by John Argus
Yet she could not explain away the uncontrollable, heightened lust she’d felt almost constantly since first meeting Morales, and could not explain the fiery heat she’d felt burning through her flesh at the touch of the girls’ tongues. She had to squeeze her thighs together as she recalled the moment one of them thrust her tongue into her quim for the first time.
She woke, eyes snapping open and staring at the wall opposite the foot of her bed. She lay on her side, curled up in a fetal position, one hand between her legs, her other cupping a breast. She slowly unfurled, rolling onto her back, letting the hand clamped between her thighs slide away, flopping lifelessly onto the mattress beside her as she stared up at the ceiling.
None of it was possible. None of it.
The afternoon sun streamed through the window, and she rolled out of bed. She showered, then dressed in a tight pale blue blouse, a short black leather skirt, and black leather boots with four-inch heels. It was hardly the proper attire for a police officer about to interview potential witnesses, but something inexplicable influenced her to make the choice, and made her slip into her favorite leather coat, the one she normally only ever wore for nights out.
Outside she got into her car, started the engine and pulled away from her apartment block. She tried to ignore the memories of what had happened to her in recent days. Morales. Somehow he had done things to her mind, to her body. But how could she fight him, much less his kinky entourage?
She paused as she spotted a church ahead, and turned in. She got out of her car but hesitated briefly, absurdly wondering if she were cursed, and if so whether she would be able to enter the sacred place at all. But she felt nothing as she passed through the large arched doorway, and a sense of relief filled her. For some reason she felt the need to make her way up the aisle, and halted at the small stone basin and gazed at the water within. Holy water. By all the legends and myths, holy water was a weapon to be used against… against vampires.
But what was this lunacy? Why was she even thinking this way?
She stared down at the water, and then tentatively put a hand out, fingers extended to brush the cool surface. She drew them back and made the sign of the cross over her chest, felt self-conscious as she stumbled awkwardly through a quick prayer, then turned and hurried out.
She had previously printed off a list of local shops supplying gothic clothing, accessories, books, comics and memorabilia, so she began to visit them one by one, asking the proprietors or staff for information about the vampire legend and whether they knew of any customers who may have thought such things really existed, showing pictures of the missing girls to see if anyone recognized them or whether they might jog some memories.
Most of the stores appeared to be little more than hobby shops for the terminally silly, for teenagers and goths and oddballs and cranks. There were a few aimed at Wiccans and the granola cruncher set, but they were little better. Almost all of them focused on witchcraft, love potions, and communicating with the dead; the mention of vampires drew blank looks or amusement.
It wasn’t until she happened upon a shop in a seedy basement that she found anything of interest. The shop was tiny, the shelves and products on them handmade, and the proprietor a wizened old man with surprisingly bright green eyes, but at the mention of vampirism those eyes narrowed defensively and flickered up and down as if examining her anew.
‘You’ll not find much relation between petty potions and vampires, miss,’ he said in a rasping voice. ‘What all these would be magic users try to do at best, is imitate what some do natural like.’
‘I don’t understand,’ Leah said.
‘Well, not that I’d know of course, but if there was a vampire, not that I’m saying there is of course, but if there was you’d not find them messing about with potions and charms and ingredients for brews and such. According to myths and legends they have their own powers, powers that come natural, or as we might say, unnaturally to them. Powerful creatures are vampires, so they say.’
‘And what powers do vampires possess, exactly?’ she asked in a skeptical voice.
‘Aside from the power over death, you mean?’ he asked with a wry smile. ‘Oh, unnatural lifespan, speed and strength, as all the movies show, and a powerful ability to influence what others think and feel. They say one could be standing right next to you and you’d not know it unless he or she wanted you to.’
‘You mean that bespelling with the eyes nonsense?’ Leah asked, getting more intrigued.
‘Something such as that, but I think there’s considerably more to it.’
‘Such as?’
‘Am I an expert on vampires and legends, or something?’ he asked with a little laugh. ‘Besides, if there was such a folk they’d not look happy at me talking about them to the police. Not at all.’ He looked around and then slyly back at Leah. ‘They’d not look happy at people poking around asking questions about them, neither.’
‘I’m not terribly worried,’ she said coolly, but with little conviction.
He smiled, somewhat sympathetically. ‘You should be, dearie,’ he said. ‘You should be.’
‘Where could I find more information about them?’ she asked, trying to shake off the sudden feeling of dread his sinister words provoked.
He sighed and shook his head. ‘There are a few, um, practitioners of lore who might be willing to tell you a thing or two.’
At last Leah felt she might just be getting somewhere. ‘Can you give me some names?’
The late afternoon seemed chilly as she left the shop, and she drew her coat closer about herself. The sun was setting, and she mentally scoffed at the thought that vampires would soon be out and about. Vampires, she thought scornfully; the idea was ludicrous. What she had come across was a cult, perhaps with some expertise in hypnotism or drugs.
She got into her car and glanced down at the first name on the list, then started the engine and pulled away from the curb, determined to find something out before returning home.
Leah felt blind for a long moment, or almost blind, for there was a small circle of light directly in front of her, off in the distance. She was cold, chilled and she groaned weakly as she tried to raise her arms. They seemed immensely heavy. Her back was aching and she had a blinding headache. Her vision swam, and then slowly came into focus, and she realized she was staring at a distant neon sign – an upside down neon sign.
No, she was upside down, or rather, her head was upside down, hanging over the edge of… something. Her head slowly cleared. She was sprawled spread-eagled across something, her legs hanging over one side, her head, shoulders and arms over the other.
She groaned as she struggled to right herself, wriggling downwards, grasping the sides of whatever it was and pulling herself back so that her shoulders and head no longer dangled. She pushed herself upright, which was a mistake, the rush of blood making her vision swim again. She fell back, hitting her head on whatever it was she was lying on. She felt and heard her stomach rumble alarmingly and moaned, clasping her head between her hands. Thankfully the world, and her stomach, began to settle again.
She was in a dark alley, lying across a packing crate. Her leather coat was unbuttoned and open, and her clothes were gone. She sat up much more slowly than before, carefully testing the effects of being upright, and drew the coat closed against the chill. Trembling, she swayed on the crate for a long minute before slipping off, gripping the side to steady herself, and then looking about.
There was no sign of her skirt, but her blouse, or the remnants of it, were scattered around in several pieces. She hissed as she closed her legs, gasping for breath at the sudden pain and shifting her feet apart again, then walking, slowly and carefully along the alley towards the distant light.
She reached the road, and her car, parked neatly next to the sidewalk. She had no idea where she was and stumbled across to the vehicle,
hoping it was open. It wasn’t, but her keys were in the pocket of her coat, and a moment later she was inside the car with the heater blowing.
She ached, and her breasts felt tender. And her throat was sore, as if she had a terrible cold.
The car’s clock told her it was nearly midnight. The last thing she remembered was… she had been going to visit someone, but who?
She put the car into gear and pulled away, her mind becoming clearer with each passing minute, clouded only with exhaustion and pain now as she gazed at the street signs and tried to find her way. She gradually began to pinpoint her whereabouts, knew which way to head, and turned south.
What had happened to her prior to coming too on the old crate?
Her foot pressed down more sharply on the accelerator and the car surged forward. She felt sick. Her stomach churned. She had no strength in her limbs.
The tires screeched as she pulled into the garage of her apartment block, and she stumbled out of her car and across to the elevator.
The apartment felt comforting as she locked the door behind her, and a bit of the tension she hadn’t been aware was gripping her receded. She headed straight for the bathroom, stripping off her coat as she flicked on the light – and stared in shock.
Her hair was bedraggled, matted by something sticky, and some viscous substance had dried on the underside of her chin and her throat. She wiped at it with her hands, disgusted, appalled as she smeared it off.
It was also on her breasts and in her cleavage, she discovered, and the more she looked the more she found, on her belly, and most sickening of all coating her naked sex lips and inner thighs.
And there were neat bite marks all over her, on her breasts and tummy, her hips and throat and shoulders and thighs.
She swayed on her feet, and then sank to her knees, but not before noting how mournfully pale she looked. She turned, moaning, and crawled into the shower cubicle, then reached up and turned on the water, letting it pour down over her. It was all she could do to sink back against the wall tiles for several long minutes and let the exquisitely hot water cleanse her battered body. Then she worked up the energy and some degree of enthusiasm to reach for the soap, and began to lather herself all over.
Who were they, she wondered dazedly, and how many of them had fucked her?
She lathered herself and rinsed off, then again and again before, exhausted, she dried herself, made her way from the bathroom, and fell asleep on the comforting warmth of the rug in her living room.
A shadowy face, a smile.
Flash.
Arousal. Heady, exciting.
Flash.
Darkness. Surging shadows closing in all around her.
Flash.
Intense need and lust and frantic tearing of clothing.
Flash.
Hands clawing at her body, her mouth, her throat, her breasts.
Flash.
Savage pounding inside her, hands all over her, leering faces surrounding her, blotting out the moon.
Flash.
Her body writhing in unison with the frenzied thrusting of rigid cocks. Her mouth stretched wide around a demanding erection, her throat penetrated, her legs held apart, something behind her, her anus stretched around an intruder. Her body twisted, turned, lifted. Sneering faces.
Flash.
Ecstasy. Screaming wails of ecstasy. Hers.
Chapter Eight
She woke up with the sun on her face, looking out the glass balcony door. She felt instantly alert and sat up, frowning. As she rose to her feet she remembered taking a shower, but nothing after that. But she did feel clean and pure, strong and filled with energy.
Her hair looked healthy, shining lustrously. There were no bite marks on her body, and no bruises. Tentatively she touched a finger against her sex and felt a little burst of excitement, but no pain.
Had it all been a dream? Had it all been a horrible nightmare?
It was Monday morning. Had she any reason or excuse not to go in to work? There was nothing desperately needing her attention there, and she had worked on her Sunday off. There were the missing girls of course, but she was fairly peripheral in the case, else she’d not have had the weekend off, and she really didn’t feel like going to work today. She would either be driving from place to place carrying out routine inquiries, which for the most part amounted to nothing more than interview sheets to go on the pile, or she’d be stuck somewhere doing research, checking records of sex offenders or investigating people who had access to computerized information on the girls.
It was boring, boring, boring. Of course she’d only been a detective for a few months and she knew it would get better eventually, after she’d put in some time. She would be trusted more, be given more important assignments, but in the meantime it was all pretty dull.
And she felt hyper, like running and jumping, like going wild. There was an energy in her which made it hard to sit still for long. Of course if she wound up partnered with Sara again things could get quite energetic, but that was dangerous because someone might find out.
She could make work more interesting without running a major risk, though. She felt a flare of heat and a tightening in her chest at the thought, and padded across the bedroom to her dresser, pulling it open, feeling a slightly breathless sensation as she gazed down inside. She had bought more than dresses on her Friday shopping expedition.
There was what appeared, at first glance, to be a collection of thin leather straps sitting in the drawer. As she lifted them up they spread out, attached by metal rings. One strap dropped heavily, weighted down by two fat leather tubes. Both were attached to the strap by a quarter inch metal bolt. One was a stubby butt plug, the other a stout dildo. Both were softly padded and encased in leather, and the thought of wearing them to work began to make her hands shake with excitement. No one would know. No one would guess. It would be a secret, like the rings she found herself constantly toying with. It was insane of course, but…
Leah bent over slightly, gripping the butt plug, twisting it softly from side to side as she pushed it in and out, forcing it deeper and deeper with each push, gasping, bending further over as the plug forced her little opening to relax and accept the foreign object.
‘Oh!’ she squealed as it slid into her rectum. She pushed it further and her anus closed behind it, with only the tiny bolt sliding inside her.
She pressed the dildo against her sex lips, not the least surprised to find she was already wet. She was always wet these days. She groaned in pleasure as it slid into her, twisting it in her fingers, rolling her hips a little as it passed over her clitoris. She pushed it in fully, gasping a little as it filled her, but though it was fat and long it was soft and pliable and very snug.
She pulled the rest of the straps up over her shoulders. They were little wider than her thumbs, encircled her breasts, and fitted tightly around her waist. The leather was soft but firm against her flesh, the metal rings cold at first but warming as they followed the contours of her body.
The final strap, the one with the dildo and butt plug attached, was drawn down between her buttocks and thighs. She squealed a little as she pulled the strap up at the front to buckle it to the ring at the centre of her stomach, gasping as the strap dug between the lips of her sex and forced the dildo deeper still.
Pulling on the ingenious harness tightened it entirely, and the straps that encircled her breasts pulled in more sharply, squeezing the soft flesh into taut globes. Then she turned, breathing deeply, gazing dreamily at her reflection in the mirror.
She picked up her brush and worked it through her hair, then stepped back, straightening her shoulders. That caused the straps to dig in even more severely and she let out an involuntary groan. Her nipples, she noted, stroking them softly with her fingertips, were even more erect than was usual now. The lower strap cu
t between the bare lips of her sex, squeezing deliciously and painfully against the ring impaling her clitoris.
She looked at her reflection, eyes sparkling, then turned slightly and looked again over her shoulder. Smiling, she put on a black silk blouse and a pair of black trousers, quite businesslike, especially beneath a black blazer, then she chose her shoes, not stilettos but fairly high-heeled, and slipped her feet into them.
Perhaps Mbweni might not approve, but she didn’t much care what the woman thought just then.
She walked slowly back and forth, feeling the dildo and the butt plug coaxing her simmering excitement, enjoying the comforting feel of the harness embracing her, and wondered if she’d be able to get through the day without going mad with arousal.
She pulled on her leather coat and headed for the door, delighting in the wickedness she felt as she passed others on the landing and nodded politely in the elevator.
‘Ah, detective, the captain wants to see you straight away,’ the desk sergeant called as Leah entered the station.
Leah halted in surprise. ‘Did she say what she wants?’
‘Ha! The captain rarely takes me into her confidence,’ he said with a snort.
She nodded and continued on, wondering what Mbweni wanted now; reasonably confident it wasn’t to make her life more pleasant. Or was it? She felt a dawning sense of wary alarm, remembering Mbweni’s phone call. She despised the arrogant bitch, yet in her present condition the thought of submitting to her sexually made her body tense with sexual desire.
She made her way up the stairs and then to the rear of the station where the district’s higher ranking leadership had their offices, taking a deep breath as she knocked on Mbweni’s door.
‘Come,’ she heard her superior’s arrogant voice, and opened the door and entered the office, her tummy turning a little with uncertainty.
