310 lines
19 KiB
Plaintext
310 lines
19 KiB
Plaintext
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*-* *-*
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*-* *-*
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*-* TTTTTTTTTT AAAAAA NNNN N J *-*
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*-* T A A N N N J *-*
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*-* T AAAAAAAAAA N N N J *-*
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*-* T A A N N N J J *-*
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*-* T A A N NNNN JJJJJ *-*
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*-* *-*
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*-* There Ain't No Justice *-*
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*-* #11 *-*
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*-* *-*
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*-* Phoenix Modernz Inc. 908/830-8265 *-*
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-Blood Lust 02: The Consumation-
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by Anonymous Bosch
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I awoke to the smell of blood. I'd grown pretty used to that recently, but
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this time there was something different. Somehow, it no longer elated me.
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In fact, I was becoming decidedly nauseus. Opening my eyes, I looked down
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at the mutilated remains of what was once a beautiful young woman. My
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stomach, which contained only more blood, splashed her corpse with more
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red. I leapt from the bed, and into the bathroom, where I finished voiding
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my stomach while trying to come to terms with what had been happening to
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me.
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I crawled out into the living room, but there was no help to be found
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there. Another woman lay scattered in pieces around the room. Someone
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(could it possibly have been myself?!) had cut her like a fish, draping her
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intestines around the room like a model train set. My stomach had nothing
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left to give, so I merely paused for a moment before entering the kitchen.
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The kitchen was "safe". No blood, no bodies, and a refrigerator that
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contained, wonder of wonders, Mountain Dew! A purse on the counter
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contained cigarettes, one of which I lit and drew a deep toke from. First
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order of business, I thought, was find out where I am. Searching the purse
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revealed the mother's drivers license, telling me I was in San Bernadino.
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Switching on the TV, I was greeted by Katie Couric's face & voice,
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describing the declaration of Martial Law in the Greater Los Angelos area.
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She went on to show pictures of the rioting, caused by the public's outrage
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over the police being unable to capture the "Dracula Killer". I was
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unsuprised when my face was shown next, and the show cut to a recorded
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interview with the chief of police and then later to an interview with my
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last girlfriend.
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Great, I thought to myself. A statewide manhunt, my picture on national
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TV... There's noplace on this continent I can run to now. Its only a matter
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of time before they find me, and then its all over. In the back of my mind,
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I could recall killing... a red haze of joy and ecstasy punctuated by pure
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pleasure. The thought of turning myself in occurred to me briefly, but I
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rejected it. I'd killed cops in the last week. After the King riots, I'd
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never survive to stand trial.
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Not knowing what else to do, I holed up in the apartment for the next day
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or so. While reading the newspaper, something in the personals caught my
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eye. It was a small, one line ad, that read "Did she smile when the end
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came? Call us! 555-0666" I remembered.... she had smiled. On an impulse, I
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dialed the number. The voice that answered was neither young nor old, but
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sounded... experienced, in some odd and inexplicable way. All she said was,
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"The lust has left you. It will return. When you are ready, come to us.".
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CLICK.
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Six months later, I was on a mountainside. The air was good for me. Kept my
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head clear, and it gave me lots of time to think. Months of living off the
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land had strengthened me, made me skilled in stalking my prey; months of
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hiding had made me cautious. What few people I did see were simple hikers,
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not search parties. I'd been working my way north, hoping to make it to
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Canada before the snows came in earnest. The knives I'd used to kill so
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many of my fellow humans now were used solely for skewering fish, and for
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skinning rabbits. I was doing fine until one November afternoon, when quite
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by accident, I cut himself while gutting a deer.
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As before, my attention was rivetted by the sight, and the smell of my own
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blood. And, try as I might, I could not fight the urge to bring my hand up
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to my lips, there to taste the redness... In an instant, I was filled once
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again by the vision of blood. This was what I craved, not meat, not
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potatoes. Give me BLOOD! I switched my grips on the knives, and began
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tearing at the deer's carcass, ripping bloody gobbets of flesh loose and
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eating them raw. When I had eaten my fill, I looked at the moon (which was
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full, and high in the sky) and I howled. Not the howl of a wolf, but the
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cry of a tortured soul about to be set free. Sniffing the air, I could
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smell a town to the east. Somewhere down there, my senses told me, was
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fresh, warm, human blood.
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Later the next day, I came to a small town nestled in the valley between
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two mountains. I picked my vantage point carefully, and watched the
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townsfolk go about their business while I waited for it to grow dark.
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I had chosen the house because it was at the end of a cul-de-sac, and
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because the owners didn't have a dog. It was unusally warm for an November
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night, so they had left their screendoor open, though latched. My knife
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parted the fiberglass screening like butter. Searching the house, I came
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upon the son's room first. I stood over the boy, who couldn't be more than
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10, and swiftly cut the boy's adam's apple, silencing any screams he might
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make.
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*** The boy's eyes widened with terror as his the strange man began to cut
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away his pajama top. Wishing he could scream, soft gurgling sounds were the
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best he could mamage. The man bent over him and looked into his eyes...
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something in those eyes made him lie very still as the man brought his face
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down over his neck to gently dip his tongue in the small pool of blood that
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had gathered there. Something in those eyes blocked the pain of the man
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cutting his stomach, and scooping out his insides and stretching them out
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on the bed beside him. He could feel his insides stretching, tearing, but
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the man's eyes held him rigid, numb to everything that was happening. Those
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eyes shone like stars in the dim light of his room. He was still transfixed
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by those eyes when the man brought something red and pulsing to his lips,
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and the boy's last thoughts were: "Hey, is that my heart...?"
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I sat there awhile, drinking my fill of the young child's lifeforce. The
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rush, the feeling of invulnerability were back. No longer would I be the
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hunted, I would be the hunter! As I crept up the stairs, I could hear
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someone moving in the kitchen. In the light of the refrigerator, I could
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see the boy's father reaching for the carton of milk. I took the stairs in
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groups of three, clearing the top of stairs in a flash, catching the man by
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suprise. So suprised was the man, that as he opened his mouth to cry out,
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he was rewarded by having 18 inches of surgical steel shoved thru his soft
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palette and into his brain. He never felt the blade that punctured his left
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lung. As he slumped to the floor, I watched my shadow in the light from the
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refrigerator, as it sillouetted the sight of me licking the blade clean of
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his blood.
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Turning away from the father, I was suprised and pleased to see the
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childseat positioned on the kitchen table. Within was strapped a cooing
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infant, waving an empty bottle at me. I filled the bottle half full of
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milk, half full of blood, and gave it to the baby. "Now don't go away..." I
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said, as I turned and began to search for the master bedroom.
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The moonlight siloutted her blonde hair where it lay against the pillow,
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spilling like a waterfall across the silver satin sheets. Her full, pouty
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lips were curled in sleep, giving her a slightly mischevious look. The
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flannel pajamas were totally out of place, so those would have to be the
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first to go.
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*** She could hear the baby crying, but she was used to that. She felt her
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husbands side of the bed sag, and she felt a hand carressing her arm,
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stretching it out and over her head. But, her husband's hands were not
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nearly so rough, and why were his hands so wet? Her eyes snapped open as
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the weight beside her shifted, and another rough, wet hand grabbed her
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other wrist, and pulled that above her head. In the moonlight, she could
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see a bearded face, darkly smeared with some liquid, clenching a knife
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between his teeth. She opened her mouth to scream, but then the stranger
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looked deep into her eyes, and she shut her mouth with a snap. Through the
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satin sheets, she could feel his erection pressing against her thigh. A
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drop of blood splashed onto her cheek, and the scent of it sent a shiver
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throughout her body. The stranger held both of her hands together with one
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hand, while the other opened the nightstand drawer beside the bed. As he
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drew forth the velvet covered handcuffs, she wondered for a moment how he
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could have known, but something in those eyes knew all her secrets. She
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sighed as he cuffed one hand, and then the other, looping the cuffs through
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the railing of the headboard. He climbed over her to the other side of the
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bed, pulled away the sheets, and gently began to cut at the material of her
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nightgown, shearing it away and revealing the milky white skin beneath. He
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took the knife from between his teeth and tossed it onto her stomach, and
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then he began to remove his own clothing. She could see where the blood had
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run from his mouth and down his neck, intermingling with his chest hairs.
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He was more powerfully built than her husband, and with a barely suppressed
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giggle, she raised up her knees while parting her thighs, giving him an
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inviting view of her pussy. He knelt for a moment, pulling another knife
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from his boot, and then he gently slid onto the bed and between her thighs.
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With my left hand, I brought one of my knives down the center of her chest,
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leaving a deep red line. I followed the line with my tongue, causing her to
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moan with something not quite pleasure, not quite pain. With my right, I
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made two light cuts on her nipples, allowing me to suck a mixture of her
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blood and mother's milk from her breasts. Her legs entwined behind me,
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trying to draw me inside her, but I backed away from that. "Not just yet,
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my lovely. You're not nearly ready yet."
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*** It seemed like hours that he leanned above her, tracing patterns and
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spirals on her body with the knives, his hot tongue tracing the cuts and
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sending shivers through her body. Her eyes alternated between his luminous
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orbs, and the blades of the knives themselves, that glinted magically in
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the moonlight. She knew she should be revulsed, terrified. She knew that
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the things he was doing should be excruciating, not sending ecstatic waves
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of pleasure through her body. Somewhere, she knew that this man had killed
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her husband, but none of that mattered. She had to have this man. She
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wanted him inside her, fucking her, even though she knew she would probably
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not live to see the sunrise. When at last he brought the blade down to her
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vulva, she shuddered with the feel of the cold, hard steel entering her.
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And then suddenly, it hurt.
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As before, my lover jerked and twisted when the blade entered her vagina.
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Roughly holding her legs apart, I drove the blade all the way inside,
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giving it a little twist that brought a rush of blood out onto the sheets.
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I paused for a moment, and brought my head down, licking the length of her
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pussy and tasting the mixture of blood and her juices. I then reinserted my
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blade, and began to fuck her with it in earnest. Her eyes had rolled up
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into the back of her head, and sweat mingled with the blood coating her
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body. I was really going at it, but then, for some reason, I looked in the
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mirror above the bed and noticed the sword. It was a paired set, a Japanese
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katana and wakisashi. I arose from the bed, and her eyes followed me, and
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her mouth made a little "o" when I unsheathed the katana and guided it to
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her vagina. When it was about halfway in, I began to encounter some
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resistance, so I just thrust it home, ramming it in all the way to the
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hilt. That done, I removed the blade and inserted my penis, and her eyes
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rolled back at me with a look of utter ecstasy.
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*** The pain of the knife had subsided once it reached her own body
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temperature, butwhen he had taken up the sword, she knew that her pain
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would be threefold. Even after he had withdrawn the four-foot blade still
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she could feel it inside her, could feel the wetness of where it had driven
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up past her womb, piercing her intestines, and puncturing her stomach,
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severing nerves and sinew alike. When at last he removed it, and entered
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her, she, like he, was caught in the grip of an inhuman pleasure. Her whole
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body tingled with electricity, even though she knew somewhere inside that
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she was bleeding to death. The feel of his cock inside her was so totally
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unlike the knife; while both were hard and long, his cock did not slice at
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her insides. She could feel the muscles of her pussy trying to grip him
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tightly, but most were too ruined to do much more than add their blood to
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the sundered gulf of her vagina. She could feel his climax growing, and she
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could see it in his eyes. She stared deep into his eyes as he brought the
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knife down one last time, cutting her throat. The last sound she heard was
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his bubbling sigh as he buried his face in her throat to drink her life
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away.
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I awoke to bright sunlight pouring through the open windows near the bed.
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The bloodied carcass of last night's kill lay slumped at the foot of the
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bed. Somewhere in the house, a baby still cried, though fitfully. I arose,
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wiping my bloodied hands on my chest, and went out to assess the situation.
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The child was where I'd left it, still in the seat in the kitchen. Its
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bottle lay on the floor besides it, nearly full. "Guess it didn't like the
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taste." I thought to myself. Surveying the appliances, I pulled the baby
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out of its chair, and set it on the counter.
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A few hours later, lunch was ready. The ground meat wasn't ham, but it
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tasted just right with a little A-1. Some onion rings I'd made added a bit
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of color to the meal. And when I was done with my burgers, I reached inside
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the freezer, and drew forth the baby's head. Using a hacksaw I'd found in
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one drawer, I removed the top of the child's skull, and had chilled baby
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brains for desert. I spent the rest of the afternoon in contemplation. I
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was well fed, and had dined on three souls the night before. I almost felt
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sated. Some part of me had hoped that with the mating, I would have left
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the blood lust behind, but I knew that I wasn't past it yet. Remembering
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the number I had dialed months before, I tried again, only this time a
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man's voice answered.
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"Mordecai, is that you?" asked the voice. "How do you know my name?" I
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asked. "I know a great deal about you, Mordecai. I know what drives you, I
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know the hunger you feel. I think we should meet face to face." I wondered
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to myself, is this a trap? But something about the voice made me willing to
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trust it. "When, and where?" I asked the phone. "Stay where you are. We
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will come for you." the voice replied.
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Later that day, a black sedan with tinted windows rolled into the driveway.
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A young man, and a woman exited, and walked up to the door.
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Once inside the house, the man promptly spun on his heels and kicked me in
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the stomach. The woman brought her fists down on my back, dropping me to
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the floor. From inside his jacket, the young man drew a pistol, and shot me
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twice in the back. I felt the bullets pierce my skin. I felt them shatter
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bone, and in my mind's eye, I could feel them flatten and push my flesh
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before them, causing even more damage. I could feel the bullets blow pie
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sized chunks of my chest against the floor, slightly lifting my body in the
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process. What I never expected to feel, was the warm, rosy feeling that
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overcame me. I could feel the holes in my back close, the bones knit
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together once more, and I could feel the skin on my chest stretch and pull
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together to cover the wound. But I also felt, in some indescribable way, a
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little of the lifeforce I'd drank drain away, I assumed to heal my
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injuries.
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They helped me to my feet then, and helped me to the car. As they drove,
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they said little by way of an apology, except: "We just had to be sure."
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They drove west from there, through the mountains. That night, while the
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woman kept me company, the man went out to get us all a bite to eat. He
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came back with a young prostitute in tow. They bound her, and after moving
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one of the beds out of the way, they drew a pentagram on the floor. They
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stripped her of her clothing, and tied her down in the center of the
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pentagram.
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As I crossed the threshold of the pentagram, I could feel something about
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the room change. I could suddenly smell incense, where none had been
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burning before. The electric lamps began to cast flickering shadows, as if
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they were candles guttering in the darkness. The man and the woman, who had
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been dressed in suits, now seemed to be wearing robes of a heavy, coarse
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material. I shook my head, and the room returned to normal. But still the
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girl remained. The man handed me a strange, curved dagger, and I skillfully
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cut out the woman's heart with a twist of my wrist, to the sound of
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splintering bone. When I drank her blood, it was like the finest wine I had
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ever tasted. Perhaps these people had something to show me afterall.
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They repeated the same performance the next night, and the next. Soon we
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had arrived in Seattle, and the man guided the sedan into an underground
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parking garage. We took the executive elevator straight to the top floor,
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where I was ushered into my final destination. The plate on the door said
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C. Addison.
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C. Addison proved to be a 40ish man in top physical condition. Built like a
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dancer, his every move smooth, lithe, and practiced. But what caught my
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attention instantly were the eyes. Mr. Addison's eyes were the same eyes
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I'd looked at in a lifetime of mirrors. "We've waited your whole life to
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bring you to your destiny", Mr. Addison said, adding, "Welcome home, my
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son."
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*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*
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*-* Phoenix Modernz Inc. TANSTAAFL BBS:908/830-TANJ *-*
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*-* Modern Textfiles Inc. The Matrix BBS:908/905-6691 *-*
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*-* The Lawless Society Inc. CyberChat BBS:908/506-7637 *-*
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*-* -also- Terrapin Biscuit Circuit:908/506-6651 *-*
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