Blood Slave Page 3

  Her face got closer. Her eyes still stared into mine. I saw the trail of spit her tongue left on my skin as she drew it first up the inside of my knee then slowly along the inside of my thigh.

  My mouth was still open- gaping, motionless. My throat tightened. I wanted to swallow. I wanted to scream. I wanted to twist away and run to the door. The cold draft blew across me again.

  She slowed just before she reached my cunt. Her teeth glistened. She slurped her tongue around her red lips and down onto her chin - the sight of it was mouth-watering.

  Suddenly, I trembled - an involuntary shake. I felt spit running over my bottom lip. Then I swallowed - a huge noisy gulp - and with the noisy swallow I felt my voice again.

  Caroline smiled and moved her head closer. I could no longer see her eyes. She laid the flat of her luscious tongue against my exposed naked crack. I inhaled heavily as it came into contact with my own flesh. The surface of her tongue was warm and silky and slid against my wet cunt. I heard my breath entering my lungs and, as I began to let it out, I heard myself moaning - a shaky groan blubbering past my spit filled mouth. As my breath came out, the noise increased. It issued from my constricted throat and with it spit ran forward along the cleft in my tongue and freely over my lips in a stream.

  Her tongue probed between the lips of my cunt, opening them, prising them apart, slipping between them, then pushing past and entering the darkness within. I felt my hips rising - a squeezing, tightening and irrepressible show of pleasure. I groaned again, and more spit ran over my chin. I shivered again - another single jerking shake. I felt her tongue so deeply inside. I no longer wanted to run to the door. I felt a wave of embarrassment that I had thought such a thing. Now, I only wanted more. I wanted to close my legs around her head and pulled her tongue in even deeper. Would that be possible, I thought? Could it possibly penetrate me even more? Already it felt like a viper inside me, searching out my darkest crevices, lapping up my moisture, sucking at my innards. Could it possibly go deeper?

  Suddenly I moved! My hips lifted. My thighs dropped wide. I breathed in deeply. I reached up and gripped her straddling thighs. I dragged her down onto my spit smeared face. I did not even look at her cunt - I just wanted to drive my tongue into it.

  It was like plunging into a balmy sea - I was completely absorbed, immersed in its warmth, overcome by its succulent fleshiness.

  Her tongue delved so deeply - it was as though it was filling up my whole body. I opened my mouth and pressed my hungry lips harder against the flesh of her open cunt. I smelled her beautiful aroma - sweet, heady, dizzying. Her flesh was warm and juicy; moisture ran over its surface. I licked inside. I felt my whole face lunging into her. I wiped it against her moisture. I felt her wetness dripping over me like a delectable tropical rain.

  I tightened my knees around her head. I dragged her face onto me. I felt her nose pressing against my dilated anus. I pulled her harder against my open cunt. I wanted her completely inside - I wanted to feel her lapping at my innards. I reared up against her and she drove her cunt down more onto my tongue. We licked inside each other. I felt her wetness all over my face. I drank it. I was nourished by it. I drowned in it.

  Everything was filled with light - my head was exploding. It was as though I had been set on fire from inside. I felt her body against me - her cunt, her wetness, her delectable aroma - yet at the same time I felt as if I was floating in space; completely out of contact with the world. It was like flying without wings. I felt as if I was soaring with the gods - as if I had entered heaven.

  Suddenly I felt a smack across my taut, bottom. I was shocked by its suddenness and severity. I winced and gulped. I drew my tongue back. I felt a fresh wave of coolness against my soaking face. I felt another smack - this time even harder. The breath was knocked from me. I tried to stuff my tongue back into Caroline’s cunt but now, instead of straddling me, opening herself up to me, she was kneeling above me. And her mouth was no longer against my fleshy crack. She was holding my legs up by the ankles, exposing my taut buttocks, lifting them up for punishment.

  ‘You have been very naughty, Syra. I can’t believe how easily you are led astray. A few sharp smacks should remind you that this is a place of correction, not a place of pleasure!’

  She brought her hand down again. I tightened my body and yelped.

  ‘I can tell that hurt,’ she said, tightening her grip on my ankles and lifting my legs higher. ‘And it’s a good thing too. We don’t want you thinking you can satisfy your needs any time you like, do we?’

  Her childish tone clashed with the sudden heavy smack as she brought down the flat of her hand against my exposed bottom. It struck squarely across my buttocks, sending a sharp sting up inside me and making my skin shiver with pain.

  Another one, and this time I felt her smacking hand across the soft exposed flesh of my cunt. I yelped and tightened my body but she only held my ankles tighter and pulled them higher. The palm of her hand tugged at the sticky flesh of my slit as she pulled it away.

  ‘Three! Four! Five!’ she chimed as she continued smacking me. ‘Six! Seven! Eight! Nine! Oh, Syra, how many more must I give you until I’m satisfied you’ve learned your lesson?’

  She lifted my ankles higher and smacked me harder. The slapping sound filled my head. I expected each one before it came and I tightened in anticipation. The sound - sloppy against my wetness, sharp from the sudden contact - the stinging pain, the tautness, the strain on my ankles and legs all combined together into one ecstatic storm. My head was filled with it all. I was overcome with it. I held my tongue out - thinking again of lapping inside her succulent cunt. I heard my guttural groans, my yelping screams. I felt the jolting shivers as each blow was followed by another. I felt the heat that was building inside me as I sensed the oncoming wave of pleasure welling up from deep within my aching cunt.

  I heard my yelps changing - becoming higher, more frantic, more demanding. I was no longer pleading for mercy - begging for my punisher to stop - I was pleading for more, begging for her to bring her hand down harder, to count out more, to force my orgasm from me with the pain of it all, to continue until I was thrashed into consciousness.

  ‘More! More! More!’ I screamed. ‘More!’

  I couldn’t hear her counting any more - my head was filled with too much clamour. My mouth gaped wide. Foaming spit bubbled over my lower lip. I wanted to cry out but I could not - I had no more breath, no more energy, I was exhausted.

  Suddenly, I felt a new heat inside - like a tropical wave, rocking me from side to side. I felt giddy. I knew she was still spanking me. I knew I could feel pain, I knew I was filled with pleasure, but nothing mattered anymore. The heat inside was transfixing me, filling me with only one thing - the release of my ecstasy, the bursting of the pent up pleasure from within.

  It came over me suddenly, sweeping me away like a massive explosion. I knew I juddered, I knew I screamed out, I knew I rose up and shook, but it did not matter. I was a victim to my orgasm as it ripped through me and I collapsed against her still gripping hand as if I was suspended like an animal from a hook in the ceiling. I hung in the grip of an unseen hand - swaying over the heat of a boiling ocean, jerking, dribbling, shaking, not knowing whether I was awake or dreaming, conscious or unconscious, not knowing whether I was dead or alive. I had given up my life and any control I had over it to my punisher and the delectable pain she had dealt me.

  THE EXECUTION ROOM

  Caroline held my hand so I could get off the couch. My feet touched the floor and I almost fell. I was shaking all over.

  ‘You need a wheelchair,’ she said. ‘You’re all wobbly. And your bottom is very red. My hand feels sore too! Crikey!’

  She looked at the palm of her hand, shook it and smiled.

  I wriggled uncomfortably in the wheelchair, my bottom was very tender. I raised myself up on the armrests and held my naked bottom of
f the seat.

  Caroline was fully dressed again in her uniform. She carried on chatting, as if nothing had happened. She did not say anything more about spanking me. I felt confused by her - one moment, chatty and friendly, the next an overpowering lover, the next a reprimanding punisher, the next an absent minded chatterer.

  I didn’t see why I should be in a wheelchair but, as I lifted myself up, I felt giddy and was thankful for it. I dropped back down and yelped with pain as my bottom touched the plastic surface of the seat.

  ‘This thing really squeaks, don’t you think?’ she said. ‘Squeak! Squeak! Squeak! We’re like little mice, you and me. Squeak! Squeak! Squeak!’

  She pushed me along dark corridors, on either side of which were heavy oak doors - they were all closed.

  ‘What are all these doors?’

  ‘These are the treatment rooms. Don’t you remember? Calming, purification, immersion, and confinement - the four methods laid down in the Middle Ages for treating the mad? I’ll show you. You are booked down for one soon anyway - to start your treatment. I can’t remember which. Let’s look in here first.’

  She pushed the wheelchair into the dark room.

  ‘This room is different than the others. This is the “execution room” - this is a bit special. Visitors who do not respond to the other treatments are brought here and taken to the limits - led up to the very point of death or confronted by the most terrible suffering of others. Syra, sometimes that’s worse, don’t you think? To see the suffering of others? It makes me shiver to think of it!’

  She pulled a long curled string that hung just inside the door and a central un-shaded light bulb came on. The brilliant white light highlighted a massively built wooden chair on a rostrum at its centre. She pushed me to the side opposite the door.

  ‘Quite a sight, eh? An original “Edison-Brown”. And look! A genuine Westinghouse AC generator. No DC here, Syra! It’s all AC! You see, I really know my electricity!’

  She beamed broadly. Her large white teeth glistened in the dazzling light. A streak of red lipstick was smudged across her top front teeth. I imagined it was blood and shivered. She rolled her lips together and licked them. She smiled again. I imagined what she tasted - blood!

  I looked around the starkly lit room - anything to keep my eyes off the heavily built wooden chair at its centre. Suddenly I was gripped with what was happening to me. I couldn’t believe it. I looked down at my hands- I was shaking with fear.

  A partially burnt newspaper lay on the floor beside me. I leant down as far as I could to read it - hoping that it would distract me, calm me at least a little. The skin of my bottom stuck to the plastic seat and, as it was pulled against the shiny surface, it burned with soreness from the spanking Caroline had given me. I tightened my buttocks and felt the extra pressure against the soft flesh of my cunt.

  My heart started pounding as I read the headline.

  Execution in Harris County

  Three times convicted killer, Father Leonard Dawson, late of Arizona, was today taken to the electric chair in Harris County, Texas...

  Father Dawson! Executed!

  I stared at the paper, burned with jagged black scorch marks as if it had been in the hand of the condemned man himself when he met his fate.

  I breathed heavily - not a sigh but a heart pounding expression of fear. From nowhere, I felt his presence - it was as if he was close by. My eyes darted around the room. I felt ridiculous.

  I didn’t want to, but I couldn’t stop myself reading more.

  Father Dawson, minister to a congregation in Tacopa Hot Springs, Arizona, was finally captured after a chase involving ten police vehicles from the Sheriff’s Department and the Highway Patrol. After a short trial, Judge Mercy Patreas said she had never known murders so heinous. The suffering of Father Dawson’s victims, she said, meant that no punishment could ever match the despicable horror of his crime. She told the crowded courtroom that there was no question of appeal and the execution would be public to all who wished to see an honourable justice carried out.

  I could hardly bear to read it! How could this have happened? Father Dawson! A murderer! I shook with fear as I thought how lucky I had been to escape being one of his sorry victims. A murderer!

  I read on.

  Many witnesses who attended the electrocution were surprised when Father Dawson appeared wearing a black pinstripe suit and dog collar. Several people had to be escorted out when they protested the execution of a “man of God”. Father Dawson claimed his right not to wear a hood. Several of the witnesses (all women) vomited during the execution. Although it was thought he was dead after three thirty second shocks, the doctor who checked for life signs found him still murmuring. The doctor ordered a further forty five second bout. This final charge killed him.

  I dropped the paper to the floor as if an electric shock had passed through it.

  Father Dawson! I felt my eyes going bleary. My head lolled to the side as I came over dizzy. The room started spinning around me. I thought I was going to vomit. I heaved and swallowed heavily to keep the vomit back.

  ‘Syra? Are you okay? What are you looking at?’ Caroline bent down and picked up the burnt newspaper. ‘Oh, you shouldn’t be reading that! I can tell you something though. This is a good place if you are mad - a really good place. There was someone here a year or so ago - in for treatment. They got his plan a bit wrong and, well, things got out of hand. He left one of the female orderlies naked, hanging by her ankles in his cell - his “room”, I should say. He’d faked chest pains - said to the orderly he’d had them before and knew what they were. He said he had a medical background. He needed an adrenalin injection directly into his heart - that’s what he told her. Can you imagine it? Syra! Straight into his heart! He convinced the orderly to bring the syringe and adrenalin. Syra, don’t you think she should have known better? She was only young, I suppose - inexperienced. Perhaps he had her under his power! Anyway, as soon as she came back to him he attacked her. Like an animal, they say - like a wild animal. He clawed at her breasts, bit into her nipples, then stretched her legs wide and bit into her cunt. Syra! Into her cunt! There was blood everywhere! Can you imagine? It took a whole day to clean it up afterwards, so they say. Then he drove the needle of the syringe into her chest - straight between her ribs and into her heart. She went into some sort of shock - anapha...something - started screaming, fitting, tearing out her hair. Yuk! Can you imagine? She ripped off what was left of her clothes and started beating her head against the wall of the cell. Smashed her skull they say. He tied her ankles together with her belt - a black elastic one like mine - and hauled her up to an old fixing in the ceiling; one they used for hanging pigs or something before the institution took over. Apparently she went frantic with excitement! Cracked skull or not! It wasn’t fear that made her scream. No, it was excitement! She screamed out what she wanted: “Bite my tits!”; “Suck my nipples!”; “Bite into my cunt!”; “Suck my blood!”; “Drink my blood!” - crazy things like that. And, well, he did what she wanted. Syra, can you imagine? Anyway, they found out he did have a medical background - dentist apparently. He’s completely rehabilitated now. They gave him a job on the staff! You always need a good dentist, don’t you think?’ She smiled and bared her beautiful white teeth. ‘Look at what he’s done for me!’

  Caroline’s voice sounded like a distant echo. I felt as if I was going to vomit. I smelled the scent of burnt flesh - it seemed to rise up from the timber frame of the electric chair. My throat burned with the taste of my rising bile. All I could see in my mind was Father Dawson bound to the electric chair - his staring eyes bulging, his hands gripping the armrests, sizzling blood pouring from his ears and nostrils. Sizzling!

  Suddenly I felt Caroline’s warm hand against my crack.

  ‘Having those dreams again, sweetie? You need a little pinch.’

  I jumped as she
pinched her thumb and fingernails together into my clitoris. The pain was searing - the shock was overwhelming. I couldn’t absorb it - it was like a hot poker scorching me. I shook my head from side to side and lifted myself up on the armrests of the wheelchair. I felt as if I was Father Dawson - rearing up, my muscles bound up in a massive cramping spasm, trying to escape an inescapable pain, hoping for release from an unavoidable fate.

  I noticed a glimmer of light coming in through one of the high windows in the corridor.

  ‘I have to leave you now,’ said Caroline seeming nervous. ‘I’ll park you here. You don’t mind being by yourself I dare say. Probably heard enough of my prattling anyway. I’ll be back again tomorrow evening. Better make sure you don’t wander off though. You still look a bit peaky.’

  She wrapped some straps around my wrists and secured them firmly to the arms of the wheelchair.

  ‘There’s no need for - ‘

  ‘No, no, we can’t have you getting lost can we?’

  She pulled a weighty chain from the back of the wheelchair and slipped it around a heavy cast iron radiator, pulled it back and locked it into a shiny metal padlock.

  I watched her walking hurriedly away down the corridor. She glowed in the half light. Her arms swung at her sides and rubbed against her white nylon uniform. The friction seemed to spark off a mellow green phosphorescence of static electricity. I was mesmerized by her shining figure - it was as if she was part of another world. As she disappeared, the first glimmer of sunlight broke through the window and cast a long beam of rosy light across the blood-red floor.

  Suddenly, I heard a scuttling sound - like someone crawling fast across the floor, someone trying to get away from something terrifying. It came again, this time with a clattering, clawing noise - like fingernails scratching across a hard surface.