The room was old, so old the electric lights seemed out of place-it was a room for candles or gaslamps. Almost the only furniture in the room was a huge brass bed, a Victorian monster with brass head and foot posts of tarnished metal, like two prison gates. Only the sheets and mattress were new-they always needed new sheets.
Jill led the boy into the room. He was 18, and shy, from California-backpacking with his sister across England. He had boyish features, straw colored hair, pale blue eyes, and a soft voice. Jill thought he was delicious.
She guided him to the edge of the bed, sat down, patting a space beside her. He sat perched on the edge of the bed, as if about to bolt from the room. She was certain he was a virgin.
A cry from the room next door. The boy started up, but Jill took his arm, pulling him back down. "It's only my brother and your sister having fun."
The sister was 20, as bold as sluttish as the boy was withdrawn and innocent. It was her idea to accept the inviation to spend the night. She had eyed both Jack and Jill in a way that said she was open to offers from both of them. Jill looked forward to joining them-when she was finished here.
The boy was looking away, his face turning crimson at the sounds of his sister's lovemaking through the wall. The two bedrooms had once been a large parlor, but Jack had converted it into two bedrooms, and unlike the other walls in the house, this one was quite thin.
"Your sister seems to be enjoying herself," Jill breathed into the boy's ear. "Would you like to enjoy me?"
A stammered yes. "Then stand up. Take off your clothes and let me look at you."
He did as he was told, his nervousness fading somewhat. In a minute he was naked, his surprisingly large penis half-erect. "Turn around." He did, and she reached out to cup the cheeks of his firm young ass.
"Very nice. Now don't turn around untill I tell you to." She stood up quickly, her raven black hair tumbling about her shoulders, then began to remove the low cut old fashioned evening gown she was wearing. When she was nude, she moved against him, pressing her full breasts against his back. She felt him tremble as she slid down his body until her hard nipples were pressed against his equally hard young buttocks. "Now turn around."
He was almost fully erect, his penis swaying slightly, hanging just in front of her lips as she knelt before him on the wooden floor. Dark eyes open, she stared up at him as she took his member in her mouth, enjoying the look of wild pleasure on his face as her tongue swirled around the pulsing head.
Suddenly she felt his body spasm, felt his cock throb in her mouth. "Ohhh..." She pulled back to watch him cum, great spurts of thick white liquid splashing onto her throat and breasts.
"I...I'm sorry. I..."
She stood up and held a finger to his lips. "Shh. It's all right. Don't think I'm finished with you. I'm going to make you hard again and again," she promised, her voice thick with lust. "I'm going to fuck you to death."
Later she took a bath to remove the blood, watching in fascination as the red water gurgled down the drain in the huge antique marble tub. Then, still naked and wet, she recrossed the hall back into her bedroom.
The youth was handcuffed, spreadeagled, to the bed, a sil gag in his mouth. There was surprisingly little blood from the second wound-the one that had killed him. Only a little red tear around the heart. It was the other wound that had bled so much.
She walked over to the body, one hand sliding between her legs, teasing her lips, enjoying the tingling post-coital feelings. With her other hand she lifted the severed balls and penis from the boy's belly. She had tied it off before using the blade, so it remained almost fully erect. With a sigh she kissed the head. So lovely.
A scream from the next room. Not of pleasure this time. Jill frowned. How rude of Jack to start without her.
The rental car was a little box, uncomfortable and ugly-not to mention the steering wheel being on the wrong side. Bob had had a lot of trouble adjusting to driving in England. Of course, now that the fucking shitbox had broken down in the middle of fucking nowhere, driving was no longer a problem. But then this whole vacation was turning into the trip from hell.
Part of it was the money-part of it was always the money. Carol's family was paying for this post-college graduation trip, just as their money paid for all Carol's extravangances. And Bob's. Bob always took the money, but underneath he felt a resentment that often came out in bed. Carol, though, liked it rough, and as Bob took out his hidden anger by pounding himself brutally into her, twisting her dark red nipples, or yanking her hair as he fucked her from behind, Carol would simply scream in pleasure/pain and orgasm over and over.
Bob slammed down the the rental's hood ("bonnet" he mouthed to himself glumly) and got back in the car. He wasn't a goddam mechanic, and anyway it was too dark. "I don't know," he said.
Carol shrugged. Carol was taking it well-she took everything well. A lifetime of having money and great looks had convinced her that in the end things would always work out to her satisfaction. Now staring at her; calm, golden, toned and tanned, Bob was suddenly filled with the desire to slap her silly. Instead he felt his prick stiffin in his jeans.
Carol had lost it at 15 to her tennis instructor, and she was finely attuned to the effect her body had on men. Without a word she reached over and unbuttoned his jeans. Freeing his growing hardon, she smiled and said, "You need to relax."
Bob wasn't ready to let go of his rotten mood that easily. "No room to fuck in this thing."
"Plenty of room to suck." Carol brought her face down onto his lap. He moaned as her tongue caressed the underside of his dick, her lips sucking on the mushroom shaped head. Then she took his shaft into her throat. He closed his eyes, losing himself in the sensation of the blowjob. A few minutes later he opened them as he shot his load into Carol's hungry mouth, and found himself staring out of the side window into the face of a beautiful dark haired woman dressed in a cape and gown.
Carol raised her head from his lap, licking cum off her lips, and for an instant his vision was blocked. When Carol sat back the woman was gone.
"What the fuck?" Hurridly stuffing his deflating prick back in his jeans, Bob opened the door and stepped out of the car, eyes straining to see into the surrounding dark. Nothing.
"Bob, what is it?" Carol was standing on the other side of the car, one eyebrow raised, a single strand of seman clinging to her right cheek. Absently she brushed it with her finger, brought it to her mouth.
"I saw a woman. Watching us. Wearing a cape." Saying it out loud it suddenly sounded ridiculous.
"Countess Dracula? So where is she?"
I'm really going to beat the shit out of you one day. "I don't know, but she was here."
Another Carol shrug. "So now what?"
Bob ignored her, searching around the car for some sign of their visitor. A few feet from the car he found a footprint in a patch of damp earth. A woman's dress shoe. "What's that?" Bob asked smugly.
Shrug. "I hope she enjoyed the show. But what is she doing hiking around out here in heels?"
"I don't..." Bob stopped, his attention caught by a single light showing through a line of trees about a hundred yards back from the road. In the direction of the footprint.
Jill watched them approach from a darkened window off the main entrance hall. They were both in their mid-20s, more Americans by the look of them. She loved Americans. They had so much...energy. Like that dark haired girl-she had taken hours to die. Strychnine. Such a sensual poison; turning every nerve in the girl's body into a receptor of pain. Making every kiss, every caress, every touch an agony. She had died of pain and exhaustion, her brother's sundered organ buried deep in her cunt. Mmm...
The man was just under six feet, with brown hair, an attractive if somewhat sullen face, and (from the glimpse she had back at the motorcar) an impressive cock. But if the man was good looking, the woman was frankly stunning. Only a couple of inches shorter than her lover (somehow Jill knew they weren't married), her serene face framed by golden curls, wearing a short skirt that revealed long perfect legs, unzipped leather jacket, and a low cut blouse displaying ample cleavage, she moved with the graceful self-assurance of someone who knew she was beautiful.
We really must take out time with them-Jack is always so impatient. Her brother had always been in such a hurry, and not very discriminating. Those awful butchered old whores. It wasn't until Jill joined her brother in his games that he began to appreciate the art of the hunt-and the kill. What was the name of their first collaboration? Oh, yes. Mary Kelly. But that was a long time ago.
The house looked like it was owned by the Addams family. It was huge, old, rundown. Only the intact glass in the windows and the lighted room on the third floor showed that it wasn't deserted. That, and the locked front door. There was no bell, just an old fashioned knocker, which Bob had been using in increasing frustration for the last five minutes.
"Maybe they can't hear it?" Carol suggested.
"Of course they can hear it. They can hear it in fucking London."
The door opened.
.... There is more of this story ...