Happy Birthday Bryony!
I got this up on time! Aren't you proud.
I know you asked for uber-kinky, and I hope this works for you. It's not quite massive dirty kinkfest, but it does have it's fair share. I actually had a bit of trouble writing this at first, but then I thought of this dynamic, and everything just seemed to fit into place.
I've taken a bit of liberty describing the costumes- I can't find a decent quality closeup of them that makes it clear enough what they are actually wearing, so I've tried to come up with something that looks as similar as possible to what I can see.
Another thing I feel I should say- I absolutely detest the word 'cunt' unless it's used as an insult, so don't expect to find it in here. Probably because I was about 17 or so before I actually found out what the word meant besides being an insult, and using it in any other way just seems to be dirtying a beautiful natural thing. To be fair, I'm not a huge fan of the word 'vagina' either- it sounds far too clinical. But it's used here simply because I find it preferable to the alternative.
I've fallen in love with this pairing. When I've finished 'In the Dark', I'm gonna do a drabble series for them too, and possibly a Secret History as well. I love them! So thanks for all this inspiration.
I hope you like it.
Warnings: implied voyeurism, tonguing, fingering, bloodplay/ biting- a kind of vampirism, basically.
And now I must be off with the Light Entertainment Society. Later on we're seeing Mike DJ at Plug.
Disclaimer: I know, you know, we all know that anything Boosh is the property of Julian Barratt and Noel Fielding. Yesyesyes.
Porcelain Fangs
"That was useless!" Anthrax practically screams as she storms into the house, her four-inch stilettos clattering on the tiled floor. The house is big and fairly old, decorated in classical gothic style, all dark wood with just the right amount of tasteful silver. It's Ebola's; her father bought it for her before she walked out on him.
Ebola follows behind. "It was amusing," she reasons.
"It was not amusing!" Anthrax shouts back at her. "The thought that that twat thought he could take us in with cheap tricks and gimmicks! The fucking cheek of it!" Her voice reverberates at deafening levels through the large hall. She spins round to face Ebola at the door. "And who are you to say it wasn't useless? It was your idea to go in the first place! Why did you even want a third anyway?"
Of course, Ebola is perfectly cool when she answers. "I wanted to watch." She walks over to Anthrax and smiles, and Anthrax shivers. "I wanted to watch you bite him. I wanted to watch you hold him down and ride him. I wanted to watch him squirm."
Anthrax's tongue drifts over to probe at one of her fangs. The fangs are as close to real as they can be; Anthrax had her canines removed and replaced with the long, sharp pieces of porcelain. Ebola paid for it.
Ebola inclines her head and kisses Anthrax softly on the lips. No tongue, no lingering, just the sweet connection of soft, glossed lips.
She says nothing and walks off towards the wide staircase, her left hand extended behind her. Anthrax runs forward until she catches up and takes it, and Ebola leads her by the hand upstairs to the bedroom.
Ebola leads the way to the bed and lies down, leaving her hat on the bedside table and letting her bleach-blonde hair fan out around her, a white gold halo against the black and dark purple of the bedclothes. In a moment, Anthrax is on top of her, sucking her neck and pulling at the top of her dress. Her hat falls off and rolls onto the floor, forgotten, as Ebola moans softly and arches her back so that Anthrax can slip an arm underneath her and run the zip down to the small of her back and then pull the black material from her shoulders. Anthrax crawls down her body, taking the dress further and further down, eventually slipping it off at her feet. She pushes it away, and kisses the pointed toe of Ebola's boot, working her way up the cold PVC until it ends just below Ebola's knee. Kissing the thin material of the hold-up stocking above it, Anthrax zips the boot down to the ankle and pulls it from Ebola's foot. She shifts over to rest at Ebola's other leg and reaches up to stroke her thigh as she unzips and removes the other boot. As she climbs slowly back up to Ebola's thighs, Anthrax reaches up to just tease Ebola briefly through her knickers, and then pulls down the lacy seam of the black stocking to reveal the stark whiteness of the skin beneath. She kisses all the way down the leg as she pushes the thin yielding nylon away, her lipstick staining the pallor of Ebola's milky skin with deep red marks. She plucks the scrunched stocking from Ebola's foot and tosses it away, and then prostrates herself on her elbows and knees at the foot of the bed and licks teasingly slowly up the curve of Ebola's arch. Ebola jerks in surprise and tries to pull her foot away, but Anthrax follows, pushing her nimble tongue between each toe. Ebola makes odd straining sounds, almost grunts, and Anthrax looks up to see her biting her lip in fear that she might let slip a laugh. Anthrax smiles wickedly, tongue playing at her fang again. She licks up the inside of Ebola's other leg, pressing her tongue against the bony protrusion of her ankle, then sliding it up the black nylon to the smooth bare skin above. She licks further up, lapping up the inside of Ebola's thigh. Ebola shudders and gasps at her touch, and Anthrax slides her sly tongue right up to the seam of Ebola's French knickers before she kisses her way back down her thigh to pull the other stocking from her leg.
The white legs naked and exposed, Anthrax crawls back up Ebola's pale slender body, her lips lingering over the small navel and making their way slowly up to the hollow of her cleavage. She fingers and squeezes the petite breasts longingly, the rough lace of the strapless bra chafing at her palms. As she rests her head on Ebola's chest and rubs, Ebola places her hands on Anthrax's shoulders and draws her up so that their faces are level and kisses her. It's soft, and Anthrax thrusts her tongue in, desperate for more, and Ebola responds, as cool and slow as ever she is. Ebola turns her head away, and instead presses hot kisses to Anthrax's jaw. Anthrax keens and arches her neck, leaving Ebola free to kiss the slender neck at the side of the throat. Anthrax moans, and twists a little to the side to give herself access to Ebola's own neck, and still moaning from the kisses, she licks long lines from the collarbone to the ear.
"Not now," Ebola says. Her voice is quiet and she sounds faintly breathless. "You first tonight."
"No," Anthrax protests, only drawing her moist tongue away from Ebola's neck to speak for a fleeting moment before she presses her lips back down and sucks at the wet skin.
Ebola pushes her away, holding her up over her and looking up into her dark eyes. "You first," she repeats.
She reaches up and unwinds the scarves from Anthrax's shoulders and throws them on the floor, then unfastens each button on her thin jacket and pushes it down from her shoulders. Anthrax kneels upright to let it fall off her arms and throws it away as Ebola's hands return to trace the tight, solid lines of her cinched-in waist. Her hands rise back up to the curve of Anthrax's breasts, and she squeezes them tightly, smoothing her palms over the slick PVC of her basque and pressing her fingers into the soft flesh escaping above it. Anthrax breathes softly, faintly shuddering as Ebola kneads firmly and slides her hands back down Anthrax's waist to her hips. Instead of going for the hooks and eyes at the front, Ebola reaches around to the back, and Anthrax's waist expands just an inch or so as Ebola gently pulls the laces undone, and plucks them from each tiny hole until the corset falls from Anthrax's body, leaving her hanging open and naked above Ebola. Once the corset is thrown aside, Ebola's fingers run, lightly and reverently, over the soft bare flesh, stroking ever so gently with almost ghostlike touches, so that Anthrax tingles under her fingertips. She cups Anthrax's full, pale breasts, grasping at the plump flesh and pressing her thumbs into the soft pink nipples until they harden into tiny firm bumps, and Anthrax gasps, mouth wide open, fangs glinting in the dim light. Ebola forces her hands away from Anthrax's breasts and slides them around to her shoulders to pull her down so that she's lying with her chest level with Ebola's face, her own face pressed into the headboard. Ebola takes one erect nipple into her mouth, lapping her tongue around it hungrily and sucking at the little erect bump like a feeding infant. Anthrax gasps and groans, clawing at the headboard as a hot tingling runs through her breasts, and Ebola groans with her, the sound muffled by the nipple in her mouth. As she sucks greedily, her hands stray down to the waist of Anthrax's skirt. She fumbles for the zip, unfastens it and pushes the skirt down. Anthrax kneels up slightly to let the skirt fall lower and then to kick it off, and Ebola follows her up with her head, determined to keep her hot, moist hold on her sensitive white breast. Eventually she manages to break free, and kisses Anthrax's chest roughly before sliding down underneath her, pressing kisses and waxy red smears down Anthrax's abdomen to the front of her vagina, kissing her through the flimsy material of her tights. She slips out from under Anthrax's body and sits up to unzip and remove each stiletto ankle boot and throw it to the floor. She lingeringly strokes Anthrax's thigh as she raises her hands to the curve of her hips and presses them down until Anthrax rolls over onto her back. She kneels straddled over Anthrax's legs, leans down and kisses the tiny curve of her womb, and then slips her thin, nimble fingers under the waistband of Anthrax's simple black cotton knickers. She pulls just ever so slightly, and Anthrax raises her hips for Ebola to take them down with her tights, crawling down her body until her can slip them off her feet.
Ebola doesn't come back up, but lingers there, lying between Anthrax's legs, looking up at her with a calm, blank expression. What it is, Anthrax isn't quite sure. It could be admiration, or it could be awe. It could even be love.
Ebola leans her head forward and positions it between Anthrax's thighs.
Anthrax brings in a deep gasp as the warm wetness of Ebola's tongue comes playing around her vagina. She gasps again, long, rasping breaths, as each lick teases her more and more. As Ebola's tongue flattens against the whole vagina, sending her into dull euphoria. As the thin, taunting tip probes around her opening and her clit, sending hot, sharp waves pulsing through her. She cries out, and Ebola presses her tongue into Anthrax's clit, making her scream louder and louder and writhe in gorgeous ecstasy. She removes it, and Anthrax feels the empty coldness just for a split second before the cruel tongue returns and pushes itself into her soft, wet opening, flattening and pointing, licking and probing, playing and tormenting and torturing until Anthrax cries and goes still, heat and adrenaline still running through her sweating body, making her feel as though nothing on Earth is above her.
Ebola crawls back up Anthrax's body and kisses her, long and slow, and Anthrax gags at the taste of her own cum.
"Take the taste away," Ebola whispers, and Anthrax hesitantly kisses back, needing the hot lips and tongue of her Ebola, but detesting the taste in that beautiful mouth. Ebola gasps, and Anthrax tastes a copper tang and realises that her fang has cut the inside of Ebola's lip. Gently, she slips in her tongue and licks the traces of blood away.
She lies back on the bed, panting as she rests her face against the sticky, flushed skin of Ebola's cheek. Ebola falls to the side and rolls off Anthrax's body and onto the bed next to her. Both lie there, hot and still for a moment, until Anthrax recovers enough to climb onto Ebola's flushed body. She leans down stiffly and presses light kisses to the soft cheek, feeling the heat radiate to her lips. Ebola sighs contentedly, and Anthrax moves her lips down to Ebola's slender neck, and deepens her kisses, making them desperate and wet and lingering. Ebola groans, already writhing, and Anthrax can't bring herself to pull away just yet, so she carries on kissing, sucking the skin between her tongue and the roof of her mouth, licking over the last set of unhealed puncture-marks, careful not to pierce again just yet.
Ebola moans loudly and presses her hips up into Anthrax's, and Anthrax finally manages to tear her lips from Ebola's neck and push herself up onto her hands and knees over her. She reaches under Ebola's arms and Ebola arches her back again so that Anthrax can unfasten the hooks of her bra and free the petite breasts and erect nipples within. She leans down and presses more kisses on the exposed chest, lips gliding over the smooth white flesh and opening just slightly to take in each hard pink bump as her mouth crosses it. She takes her kisses up to the protrusion of Ebola's collarbone, and then slowly makes her way downwards, over the flat hollow between her breasts, down to her navel, finally stopping at the black lace hem of her French knickers. They're lacy and elaborate, like everything Ebola wears, and Anthrax savours the scratch of the material on her lips and chin as she kisses the front of Ebola's pubis through the knickers. She crawls lower, kissing down to where the lace turns to plain cotton, and where she can feel the sticky wetness soaking through the material. She doesn't linger; she can't stand the taste of cum. It's far too bitter, and for some unexplainable reason it reminds her of clinics. There's no warmth to it.
She brings her head back up and slips two fingers into each side of the knickers, just in the hollows of Ebola's narrow hips, and then pulls them slowly down, kissing the wiry pubes as they're exposed and running her tongue up the inside of Ebola's left thigh as she raises her legs above her, allowing Anthrax to rise to her knees and pull her knickers off over her feet.
Anthrax lowers herself back down, pressing two fingers gently to the bottom of Ebola's pubis and then moving it down to tease her clit before slipping them gently inside. Ebola tenses and lets out a slight moan, her hips involuntarily rising, then falling again. Anthrax hooks her fingers just ever so slightly, and Ebola gasps. As she twists her fingers, moving them in a small, gentle circle and scissoring them slowly, Anthrax crawls back up Ebola's pulsing, sweating body, pinning her own arm between their soft, hot torsos, and presses her lips once again to the warm skin of Ebola's neck. She kisses softly at first, and then deepens it, leaving heat and saliva lingering on the moist skin. She pulls her lips away and replaces them with her tongue, licking in wide, long streaks from collarbone to chin to ear, over and over again until her tongue becomes dry, and she has to stop and swallow before she can carry on. She licks over the tiny, clotting puncture marks left over from the last time, tickling them with the very tip of her tongue as she covers Ebola's long neck with hot spit.
By now, Ebola is writhing and moaning in earnest, loud and wordless and euphoric, and Anthrax is careful not to nick her as she just touches the tips of her fangs to Ebola's skin, just below the other partially healed marks.
"Not yet," Ebola chokes, her voice a quiet rasp.
Anthrax hooks her fingers again, more sharply this time, and Ebola cries out in ecstasy.
"Not yet!" she screams again. "Not yet!"
Anthrax continues to push and pulse her fingers inside her, panting now and becoming breathless. Ebola whines and writhes and vibrates under her, and finally screams and shouts; "Now, now, do it now!"
Anthrax bites down hard. Ebola cries out again, and Anthrax feels the warm, sticky trickle of blood running down Ebola's neck under her lips. She sucks once, and then removes her teeth to lick at the crimson trail, lapping up the flowing blood as it runs down Ebola's neck. Some of it escapes her and trickles down, leaving a barely noticeable stain on the black silk sheets. Anthrax turns her licks to long, sucking kisses, drawing the blood from the wounds and taking it down. She feels warm as she feels it falling through her oesophagus, the metallic tang in her mouth telling her that this is what life itself must taste like. She shivers as the comfortable heat flows through her entire body, and she sucks deeper and deeper and deeper, until she hears one final cry and feels sticky cum flowing out around her fingers.
This is her signal to let go, and she immediately removes her mouth from Ebola's neck and pulls her fingers from inside her. The flow from Ebola's neck has slowed now, just a thin red trickle staining the flushed skin. Ebola's face is a picture of undignified rapture, covered in hot sweat, smeared makeup and a blank look of pure euphoric beauty.
Anthrax collapses, letting her head fall against Ebola's shoulder and twisting her limbs around her. They lie together, exhausted and breathless, once-pale skin now pink with effort, hot, lost, spent.
They stay there as long as they can, coiled in a still, close embrace, just lying and breathing and panting and taking in the fuzzy haze of musk and sweat and the beautiful acrid stench of drying blood, but they know that in the end they have to move. A chill falls upon them, and Anthrax, with nothing covering her, begins to shiver, and they know that they can't stay here any longer.
Now, the pillows have been pushed up against the headboard, and Ebola is leaning on them, head back and eyes almost closed. Her skin has faded back to its usual whiteness, a stark contrast against the black silk of the kimono that is pulled loose at one shoulder. Anthrax is curled on her lap, swathed in a loose, faded black nightie that was once an outsize men's shirt, with a white cloth covered in antiseptic in her hand. She presses it gently against the new wounds on Ebola's neck, and Ebola gasps and grimaces in pain. Anthrax can't stop herself from nuzzling her head under Ebola's chin. She doesn't like to see her in this pain. Because it isn't the same kind of pain. Yes, she thinks, Ebola may like to feel porcelain fangs pierce her neck and the heat of a wet tongue as the blood flows out of her, but this is different. This hurts.
Ebola gasps and jerks her head away from the cloth a little.
"It's okay," Anthrax soothes her. "It's done."
She puts the cloth down on the bedside table and leans back against Ebola, her forehead resting on the other's cheek.
"So," muses Ebola. "What do you want to do tonight?"