Flesh & Blood

by John Argus

  Six blows and her pale white flesh was, she knew, a mass of welted red, flaring and throbbing. Seven blows and her neck jerked painfully against the wooden stock. Eight and she screamed and thrashed. Nine and she whimpered and prayed for it to stop, blubbering and begging for mercy, hoping she could withstand the last blow. And then it fell, and her scream was part horror and part relief.

  The voice spoke again and the men moved forward. She all but collapsed in the stocks, but strong male hands held her hips up, and then they were fucking her again, sneering at her as they drove their hard cocks into her sex and down her throat.

  She heard the bawling of a camel in the distance, and the braying of a donkey. Dogs barked and children shouted to each other from beyond the massed crowd. She coughed and choked as erect penis after erect penis was thrust into her mouth and their semen spilled onto her tongue and down her throat, over her face and into her hair.

  Hands roughly groped her breasts and she felt herself rousing, a sense of martyred masochistic pleasure flooding her dazed mind. A part of her railed against it, snarling and twisting and fighting to no avail as sex heat flooded her body and soul.

  She was going to climax, she knew. She fought desperately to resist, but knew it was only a matter of time, and very little time. The man behind her knew what he was doing as he fucked her with vigor.

  But then that voice called out again and she waited in trepidation. The hands and cocks moved away, leaving her panting, gasping, nearly swooning with illicit yearning. Then the cane cut across her bottom again and pain flashed through her nervous system to sweep her clear of any sexual torpor.

  She clenched her teeth and felt anger towards those jeering faces, but at the same time a hungry sense of masochistic glee as pain was forced upon her. The cane cracked and snapped and bit into her defenseless buttocks as she twisted in helpless response. Yet she did not cry out any longer, somehow finding reserves of strength to deny them their victory as her body jerked to the violence of the beating.

  She counted the number of strikes and then the men swamped her again, and she could no longer stop herself. She came with a shuddering, bucking, twisting violence, her eyes fiercely clenched as the orgasmic seizure sent convulsions through her exhausted body.

  And then, barely conscious, she was released from the stocks and carried a short distance away. She was held against an upright post, her ankles lashed to the base of it, and her arms lifted and bound to a wooden crosspiece.

  A greasy, foul smelling man leered down at her and gripped one of her breasts in grimy, calloused hand. Rough fingers squeezed the nipple, and he gleefully presented a fearsome needle in his other hand. She watched, strangely transfixed, as the tip of the needle pressed against the side of her nipple, she felt an intense pain as it pierced the poor bud, and then it was through and out the other side.

  Before Leah could really comprehend what he’d done to her he thumbed her pulsing nipple, then slipped a gold ring through it, and bizarrely it struck her that it looked quite natural there.

  He gripped her other nipple, pinching and twisting it, and that too was pierced and ringed. He said something, a soft babble in her ears, then he dropped to his haunches and she felt his fingers pressing against the hood of her clitoris, pushing it back to expose her moist, swollen bud. His fingers squeezed and then pain made her scream. The crowd roared with appreciation, drowning out her pitiful pleas for mercy, and then the man straightened up.

  They freed her from the post and the man attached a new leash to her, this one attached to the ring that now pierced her clitoris. Her wrists were shackled behind her back once again, and she was led stumbling and staggering back through the crowd, her clitoris burning as the leash pulled against it, her bottom afire from her punishment.

  ‘Miss? Time to go, miss. Come on. Need a cab?’

  Leah opened her eyes slowly, blinking cautiously. Her body felt drained, utterly exhausted. She raised her head only with enormous effort to see one of the club’s thickset doormen standing over the table. The club was largely empty, the lights up and bright, the music stopped. Table sets were being put together, glasses and dirty ashtrays removed.

  ‘Had a few, have we?’ he went on. ‘Come on, honey, on your feet. Do you know where you live?’ He helped her to stand, and she wobbled on rubbery legs. ‘Got a purse? Got money? Ah, here we are.’

  She wasn’t sure how she got into a taxi. She sat back, half dozing, until they arrived at her building. Then the cabby helped her out of the vehicle and helped unlock her door. He slid her purse over her shoulder and gave her a little push, then went back to his cab.

  She moved like an automaton into the elevator, leaning against the wall up to her floor, then down the hall to her apartment. Once inside she barely got the door closed before sliding down the inside and sitting dazed on the floor, where she again fell asleep.

  Chapter Six

  It was daylight when Leah woke, the bright sun streaming through her living room window. She raised her head and rubbed her shoulder where she’d been propped against the wall.

  What on earth had happened to her?

  She tried to stand up on legs painfully numb with pins and needles, wincing with the discomfort and effort, and after several failed attempts she succeeded, shuffling around on the spot for a minute or two until the blood flowed again and the feeling returned to her limbs, which for a short while only increased the pain in them. She held her head, her first thoughts that someone must have drugged her, perhaps tried to feed her one of the date rape drugs making the circuit of the clubs. If so, then whatever the scum had planned had failed. She remembered that she’d lost consciousness in the club, and the slime-balls must have been too frightened to try and take her out.

  And then the dreams came back: stark, clear, and terrifying. But she was too drained to try and make any sense out of them and… something felt alien between her thighs, so with a growing sense of desperation she lifted the short hem of her dress and shrieked with shock. Her panties were missing and unbelievably her sex mound was shaved, and there was a small gold ring dangling from her clitoris! She stared, her mouth and eyes wide with astonishment, utterly unable to believe what she saw. Her fingers reached down very gently and touched her naked sex lips and the new adornment, and she gasped at the incomprehensible rush of excitement it caused.

  It wasn’t possible. She had only gone to a club. She had lost consciousness but woken – admittedly somewhat worse for wear – still in the club. She had definitely not gone anywhere else with anyone else. She remembered the sharp canines of one of the two strangers, remembered them closing around her nipples, and remembered the pain as he then buried his face between her legs.

  Frantically she struggled out of her dress completely and stared down at her nipples, neatly pierced, thin gold rings the diameter of quarters dangling from each. In disbelief she pressed her fingers against her nipples and their new lodgers, rubbing them lightly and quizzically, still unable to believe her eyes. As with her clitoris, her nipples were even more sensitive than usual.

  This wasn’t possible. Leah had actually considered getting a nipple pierced once, years earlier. She considered it strongly enough to actually look into what was involved, and the literature spoke of weeks of healing and discomfort, especially for a genital piercing. Yet she reached down and fingered her clitoris again, trying to ignore the rush of pleasure it brought her, feeling no sense of pain or soreness at all.

  ‘It’s not possible,’ she said in awe, also wondering how she came to have a denuded sex. And people did not come with fangs. Teeth like those the two seducers in her dream possessed were the stuff of B-movies and nightmares.

  She jerked her head up and her hand rose to her throat. She hurried, naked, into the bathroom and leaned forward across the basin to stare at her reflection in the mirror. She raised her chin and scanned her throat, and incredibly tiny twi
n punctures, a little like insect bites but larger, marked the flesh. But how could that be? It had all been a weird dream, surely.

  She struggled to come up with an explanation. Perhaps they were insect bites. They had to be.

  Her attention moved back to the gold rings piecing her nipples, and looking at them in the mirror she fingered one, carefully turning it, actually enjoying the strange sensation as it moved through her stiffening bud. She searched for the clasp, but she was stunned to discover it had none. And that wasn’t possible, either.

  Her fingertips slid around and around the thin gold ring, searching for a break, for any kind of line that would indicate how it opened. She lifted it, trying to see better, wincing as it pulled on her nipple. But there was no join, no way she could see of removing it, and it was the same for the other two.

  She had never considered a clitoral piercing, though she had read up on them a little. Most piercings were through the labia or at worst the hood over the clitoris. Doing the clitoris itself was considered too dangerous, for if anything went wrong it could cause a lack of sensation, or worse. That clearly had not happened here. Not only was her clitoris pierced but there appeared to be nothing to indicate it had been recently done, neither soreness nor blood. And she was clearly just as sensitive as always, if not more.

  She had to sit down on the toilet and spread her legs, then use a mirror to examine the ring better. It was nearly a twin of the others, but a little smaller, and like them it had the weight to be a constant reminder of its presence. In fact, though smaller and just as thin, it appeared even heavier than the two piercing her nipples.

  As her fingers caressed her inner thighs she gazed in wonder at her naked sex. She had once experimented with shaving between her legs and not liked the results. Yet this was something entirely different. There was no soreness, no redness, and no stubble, nor even the hint of any. Her fingers gently traced the lips of her sex, then up and down in widening circles, and found nothing but smooth, soft, clear skin.

  She stood up again and stared at herself in the mirror. Her sex was more obviously visible than she remembered seeing it since she’d been quite young, and the ring through her clitoris seemed to glint proudly from between her labia. She drew in a sharp breath, the fingers of both hands moving distractedly across her sex. What the hell had happened to her?

  Leah spent several hours pacing back and forth, naked all the while, trying to understand what had happened to her and considering what, if anything, she could do about it. Clearly there was no one she could talk to about it. There was no agency to which she could report, no group she could consult. She was alone, and had to deal with whatever was happening to her alone.

  What had been done to her was frightening, yet she remained intrigued by it in many ways. It disturbed her that she could not remove the rings from her body, yet every time she saw herself in a mirror she felt a sense of breathless excitement. It worried her that her pubic hair had somehow been removed, but her pussy thrummed with simmering excitement at how lovely her naked sex looked.

  And she was aroused, not uncontrollably so, but her nipples tingled and her pussy was moist as she paced back and forth. The little rings were not heavy, but as she moved around her apartment they moved too, tugging at her stiff nipples and sensitive clitoris so that it took resolve to keep from touching herself, and a steely determination not to masturbate.

  She decided to work off some energy by exercising, still naked. Something about the idea of putting clothing on seemed vaguely unnatural to her. And so she did her calisthenics, then jogged on her treadmill and lifted some weights, working out for over an hour until a faint sheen of sweat covered her body.

  She then showered, and could resist her soapy body no longer, her fingers stroking her ringed clitoris, her free hand squeezing and kneading her breasts. The orgasm was immensely powerful and she sank to her knees on the tiled floor of the shower. She felt amazed at herself as she knelt there, knees spread, fingers thrusting desperately into her sex as she stroked her clitoris, the climax rolling over her again and again as she shuddered and moaned in helpless pleasure.

  Afterwards she fell back against the shower wall and let the hot water rain down over her body, gulping in air. The power of the orgasm was greater than anything she had ever experienced… except for her experience at the nightclub, and the previous week with Morales.

  How were they linked, she wondered, for certainly they must be?

  And that gave her someone to talk to, to question, someone to tell her what had happened, what was happening to her. But first she would find out everything there was to know about Señor Morales.

  Rodrigo Morales had no driver license. He had no social insurance number. He had no passport. He had no criminal record of any kind. None of the normal channels Leah used had any listing of the man. He did not, for example, even have a credit record, much less a credit card. So perhaps that was not his real name.

  She examined her notebook and then called up the Land Registry on her computer, and much to her utter astonishment and disbelief there was no building at the address she gave for his residence. Nor was there a list of planning consent or building warrants from the local authorities, and a land use chart showed an empty space in the lot occupied by Morales’ house. And yet the building had appeared to be very old – at least a century old, she judged. So how could it possibly have been missed?

  Leah was still naked and still aroused, and doing her best not to touch herself. She was slouched down in her chair, her feet on the coffee table, the keyboard over her thighs doing much to prevent her hands from almost subconsciously sliding down to finger her sex.

  She lifted the keyboard and sat up straighter, placing it on the table so she could stand. She was feeling hyper due to the sexual energy in her system. She padded into her bedroom and considered her options. For confronting Morales a business suit would be best. Yet something inside her rebelled at the thought, so instead she pulled on a lacy black thong and a pair of jeans. She tugged an old white halter that had shrunk in the wash over her shoulders, tugging it down over her breasts. The top showed a goodly portion of cleavage and left most of her midriff bare, and she ran her hands over her stomach, enjoying a quiver of excitement. The top was very tight, serving to support her breasts in the absence of a bra. Of course, it was also quite obvious to the casual viewer that not only was she not wearing a bra, but her nipples were erect, too. And an even closer view would allow the discerning eye to realize the presence of rings, as well.

  She posed before her mirror, feeling the tingle in her nipples grow stronger as the soft cotton molded tightly to them. She shuddered and squeezed herself through the tank top, then slipped her feet into her shoes and headed down to the street.

  It felt slightly wicked to be out in such gear in broad daylight. A woman who safeguarded her reputation, Leah had always been careful about what she wore, about what image she would present. But now she felt her nipples pulsing with excitement as she walked along the sidewalk to where her car was parked.

  She walked as if in an enveloping cloud of sexual heat, aware of every movement of her body, of the dampness in her thong and the fullness of her breasts as they strained against the tight front of her top.

  It was a short drive to Morales’ home, and she parked against the curb and remained behind the wheel for a while, staring up at the house. It looked normal enough, though in daylight it seemed much older than she had thought. That only made it more bizarre that the house did not even appear on the local land registrar’s maps.

  And it was very disconcerting the way she had allowed him to do whatever he’d wanted to her in there. Why had she submitted to a complete stranger in such a way? She should have known better, and the fact that she should have known better but still let it happen really frightened her. What if she surrendered to him once again?

  Who was he? What was he? She
reached up and touched her fingertips to her tender throat. Legend spoke of the ability of vampires to cloud the mind, to seduce women…

  But where the hell did that thought come from? What had he done to her? Was she going insane?

  Flustered and anxious Leah got out of the car and walked quickly up the path to the front door, rapping on the knocker and ringing the bell before her wavering resolve could evaporate completely. Her heart pounded and her tummy fluttered in apprehensive anticipation as she awaited an answer that did not come. She rang again, and again, then looking around her, stepped off the porch and moved around to the rear, trying to peer through gloomy windows as she did.

  She tried a door at the back more out of habit than any hope of it opening, but the latch turned in her hand and she froze as the door eased open a crack. With her heart beating quicker she inched it further open and peeked inside, spying a short hall with another door at its end. She slipped inside and closed the backdoor behind her, careful not to make a sound, and then crept up to the next one, which was unlocked too. She opened it slowly, and saw to her surprise a narrow set of wooden stairs doing down.

  With apparently no other way in to the house she forced herself to make her way down the stairs. As she reached what she had thought was the bottom she realized the stairway only turned, and another flight led still deeper into the bowels of the house. Frowning, wondering why anyone would need a basement so deep, she continued down. Vampires, she thought, the silly thought coming from nowhere; they would want to be deep to be sure of avoiding any daylight. She tried to shake off the thought as absurd, but it persisted as she reached the lower level.

  Now she was in a chilly narrow passage made of unpainted wooden boards. There appeared to be no doors, save for the one at the far end, and a single low voltage light bulb hung overhead illuminating her path as she continued, against all her instincts to turn and flee immediately, to that door.