Warning: If you were at all offended by anything in the previous chapter, I beg of you to skip this one. This chapter DOES deal with dark themes, including murder and necrophilia. If you are easily upset, do not read this. Flames will not be appreciated.
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Chapter 4: The Face of Death
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I allowed Erik a few minutes to recover. He barely moved to clean himself up, which from what I had heard was quite unlike him. He was fastidiously clean, usually; yet here he lay, blood crusting on his chest, sweat pooling in his emaciated stomach bowl, and his own semen slowly dripping to join it.
But soon it seemed that his nature penetrated even the thick shell of his sudden trance, and he reached for the edge of his errant shirt. He half-sat up, removed it, and used it to mop up the mess he had made, before dropping it conscientiously over the side of my divan. I noted with some pleasure that he made a point to avoid dropping it on my servant girl.
I was just beginning to contemplate how I next wished to take him when I sensed his eyes on me. Those yellow, horrible eyes that would set any brave man to shivering beneath his bedcovers. They twinkled at me in the darkness, like those of a cat. He did not speak, and I did not bother to encourage him to do so. I let my hand reach once more to that source of recent obsession for me, stroking its impressive length with barely concealed enthusiasm.
I had seen it through his pants, of course, and had occasionally even asked him about it (oh, his greying skin turned a wonderful crimson when I did!), but my imaginings barely did justice to its glory. I had seen it, now, and touched it, and even tasted it, yes...but I had not yet had it.
And afterward, afterward I would have it removed, preserved, perhaps even keep it for personal use, later on...if it could be managed. After all, a man like Erik was not likely to find a use for it, ever again. Perhaps I would even be doing him a favour. Unless, of course...I removed the means, but not the desire for the end! Oh, how brilliant that would be, to leave Erik with the taste of satisfaction, with the longing that would inevitably ensue, but remove his only means for relieving it! A fate worse than death, certainly. I admit I was so pleased with myself for thinking of this that I laughed aloud, before swinging one thigh across Erik's skeletal form and gripping his erection with the intent of aiming.
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This was not the first time it had occured to me that I did not want to do this. Having experienced all ready a release which promised to keep my head spinning for hours, I was not prepared for any more. But the khanum's hand was insistent, stroking me with reverence, and I felt my body react against my will. It felt good, I could not deny this, yet I did not want it. I did not want my virginity claimed by this beautiful, but affectionless woman. A woman who could not even love her own son...very like a woman I once knew. But while I would gratefully have accepted any touch - any touch at all, mind you - from that woman...the khanum's attentions were infinitely less welcome.
She barely waited until I was finished recovering before she laughed with delectation and positioned herself atop me. From my vantage point, I could see myself at the spring of her sex, and a black ball of anger, of fear, of abhorrence built in my belly. And when she began to wriggle herself down my newly turgid passion, it exploded into burning fragments of confused ecstasy. This beautiful woman above me, around me, raping the virginity from my unwilling grasp, enchanted and pleasured me more than I had ever known before. As her black sex tainted my sheet-white skin, I almost welcomed this baneful despoliation. Hatefully and lustfully, I surrendered myself to the orgasm which rushed forward with white-frosted waves.
"If you finish before I order you to, I assure you that for the rest of your life the only thing that will interest you is masonry," cried the dam that stoppered my sudden succumbance. My legs tensed in the effort to stop what had almost begun, though I wondered if I should not simply damn the consequences and let go.
"Madam," I said, through teeth gritted in an effort to postpone my imminent orgasm, "Do you really think I shall ever do this again?"
That seemed to please her, for she moaned, and ground her hips against mine with a renewed vigour that threatened to cause me to burst. I dared not move lest I release my iron-hard grip on the reins of my release. It was David fighting Goliath...I did not stand a chance, and yet somehow, I must prevail. But I was a hopelessly untried man, untouched and undesired...for Christ's sake, I had never even touched myself, before! And with each grinding thrust I knew I was fighting a losing battle.
Time was meaningless to me, now...Sensation pawed at my loins incessantly, painfully, until I knew, without a very shadow of a doubt, that I could hold back no longer. And as my mouth opened to let loose the carnal growl crouching in my throat, I felt the khanum tense around me, heard her moaning suddenly and with a clarity that I had not thought possible. For a split second, I dazedly emerged from the hurricane of torture into the sunshine, before I was dragged suddenly into a spasmolytic sea of my own seed. I drowned helplessly in this much-delayed release, in the black murk of this delicious sin. I was vaguely aware of my head colliding with the softness of the khanum's bosom before falling down again into the feather pillow as my ravished loins vomitted forth their last potent eruption.
And then she was gone, and I was exposed to the cold, uncaring air in her lieu. I felt her depress the bed beside me, and through the grey fog that was clouding my lungs, my eyes, my heart and mind, I heard her speak.
"Not bad for your first try. Good enough to survive for your second, in any case."
This woman didn't give an inch! Forgetting any fatigue in my ire, I turned my head to her, gathering my wayward arms back into myself, and scowled. "What use would I be to you, dead?" I snapped.
"For the next four hours...?" She asked, and even if I had been an imbecile, I would have known what she meant. I laughed ruefully as I lay my head back down, eyes trained on the ceiling. How predictable.
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"Artless," I said, as I adjusted myself to comfort beside my newfound plaything. "Certainly not what I would have expected of you, Erik. Luckily for you, your size makes up for your total lack of technique."
I had expected him to retort that he had been pure - not pure, perhaps...but virginal, at least - that he had had no practise, but he did not. As a matter of fact, he did not say anything, allowing the silence to settle like a death shroud over us. I waited for a moment, but I admit, I felt insatiable. I was not lying when I said that Erik had no technique, no great talent for sexual interplay, but I did not want him any the less for it.
"Come here, Erik," I ordered softly. I would have to give him time to recover - a lesson I had regretfully learned, long ago - but in the meantime he could still please me. As if through a quagmire of thick honey, Erik dragged his angular body to my side before laying himself down again. "Let us pretend," I said, as his head took up residence on my shoulder, "Now, you have, on your bed before you, a nubile young girl...in a state of undress. What would you do to her?"
Erik sighed and I saw a smile burst subtly onto his lips before fading again into his funereal standard grimace. "To be completely honest, madam, I would ask her what she was doing there, and tell her to put some clothes on."
I felt my temper flare, and snapped, "Then let us continue our pretense for a moment, and say that you are a man, not a fool. Show me what you would do, Erik."
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The khanum's anger rejuvenated me. Reminded me that I was not a helpless boy in the clutches of a female rapist. I was a man, and had as much power in this situation as I could desire. I chastened myself for my imagined weakness, for letting this awesome pleasure reduce me to such a quivering, pathetic being. My wits gathered to me again, my shattered confidence pulled back into shape, and as the khanum now ordered me with daggers in her tone to act as if she were twenty years younger...to treat her as I had wished to treat the slave girl she had sent me, I felt no trepidation.
I thought: it was likely to be my last chance at this sort of endeavour, and I supposed I should not bother with being shy, as it was obviously not what the woman beneath me desired. And as such, I confess I rather ravaged her. Though with every rough grope, every scratch, every bite, her passion only increased, and as my hand carefully caressed her neck in a mock-strangulatory gesture, she moaned and bucked up against me. That was what inspired me.
"Fuck me again." With a childlike attention span, the khanum had bored of this game. I sighed deeply; I was not yet recovered. My body threatened to pull me back down into the raging depression that lay just beneath the surface of my thin protective shield. I was managing just - and only just - to remain above it, aided by the inspiration which lurked in the forefront of my brain.
"A moment?" I asked, for the breaths in my chest still came ragged, and the muscles in my arms were beginning to tire. I doubted she would grant me this concession, and her thoughtful silence rather surprised me.
"Because it is you, Erik," she breathed, into my ear, which caused my loins to jump. Perhaps she was not so predictable after all.
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This second time, Erik was marvellously more passionate. It was as if he instantly conquered all that he dabbled in, for he now masterfully stroked and thrust into me. His hands moved constantly, an unbroken caress, across my breasts, my waist, my neck, my face. I lay beneath him, languishing in the sweet, unhampered pleasure of Erik's size and sudden deftness.
He was hurting me, both with unfettered nails and with violent penetration, but I hardly cared. The line between pain and pleasure had blurred, for me, many, many years ago. It was now not even there...I feared no earthly pain, and when I felt Erik's hand slip to my throat and gently hold my head to the pillow, I moaned in the audacity of his arousing gesture. As I did, his free hand came to join its companion, and they settled snugly, but not fatally, around my neck.
It was marvellously close to threatening, so incredibly arousing to watch this skeletal man wrap his hands around my throat. I felt as if I were being claimed by Death itself, as if it were the God of Death inside me now, pleasuring and harming. I had finally seduced my only true fear, reduced it to nothing...I held no terror of dying, then, for if the Reaper Man could be seduced, then I was invincible.
However, my confidence was not to last long. Erik's hideous visage morphed into an even uglier grimace as his thrusts began to climax. His grip constricted, and I felt a pang of terror shoot through me, negating my own release. I would see him beaten for his overzealousness, beaten in addition to his other punishment, but as it was, I had to persuade him to stop, first. "Enough, Erik." But he seemed not to hear me. "Enough!"
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"Stop it, Erik," she ordered, and her normally sultry voice was growing hoarse underneath the weight of my thumbs. "Stop, or I will call someone!"
"Call, then, if you still can," I growled, redoubling my grip, "You had me kill the only servant within earshot."
I saw fear fill her eyes, and for that moment alone, she was a woman, properly belonging to the half of the world known as the "gentler sex." Silently, she begged me not to do this, please, she was afraid...please don't do this to her. My stomach filled with anathema and my throat with remorse, but I couldn't let go, now. If I let go, knowing that I had made an attempt on her life, I would not live to regret it.
In a surge, the faces of all the men - and women - that this murderess had ordered me to kill swam past my blurring vision. As the khanum's face distored into an unlovely grimace, her open mouth begging for breath that would not come, my regret disappeared instantly. Her dying body spasmed around my excitement, and I came, violently and with a passion that bordered on spiritual. I cried out like an animal, some primal scream that was ripped from my throat, and there were tears in my eyes when I fell, like a tidal wave, onto the motionless chest of the woman who had taken my prolonged virginity.
When I could again move, I raised my arm and placed my thin hand on her face. "Perhaps now you are satisfied," I whispered to her unhearing ears, "Now that you truly have kissed death." With an air of finality, I pressed my lips against her slack ones, and bit her lower lip gently as I pulled away, sitting up. I shut her eyes with an absent gesture, and was about to withdraw myself from her cavity when a terrible idea occured to me.
I would have given it little thought, but my libido gave an indication that it was not quite finished, and to my shame, I found myself inexorably enticed to erection within her dead womanhood. She lay limply before me, and I caressed her still form with something bordering on affection. Then slowly, gently, I began to thrust once more into her wet warmth.
Her head lolled to the side, a trickle of blood escaping her open mouth, and her arms were draped, moribund, across the bed in an unusual display of openness. This beautiful khanum, obsessed with the death she feared, wobbled involuntarily beneath my increasingly enthusiastic thrusting. No moans escaped her dead mouth, her dead eyes did not flutter with pleasure, no breaths crept past her crushed windpipe, and yet her deep, welcoming sex was as warm and wet as it had been when she was alive. As slippery and dangerous as any treacherous cave, her body begged me to finish, to fill it with hot liquid ecstasy one final time, and I was more than pleased to indulge it. I lost myself in this dead woman, crying out again as a final orgasm tore through my sensitive body, and afterwards I felt as if I, too, might die.
My delerious mind filled with the thoughts of being discovered, two corpses entwined in an obscene coupling...what the daroga would think. The picture of his saddened, sickened face hovered in front of my eyes. I do not know if it was that image that prevented me from just allowing my lifesource to expire, or if I simply was not meant to die, after all...but I soon rose from the bed, replacing my clothing meticlously, and a familiar emptiness claimed me.
No, despite what had happened, I would still never know the love of a woman. Physical gratification had been nice, had been more than I had ever dreamed of, but there was no love in the act. I found that my heart began to ache with a vigour that had me rather taken aback. Silently, I crept back onto the divan for a moment, unsure of the motives for my actions, and lay my head on the khanum's still bosom. My tears drifted down her bruised breasts, pooling in her navel like nectar in a bitter flower.
I do not know how long I laid there, but it cannot have been as long as it felt. I fought my way to my feet, eventually, and began the uneasy trek back to my quarters. I must have looked a mess, threading my way through the harem, and I received many sympathetic looks from the girls and eunuchs that I passed. I reached the gate in silence, and entreated to the guard at the door.
"The khanum wishes to be left alone for the rest of the night," I stated, with a confidence that defied all doubt, "The punishment for anyone who disturbs her is to be devised by myself."
The weight of that threat was not lost on the eunuch, nor anyone in the immediate vicinity. I had bought myself some time.