8 comments/ 12986 views/ 2 favorites The Empty Chair By: PassionStJohn Allan stared at the brightly lit mirror as he adjusted his bow tie. It seemed as if the face of a stranger stared back at him. The door opened as his manager strode in. A brief wisp of discordant music came in and abruptly ceased as the door snapped shut. “Did you see the review? Here .. ‘Flawless technique.” And this one, “Unsurpassed precision, yet lacking.’ Another referred to you as a music machine. ‘Perfection without emotion.’ Do you think you could at least try to smile tonight?” Anger, sarcasm and pity laced each word. “Why? You still get your percent. They’re coming to hear me play, so I’ll play. Don’t expect a whole lot more,” His voice was as cold and lifeless as his eyes. The manager sighed, “I tried, but seriously, Allan, I’ve arranged a publicity thing for tonight—“ “Great time to tell me,” Allan jerked his wheelchair away from the mirror and glared up at his manager. “There’s this little girl, her mother played for the Symphony of something. Her father does janitor work, I think. Anyway, it’s her birthday – the girl, and you are her hero. God only knows why.” “Enough commentary,” he snapped back, “What is it? Pictures? Dedicating a piece to her? Autograph or something? What?” The manager unconsciously took a step back, “She’s asked if you’ll play one piece tonight on her mother’s violin.” Allan considered the request, “That’s it? Is the violin any good?” The manager nodded. “This time I’ll do it. The publicity won’t hurt. But don’t try this again. I can replace you if need be. So where is the birthday brat?” “Waiting down the hall. I’ll bring them in. The manager escaped out the door. He returned seconds later with a stooped graying man and a girl about ten years old. Allan made an effort to remember to smile as they shook hands and were introduced. Small talk passed back and forth for a few minutes and he could feel the smile slipping away. He didn’t really want to hurt the little girl. It wasn’t her fault. “Is that your violin?” he asked, eyeing the battered case that the father held. The girl nodded as her father handed it over to Allan, “It was my mothers. She gave it to me before she died.” His eyes flickered over to where his case lay waiting and pushed the memories away. He quickly opened it and was grateful to see it was a decent quality instrument. “And where will you be sitting tonight?” The father spoke up, “We have seats in the front row.” Allan nodded and gave a meaningful look to his manager. The meeting was over. He wanted to be alone. The father and daughter murmured their thanks and left with the manager. Allan took out the violin and inspected it closer. It was made of warm-colored wood and in good condition. Quickly tuning it, he ran up and down a few scales to judge the sound and then launched into some music. Suddenly, he stopped. Had someone come into the dressing room? He could smell the faint lingering of a woman’s perfume. It was the same scent that Rosa had worn. He looked at the picture on the dressing table. The only tangible proof he had that just over a year ago she had lived. He closed his eyes and once more started to play, letting his fingers find the familiar notes. Again, he could smell the fain odor of perfume and heard a familiar laugh. He put down the instrument and wondered if he was losing his mind. The door opened, interrupting his thoughts, “It’s time, Mr. Vincent.” Without speaking, Allan handed the borrowed violin to the waiting man and wheeled himself from the room. They all waited in the wings as the orchestra tuned. The applause for the concert master passed. He and the conductor went on stage. The applause swelled around him as the lights reflected harshly off the metal of the chair. Allan could see the first row, but he did not look for the little girl. His mind was too much on Rosa. There was a breathless moment of silence and then the orchestra began to play. He waited. This was the part he hated – the waiting – especially now that Rosa was no longer there to look at him and mouth words of love. There was only emptiness, a deadness that reached father than his legs. The time was closer. He raised the violin, tucked it under his chin and joined the orchestra. With an ease that came from hours of practice, each note came—perfect in time, perfect in tone and empty of life. Faint at first, the scent that he had smelled earlier drifted around him. Trying to drive the memories away from him, he played with an intensity not heard before the accident. “Allan!” He heard the soft whisper and looked. Rosa stood before him, smiling. “Allan!” He could feel the cool gentle touch of her fingers on him as she pulled him to his feet, “Play for me, Dear.” His eyes never leaving Rosa, Allan played. He let all the lonely months of pain flow into the music. Notes mingled with tears as Rosa sang once again with his music. Together they walked and they danced. He had found her again. The last note hung in the darkened hall for a breathless moment and then faded. At first, there was astonished silence, quickly followed by thunderous applause. The orchestra stood in honor and the audience followed suit. Allan did not care. He could still smell her lingering scent. She would come to him again. She had promised. His eyes searched out the little girl. He smiled her thank at her gift to him. After the concert was over, after the pictures were taken, they were alone. Allan handed the battered case back to the child. “I played for you tonight,” His voice was kind, “Would you now play for me?” She took out the instrument and hesitantly began to play. With a patience that surprised his manager, Allan listened to the entire piece. “Who is your teacher?” “No one since Mother died.” “I will teach you then. Come tomorrow. We will start then.” Her eyes widened with excitement. When everyone was finally gone, Allan wheeled himself out to the empty stage. A single light created deep shadows that wrapped around the hall, creating a private world. Raising his violin, Allan closed his eyes and began to play. The Empty Chairs She was sitting in a cafe in the old, dignified city, watching the counter girl placing chairs in front of a fake fireplace. When the girl was done she put small signs on the back of each in her language. She walked over to Barbra and said, in excellent English, "Please do not sit in the chairs." Barbra nodded, although wondering what that was about, and sipped her drink, looking out the window. The city looked so, so, normal, yet was so utterly different than home. It was the same yet not, like not only different place but a separate dimension or world. She knew she'd never get over the sense of difference of herself in these places. "Old," she muttered. "Old and ancient." Across the night-time street she could see forms moving in what looked like a park; she had to admit she hadn't noticed the place at all, during the day. In the deep dark small pinpricks of light moved and flickered. People were walking around with candles. She wondered what they were doing; it was probably another mysterious holiday or celebration she knew nothing about. As she sat quietly, thinking, two people emerged from the park, a man and a woman. They walked across the street to the cafe and came in. Barbra tried not to study them, but she had to: they were striking. The woman was stunningly beautiful, probably in her early thirties but in the prime of her life, a pale Slavic study in perfection, her blonde hair in an immaculate swooshy hairstyle; her coat was a deep purple and extended to her knees, and below the lower hem Barbra could see perfectly shaped legs. The shoes looked familiar, and Barbra realized she'd seen them in a shop earlier in the week: they were designer and hideously expensive. The man was easily the woman's match; older, maybe mid-forties, Barbra thought; he had a short, graying beard and long hair, usually a Euro-douchebag look she couldn't stand, but this man easily pulled it off. He wore a black coat and shoes that looked Italian and expensive; he turned and looked squarely at her and smiled, and she saw his eyes were black and weirdly intense against pale skin. She caught herself freezing solid and staring back at him. The woman looked at her as well, but turned up her chin and regarded Barbra haughtily before moving on to the counter. The girl behind the counter spoke with them in their language, and out of the corner of her eye Barbra could see the girl was nervous with the pair, almost frightened. Barbra wondered if they were mobsters or something, the kind of Eastern Bloc criminals she'd seen in train stations, gangsters with their molls. She saw the girl glance at her while talking to the couple, and she knew they were talking about her. It made her uncomfortable, but also, this time, she felt slightly thrilled that the couple would be interested in her, dressed in her traveling garbof light pants and logoed hoodie. She felt like a dowdy tourist, a caricature of the twenty something backpacker. She thought about why she'd taken out her savings and come here, traveling. Then she remembered: why not? It wasn't like she had or could get a decent job. She grimaced and clenched her hands. A sharp blast of cold air came in under the old, wooden door, and Barbra shivered briefly, quickly sipping another hot sample of her drink. She turned to the window, watching the candles move in the park, looking through her own reflection. When she turned back the couple was sitting at the table directly next to hers. She hadn't heard them at all, not even a rustle of clothing or coats. She started, surprised. The man said, "Hello," in good but accented English. Barbra responded in kind, looking at the two. The woman had taken her coat off, revealing a black dress that contrasted sharply with the paleness of her skin. She obviously wasn't wearing a bra, and the woman had absolutely luscious, perfectly shaped breasts that stood up by themselves and poked nipples through the black fabric of the dress. Barbra caught herself staring at the woman's supernatural chest. The man said, "I am Carlo, and this is my sister." He didn't say another name. Barbra introduced herself, sipped her drink, and looked out the window again, through her reflection. Carlo said, "That's a cemetery." He pronounced it oddly, like 'CEM-ay-tory', rolling the final 'R'. "The people are placing candles on the graves of their relatives and loved ones." He asked where she was from, and she told him; he nodded. Carlo said, "It is, like your Halloween. But here, there is no tricks, or treats; it is a day for the departed." He pointed at the chairs. "Those are for the family who can be here, only in spirit. The girl-" he waved at the girl behind the counter, who widened her eyes when Carlo indicated her- "those are for her family members who no longer walk on the Earth." He picked up the cup sitting in front of him and sipped. "It is a quaint custom, the chairs." He smiled, a gentle expression that still managed to lock Barbra in her place. The three sat quietly for a while, while Barbra tried honestly to think of something to say that might interest these two unearthly stylish people. Carlo finished his drink and set it down; Barbra could see a slight residue of dark liquid in the bottom. He said, "Come. We'll show you. You should..." he smiled gently, "...experience new things." He raised his head, tilted it slightly, and said, smiling, "Don't worry, it is not like, you know, that movie, 'HOTEL', is it?" Barbra laughed a little, "'HOSTEL', you mean?" Carlo laughed, a deep, warm, welcoming sound. "Yes. It is not like that. Come." Barbra hesitated, then made a decision. She knew the city was far safer than where she was from, even; their idea of 'crime' was, for the most part, laughable. It was easily the safest place she'd ever been in her life, and there were plenty of people out. She stood up and said, "Okay!" Carlo said, "Excellent." He stood up, and the beautiful sister did too; Carlo walked behind her, holding up her coat for her and putting it on her body. Barbra caught herself wishing men at home were this attentive and polite. Not to mention absurdly handsome. They walked out the door; in the glass reflection, as Barbra pushed it open ahead of the stylish pair, she saw the counter girl staring at the trio with an inscrutable expression. They walked across the street and into the cemetery; Barbra was afraid it might be creepy, but instead it was oddly touching and compelling; people sat and stood by graves, cupping candles and speaking softly; far from being the raucous, spirit-scaring experience back home, it was respectful even worshipful. It wasn't a party, or morbid in the least; it was like being in a church. Carlo touched her arm, indicating a direction. They walked past people huddled together, young, old, children; it was amazing and beautiful. Barbra felt lucky to be having this experience. Carlo walked them to a large monument and produced a candle from his pocket. When he lit it with a wooden match Barbra could see the name on the monument: Carlo Giovanni, dated in the 1700s. These Europeans, she thought, always continuing names. The Carlo she had just met was probably the umpteenth Carlo of the Giovannis. Carlo set the candle down, cupping the flame, murmuring words that, Barbra realized, were definitely not the local language, and were most certainly not Italian. It was a unique sound, and she focused on the candle, listening to the words, and lost her train of thought. Time passed as she watched the point of light, the center pulsating. It fascinated her, and she could hear Carlo speaking, murmuring softly, mesmerizing her. She stared at the candle, transfixed. The candle flickered, then in her vision inflated into a glowing ball; it receded into a tiny point, then became a round window of sorts, and Barbra walked to that window. Carlo's voice guided her. The window became a doorway, and she walked through into a room, a glowing room, candles ringing the perimeter. It was warm and gorgeous, romantic and ancient. Barbra looked around. She was not in the cemetery. She really was in a room ringed with candles, and Carlo was standing in front of her in his coat, silhouetted in the glow. Behind him was a white double bed. He smiled, and this time his teeth shined in the orange, warm glow, and there was something different about him, something predatory. Barbra shivered and tried to turn; she found with alarm she couldn't move her body; but she could move her head, and behind her the pale woman was removing her coat. Barbra watched, fascinated, as the woman dropped her coat and slipped out of her luxurious shoes. She smoothed the black dress and approached Barbra with a grim smile on her lips. The woman stepped to Barbra and, with unexpected force, threw her past Carlo onto the white bed. Barbra landed hard on her back, the bed cushioning her from injury, and as she landed the pale woman grabbed her and literally ripped her clothing off, right down to her very un-stylish underwear,which she yanked down off her legs. Barbra willed herself to struggle but absolutely couldn't. Her body wouldn't respond, and she was very quickly stark naked, laying on the bed. The woman slapped her legs apart and rested one knee next to her waist. She put one palm on Barbra's crotch, cupping her with a firm hand, rubbing gently. Barbra felt blood moving in her body in response. The beautiful woman was looking down at her body with a lustful expression. She reached down and grabbed a fistful of Barbra's hair and forced her head back, baring her throat and leaning over her. She smelled luscious and earthy, a giddy scent that filled the room. Carlo said something and the woman stopped. It was a warning of some kind, the tone said so, and Barbra felt the woman's grasp relax. The woman said something in the same language, and the two had a short conversation. Barbra looked past the woman at Carlo, and she could see him undressing. His lower body was in shadow, but when his shirt came off he revealed a muscular chest with salt and pepper chest hair. He looked powerful and vital. He lifted his head and looked at Barbra, and his look fixed her in place, sprawled on the bed with her legs spread, opened up and exposed. She had a jolt of actual panic through her confusion; she was proud of herself for being clear headed and resourceful, but this was something totally different. Carlo said, in English, "Don't worry. You are not..." he paused, apparently thinking, "...in danger." He smiled again, and the expression crossed the line from human to animal. Carlo walked to Barbra and stepped to the foot of the bed, running a strong hand on her belly and lower body. He moved up and kissed her mouth, and the act triggered a response in Barbra that let her move. She kicked out and tried to turn over to gain purchase on the bed, but Carlo simply laughed and gripped her ankles, holding her down. She tried to fight him off, but Carlo wouldn't let her move; she decided to look at him to plead to him, but when she met his eyes she knew it wouldn't work: his eyes had become dark and menacing, crude and animalistic. He wasn't a man anymore; he had become a thing, something not human. Barbra turned her head to look at the sister. The pale woman watched them, blue eyes gleaming in the candle's light. She stood motionless, hands at her sides, fingers extended. Barbra looked down the woman's long, tapered fingers and saw sharpened points protruding inches from the very tips of the fingers. She was baffled at how she'd failed to notice the woman's nails. The woman tipped her head back, still looking at the two bodies below her, and the low light made her towering. Hortense watched as the woman opened her mouth, and was appalled to see how she did it: she kept her lower jaw set in place, instead tilting her head back revealing canine teeth. Barbra frantically thought the woman couldn't be what she looked like. Carlo moved at her feet, and to distract herself from the woman standing over her Barbra turned her head to him. She immediately wished she hadn't. The man was naked, pale torso turned a lurid reddish orange in the flickering glow, and his hair was down. He looked animalistic and predatory. She tried to look at his lower torso, hoping for a glimpse of that most human of male features, but the bed clothes blocked her view and she saw nothing but a black, undulating form. His hands had changed somehow, although she knew they were the same, and instead of seeming artistic and delicate they were claw like and grasping, with tips so sharp she could see them flashing in the light, like the edge of a blade. He reached one of them out over her body, and she flinched. She said, "Carlo?" in a tentative and, she knew, weak voice. She wasn't in full control of herself at all. She shook her head and closed her eyes for a second or two, hoping when she opened them the situation was changed, but when she raised her eyelids the scene had gotten worse. The pale woman was taking her clothes off. Barbra watched, nearly distracted, and had to admit the woman was absolutely, stunningly beautiful, with a slender, sensuous form and a sickeningly perfect body, firm and tight, with breasts that stood out in shapes of perfection. Her skin was flawless and clear, and so pale it was probably a cream color, but now was suffused with the same orange glow as Carlo's body. The woman slipped the straps of her black dress off her shoulders and simply dropped the garment to the floor. She was wearing a tiny black string bottom, which she didn't touch, but she moved her hands over her body, sliding long, razor-like nails on her thighs and hips. As she moved her motions changed from human to something approaching a writhing snake. When the woman looked down again, Barbra froze and couldn't move. She felt if she moved it would trigger an attack, like an encounter with a vicious animal, when her best option was to stay very still. It didn't work. Barbra felt Carlo grasp her ankles and pull her body out straight; when she slid down the sheets her hands flew out in a reflex, and she almost panicked, feeling like she was being pulled off a cliff, or into a bottomless hole with no hope of escape. One of Carlo's hands wrapped around both her ankles, pinning them together, and after a momentary shock of anticipation the other landed on Barbra's hip, digging in and holding her lower body immobile. She tried to kick but couldn't, completely restrained, and when she tried to bend her upper body down to reach her arms at, or perhaps to, Carlo, her chin came down to her chest and the pale woman was on her. A claw slammed down and gripped her neck, another wrapped in her hair and yanked her head back, and for the first time Barbra screamed. She screamed as loud as she could, shrieking and shouting in wordless fear, until her chest heaved and her breath was exhausted. The two people, or things, simply watched her, smiling mildly, until she gave up. Barbra laid face up, held in place by a combination of terror and muscular restraint. Carlo held her legs, and the pale woman had one claw-like hand on the back of her head. Barbra knew her arms were free, but was too afraid of what the two might do to her if she fought to use them. She tried to control her breathing, but couldn't help panting in fear. She felt humiliated, embarrassed, and afraid, and the emotions made her unable to think clearly. The pale woman lowered her finely shaped face to hers, leaning down, and openly breathed in her face, smirking with an open mouth and revealing those bizarre and unnerving teeth. The smell from the woman's body was salty and deep, and Barbra turned her head away as best she could with the woman's hand on her. Then the woman knelt on the bed, still holding Barbra in place, and placed a hand on her belly. Barbra felt a slight dragging on her skin, a very slight twinge of burn, and wasn't sure what was happening, until she felt tiny, hot droplets emerging from her flesh. She twisted her head, fighting against the hand, and when she saw what was happening she came apart, struggling. The woman had a single, razor-sharp fingernail or claw extended and was cutting her, touching the skin and penetrating just enough to draw dark blood. Carlo was at her lower body, between her legs, and she couldn't see his lower body; when she tilted her head down to attempt it the pale woman grabbed her hair and slammed her head into the pillow. Barbra gasped from shock at the treatment, and tried to think, but couldn't. Warm trickles crawled down her sides, tickling her skin. Carlo bent over her, smelling deep, raw, and animalistic. He lowered his face to her belly and flicked his tongue on her body, licking up the warm drips. Barbra squirmed in a fervor of discomfort and near panic. Carlo laughed, and raised his head, licking his lips. He locked eyes with Barbra, and again he looked reptilian and hypnotic. Barbra found herself getting weak and warm, losing her entire range of thoughts and abilities. She went very nearly blank, and stopped squirming. As she did the pale woman reached a hand over and traced a deliberate design on her left breast. She felt a slight touch around her nipple, but couldn't see what was really going on: she was locked on Carlo's snakelike eyes. The pale woman moved her hand and duplicated the motion on her right breast, and this time Barbra glanced down and saw the blood. The woman was cutting her breasts with an extended, razor sharp fingernail. Blood trickled across her heaving chest, and she lost it again, and freaked out. She screamed as loud as she could, fighting and writhing, until the two people things restrained her with terrifyingly powerful claws. Carlo held her firmly by the waist while the pale woman clamped her wrists together, and as Barbra watched in horror Carlo licked every speck of blood off her breasts. As he did it his color changed, and he became more human, the blood somehow filling his body and making him glow. Barbra watched, fascinated, and this time when she glanced down Carlo raised up on his knees and she saw his penis rise up, grow hard and firm, and begin gently pulsing. The blood trickled out of her bared breasts and Carlo licked her again, gently but hungrily, and Barbra caught herself becoming internally hot. She looked at Carlo's cock, watching it grow, knowing that what she was giving to him was making it happen. He met her eyes with his, and she felt him somehow flowing into her; she wanted him inside her body. She felt her body squirm, then relax, as the woman thing touched her. She waited, feeling the intense burning on her skin, watching Carlo's hypnotic eyes shine. When the pale woman reached a claw to her chest again Barbra didn't move. She watched the point enter the very surface of her delicate, vulnerable skin, and this time the woman bent over, eyes shining with hunger and lust. The woman carefully and intently traced a complex design around both her nipples, then as Carlo bent over to lick up the emerging blood from one pointed nipple the woman chose the other. Barbra found herself being kissed and licked on her breasts by two people, a man and a woman, and the sensation was exquisite, if frightening. When the woman raised up, she had blood on her lips. Barbra tipped her head back, watching, and as the pale woman grew less pale, she tried to raise her head, straining to the woman. The female person thing accommodated Barbra and bent down to kiss her on the mouth; she tasted the salt and rich flavor of her own blood. She closed her eyes and laid back, splaying her arms out and spreading her legs. Carlo nestled between her thighs and hovered over Barbra, smiling softly. He opened his mouth and his teeth gleamed in the candle light. He cupped a breast, rubbed and circled gently, and when he lifted his hand it was coated with blood. He presented it to the woman thing, and she very carefully licked every bit off his palm, then sucked each of Carlo's fingers clean. The Empty Chairs Barbra felt Carlo's cock gently press against her body, in exactly the right spot, and move back and forth, gently. Her breathing changed and she spread her legs widely, opening herself to him, not quite knowing why. The woman bent down and licked more blood off her chest, following the dark lines cut in her skin with the very tip of her tongue. Barbra gasped as Carlo entered her. The woman thing cupped both of Barbra's breasts, digging in slightly and squeezing; out of the very bottom of her vision Barbra could see more droplets of blood emerge. Carlo bent forward, forcing his throbbing cock deeper inside of her body, and extended his tongue to lick up the dark liquid, forcefully flicking her nipples with the very tip of that muscle. Barbra didn't, couldn't, move. She kept her arms above her head and her legs spread, and despite, or maybe because of, her intense fear, she found herself getting very wet. Carlo retreated, lifted her legs slightly with clutching, immensely powerful hands, and slammed into her pussy. Barbra gasped in a forming shriek, and opened her mouth wide, suddenly having a weird image of having teeth just like the pale woman thing. The image morphed in her mind, changing her own perception of herself, of what she was and what she could possibly become, what she could possibly be. Carlo slammed into her body again, and the rough impact on her pelvis shoved her up the bed. Her mind undulated, and her body image melted into an unstructured oblivion. She felt a tingling on her breasts again, and when she glanced down the woman thing was drawing on her skin again, this time extending a magical line down to her navel in a long string of wiggling yet diagrammatic lines. Barbra had a sudden shock of the kinds of lines she'd seen on instructions for butchering animals, and started to panic again despite her sexual arousal. She struggled and arched her back, forcing blood out of her skin to smear on her belly, and the sight scared her even more. These things, the woman thing and the Carlo thing, were going to kill her. She fought, and when she did, the woman thing stopped cutting her to instead hold her down. Carlo did the same, somehow putting her lower body in an immobile sort of hammer lock hold, at the same time fucking her roughly. The woman shouted something in a completely unfamiliar language, something utterly unrelated to any sound Barbra had ever heard in her life, and bent over to lick her belly and breasts. As she sucked the blood off her body Barbra felt the woman thing grow stronger. They were using her for their own energy, and every time they drank of her they got more and more powerful. Barbra struggled until the woman and Carlo forced her body into immobility. The woman bent close to her face, her entire mouth and lips coated in blood, and said, in heavily accented English, "STOP IT." The blood was smeared on her cheeks and and chin, shining in the reddish glow and gleaming almost black. When Barbra obeyed, both fascinated and frightened, the woman blinked her reptilian eyes, and reached to her body again to resume her art. Barbra felt a throbbing inside her body, and Carlo drew back and fucked her, hard, holding her lower body immobile while the woman cut her skin. Carlo fucked Barbra, not pausing, forcing her apart and spreading her body. His cock wasn't terribly long, probably not more than average, but he was thick and veined, and the sensation of being filled and beyond, and the sharp, delicate pain of the woman decorating her made her shake and vibrate. The woman removed her hand several times, and every time she did Carlo bent down and sucked and licked the blood off Barbra's body. Each time he did the shaft in her body throbbed more strongly: the blood from her body was making his cock larger. He fucked her, and she found herself responding in animal kind. Barbra fucked him back as best she could; she had fear, but it was no longer terror, and the feeling of Carlo fucking her was overwhelming her other thoughts and emotions. The fear dissipated, and Barbra felt instead a sense of intense excitement. She felt Carlo's cock thrusting in her, felt the alternating sensations of being ever so delicately drawn upon and being licked in sensitive places. She closed her eyes and tilted her head back, clutching the bed clothes, letting herself be fucked and consumed. She had a flash of being fucked to death when she came. She involuntarily groaned out, "Oh God!" and shuddered in orgasm as Carlo's thick, throbbing, blood-filled cock pounded her body. She heard the woman laugh, a deep, mocking laugh, and through the climax haze Barbra realized the absurdity of shouting it out to reputedly damned things. She came again, her legs trying to flip in Carlo's powerful hands. He laughed and fucked her, then slipped out, making Barbra suck in a huge breath in shock. Carlo said something in the mysterious language, and the woman responded. The pale female thing stood up, her face smeared with blood, with small trickles running down her chest to rest and dry on her perfect breasts. She turned, displaying a similarly perfect ass in the black, skimpy panties, and walked away. Barbra looked at Carlo, and studied him. She felt light-headed, and had to try to guess how much blood she may already have lost to these people things. Carlo was flushed a deep, brownish-red complexion, very unlike the paleness he'd had when she first saw him, and now he had an intent expression on his face, looking in her eyes. Barbra raised her eyebrows, questioning her now-lover, her unknown lover, the man or thing that had just made her come, and tried to ask a question, but couldn't. Instead she reached her hands to Carlo's cock and took him in both palms, clasping around his cock, shining with her own wetness, and stroked the tip with the other. She moved her hands on his cock, trying to torment him as he gently thrust against her hands. He moved his muscular body, allowing her to pleasure him, and bent down to lick up more of her trickling blood, until the woman came back. She was holding a palm-sized disc. She held it to Barbra's face: it was a mirror. Then she placed her head right next to Barbra's, looking in Carlo's direction, and positioned the mirror to frame them both. The effect was bizarre: Barbra could feel the woman's now-warm skin and sticky blood on her cheek, but the woman did not appear in the mirror. She could only see her own face. The woman laughed next to her, the same mocking, deep laugh from before, and Carlo joined her. The woman raised the mirror and touched Barbra' cheek to direct her eyes, and for the first time Barbra could see the design the woman had been making. It was exquisite, a writhing, diametric and hypnotic pattern, so expertly done it appeared to have three dimensions. It made Barbra widen her eyes in fascination and hypnosis; the art was literally hypnotizing. As she breathed the design undulated and became a living thing, not on her body but living within it. She stared at her reflection, and as she did she thought her reflection became just ever so less clear, slightly translucent. She stared until the woman removed the mirror and prodded her to turn over. Barbra let go of Carlo's cock and obeyed. She allowed herself to be positioned on her elbows and knees,hips spread wide to open her body to Carlo, her arms extended to brace herself for the anticipated onslaught. Carlo didn't disappoint her: he placed his cock to her lips, gripped her waist, and shoved hard. He did it again, then again, and again. While he slammed into her Barbra shouted out blunt, blasphemous obscenities, and was richly rewarded with a laugh from both the things, this time not mocking, but somehow understanding and accepting. The woman resumed her art, holding Barbra by the neck. She understood the woman wasn't restraining her in malice, but was holding her in place to perfect the artwork she was now carving in Barbra's back. She completely lost track of time. The woman cut, drew, licked, sucked, and caressed her back, extending to the globes of her ass, making a fine series of lines to the rising of her pelvis. Carlo licked her back, also sucking and touching, and the warmth, stickiness, wetness, and pain forced Barbra into another existence. At one point Barbra felt the woman slowly and gently press a finger into her ass and rotate the digit while Carlo fucked her, and the sensation made her gasp and squirm. The woman placed herself along Barbra's body and smeared blood on herself, kissing her neck and back. Carlo fucked her the entire time, throbbing and fucking and pounding her pussy with an intensity she'd never experienced. She came several times, at the beginning a series of waves that made her cry out loud in panting gasps, then, after a while, at regular intervals, one of which made her briefly lose consciousness into a gray dimension, in which she had a different, malevolent identity. She was feeling almost fucked to a point of intolerance when she came, one more time, in a shuddering, spasming orgasm that forced her face into the blood-spattered bed clothes, and she felt, with terrible sensitivity, Carlo's cock also spasm. He was going to come. He slammed into her body with superhuman strength, and Barbra knew the only reason she could take his attack on her pussy was because the woman thing was holding her in place, hands on her neck and spine. Carlo pounded, desperately, fucking Barbra, his cock flipping and spasming, building. She tried to hold her breath and couldn't, finally giving up completely, accepting whatever he was going to do to her. Carlo pulled out of her pussy. The woman thing rapidly flipped Barbra over on her back, slapping her thighs wide to expose her body to Carlo's, and Barbra though he might fuck into her again; she knew she couldn't take it and tried to cover her pussy, but the woman smacked her hands away. Barbra moaned, knowing if Carlo fucked her again she couldn't live through it. Her body was exhausted, on fire, spent. She clamped her eyes shut, but the hands of the things vanished, and she had to open them again in frantic inquiry. Carlo had his hands behind his head, elbows bent, his powerful body, deep with blood, throbbing intently. His cock was huge. The cock flipped and pulsated, preparing to explode with its contents of... what? Barbra had to ask in her own mind, fascinated all over again with the revealed mystery. Carlo's face distorted into a pain-filled, struggling mask, and he groaned out a series of incomprehensible exclamations in a lost language. The woman thing turned away from Barbra and bent her face to Carlo's cock. Barbra, knowing she was now ignored, rolled her lower body away from the two, folding her knees up. She watched. The woman thing enveloped Carlo's cock with her mouth. Carlo fucked her mouth, and came. Barbra could see it. His cock spurted deep into the woman thing's throat, pounding, as his body, or shell, emptied partial contents into the woman thing's form. The woman sucked noisily and hungrily, violently and desperately accepting the vicious pounding on her face as Carlo went out of control, fucking her face and coming. It was incredible and primal, terrifying and perverted. Barbra watched in fear and fascination as the contents of Carlo's balls revealed itself: a trickle of dark liquid drooled from the woman thing's lips. He was ejaculating blood into her mouth. Carlo's body became paler; the woman's body darkened. They were sharing Barbra's blood, drinking her essence for their own survival and pleasure. Barbra suddenly felt the sharp pains of the cuts all over her skin, the sticky, drying blood, the pleasurable pain in her, in her, her cunt. She thought, "What are they going to do to me?" She was still thinking it when Carlo brutally gripped the woman's hair and threw her off his cock. She landed on the floor next the bed on her knees, her eyes half closed, blood trickling down both corners of her mouth, moaning softly and wavering. She had blood, Barbra's blood, smeared now all over her body. Carlo leaped on his knees, positioned himself above Barbra, and put his still-hard cock over her face. He glanced at the swaying, moaning woman thing, then took his cock in a hand and motioned it at Barbra. He locked eyes with her, meaningfully, and she took his visual guidance and looked at the cock before her face. On the very tip, the eye, was a single, remaining, exquisite drop of blood. Barbra thought for a very brief second, then extended her tongue to Carlo's huge cock and licked the tip. The effect was staggering. The single drop of blood hit the roof of her mouth and slammed into her brain: her perceptions flew to different dimensions in a psychedelic life. She saw ancient buildings, mysterious forms, and walls of dripping blood. The blood took on forms of life, writhed, became human in form, then changed again. They melded, split, parted, duplicated and mutated. She was watching life begin and end, a kind of life previously unknown and unsuspected. A crimson, bleeding screen came over her eyes and she screamed out loud, not in terror but from the impact of knowledge. The blood would have frightened her even a brief time earlier, but now it drew her to it, making her cry out with hunger and want and desire. She saw, with her physical eyes, Carlo draw closer to her face, and the last thing she saw before she lost consciousness was his eyes, burrowing deep into her mind. Then it was over. Barbra woke up in darkness. She looked around, trying to make out where she was, and after a while realized she was back in her rented apartment. She tried to move her body, and this time she actually had control of her limbs and was able to do it. As soon as she did she regretted it; her skin was on fire, all over her belly, breasts and back, all the way down to her buttocks. She was naked and wrapped up in a sheet. After a while she managed to sit up, wincing in pain. It wasn't a sharp pain, or stabbing, but more of a burning on the surface of her skin. The sheet was stuck to her body and she could feel dried blood all over herself. She walked to the tiny little bathroom and turned on the odd light switch; when she saw herself in the mirror she gasped in shock. She was completely covered in dried blood; it was in her hair, on her face, weeping through the sheet. She stood, shaking, for several minutes, almost fainting, and in her vision she firmly believed her reflection was getting steadily less focused. She took a deep breath and turned on the water for the shower, waited for it to get hot, and got to work removing the stiff, blood soaked sheet. It took forever, the pain making her wince and gasp, and she was desperately grateful for the instant-on water heaters so common in this place. She finally finished, dropping the sheet in a bloody heap, and stepped out of the shower. She felt better, less sticky and crusty. Her wounds were clean. When she stepped naked in front of the mirror, she had to simply stare and study herself. The designs were, incredibly, seemingly healing already; and she was transformed, different. Even her facial expression was different. The cut designs didn't confuse her anymore: rather, they were beautiful, meaningful things that revealed her inner soul. Barbra studied herself, fascinated by her new found beauty. She finally came to herself and for whatever reason, carefully and rapidly trimmed all her lower hair and saved her legs, letting the cream drop right on the floor. She groomed herself, but let the hair on her head go; it was fine. She had a weird, unexplainable feeling that she didn't have much time to fix her body the way she wanted it. She looked herself in the mirror, and it was real; she was fading. She looked over the new beauty, the frightful seductiveness of her body, and while watching she put her hands to herself. Barbra quickly and easily got herself off, trembling and shuddering, admiring the stunning woman in the mirror. She watched the woman in the refection bite her lip and tilt her head back in orgasm. When she was done, she knew she was incredibly hungry, hungry like she'd never felt before, and she had to... eat, she guessed. She went to the bags of food in the other room, and poured them out on the bed. None of it appealed at all. It disgusted her. It stunk, it was vile. She wondered how she could ever have eaten any of it in her life. She opened the curtains; it was dark outside. Barbra quickly started dressing, putting on another set of unattractive traveling clothes. This time, she didn't bother putting anything in her pockets, and left the copy of her passport on the bed; she didn't need it. Everything had changed, changed completely. She didn't need any of it, any more. When she was fully dressed, she paused and looked around the room, finally locating a single, tapered candle in a simple holder on a shelf. She picked it up, found matches next to it, and lit it. She placed it on a window sill, cupping the flame, knowing this candle wasn't for any spirit or passed relative; it was for herself, now. When the candle had burned about halfway down, she blew it out. She went out the door, stepped down the stairs to the street, and walked out into her new existence.