Blood Doll Read online

  Blood Doll

  By Rex Clark

  Copyright 2017 Rex Clark

  Smashwords edition

  Other titles by Rex Clark:

  Waters Rise

  Seduction

  The Horror From Beyond the Outhouse

  Now I Lay Me Down To Sleep

  The Guest in 519

  Memoriae

  The first thing I’m aware of whenever I wake up is how badly my arms ache. I can feel the steel of the manacles digging into my wrists, and I have to wonder how long I’ve been chained up here.

  The second thing I’m aware of is that I’m not the only person in the room.

  I can hear someone moving in the shadows behind me; slow, deliberate steps, the low rustle of light cloth. I don’t even need to look; I know who it is already. Martika.

  “What do you want?” I try to make my voice sound deep and tough, like I’m about to chew through these damn cuffs and claw my way out of the room if I have to. All that comes out is a weak whisper that even I can barely hear.

  She has no trouble picking up what I said, though. Not her.

  I have what I want, she says, and her voice is seduction and bedroom promises. She brushes her fingers across my bare shoulder, and I can’t help gasping; her touch is ice on my skin. I can feel her smile as the gooseflesh rises and spreads from the contact, and I struggle to control the reaction, I know how much she likes it, and I don’t want to give her the pleasure.

  Why do you fight me, lover? she asks. She brushes those frozen fingers along my shoulder and up my neck. She laughs as I try to pull away.

  “I’m not… not your-” I manage to spit out, but there’s no force behind it. I’m still too weak to have any weight to my words.

  Yes you are, she replies. You’re mine. Everything you are, belongs to me now. Why fight it? You know that we can both enjoy this. Why not give yourself up to me? Why not stop struggling? I will show you heaven. You can be a god.

  Her other arm wraps around my waist and she pulls herself close against me. Her breasts press into my back; her nipples are hard as obsidian and dig into my flesh. It’s like being hugged by a deep freeze.

  You can be my god.

  “You’re no god,” I reply. My voice is still hoarse, but desperation and revulsion are starting to lend it strength.

  Obviously, she says, and her voice is thick with amusement. I’m not exactly equipped to be a god. But you are.

  The arm around my waist moves lower; her finger traces a line of frost across my hip and thigh.

  And I will be your goddess. All you have to do…

  Her hand settles on my cock, and despite my repulsion, despite the chill of her touch, I feel myself begin to stir.

  … is worship me. You can do that, can’t you?

  Her grip tightens on me, and she begins caressing me, her fingertips stroking my shaft with the barest touch. I clench my eyes shut and try to think of something, anything else, anything that I can focus on. But my cock getting hard in her cold hand becomes the center of my reality, and the rest of the world starts to fall away.

  I think you can, she says. It certainly feels that way.

  She runs her tongue up my neck, so light I may have imagined it. She follows it with small bites on my ear. Her teeth are sharp; even nipping me draws blood, and it only fuels her desire.

  Give me what I want, and you’ll have all you could ever dream of.

  “What if all I dream of is watching you die?” It’s a last-ditch effort, but I finally have strength enough to snarl the words at her.

  She sighs. Boooring, she drawls as she pulls away from me.

  She walks around me, taking her time. Why should she hurry? She has all eternity to play with me; why not make it last a while?

  Why do you insist on fighting me? You have nothing to lose, and I have everything to give to you. I’m not asking that much of you, am I?

  She’s made her way into my field of vision; her steps are slow and deliberate. She knows I can’t resist looking at her, so every movement is an exaggeration.

  I can give you everything you desire, she says, and those blood-red lips curl into a smile that doesn’t come anywhere close to her ice-blue eyes. And that’s the trick, isn’t it; how she can smile, how her lips can stretch and curve like that, but won’t move at all when she speaks.

  She may not think I’ve noticed that, how she talks without moving her mouth. At first, it was subtle; you thought you saw it move. You were able to lie to yourself, to convince yourself that you actually watched her speak. But the voice that you hear isn’t in your ears, it’s in your head, and when she speaks, it’s not with her mouth. She uses that for… other things.

  Then again, she may have noticed that I’ve caught onto her, and just doesn’t care. After all, it’s not like I can do anything about it.

  And I know what you desire, don’t I? She tosses her hair over her shoulder, that thick, luscious wave of scarlet curls that frame her face and accent the porcelain skin.

  “I see you dressed for the occasion.”

  I see you have, too, she replies, and I can feel those icy eyes making their way down my chest and stomach.

  She takes a step toward me, her naked body so pale that it seems to glow in the low light of this room where she keeps me bound. Every curve is perfect, too perfect. Her breasts are firm, the nipples pink and hard, proof that she’s fed recently, and she’s just here to play now. Her narrow waist offsets her wide hips, and each time she moves her long legs, she shows just a glimpse of the cleft between them.

  I can’t look away, and she knows this; I can only feel myself stiffen and ache for her, and she knows this too. It’s the seasoning she craves with her midnight snack.

  Her smile gets wider, and the points of her teeth show behind her lips.

  Just look at you. All talk, is what you are. You say you’ll fight, and you say I won’t get what I want, and in the end, we both want the same thing.

  She reaches up and strokes my face, running her cold fingers through my hair. I try to pull away, but there’s only so far I can go. My defiance is little more than token anymore; I’ve been here long enough that she’s managed to wear most of it away, and what’s left just amuses her.

  She runs one sharp fingernail down my neck and across my chest, tracing over the network of scar tissue that lines my skin. Most of them are, just small twisted lines, but there’s enough fresh ones on me to be able to identify the bite marks.

  My skin jumps at her touch.

  We want each other. She leans close, brushing her lips against mine with a feather’s touch, and my heart pounds like a jackhammer. She smells like jasmine and sandalwood, and there’s a sweet musk to her, but under all that is another smell, a hint of something rotting, of decay and carrion.

  She presses herself against me now, her lips gliding over my throat, teasing the flesh with the tips of her teeth. Her finger moves lower, across my stomach and down until that nail draws a line of ice along the side of my cock.

  “We don’t”, I gasp. “You don’t want me, you just want what I can give you.”

  Maybe, she whispers. But maybe the two are just one and the same. What you can give me is what I need, but I only want it from you.

  She plants a kiss just above my collarbone and I gasp again when her teeth puncture the skin. She draws back just enough to look up at me, then leans close and starts to lick the blood that’s trickling from the bite. Her touch is light, her tongue quick, and all the hairs on my body come to attention.

  And you want me. You want what only I can give you, too.

  “You’re wrong. I can get that from any hooker on the street.”

  Liar!

  Her hand grips my shaft like iron and she snarls at me, and for the barest instant,
she looks like the cold animal that she really is. Like a hungry lion or a hunting shark. Like a predator.

  But then she’s back, all soft desire and feminine perfection. Only her eyes retain that look of animal hunger.

  Don’t be so tedious, she says. Her voice is a kitten’s purr in my head. Don’t talk like one of them, like one of those bloodbags out there scurrying around like roaches, living cheap, pitiful lives and dying empty, meaningless deaths. You are so much more, and can be even more still. I know you want it.

  Her hand loosens on me, and begins stroking me, slowly, working the head with little twists before caressing the shaft. She presses her breasts against my chest and her nipples are icy points digging into me.

  And only I can give it to you. Why resist? We can have this, forever, have each other for all time. Imagine it, eternity to explore each other, to invent such pleasures for each other that even the gods would be jealous.

  Done with the trickle of blood at my neck, her lips follow the path that her hand set before. She trails little kisses along my chest, nipping and licking, licking and nipping.

  She lowers herself to one knee, then stops kissing me long enough to actually sink her teeth into my stomach. I scream as her mouth locks onto me, as she sucks at the skin and draws blood, and her hand moves faster on my cock. Ice and fire, pain and pleasure, mixing and exploding within me, and I scream despite my best efforts to keep silent.

  She draws back and looks up at me, smiling that hunter’s smile at me. Her lips are smeared an even deeper scarlet, and my blood runs in streaks down her chin. Her teeth drip rubies.

  She laughs as she goes lower, and the sound grates in my head. I watch her, but it’s distant, as if I was looking through a fog. I can tell the holes in my stomach are already healing over; it’s something to do with her saliva, some sort of survival tool that ensures the victim doesn’t bleed out.

  She’s on her knees now, teasing the tip of my cock with her tongue. I know what comes next, and I want to tell her to stop, beg her to stop if I have to. My voice, though, has betrayed me, burying itself in my chest.

  She wraps her lips around my shaft and takes me into her mouth. At first, it’s ecstasy, the way her mouth molds itself to my flesh, the way her tongue caresses me as she takes me deeper. Her mouth follows her hand, pumping me, working every inch of me.

  Then I feel her teeth.

  They catch the skin along the sides of my shaft, tearing it open in thin furrows. The pain is open flame in my loins, and I scream, causing her to move faster and faster on me. As the blood flows, she sucks harder, catching each drop and pulling into her throat, and despite the agony of my flayed organ, I explode in her mouth.

  She takes more, and more, pulling all she can out of me until I’m too weak to do anything more than hang from these chains that hold me.

  I don’t know when she finished, but when I look up she’s standing in front me. Her ice-blue eyes are glowing now, and her mouth is still twisted in that hungry smile. Her perfect mouth; even the blood that had smeared her chin is gone now, probably soaked into her skin for all I know.

  You see? she says, and her voice in my mind is husky and lush. You give me what I want, and I give you what you want. Simple as that.

  My breath is labored; I feel like I’m having to fight to draw in air, so speaking is a monumental effort now.

  “Why… Why do you… always… talk about… making me a… god… if that was… all you want… from me?”

  She raises an eyebrow and her smile stretches further. Because maybe someday, I might just mean it.

  She leans in and kisses my cheek, then turns and walks away. In spite of myself, I can’t take my eyes off of her as she leaves. Each step is a work of art, the way her muscles flex and relax, making every curve of her body a statement of desire.

  When she’s gone, I give up; I stop fighting and just let myself slump against my restraints. It’s like this every time, and it’s been going on for… I have no idea. I stopped trying to keep track of time ages ago.

  When she bites me, there’s a little bit of what she is that I absorb. It changes me somehow, adds more life to me, I think. Days. Weeks. Years. I don’t know. Every time she bites me, I live a little longer. And she’s bitten me hundreds of times. I have the scars to prove it.

 

 

  Rex Clark, Blood Doll

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