She was leaving… She had been the core of his being for so long. Her flame-red hair and dark seductive brown eyes had taken his inner darkness and tamed it into something controllable for their mutual pleasure. She was leaving and he needed her. Night had fallen, the cold crisp nights, dark but for the glowing moon that seemed to bless his dark thoughts and plans. She was leaving and that couldn’t be allowed.
There was the faintest rumble of traffic in the background, the witching hour was close and she was even closer. The red door to her little cottage stood like an invitation; blood, lust, power and what you need lie through this door. The white of the frame reflected her skin… The door was her hair, the frame her body. He would pass through and take what was his. Slipping the key he still had from his pocket he approached the door silently. The frost already forming on the leaves of the hedge surrounded him as his warm breath steamed the air in front. He silently unlocked the door and slipped into her house.
He knew her house as well as he knew her body. Every little crease and fold, the floorboards that squeaked, the table that was always in the way all were no hindrance to his stealthy movements through the house. He passed through the lounge – stopping only for a moment to think about the times he had taken her on the sofa, in front of the hearth, strapped to the table so she couldn’t move as his hand made her ass as crimson as her hair. He felt the monster inside begin to rise as he walked through to the kitchen next.
There was the side he had taken her on that very first time. She hadn’t heard him come in, hadn’t realised he was there until he had bent her over, face down on the counter and ripped the panties from her. He hadn’t been gentle and she had struggled but that only made it more delicious when he entered her. Once he was inside her all resistance had faded and he had taken his pleasure from her gorgeous self. She had been pure that first time. But he had taken her innocence and left depraved need in its place.
He walked to the drawer and opened it without a whisper, selecting the sharpest knife (he had used it on her a number of times when he wanted to compare the scarlet of her hair to her blood) he walked back through the house. Blade in hand he walked past the spare bedroom – remembering the people that he had shared her with; the men, the women and groups that had often used that room with her as the victim for their depraved pleasures.
Finally he was at the entrance to her room. The door was closed but he could remember it as clear as day in his mind. To the left was the wall of mirrored wardrobes; he enjoyed taking her facing them so he could see her face as he filled her, as his thickness bringing her pleasure and pain. At the far side of the room was the large four post bed – her treat to herself (and him) all those years ago when they had begun this dance. To the right were drawers and dressers and a bookshelf full of the stories she loved to get lost in.
This door always creaked; it always gave away his entrance so he would need to be swift. Putting down the bag he carried he reached in and took out the ropes he would need; the gag and blindfold were in his hand. Quickly he prepared himself. He pushed the door swiftly open and with the practiced measured steps he reached the bed in three strides. The blindfold was over her head and fastened before her eyes were even open. The blade of the knife at her throat as he grabbed her left wrist and with practiced ease looped it around the post of the bed and over her wrist drawing it tight. Only now, sightless and partly restrained did she begin to struggle but it was far too late. Within seconds her right wrist was bound to the other post and she was blind and helpless before him. As she opened her mouth to scream, (so predictable) he slid the gag swiftly between her lips leaving her muffled cries as music to his ears. She wasn’t leaving now.
Slowly he slid off the bed to admire his handiwork. She lay there helpless – he was sure she knew it was him, but she still resisted even after all these years. He pulled the quilt off her leaving her exposed – she was wearing a simple silk chemise – almost like she knew he was coming. Those long luscious legs that had been forced up onto his shoulders so many times, the flaming red hair that was spread out dark against the pale pillows, her full gorgeous breasts that swayed encased in the silk, nipples hard against the material in the cooler night air – all of it enraged that beast he had kept caged. He had kept it caged for her – she had been the balm the soothed the monster that lurked in his soul. She would always be that balm.
With the knife he cut the straps to her chemise then slowly traced the tip of the blade over her incredibly pale skin. As always the crimson lines left on her nakedness only fuelled him further and with a more savage movement his used the knife to shred the silk, leaving the tatters of it lying around her on the bed. As he looked a single tear escaped from under the blindfold and rolled down her soft cheek. Totally helpless, totally exposed, totally ready for the monster inside to take and keep forever.
Will finish this if anyone's interested... |
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