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Rose Blood

By: James Cody



The bar was dark. I sat on a sticky, sweat smelling stool, lifting and lowering my glass onto the bar, observing the different shapes the water stain it formed left on the counter. The woman serving me motioned with her rag; I left her space and she wiped the stain. She wasn't like the other girls; she actually worked with her hands, not her body. The other bargirls were either dancing or hanging around the tourists, offering a night of heaven for 10 dollars. Or something. I never understood the exchange rate here; I usually just gave them a twenty and they left whenever it was over. But they would fuck your brains out all night for twenty.

Right now, I wasn't looking for a lay. I was waiting for my traveling companion, Don. He had hooked up with what he described as the hottest Thai slut he had ever seen. Since he had been coming here for five years, I imagined he had seen many. This was my second year. My wife had died in a car accident three years before Don started working in my firm; we struck up a friendship and within a few months he convinced me that the best way to get on with my life was to get lost in pussy, and that the best was in Thailand. Why not, I thought. I was already living my life out of habit - maybe this would break the habit.

I took a sip from my cheap scotch when Don slipped onto the stool next to mine. On his arm was a cute girl with luscious lips. He gave her a deep kiss, apparently savoring her taste; he squeezed her ass and sent her on her way. She sat on the lap of a guy sitting at the other end of the bar. "She the one you got together with last night?" I asked as I motioned for the barmaid to get Don a scotch.

"Nah. Just a whore that gave me a great blowjob a couple of minutes ago. Want me to set you up?"

"No," I answered. "How'd it go last night?"

"Last night? Oh, nothing much actually." Don downed his scotch in one gulp and ordered another one. "When you were out she called the room and put it back till tonight. I'm supposed to met her here in an hour or so and then I'll fuck and suck my way to paradise."

I ran my fingers through my hair; they were plastered to my head. The doors and windows to the little bar were open and the day's heat and humidity had seeped in and was clinging to the patrons like the desire that had drawn us here in the first place. Don seemed oblivious to the heat somehow. He was already on his third scotch. "Keep an eye out for her will ya?" he said. "I gotta go piss and check out the action around the bar."

As he left, I closed my eyes and thought about what I came looking for here. An endless cavalcade of pleasure was at my beck and call, and I had partaken of it, but I felt empty nonetheless. Yet, I did find a small glimpse of happiness last year. A woman named Rose came into my life. She spent a weekend with me and she seemed to know exactly how to make me come just by emitting a few words or caressing my neck with her fingertips. I had met her in a place similar to this, and after our fateful weekend, she left me in a place just like this saying that my time had not come yet. I didn't tell Don that finding her again was the only reason I came with him this year; the last trip had left me depleted of life and I was sure that finding Rose was the only key to recovering my existence.

A hard slap to my shoulder pulled me out of my reverie. "Hey buddy, look what I found!" Don happily yelled into my ear. He had his arm draped around the shoulders of a petite woman. She wore a short and simple black dress with thin spaghetti straps - with every motion of her shoulders she had to put the left strap back into place. She stood next to Don with her face turned away from me; I could tell however that she had large tits from her moderately pushed up cleavage. Don let his hand fall to her ass and he began to stroke it gently; she responded by shaking her head and laughing lightly. Her voice was familiar.

"C'mon babe! Introduce yourself to my friend," Don ordered her. She turned to him and then faced me. I could not leave the gaze of her gray eyes. There was a vivid intelligence there that I had only seen once in a set of brown eyes.

"Rose," she said, taking my hand in hers. My heart skipped a beat I let my eyes fall from hers to a slender neck and to the rose tattoo that rested over her left breast. But this couldn't be my Rose. My dream was taller than this beauty; my Rose's tits were smaller; her hair was longer. Yet, the inflection of her voice as she spoke and the way she seemed to sparkle in the darkness of the bar and the identical tattoo told me this was the same woman. I searched her eyes for a flicker of recognition. There was something beneath the surface, willing to reach out, but it was not ready yet.

`

"Yeah man," Don said. He seemed less stable on his feet now. The booze must have caught up with him. "Ain't she the hottest little whore you've ever seen? I'm gonna fuck every hole she's got, man... even her nostrils if I can fit."

Rose turned to Don with a small hint of annoyance in her eyes and then looked at me again. The word soon popped into my head. Don grabbed her wrist and yanked her away from me. "C'mon babe," he said. "Let's get down to the good stuff."

I watched them waddle there way through the crowd. Every once in a while Rose would look in my direction, calm and in control. I turned back to the bar; a fresh glass of scotch was waiting for me. Next to it was a small piece of paper. I peered quizzically at the serving woman; she merely smiled and indicated the paper with a quivering hand. I downed the drink, reached into my pocket to pull out a bill, and then I quickly unfolded the paper. My hands trembled slightly. The message scrawled across the paper contained a small map, and a single word: answers.

I turned in the direction that Rose and Don went and I followed. Many of the patrons were drunk. I pushed passed them; with each instant they seemed to press together more and more tightly, deviating me from my course or cutting me off from the exit. I then halted. I picked up a bottle from a table next to me; it was vodka. I needed to clear the way to the exit. Quickly looking around, I located a candle on a wall. The candle was about 10 feet away. A man that was sitting at the table where I took the bottle stood up and began yelling at me. I shoved him aside and threw the bottle at the candle.

The shattering of the bottle was drowned out by the loud music, but the fire it produced caught the attention of the crowd. In the seconds they were frozen, letting the concept of fire sink in, I launched myself at the exit. I was within arms length when the fear stricken mob moved as one being, blowing itself apart in the directions of the exits; I let myself be carried by the wave of bodies pushing for the outside.

There, I pulled out the paper and ran in the direction indicated on the map. Bodies threw themselves in every direction as sirens echoed in the darkness. I ignored the people sometimes clinging at my clothing. I did not want to think of who might be caught in the fire I had started; I hoped they had managed the flee the flames in time. My only thought was to find Rose and discover the answers the message promised.

Fire trucks rushed by as I stuck to the shadows of alleys; the map was leading me to a section of town that seemed to have is own glow. I did not see any street lamps, yet I noticed every doorway and window. I paused for a moment to look at the architecture; doors were covered in carvings of intertwined bodies, gargoyle-like statues stood vigil over street corners with long phallic members at stiff attention. I realized that the sounds of the sirens and the fire were suddenly very far away. Instead, a steady chorus of moans and sighs filled the air around me. I walked to one of the windows and peered inside.

A candle lit room. A lithe woman was on all fours. She was facing a large man standing at the foot of a bed. He moved his stiff member slowly in and out of her parted lips. His head was thrown back as he sighed each time his cock disappeared completely in her mouth. She moved her head in small circles as she sucked greedily at him. When his body began to tremble, she suddenly stopped moving. He froze as well. He looked down at her. She looked up at him. His breathing became ragged as I saw her lower jaw dislocate itself; she engulfed his dick and his balls and began to move her head once again. He closed his eyes and fucked her mouth faster even if he seemed to try to get away at the same time. Not long after she closed her eyes; he came. His spasms were violent, the slapping of his belly against her face the theme of his orgasm.

I stared intently as her body became translucent; in the candlelight I could see her organs shift and morph as he shot his load down her throat. When she released him, come oozed slowly down her chin. She stood on her knees to face him. He was transfixed, running his eyes up and down her transparent flesh as she took her lower jaw and popped it back into place; she smiled and then kissed him, moving her tongue around to make sure he could taste the mixture of his come and her saliva.

I backed away from the window slowly. I distinctly heard the gravel crunch beneath my steps in between the moans that permeated the night. I looked down both sides of the street and then into the window; the candle must have been blown out. I crept down the street, fighting the urge to steal another peek; but the windows beckoned me. This was a place of answers yet, I had never even considered what the questions might be.

As I walked, I saw two figures dash from a dark alleyway and into the building in front of me. As they crossed the threshold of its doorway, the structure seemed to sway slightly from left to right, like a scarf caught in a warm draft. I was certain I heard the building sigh. I rushed up to the building; I was desperate to see what they were doing. As I crossed the same threshold they had, a strange sense of belonging overcame me. I soon came to a staircase; there was no way around it. I climbed.

The staircase led to a single room. There were no other hallways or apparent exits; however, I distinctly remembered seeing windows and fire escapes down the sides. But that didn't matter. I entered the room and the two figures I had followed stood in the center. A single lightbulb illuminated them like a spotlight. I hovered near the outskirts, in the shadows. I think they knew I was there.

They were naked. The man was taller than I was. He appeared muscular, but it was difficult to tell as his body was covered in tattoos of dragons. Only his cock was free of markings; his erection stuck out, purposeful and directed. I was in awe as it was about the size of my arm. I wondered why he did not lose consciousness. The woman's hair seemed to sparkle in the light; when she moved, it moved in different directions. She was almost as tall as he was. Her breasts seemed firm and well proportioned to her size, but the rest of her body was hidden in tattoos of tigers.

They came together; she raised a leg which he hooked with a powerful arm. The dragon tattoos shifted and appeared to dance across his skin. He crouched slightly, giving his cock a better angle with which to enter her pussy. Her wetness caught the light and shimmered with rainbows, like oil floating on a pool of rainwater. She closed her eyes as she gripped his member and guided it gently into her cunt. I read strain on her face as her flesh adapted to his girth; he moved slowly, each push letting him slip in a bit more. After a time, she whispered something in his ear. She then wrapped both legs around him; he held her ass as she slowly gyrated her hips. The tiger tattoos changed; they seemed to take a position with their ears back, ready to pounce.

As he finally entered her completely, she threw her head back and let out a deep moan. He gripped her close and slowly fucked her with deliberate thrusts. She buried her face in his shoulder, her nails digging into his back. Then, they both screamed as there skin shot upwards, stretching beyond normal constraints. They continued to fuck as their features disappeared and the flesh of their upper bodies coalesced into a bumpy mass pulling with it the living tattoos. I watched as the dragons and tigers moved and took form. Fueled by tumerous filaments, they found each other and engaged in an amorphous orgy that reflected the passion of their bearers.

Then, they stopped. All the eyes turned into my direction. I stood there, dreading and hoping. A tendril of flesh stretched outwards in my direction. I tensed, ready to flee, but when it touched my face, I sighed. I kissed it lightly and it withdrew back into the mass where the orgy resumed. I turned around and walked down the stairs, my thoughts drifting as I listened to the roars of dragons and tigers.

I wandered down the streets, drifting in thoughts on what I had witnessed. But the most disturbing thing was the feeling of rightness that comforted me. But then again, home was empty to me. No friends; the haunting memories of a dead wife; a job that meant less to me than the shit I flushed down the toilet. I think that if I had the choice, I would stay here. Would here be with Rose, or erring endlessly in this dark city?

The answer appeared when I came unto a square. At each corner were Greek like columns made of gleaming black stones; they reached up higher than I could see. The ground was paved in cobblestone highlighted by gold and scarlet sparkles. There was a pile of cushions spread out across the floor of the square. I saw two people tumbling among the cushions.

It was Don and Rose. She was on top of him, riding his tool at her own pace. His lips were locked onto her heavy breasts; I could see his tongue swirling around her excited nipples. Rose moved her hips back and forth, grinding the pleasure from Don's balls.

"Oh God!" he yelled as Rose arched her back and pulled his tool deeper into her. She then rested her body on his and fucked him at a quicker pace. Each time her hips touch him he gasped. I felt my own cock grow. I undid my jeans and set my erection free. This was the answer I was waiting for.

Don sat up and then rolled Rose onto her back. Her tits spilled from side to side; I could see her tattoo in the light. It seemed to be bleeding - the same thing had happened when she was with me; it was the night she left. Don then gripped her ankles and started to take long deep thrusts. He would bring his cock to the point where it almost came out of her cunt, and then he would sink back into her, apparently savoring each inch of her sweet hole. Rose reached backwards and grabbed cushions so tightly that her knuckles turned white.

In her desire, I noticed that her tattoo was bleeding more and more, leaving streaks of blood on Don's chest when he pressed his weight on her. He was oblivious as he was drunk with her sex. I began to stroke myself gently as Rose pushed Don away and climbed back on him. In this position she was facing me. I stopped masturbating; her eyes were fixed on mine as she rode him like there was no tomorrow. I saw Don push his hips up, meeting her every movement. The rose tattoo was now bleeding profusely; blood gushed at the rate of her heartbeats. She and Don were now drenched in liquid red - there was more than there could be in a body. Don opened his eyes and soon realized what he was covered in; he tried to push away but Rose held him down firmly. He was too close to his orgasm. He gasped and moaned as he came, involuntarily pushing his cock deeper into her. Rose threw her arms upward, howled some strange words, and then transfigured into a sculpture of blood before falling away like water dumped from a bucket.

Don sat up, his eyes wild with fear. He looked around, rubbing his hands up and down his body, smearing the blood in strange spirals. His semen stood out, white against his thighs. He struggled to his feet, slipping and sliding in congealed blood. When he finally stood, he noticed me. I was putting my cock back into my pants. He stared at me, reaching out. I backed away. Then, I stopped. He also stopped. Don began to mumble incoherently as he touched his chest and his crotch. I watched him howl, turn around and run into the darkness. His scream echoed against the buildings making up this secret place.

I turned away and headed back to the real world. As I emerged from the dark alleys, I followed the flickering lights of ambulances and fire trucks. I had forgotten about he fire I had set. A crowd had gathered. I asked someone, in broken Thai, if anyone had been hurt. The old man shook his head. I smiled and thanked him. I was glad. It was a strange feeling; so long I had been empty, I now had a full well from which to draw emotions. I looked around for the serving woman, but she was gone.

I thought about what I had witnessed, what I had felt. I wondered if it had a purpose. I didn't give a damn. As I made my way to my hotel, Don's terrified face crept up in my mind. As I prepared to sleep - I was exhausted - a feeling of expectancy filled me. I knew I would see Don, or Rose, in a different form. As I slept, I dreamt of living buildings and sexy tattoos.

* * * * *

I must have slept for a few hours. The sun was slowly rising, filling the area around the window with a beautiful orange glow. I sat up in bed, stretching. I shared this room with Don. I wanted to tell him about this wild dream I had last night. I heard sound from the bathroom; the shower was running. I got out of bed and walked over. Before I knocked, I noticed his clothing piled in a corner. I kneeled and picked up his shirt. It was covered with a dry coppery crust that had seeped through the material. Panicked, I rushed to the bathroom and pulled back the shower curtain.

From the steam she emerged. Rose was taller now. Her tits were smaller than when I first met her; her bush seemed thicker and the hair on her head was shorter. But the tattoo on her breast was unmistakable. She reached out and touched my chest. I joined her in the shower and pulled the curtain.

Rose Blossoms



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Rose has disappointed her Master by losing a Greased Gladiator match at the club. This is the story of the aftermath of that match told more or less from Rose's perspective as she comes to grips with the Master's punishment of silence and then is slowly led into the truth of who she truly is and what her Master has done for her.

The story is in 5 parts. This is part 1 of 5
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Rose didn't think that she could take any more of this torture. She had displeased Master and he was punishing her. It was the worst form of punishment possible. He wasn't spanking her or flogging her or jolting her with electricity. Those she could endure. Those she had endured. Those she would now relish. No, Master was torturing her in a much worse way. He was ignoring her.

Master had not touched her in over three weeks. Not only had he not used her sexually, he had not physically touched her in any way. Neither had he spoken to her. He listened, or more accurately, he ignored her in total silence as she yelled, cried, begged forgiveness or just dissolved totally into wordless, choking sobs. He didn't even tell her to be quiet or to not speak unless spoken to. He said nothing.

Rose knew that she deserved to be punished. She had, after all, lost, and because she had lost, Master had lost face among his friends. But it wasn't the first time that she had lost a match. She had fought other slaves before and although she almost always won, she had lost before. 

When she had lost, Master had punished her for losing as was proper.... but not like this. Once she lost because she was careless and not paying attention to the match, and he had publicly whipped her. Once he gave her to the crowd. Once, to humiliate her, he strapped her to a fucking machine and left her in the center of the ring moaning out her forced pleasure for the rest of the night after the matches themselves were over. Master had done that and much more to her as punishment, but he had never cut her off so completely.

It wasn't fair! No, she shouldn't say that. Rose knew that Master did not have to be fair. Master was... Master. Whatever Master did was what should be done and Rose should accept that.

But how could she make it up to Master if he would not speak to her. How could she do what had to be done if he did not tell her what to do? How could she beg forgiveness if he would not listen to her? How could she come back into his pleasure if he would not punish her?

It all started the night of the matches. Several of the Masters and Mistresses would meet every other month for competition between their slaves. This was not matches between battle slaves that could and often did end in injury or even death if the slaves were fighting with weapons. This was more like professional wrestling. It was mostly for show, except the script didn't say who was supposed to win and who was supposed to lose. The outcome of the matches was absolutely not preplanned. Money and many other things were wagered on these matches. Masters and Mistresses gained or lost prestige. Slaves suffered the consequences of losing, but for the most part, the slaves - male or female - were not seriously injured. Although these matches were theatre and show, they were not fixed.

Each match of the night had some sort of theme. The first matches of the evening were always "Southern Belle" fights. For a Southern Belle fight, two female slaves were dressed as plantation belles at a coming out party. The costumes were exact down to the frilly pantaloons held in place with drawstrings at the waist. 

At the beginning of the match, the two opponents would be lifted into the ring sitting on wooden swings suspended with long ropes. They would emerge out of the darkness to hang just above the mat which was the floor of the fighting ring. Usually they would swing back and forth serenely for a few moments as the Ringmaster announced the fight. Then, he would turn to the two Southern Belles in their swings and cry out loudly, "Ladies, are you ready to fight!?"

No one could ever hear what either of the slaves said over the roar of the crowd, but immediately both slaves would jump from their swings and rush to meet each other in the center of the ring, tearing at each other's clothing. Hats and powdered wigs were usually the first things to go, followed swiftly by dress, petticoats, and whatever else the Belle was wearing. The purpose of the match was not to pin your opponent to the mat, but rather to strip her. The first one to strip her opponent totally naked was the winner. Sometimes it wasn't until the "Belle" had been stripped that was it obvious that "she" was actually a sissy slave. Since many of the sissy slaves have either implants or hormone induced breasts, that revelation often did not occur until the pantaloons had been stripped from their legs exposing their crotch.

Like most other slaves who fought in the matches, the first time that Rose competed, she was a "Southern Belle." She lost miserably. Her big mistake was that she didn't realize that the long, frilly underpants had to be tied at the waist. The costumes were, after all, "authentic," and they didn't have elastic back in the 1800's. As soon as Rose began to wrestle with her opponent, her pantaloons fell to her ankles, tripping her and landing her in a heap at her opponents feet. 

With the crowd whooping and yelling, her opponent quickly pounced on her, pulled the frilly leggings the rest of the way off her legs and used them to bind her hands behind her back. From that point on, it was just a matter of sliding Rose's clothing off her kicking legs or tearing off the blouse and other parts that couldn't slide past her tied wrists. So thorough was Rose's defeat that her opponent was still totally dressed when the referee declared the match. She even still had her hat and powdered wig sitting firmly on her head.

As the loser, Rose was "thrown to the slaves." Several black men and one or two whites, all of whom looked like they were local college football players, had been recruited to play the part of plantation slaves. Naked and oiled, they climbed into the ring and made use of her mouth, cunt and ass to the cheers and catcalls of the crowd. After they had publicly used Rose's cunt and mouth and ass to the pleasure of the crowd, they carried her with them to the "plantation slave's quarters" where she would further entertain them for the rest of the evening. For some reason the club never really had trouble recruiting college men to play the part of the plantation slaves. If there was only one Southern Belle fights that evening, it could be a very long night for the loser. If there were several matches, athletes from several surrounding colleges would have a very good night.

The winning Belle was exempt from further competition for the night but was expected to spend the remainder of the night behind the bar serving drinks. Of course, before she went behind the bar, her Master would order her to remove any remaining clothing so that nothing would be soiled if she accidently spilled any of the drinks on herself. 

In reality, her greatest danger was not that she would spill drinks, but rather that she would not do an adequate enough job of serving those drinks to the Masters and Mistresses. If she did not perform her duties properly, she would end up sprayed with beer or have wine or other drinks poured over her head. Again, if there were only one Southern Belle match, it might be a very long night even for the winner.

As the powerful "slaves" impaled Rose's cunt, mouth and ass, she was thinking that losing wasn't all that bad. Later, however, when Master got her home, he told her angrily, "If you lose twice to the same opponent, the winner also gets to publicly flog the loser as she hangs by her wrists above the ring. Even if they don't, I might. You'd would be very wise not to lose next time."

Rose did not lose the next time. Not only were the pantaloons firmly tied in place, she had sprayed her legs with an adhesive that swimsuit models use to keep their suits in place on their ass cheeks as they strut their stuff down the runways in tiny bikinis. The match was against the same opponent, who immediately attacked Rose's frilly underpants with the idea of once again binding her with those leggings. With the cloth stuck to Rose's legs, however, there was no way her opponent was going to removed them. In fact, she lost so much time trying to get Rose's pantaloons off her legs that Rose was able to easily defeat her and leave the ring still wearing much of her costume. 

Unfortunately, when Master told her to strip so she could go behind the bar, she, herself, couldn't remove the pantaloons, and Master had to pull them off her by tearing them into strips and peeling them from her body. They were stuck tightly to her like the long cloth strips used in waxing and just like those strips, they pulled out all body hair beneath them. Many of those in attendance must have heard her muffled screams as Master pulled the strips from her body because several commented on her exceptionally smooth cunt, ass and legs as she served them drinks at the bar.

Her exceptionally smooth ass ended up exceptionally red before Master took her home that night. He was on the council of Masters and had to report the incident to them. The Masters ruled that the body adhesive did not specifically violate the rules, but Rose would have to be punished by them and in their presence for using such a scheme without the permission of her Master. At the end of the evening, she was brought into the council room and ordered across a whipping horse that had been set up in the middle of the room.

Master told her that he had assured the council she would not need to be secured, but if she raised up or even let go of the supports of the padded "horse" over which she was bent, he would take her back into the ring and suspend her by her wrists and flog her until blood ran onto the mat. Rose screamed and yelled as each Master or Mistress on the council delivered ten swats to her ass with a leather paddle, but never once did she raise up from the horse.

The council also ruled that clothing adhesive could not be used in future Southern Belle fights, so next time she fought Rose had to rely only on the tie string to keep her pantaloons in place. Even without the advantage of the adhesive, however, Rose continued to win almost all of her Southern Belle matches. More than once, she stood in the center of the ring and flogged her screaming twice-defeated opponent as she hung by her wrists in the bright spotlights.

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END CHAPTER ONE OF FIVE

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