anticipating, all the time bringing fulfilment into the present but never allowing it to be released. Then, unable to hold back, I saw myself bringing it down with a sudden hard slap.
The sound echoed in my ears. I knew then that the magic would be broken; she would wake and turn and cry out. Perhaps she would allow herself to be spanked, but it would be different now that she was awake. The sense of anticipation would be replaced by a different pleasure - I would know her pleasure, I would see it in her face, hear it in her sobs and cries, feel it in the twitching of her anguished body. But then I saw that she did not wake, that she stayed asleep, unconscious, unaware of my spanking hand, of her punishment, and, as I realised this, my heart pounded so wildly I thought it would burst and my stomach filled with an overpowering nervous excitement that threatened to consume me hungrily from within.
Then I realised it was really happening. This was not just in my mind, it was actually happening. I saw myself bringing my hand down again - watching myself as if in a dream, but this was not a dream. Yes, it was true, and she did not wake! I was spanking her and she was still unconscious of the pain, the slapping sound, the pressure of my hand. I brought it down again, and again. She lay there, bent over the edge of the bed, unconscious, unaware, innocent of the punishment she was receiving at my hand. She made no sound, she did not scream or cry out, she did not even move. I stood back for a moment looking at her reddened buttocks. Her head was turned to the side, her mouth open, the tip of her tongue pressed out beneath her top lip. Her eyes were tightly closed, her spiky white hair radiating from her head like an exploding star against the dark brown cosmos of the shiny eiderdown.
I stripped off my clothing and stood naked. My nipples were hard and throbbing. I felt my own cunt - it was soft and moist, aching along its naked slit. I pressed my fingers into the crack and massaged the yielding flesh. I felt my face flushing with excitement. My anus ached. I wanted it filled with a cock. I wanted to sit down on a heavy stiff cock. I wanted to be crammed full with a pulsating venous shaft deep in my rectum.
I bent forward and continued the spanking. I brought my hand down harder and harder until I felt a constricting tightness in my own hips. A tide of excitement ran between them, heat pulsed through my beating clitoris, tingling burst into my erect nipples. I could not hold back. I did not have the strength to fight against it, and I did not have the strength to continue her punishment. I was overcome and depleted yet still hungry for more. I fell forward onto my knees and lapped at her cunt as my orgasm flowed though me in heavy, seizing waves. The cramping spasms made me gulp and I slurped noisily as I dribbled spit and moisture from my lips and tongue.
I wanted to tie her up as Anicka had done. I needed to tie her up. I pulled at one of the loose laces in her plimsolls and drew it free. I wound it around her wrists. There seemed no point at first - she did not move anyway - but as I pulled the lace tighter, as I watched it digging into her pale skin, as I felt her lack of response or resistance - I realised that binding her was essential. It was taking me to a level of excitement I had never known. It was her lack of resistance that excited me most; that she was so completely inert, unaware of my actions, so unaware of any pain I was inflicting on her. Binding her when she did not move or offer any resistance drew me into a world of pleasure in which I felt I would expire from sheer delight. It was her innocent immobility, her sweet lack of resistance even as she was bound, and the pain I was inflicting even though she knew nothing of it, that overwhelmed me.
I pulled the lace tighter, hardly able to believe that she would not wake up, but she didn’t.
I looked at her mouth - slightly open, her lips parted and trembling with each sharp intake of breath. Could I bind her mouth as well? Would it be possible to restrain her from crying out even though she would not cry out?
I could not resist her. I could not resist my
desires. I started to pull her white plimsoll from her foot. She stretched her leg slightly. I stopped and waited. She went still again. I drew the plimsoll away. One by one she stretched her toes inside her tightly pulled pink sock. Again I waited, again she went still. I leant across her. I felt her chest rising and falling as she breathed. Her pale stretched neck looked so entrancing. I knew I would like to bite into it, to suck at her veins, to feel the elements of her body that it carried. But first I wanted to stuff her mouth with the plimsoll. I wanted to see it plugged, stopped up, filled.
I opened her mouth a little, putting my fingers on her lower teeth and pulling down her jaw. Her bottom lip quivered slightly. When I thought it was open enough I pushed the rubber covered toe end of the plimsoll in her mouth.
The rubber toecap went straight in. She sucked air in against it, catching her breath for a moment, before relaxing and inhaling heavily through her nostrils. I pushed the plimsoll in further, opening her mouth as wide as I could with my fingers then stuffing it in completely. It forced her mouth wide, stretching it at the corners.
I sat and watched her - bound by the wrists and with her mouth plugged with the plimsoll, unmoving, unguarded, and innocent of what was happening. I bent to her neck. I couldn’t resist it - everything seemed right. She looked so peaceful, so submissive, so entrancing.
I kissed her neck, just below her ear. Her spiky haired head rested on the brown bed cover and her neck stretched away from me. It looked so naked, so accessible - that pale passage of her body between her head and her shoulders, the conduit for all her veins, the route to her mind, the pathway for all the commands that carried out her wishes. Her elegant neck - the pathway of all her becoming. I looked at the faint lines of the tendons that controlled her movements, the light blue strips that hinted at the flowing blood beneath, the shallow beating of her pulse given away by the taut pulsating rise and fall beneath her skin. I thought of her heart - pumping out the oxygenated blood to her body, drawing it from her lungs and pressing it into service. I imagined it flowing to every part of her - pounding into her organs, taking power to her limbs, seeping into the most distant and fragile capillaries at the ends of her fingertips and toes. I pictured the blood flowing back - desperate to return to her heart, hungry to be reinvigorated. And that blood, I thought of that more than anything, depleted of strength but carrying the germ of her very existence - that was the blood I thought about, that was the blood I wanted. It was this special blood, this venous blood - lacking pressure, flowing slowly, distant from the pressing pulse of her heart - that I desired. I wanted to taste its rawness, its own hunger, its impregnation of her every part. This was the blood that had touched all of her and become exhausted because of its effort, this was the blood that knew her best and had given of itself to feed her, this was the blood that needed air to survive and continue.
I looked for the place - just below her ear, where the visible beating of her heart corresponded with the light blue vein that travelled beneath it. I opened my mouth and pressed my lips against her taut pale skin. I opened my mouth wider and felt the edges of my teeth making contact with it. The pointed tips of my hollowed out canine teeth pressed against the flesh - they were so sharp, I knew they would puncture it easily. I rested there for a few moments, my heart thumping madly, my head spinning with a mixture of overpowering desire and panic-laden apprehension. Suddenly, I saw what I was doing - lying on the top of this delicate unconscious girl, getting ready to bite into her neck, preparing to suck the blood from her veins. I felt breathless - overcome with anxiety, filled with the horror of it all. I couldn’t believe what I was doing! I couldn’t believe that my knowledge of it still allowed me to continue!
I pressed my teeth down harder. Each broke the skin at the same time. It was such a deliberate act. I knew I had to dig them deeper to find the vein. I tensed my jaws and began to draw them together. I felt the points of my teeth burying themselves further into Sparky’s flesh. I felt her blood oozing into my mouth, mixing with my saliva, lubricating my tongue, introducing me to the feed. Then I felt the vein - pulsating against a tendon. I tightened my jaw more. I felt its shape - soft, not hard walled like an artery, flowing with blood at low pressure; the perfect pressure to feed on. The points of my teeth went into the wall of the vein. I pictured the incision in my mind. The blood flowed straight away. I sucked against it and filled my mouth with it. It ran over my tongue, against the insides of my cheeks, it covered my teeth. It flowed to the back of my throat - already coagulating, already congealing into heavy globs as it mixed with my saliva.
I swallowed hard. I felt its power, the message that it carried of Sparky’s body, her life, her very being. All of it was now mine - within me, soaking into my own system, being absorbed into me, needing my oxygen, needing the new life that I could breathe into it.
I sucked more of the flowing blood. I filled myself with it, gulping at it, slavering at it, burrowing my face into the bloody wound, covering myself with Sparky’s streaming nectar. I realised my eyes were closed and when I opened them all I could see was tinted red. They were covered with Sparky’s blood, covered with a film of redness, tainting the world of my senses with its hue, dyeing everything with the crimson blush of my hunger and lust - red was the colour of everything I needed.
I realised I had my fingers in Sparky’s cunt. It was a beautiful place for them to be. I knew when I pulled them out I would sniff them - inhale them deeply - and lick them until the taste of her was fixed forever in my mind. I kept them there as I pulled away and looked at her. Two small streams of blood ran from the wounds in her neck. I watched the flow slacken then cease. Still my eyes were filled with blood, still my fingers were inside her soft wet cunt, and still she was unconscious of me and what I was doing.
THE SISTERS
It had been light for hours. I got up and took a shower. The water ran red around me. I felt as if I was standing in a pool of blood. I imagined it soaking up my legs, into my cunt, my breasts, my heart. I didn’t know what had happened to me. I felt as if I was some sort of monster.
As I went downstairs I was overcome by a sense of unsolvable confusion. I didn’t know which way to turn, what to do next. I couldn’t tell what I wanted, what I was doing. My desires felt like fears, my fears like desires. Everything had become so mixed up. It was as though I had caught a disease; as if I had been infected by a germ that my mind could not deal with and my body could not resist. I knew I carried an infection of bloodlust - I had been told that - but I had been told I was immune to its effects. Now it seemed to be taking me over, winning the battle I had not even thought I needed to wage. Yes, I was being overpowered by something I could not understand, beaten by something that was too much for me to resist.
I went into a courtyard behind the hotel. It was shaded by a heavy timber loggia. A beautiful mixture of aromas filled it - cinnamon, coffee, cigar smoke, olive oil, the musky smell of women.
I sat on a shiny metal chair beneath the cascading vines. A good looking young man came to me with a note pad in his hand. I asked for something refreshing. He smiled courteously and went away.
I sat back on the chair - the seat was cool against the backs of my thighs. I stretched my legs out, pushed my shoes off and flexed my toes. I started to feel more relaxed.
I listened to a slow slapping sound, like something tapping against a window in the wind. It stopped the started again. I heard something that sounded like a woman’s cry - again regular, keeping time with the tapping sound and dropping back when the tapping sound ceased.
I lifted my right foot onto my left knee. I felt the cool fragrant air against the soft naked flesh of my cunt. I ran my hand down across it, slipping it over the thin material and into the crease of my slit. My knee dropped lower as I found my clitoris and pressed at its base. My buttocks tightened as a surge of joy ran between my hips and up into my chest.
Screened by a broad leaved plant climbing up f
rom a massive purple pot, two young women sat talking intently. I could hear them clearly although their voices were almost in whispers. It was as if a long held secret was passing between them and the importance of it demanded a lower level of sound than communication of the everyday sort. Their clandestine intrigue excited me. I stroked my fingers around the base of my clitoris. The wave of joy passed through my body again as I listened carefully. They were both speaking in English although they were clearly Czech.
I peeped between the leaves of the plant. They were both young but one was older than the other, and darker haired. It was obvious they were sisters; there was something indefinable in their looks which said they were related - their lips maybe, or their eyes; it was impossible to tell, but there was something. The older sister was called Vanya, the younger Jana. They leant towards each other across a small aluminium table. They held each other’s hands as though touching made the secret they were sharing that much easier to bear.
The young man came back with my drink on a tray. He placed it in front of me. I pulled my hand away from my cunt and my face flushed red with embarrassment. He raised his eyebrows and nodded his head towards a window above the courtyard.
