Long Night
by Persephone

Boredom has the potential for writer’s fodder. Angelica found herself staring at the ceiling, wishing that there were something to do. It was a Friday night, and she was home alone, with only a slate ceiling graced with newspaper clippings of alien abduction and conspiracy theory to speak to her. The walls, dull blue with peeling paint and torn posters and magazine clippings of various rock stars provided no solace for her either. Amidst the stuffed animals and age worn wooden furniture that made up her small bedroom, the only comfort came from her mirror.

She stripped off her torn jeans and faded tee shirt in front of the full-length mirror. Running her hands over her hair, her weary eyes and now naked body she admired herself for a moment before she made a decision.

She was naturally pale, her skin creamy. The nipples on her high breasts were the softest shade of pink, almost white and fading into her countenance. The alabaster statue quality was broken by a shock of black hair, shot through and through with burgundy bright red. Her eyes were wide and an unusual shade of violet, almost lilac. She was a little too thin, with narrow hips, a small waist with a slight pouch in the tummy. The marginal body fat she did have went to her breasts. She didn’t really mind, for her C-cup frame was not disproportionate to her tall body. She had to be pushing six feet, 6’2 when she was wearing high-heeled boots.

She smiled in satisfaction. Not a blemish to be seen. She was lucky to have escaped the horrors of teenage acne. But then, nineteen was no longer a teenager, not really.

She studied herself further. Beautiful eyes, full lips, firm breasts, a tiny waist and a perfect nest of golden brown curls at her cunnus. Any normal guy would have taken her virtue years ago, yet there she was, having never been kissed, cloistered in a small bedroom, for her parents sheltered her, tried not to let her go out at night. They believed that after she dyed her hair and took to wearing spiked collars and high boots that she would turn to crime and a bad crowd. She had done so for years and was still a straight A student; sure to be the top of her class when she finished college, where she planned to study for a History degree.

But her parents were out tonight…it was time to play. She ran her long fingers over her labia, letting her fingertips glide to her clitoris, gently stroking. The sensations made her warm and pink. She sighed and fell back upon her bed, where she stroked harder, but did not allow herself release. She never let herself finish. She wanted a man to finish it for her. Besides, she loved anticipation more than capture. She opened her window and let the breeze course over her skin. She found a pair of tight jeans, torn at the knee. She found her high-heeled combat boots or shitkickers on heels, as her friends called them teasingly. Topping the ensemble with a loose white blouse with a ruffled collar and lace cuffs that hung nearly to her fingertips, she whipped her black trenchcoat around her shoulders like a cape and headed for the door. She hurriedly ran a brush through her hair and dabbed on a bit of blue lipstick.

It was a crisp night. She could walk through her neighborhood, ignoring the small houses and streetlamps and pretend she was making a journey through an enchanted forest. She didn’t live in a wooded area but she was surrounded by oaks and dogwoods, the petals swirling in the wind, soft against her skin, a beacon of light in her dark hair. As luck would have it, she took a detour from her usual route around the block. She took a side street, one that she never drove down, never used on her walking routes, nor ever cared to see. Tonight was a little different, for she veered on this path, curious to see where it led.

At first glance, the street appeared run down, even in the darkness. The houses seemed massive and were covered with rotted boards and large trees, in dire need of pruning. Vines seemed to grow wild everywhere. The road was abandoned to be sure, but there was something raw about it, something free. Vines grew every which way, intermingling with tree trunks, weeds and wild rose bushes. Someone, somewhere could find this place and make of it a secret hiding spot, a passageway to avoid the outer world.

Judging from the music straining a few feet away, Angelica conjectured that someone did. Stepping over fallen branches and weeding through bushes, she happened upon an imposing Victorian ruin, a dilapidated old house that must have once been beautiful, but now neglected and hidden, it was covered in vines, but the structure itself, the very heart of what was once there still remained. She had to find out where the sounds were coming from. Wading her way through more wild plants, she caught her foot in a branch and tripped. “Shit!” she whispered to herself. She didn’t think she made an audible noise, but a young boy of roughly twenty with wide dark eyes and a rakish frame poked his head out the door, as though to see what the intrusion was. He smiled, his full lips turning upward as his dark eyebrows furrowed in delight.

“Welcome.” Angelica untangled herself from the branch, “hey, yourself.” She wasn’t so sure she liked the eyes of the stranger moving up and down her body, eyes falling to her long legs and further upward…on the other hand… They were beautiful eyes. Close up, she could see he wore a black mesh shirt over tight jeans. His body was thin, very tight. His chest was smooth. His legs were longer than hers and she could bet they were very sleek under the coarse denim. He ran his long hands, with soft palms and long fingers, nails painted a dark color, possibly black or deep blood red over his light hair. She could not tell over the darkness whether or not he was blond or red haired. She picked herself off, turning her lips upward seductively and followed him inside, intending to find out.

Inside was a sea of candles and velvet. The boy led her to an inner chamber. The walls looked as though they have not seen a paintbrush in decades. One could ignore that little detail if she were to focus her attentions instead to the velvet drapes of red and black, the chains and bed frames that served as makeshift torture racks and the prints of Hieronomys Bosch. The large scale watercolor paintings made Angelica think of chiffon scarves, floating in windows on stormy nights, letting the rain pour inside to kiss you with a silken watery caress. Lace draped the mirrors and one of the torture racks, a large iron frame wrought with chains and a small table that housed a circle of lit candles. She breathed in a cranberry smell of melting wax and sighed. The boy smiled as she took in the other people milling about the room.

Most lounged on aged couches, covered in violet blue silk. One girl, clad in a thin white shift was being tied to one of the racks by a slender man with long dark hair and fangs…hmm, not cheap costume fangs, Angelica noted. Must be the forty-dollar variety used for vampire games. He calmly unrolled an expensive looking cat-o-nine tails whip and ripped at his prisoner’s thin chemise, revealing a voluptuous naked frame. She moaned as the lash fell again and again across her back and rounded buttocks. Angelica wondered if her cries were of pleasure or desperation. Her master smiled at her, revealing platinum teeth. The fangs gave him the appearance of a hungry wolf, satiating his appetites stroking his captive pleasure slave in the most painful of caresses. Others drank what seemed to be wine from crystalline glasses. They shared a common cloth of velvet and lace. Angelica joined the other dancers as her host flicked back his hair, which she discovered to be light red (which gave him bonus affection points for Angelica loved red hair). He popped a CD into a small stereo and before Angelica could further take in her new and exotically lush surroundings, She found herself swaying to pounding drums and violins. How did he know she loved faith and the muse, and that “Cantus” was one of her personal favorites? Was she twirling in an undead heaven? It did not matter. She took in her host’s swaying body and the apricot hair that flew about his thin face like satin. “What’s your name?” she asked over the symphony. “Brennan,” he replied. His eyes shone like ebony or jet. This was a truly beautiful boy and she intended to have him in this decadent paradise.

She raised her arms over her head, hands running over her hair, smoothing it, and pushing her head back to expose her pale throat to him. Her body undulated, her hips swaying, her fingers running over her breasts now as she undid a button on her blouse, smiling, and knowing that this was the crucial button that exposed her soft flesh, throat, and breasts, the tops visible and shining in the light of the many candles. With boldness she never thought possible, she strode to him, eyes locked upon his face and lean body. She wrapped her arms around his neck and slid her hands down his back, nails raining lightly over his spine. “Hard to believe you’re still a virgin, Angelica dearest…” he purred in her ear. She may be inexperienced, but she knew how to touch him. Yes, she was truly the one. She never knew to flesh of a man, yet she took to his body naturally. She knew where to touch, what would make him weak. Angelica was not so sure how he knew. “I never told you my name…or that I was a virgin…”

Brennan wrapped his arms around her, held her tight. She could feel him, his heart beating, his penis stiffening at her legs and pelvis. His breathing grew heavier, hotter with passion. Her breathing grew heavy with fear, “How did you know my name?” Still swaying rotating his abdomen and groin slowly against her body, “I always knew, Angelica. You were promised to me as a child. Your parents were unable to bear, but I gave them a potion to make them fertile…but they had to promise to give their offspring to me when she was old enough to understand her sexuality. They tried to shelter you. They would not let you date for fear that I would take human form and spirit you away. They kept you away from me for six years. But you came to me. You wanted to seduce me, and you will, my love, for tonight, we initiate.”

“This is bullshit!” she raged. She tried to break free from his grasp, but to no avail. The others in the room put down their whips and rose from their lounging or dancing to surround Angelica and Brennan who was laughing joyously as Angelica screamed in frustration, trying in vain to break from the vise that held her to Brennan. “No escape tonight, my sweet.” You become one of us, and you become mine. He pinioned her hands behind her back and forced her to her knees. The man who carried the whip earlier had since unbounded his prisoner. She donned another thin white shift and surrounded Angelica and Brennan with red candles. She knelt beside nearby baskets and clasped red rose petals. She showered them over Brennan, “Passion’s red,” she whispered in a smooth deep voice. Another basket contained a shower of white petals over Angelica, “Purest white.” She knelt down before returning to the circle, next to her master. He now removed his black cape revealing a powerfully muscled body naked to the waist. The others in the circle removed their outer garments and tore the shift from the flower girl, long nails scratching at the white flesh. Blood flowed in the tiniest streams from her breasts and stomach, yet they healed as she moaned in ecstasy.

Angelica’s eyes widened and her mouth fell open. Her cheeks were clearly blushing in the candlelight. Her captors saw the blood in her face and stared hungry. “No, she is to be mine.” Brennan snarled revealing wolf’s fangs. The others pouted. Some opened gashes on their chests and brought pampered, silken heads to their breasts, where they sucked furiously before Angelica’s eyes. The master and his slave girl, a blond vestal virgin it seemed were the only ones that did not join in the orgy of blood. “There are no marriage vows needed, for the blood will bind you, in mastery and slavery, in love and rancor, in pain and ecstasy in passion and voluptuousness in eternity.” He smiled and took his slave by her long tresses, pushing her to the wall and biting her back, taking her from behind, his hands scratching her breasts as she screamed.

Angelica grew quiet. She said nothing as she was forced to her feet and led to a nearby bedroom. “I watched you as you slept. My eyes burned on your naked body as you touched yourself, dreaming for me to release you. For years, I watched as you blossomed and ran your hands over your breasts. I agonized for eternities; it seemed, wanting you, wanting to caress you with my hands, my tongue. Relax my love. This is your wedding night. You will be released. His kiss was gentle. His mouth brushed against hers as his fingers probed the base of her skull. He opened her mouth with his tongue and probed inside tenderly, licking and darting as the goosepimples rose up and down her body. Her insides were about to explode and she felt so warm, “Touch me” she whispered, pleading.

“Patience my love…we will be wed soon enough. He opened his mouth, bared his teeth and sank them into her neck. She screamed in ecstasy, the sensations a fiery peak at first, but as her blood drained, they slowly faded into soothing warmth. She closed her eyes and let him lick at her throat, careful not to spill the slightest drop of blood. He tore open a wound at his heart and pressed her head to his chest. She obeyed, drinking the blood. The warmth crescendoed to a drumbeat. She heard singing, felt searing flames. Her entire being screamed, passionate agony reaching a volcanic zenith. She finally broke free of his chest. As her human form died away and death gave her a new preservation in pearl, she knew she was released.

“Not entirely released, my sweet…now, I will have my way with you, and you with me. He was now stripped, and hard. With a few deft movements, her clothes were torn away. She wrapped her arms around him, kissing him passionately, biting and licking at his throat. She moved down to his chest and toyed with the pink nipples, fingers making circles in perfect cadences with her tongue. Brennan responded by flipping her onto her back, raking his nails lightly over her sides, and massaging her hips. His tongue lapped at her chest. He moved expertly down her stomach to her secret places her cunnus a playground for his long tongue, which took every liberty, setting her on fire. His fingers still ran lightly over her body. She screamed, thinking she would die if this exquisite torture were to continue. She reached an explosive peak and fell back, stroking Brennan gently. He responded by guiding his naked sex into her. He plunged over and over, the sensations almost too much for her to bear. The inner walls of her body responded to the feverish rubbing by shouting. He thrust deeper and harder, their bodies fused and almost unable to take the strain, yet pressing onward, their passion exploding at its zenith.

When the wedded lovers fell back and finally caught their breath, Brennan kissed Angelica passionately and whispered, “Now, you are released.”

 

about the author: I am a college student as of now studying art history. I was published on themestream.com previously. I tend to like moody, psychological fiction, and this is my first venture into erotic fiction.