Blood Slave

by Syra Bond

  I stared at the helpless woman. I imagined her plight - her fear of drowning, her exposure to the gaze of others, her vulnerability. Caroline stood behind me, her hand massaging the insides of my thighs. They moved higher towards my slit.

  ‘Pretty isn’t she? Would you like to be in her place, Syra? Would you like to feel yourself on the cliff edge of life like that? Would you like to stand on the precipice between one world and the next? Syra? Can you imagine her confinement? Her inability to move? Her defencelessness? And it’s all one way. The water only ever gets deeper. Syra, does it make your cunt wet? Can I feel its wetness? Oh, yes! I can feel it does. Oh, Syra, you’re so naughty! You envy her don’t you? You would like to take her place wouldn’t you?’

  I felt her fingers running along the flesh of my cunt. I dropped myself down against them, letting them run inside on the wetness that covered the flesh like moist silk.

  ‘Yes, I would. Oh, yes, I would.’

  ‘Then think of it, Syra. See yourself shackled in the water tank. Feel the cold water around your body. Feel your mouth just above its surface. Feel the band around your head. Imagine the tap above you and how you can affect it - if you remain still you can survive; if you struggle or show fear, you will surely drown. Syra, imagine it - the delectability of confinement; the punishment for movement. Can you feel it, Syra? Can you feel your own inability to move?’

  I don’t know what happened next - one moment I was listening to Caroline talking, the next I think she had bound me to something, or pressed a heavy weight on me, or wrapped me up in bandages, or bound my body with tape - I couldn’t tell. All I knew was that I couldn’t move. Perhaps I was bound to a chair? Yes, I felt a pressure at the back of my knees, and a band around my head. I must be in the tank. I couldn’t remember being put there, but that is what must have happened. I could just hear her voice - echoey, distant, like the chanting of a boy’s choir. I thought I felt her undoing the bandage around my neck. I imagined her looking inquisitively at the wounds. I felt something soothing against them. Her lips perhaps? Yes, it must be her lips. I felt her drinking from me. I heard the gushing of blood in my head as she sucked it from my veins. My head was pounding. I saw flashing lights. I heard the rushing sound of blood in my mouth and lips. I thought I inclined my head to one side but I wasn’t sure. There were so many pictures in my mind. I saw young women frolicking, being caned and spanked, sucking cocks. I watched them running hand in hand as they were chased by a man with a leather belt. I saw them falling on the ground as he thrashed them mercilessly. I saw their necks, all punctured like mine - some still bleeding, some infected, some bruised in circles and blotches.

  There was a voice in my head. I could just make it out above the pounding rush of blood. I listened. It was charming me, hypnotising me.

  ‘Peace can only be found in the stillness of silence,’ it said. ‘Stillness is the secret of perfect purification. Tranquillity is the final route to salvation. Peacefulness allows the final exit from the purgatory of separation to the place where we are complete - where we are at one. All movement must be regulated so that there is no distraction from the object which draws us on our journey. All movement must be measured and controlled if the insane are to find their way through to the dark heaven. Only restriction will rid the patient of this imbalance.’

  I did not want to move. Why should I? All I wanted was to listen to the letting of my blood - the gushing sound as it fed another.

  I did not know whether my eyes were open or closed. It did not matter. I did not know whether or not I was gagged, or in darkness or in light. It did not matter. I saw a new world ahead - red tinted, warm, all-encompassing. I was sitting now. Yes, definitely sitting. I seemed to be on a bench, in the open. I must have made my escape at last. Yes, Caroline had taken me to the main gates and shown me the way out. I was released! At last I was free from Pacific Heights!

  A girl approached on a bicycle. Her short pink skirt lifted slightly in the breeze. Occasionally the delicate hem tapped her tanned thighs - kissing their firmness. Her white cotton panties were in full view, tight pulled around the soft yielding flesh of her young cunt, itself squeezed by the regular movements of her slightly tanned legs. She was impartial to the splendour of it all, lazily unaware of how captivating she was, somehow not realising her beauty. This innocent naivety created a supreme excess of her already overpowering sexuality. It spilled out from her like a delectable, sensual shower. I sat and bathed in its misty softness.

  I pushed my fingers down between my thighs - I could do nothing else, the image was irresistible. I wanted her to stay where she was, just ahead of me, approaching but never getting closer. I couldn’t stand her being closer; I would strip my clothes off and throw myself down in front of her - open my legs and howl with joy, beg her to ride her bicycle along the furrow of my aching wet cunt. I would grasp her as she rode over me, as she crushed me beneath her delectably perfect form, not noticing that she was riding time and again across my tormented, ecstatic body.

  She rode away. I waited in case she returned. A young woman sat down beside me. She had a freshly purchased ice cream cone in her hand. She smiled briefly then drew the ice cream up to her waiting lips. I stared at her beautiful profile. She licked the ice cream cone. Her fleshy tongue flattened and spread out, licked upwards - slow and long - then drew down again before the next slurping stroke. I knew exactly what she was thinking, what she was experiencing. I knew exactly what she was slurping at with such eager rhythmic glee.

  Ice cream ran down her chin. She licked her tongue down and lapped it up. She turned her eyes slightly sideways. She knew what I was thinking; she knew what I knew.

  She held it out to me. I opened my mouth. She thrust it in. I choked and fought for breath. She pushed it harder, right inside my mouth and against the back of my throat. I coughed and squirmed as she kept pushing it in.

  ‘Wake up my little sweetness,’ said a voice.

  I felt the coolness of the ice cream in my throat.

  ‘Wake up, Syra. It has been too long.’

  I gasped for breath. I felt a hand stroking my forehead.

  ‘Far too long, my darling Syra.’

  The voice was familiar. More than familiar! I knew who it was!

  I struggled to open my eyes - my eyelids felt like lead. Yes, I was confined - tied into some sort of chair. There was something tight around my head - a band of some sort. I couldn’t move. I saw a figure staring down at me. Yes, it was Father Dawson. I couldn’t believe my eyes! But I had to - this was no fantasy. I was sure of that. He had found me again! He had captured me again! From beyond the grave he had again made me his prisoner!

  THE ELECTRIC CHAIR

  I tried to move but it was impossible. I was tied tightly into the chair, and now I could see what sort of chair it was - an electric chair!

  I was in the Execution Room that Caroline had shown me when she first took me around Pacific Heights. It stood on a timber rostrum beneath a single bare light bulb. I was bound to the heavy timber frame by leather wrist straps which pulled my arms down tightly against the leather covered armrests. My legs were pulled back tightly against the chair and secured at the ankles with more heavy leather straps. My head was pulled back against a leather covered panel and secured by a band around my forehead. Another strap across my breasts secured my upper arms and held my body firmly against the back of the chair. Above me coiled a heavy flex which ran to a rusty electric control box on the wall. A red lever attached to the control box pointed to “off”. I felt the soft sticky coldness of a rubber mat beneath my bottom.

  Suddenly, I went into frenzy - pulling at my wrists, trying to shake my head, trying to free my ankles. I felt desperate. I couldn’t move at all! I was bound so tight around the chest I could hardly breathe! My head was clamped so rigidly it was pounding. My hands and feet throbbed under the constriction of the leather straps. I was throw
n into a panic. I gasped for breath. I screamed and shouted. Spit ran from my mouth. I was overwhelmed by confusion and terror.

  I went still - I couldn’t find the energy to continue. This couldn’t be happening! I had thought I was escaping. Caroline had assured me I would be free, and now this! My images of the girl on the bicycle and the ice cream cone - just hallucinations. But why? Had I been drugged or were these all products of the infection that I carried deep in my blood? My mind was in turmoil.

  My panic did not ease but through the confusion I began to see more clearly where I was. I looked ahead, staring out from my captivity - humiliatingly exposed for an unknown crime.

  The room in which I was placed was large. It was set out like a church. Several rows of seats faced me and, at right angles on either side, sat priests in cassocks. They held their hands outstretched and palms upturned. Their white robes hung heavily on their shoulders. They faced the congregation in the centre - as if not seeing them - benign, smiling, and waiting for a long promised eternity.

  On the left side, in front of the priests, was Nurse Roslin still tightly confined in the small cage in which Caroline and I had trapped her.

  I stared to the back of the room. Along a central aisle between the gathered congregation, an open coffin was being borne on the shoulders of six muscular, sobbing orderlies. Some of the congregation clutched each other in a muddled attempt at mutual comfort - those in need, comforting others who in turn comforted them.

  It was all so strange - as though part of another world. I bit my lips in a pathetic attempt to see if I was dreaming. There was no doubt that this was real! I tasted my own blood on my tongue.

  As the coffin bearers approached I looked at their faces - reddened with tears. A young man with a wide mouth looked up and smiled weakly. It was as though he was reaching out to me for comfort. I smiled back and, his eyes filled with tears. He looked away.

  I looked across the pews. Everyone was sitting at attention - as though they were about to be inspected. My eyes widened as I saw, sitting together amongst them, Lydia and Nomi. All three stared ahead as though they were in a trance. Lydia clutched the fur cape between her knees. Behind them sat Dr Collins, Dr Vahal and Nurse Hiatt. My eyes followed the lines of pews. I saw the three men and the girl who had struggled so much to get into the hole beneath the grill in the corridor. I saw the four women who had held me down with their teeth, and the blonde, brunette and red-head who had been waiting ball-gagged in Dr Vahal’s waiting room.

  On the front row, amid the black crepe of mourning clothes, I saw a woman’s thigh bared by a roving hand. A beautiful woman in a black hat and veil stared ahead as the man next to her slid his hand slowly up the long side-slit of her tight velvet dress. In his other hand he held a thin gold chain which led up to a gold ring inserted through the centre of her nose. She looked down and he snatched on the ring to make her bring her head back up. There was no expression on her face even though the sudden pull on the ring had clearly given her pain.

  I sensed the heavy mood of pervasive grief. I felt as if, placed as I was on the chair at the head of the gathering, I was intruding on their privacy.

  Father Dawson turned his back on me and stepped down from the rostrum. He bowed his head and received the coffin. He kissed the bible he was carrying. Some of the priests stood up and lit candles. They arranged them on the edges of the coffin in flickering serried ranks. The body inside was illuminated in their glittering light.

  ‘No one comes to the Lord except through me,’ said Father Dawson. ‘I am his blood and his flesh.’

  I could see it was a woman inside although I could not see her face. Her arms were folded across her bare breasts and a green ivy garland was wound around her head. I realised she must have died here, in this dreadful place, alone, uncared for, unvisited, probably unrecognisable after her suffering.

  ‘Oh, Lord, receive this, our latest “sleeper”. Hold her in your arms until the day of her new awakening. Holy! Holy! Holy!’

  Father Dawson started quaking as if possessed. It was as though a spirit had suddenly descended into him. His eyes bulged and he threw his head forwards and backwards.

  I shivered as a draft of cold air passed across my face. I felt my nipples hardening. I realised everyone could see them. I flushed with a shivering wave of embarrassment and horror.

  ‘Holy! Holy! Holy!’ he shrieked again lifting his hands high into the air.

  I looked again at the woman in the red velvet dress. The man’s searching hand pushed higher up her bare thigh. I couldn’t believe no one else was looking; I couldn’t take my eyes from them now.

  Caroline was sitting on the edge of the rostrum near my feet. Her legs were apart, her cunt exposed, her fingers slipping along its wet crack.

  ‘Saints of God, come to her aid,’ shouted Father Dawson. ‘Hasten to meet her, my angel’s Lord. And let perpetual darkness at last enfold her immortal living soul. Take her, my Lord, she has waited too long to be in your arms.’

  I couldn’t take it all in. My head was spinning. I heard whimpering and looked towards the sound. It was Nurse Roslin still tied by the bandage that gagged her mouth and secured her to the roof bars of the confining cage she had been driven into. She had given up struggling and now - apparently lost in hopelessness - was sobbing and moaning,

  ‘Let our patient at last turn away from the light,’ announced Father Dawson in a sombre chanting tone. ‘Bring her finally to the darkness, oh Lord.’

  He walked back up onto the rostrum and placed his hands on my head.

  ‘Let our new member leave this squalid life of light and join us in the joyous world of shadow and darkness. Her blood is now our blood, her lust our lust, her pain, our pain. Come, Syra, come at last and join us in the dark and delectable world of the immortals. Join us in the world you have made possible with your blood.’

  He reached up to the handle on the electric switch on the wall.

  ‘Syra, do you remember what Madison told you about her electric shocks? It will be the same for you. Now, you will discover the pleasure it can bring. As the electricity passes through your body you will know the transcending force that will lead you to your destiny. It will be the source of power to bring you to your new life. Syra, come and join us at last.’

  Caroline was standing by his side, holding onto his arm. Nurse Roslin was again struggling against the bonds in the cage. Suddenly, she caught my eye. She had turned her head. She must have managed to loosen the gagging bandage across her mouth. Her gaze conveyed her torment but there was something else - something I could not understand.

  Suddenly, everything went white then blood-red. It was as though I was hit by a thudding heavy blow then drowned in a flooding rain of crimson. It took my breath away. My body went rigid and tightened against my bonds. My head buzzed as if it was about to explode. My eyes were open but I saw nothing except redness. Another jolt. It hit me again - a second shock. My body was frozen in a spasm as a rain of redness fell in a torrent before my eyes.

  There was a pause. My body relaxed - a sudden heavy dropping feeling as it was released from the gripping tension. My mouth was gaping wide. I felt something trickling from my tongue. I tasted blood.

  The congregation came back into focus. I couldn’t think. I saw Lydia and Nomi walking towards the open coffin. Lydia bent her face towards the woman inside.

  ‘Now!’ shouted Father Dawson at the top of his voice. ‘Now the time is come. Lydia and Nomi will serve you all - a last drink before the change begins. They will pass it amongst you; they will let you quench your thirst with the pure rich blood which carries the seed of our future. Lydia, you may take first bite. Bite her tongue and lips - they are the tenderest parts and from them will come the best flow. Let it fill her mouth and you can suck it up for the rest, or scoop it out with your fingers if her mouth will open wide enough. ’

 
I saw another flash of red - it was the red velvet skirt. The man was pulling at it viciously. He ripped it along the high slit until he reached the waistband. The woman shrieked and tried to pull back. The man pulled back her veil and grabbed her by the throat. It was Madison! She tried to yell out but only choked. The man used his body to wedge her firmly against the back of the pew, drew out a syringe from his pocket and held it in front of her face. She looked terrified, but she stopped yelling, dropped her jaw wide, and let her pink fleshy tongue hang out over her bottom lip. He pressed the end of the needle against her tongue. I saw it entering and watched her body relaxing as the joy of being punctured by the needle replaced any fear she had of the unexpected. Her legs fell wide apart exposing the glistening slit of her naked cunt.

  Lydia reached into the coffin. She opened the woman’s mouth and pulled her tongue forward - it was purple and stiff. I felt a twinge in my face as she pinched the tip of the tongue between her thumb and forefinger. I coughed as she started to pull it forward. It was as if she was pulling at my tongue. She placed her sharp canine teeth against its flesh, held it there as if savouring the moment of anticipation, then sank her teeth in.

  I screamed - the pain was excruciating! I saw Father Dawson pulling down the lever. Another heavy jolt hit me. My last image was of the needle of the syringe going into Madison’s tongue. The last thing I heard was the metallic crack of the switch being pulled down; after that, nothing.

  I went rigid again. The redness came over me. I felt displaced - moved to a different place. I was stiff but lying down - no longer in the chair. Everything was confused. Some sensations came back. I felt a sharp pain in my tongue. I knew it was being pierced. The image of the syringe in Madison’s tongue and the sight of Lydia biting the dead woman’s tongue was all I could see in the red mist which enshrouded me. Another thudding jolt - another pain. I choked again. I tasted blood. I swallowed and felt the thick liquor going down my throat. I heard it gurgling in my mouth. My mouth was filling with it. I felt as if I was going to drown! Another jolt - another stiffening spasm. I felt the blood running from my veins. My head was pounding. I was filled with nausea. I saw a face close to mine. It was Lydia! For a moment I saw her smile. Another jolt hit me - another clank of the metal switch in my head, another hopeless attempt at swallowing. I heard my breath bubbling through the blood in my mouth. I knew my blood was running over my lips. I was overflowing with it. Lydia pressed her lips against mine. I knew she was sucking my blood, lapping it out of my mouth into her own, sucking it up and carrying it to the others. Another jolt. I went rigid again. The redness was all I could see. Then Nomi emerged from it. She kissed me too. She bit my lips and my tongue again. She sucked at the reservoir of blood in my mouth. She lapped it up like Caroline and took it to the others. I was feeding them! They were emptying me of blood like leeches! It was me in the coffin! I was dead!