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The Angel of Death

By: naxet



The two guards grasped Manuel's arms as the herded him down the dark brick hallway. He stumbled once, this caused him to take a fist to the gut from the guard to his left. The guard to his right then jerked him from the ground and held him in place while, the other guard landed three more blows to his midsection. Hands bound behind his back, he didn't try to fight them. He didn't even taunt them. It had only taken a few days in the political prison for him to learn that such actions only made the beatings worse. 

After only four punches, the guard stopped. While this was certainly a place far outside of human rights, He imagined his guards would catch hell if they delivered their charge to the torturer already sporting broken ribs.

With the wind knocked out of him, but otherwise undamaged, Manuel was hoisted by the guards and practically dragged the rest of the way down the hall

The room at the end of the hall is dimly lit. The only piece of furniture in the room was a solitary metal chair equipped with straps and shackles. Manuel was secured with his legs in the shackles and his arms still behind him, secured to the chair's backrest.

One of the guards turned away from the chair, but the other, the one who had been so eager to throw punches in the hall, removed his pistol from its holster. He grinned wickedly as he placed the barrel to the side of Manuel's head. "You talk now," he said in the rough Spanish of urban thug-turned-soldier.

Manuel only shook his head.

The guard jabbed the pistol into Manuel's temple, "You talk now, or I kill you."

The other guard seemed nervous. "Hey, Chavez, I don't know if you should-"

"Shut up!" Chavez shouted. "I make him talk."

"She won't like it."

She. Manuel swallowed hard. That could only mean one thing – the interrogator called the Angel of Death.

"Attention!" a woman's voice barked, her Spanish, heavily laden with a Russian accent, but her tone unmistakable as strict military no matter what the language or accent. "Corporal Chavez, you have not been authorized to perform interrogations!"

Chavez's dark face suddenly lost all of its color, he fumbled with his gun as he placed it back into its holster. The other guard had already taken up position on one side of the door; Chavez quickly took up position on the other side.

A tall woman with a stern expression on her face stepped into the room and turned to face Chavez. At first glance it appeared the woman was wearing roughly the same uniform worn by the officers in the dictator's army. However, the minor differences were plentiful. Instead of combat boots, she wore long leather boots with tall heels. Instead of slacks, she wore a straight black cloth skirt which would have seemed just as sensible and military-like as the slacks were it not for the fact that they were split up the side almost to her hips. Her uniform's jacket had also been modified with the collar low and open, showing off her ample cleavage. Her blonde hair was cropped short, spiked in the front.

The heels put her to almost eye level with Chavez. He seemed to wilt under her gaze. Manuel knew why, too. The Angel of Death had one hell of a tough reputation. No one knew her torture methods since no one had ever survived to tell the tale.

After staring down her subordinate, she turned to Manuel, "I understand you speak English?"

"A little," Manuel replied.

"Good. I can't stomach Spanish, or any of the so-called romance languages for that matter. They are garbage," she said, her English still marred by her Russian accent, but noticeably better than her Spanish.

She walked across the hard floor, her hard-soled shoes echoing in the stone-walled room. Her movements were fluid and graceful, her long legs moving more like those of a runway model than an infamous Russian torture expert. She stood before him, her legs apart and her arms folded.

"You will talk," She said.

Manuel only shook his head.

"We'll see," she said, and she began to walk around him, one finger casually starting on his left shoulder, working around him as she circled, moving from his shoulder to the back of his neck to his right shoulder. When she completed her circle she stood before him, facing away. Both guards shifted nervously as she looked them over.

"Close the door."

The guards looked at each other, as if deciding who should move and who should stay put. Finally Chavez reached over and shut the door.

The Angel of Death, spun around to face Manuel, and then swiftly lowered herself before him, perching on her boots. Her hands grasped his knees then slid up the sides of his legs, past his hips and on up to his waist. Her expression was unreadable and unchanging. 

"Tell me what you know about the rebellion."

Manuel shook his head.

With one swift movement, she jerked his pants down to his knees. The flimsy material of the prison fatigues tore as she jerked them. He had been given no undergarments.

The Angel's hand reached between his legs and lifted his limp dick into the palm of her hand. Her movements were remarkably gentle, but Manuel tensed nonetheless, not knowing when the torture would begin. The pain didn't come. She casually lay his cock down on his left thigh then slid both hands under either side of his chair. Reaching both arms under his seat brought her head lower into his lap, and giving Manuel a better look at her breasts. For a second his mind fled from the terror and he hazarded a glance down at her breasts; the uniform's jacket was cut so low that he could see the brown upper portion of her areolas. His thoughts began to wander. She seemed to notice where his eyes had ventured; corner of her mouth twitched in an almost smile. 

Suddenly the Angel jerked her hands from under the chair, bringing a strap from under the seat on either side. Manuel flinched at the sudden movement; this caused her smirk to widen almost to the point of a smile – a wicked smile, but a smile nonetheless. She pulled the straps together and buckled them across his lap. Lower than a seatbelt, the straps effectively secured his ass and hips to the seat. 

Still wearing her half smirk, the Angel sat back on the heels of her boot and slowly unbuttoned the first two buttons of her jacket. She then slowly lowered herself into his lap once more, presenting her marvelous breasts in all their glory as she did so. Manuel found he could not take his eyes of them. She lowered herself until her head rested on his right thigh, her eyes staring across to where his cock lay across his left, her hands casually sliding up the outside of his legs and up his hips similar to when she had pulled down his pants. Her arms extended, like she was stretching or reaching behind him. Her remarkably long tongue lolled out of her mouth. Without moving her cheek or removing her eyes from his cock, she gently traced her tongue lightly along his inner thigh.

Much to his shock, if not his outright horror, Manuel felt his balls tighten and his cock begin to stiffen as, despite his fear, he began getting an erection. 

Suddenly the Angel jerked her hands from around the chair, bringing with them a second pair of straps. These were secured around his chest. Combined with the strap across his lap, the shackles at his ankles, Manuel was now unable to move so much as an inch away from the chair, which was, in turn, secured to the floor.

Still wearing a slight smirk in one corner of her mouth, the Angel leaned away from Manuel and once again sat before him on her haunches.

"Are you ready to talk?"

Manuel shook his head.

The Angel rose effortlessly to her feet, she once again placed a finger on his shoulder as she walked around his chair, only this time she stopped when she was behind him. For several tense seconds she was silent. Finally he felt her press against the back of the chair. He felt her breath, light against his right side of his face. Her hand slid slowly down his chest, down his abs, into his lap, and on to his cock. She casually held his semi-rigid member.

"Nice," she whispered. "Not fully hard and it's already thick and long. It would be a shame for such a cock to go to waste."

Manuel's member grew stiffer. Her grip still loose and casual, the Angel began slowly jerking him off.

"Don't you think it would be a waste?" she asked. Receiving no reply, she tightened her grip and increased her strokes. "Well, don't you?"

"Si."

"English," she reminded

"Um, yes."

"Good. Very good. You do talk. And perhaps we have a common goal after all." She continued jerking Manuel's dick until it was fully erect. "Very nice indeed."

When she released his cock and stepped away from the chair, Manuel found himself staring down at his traitorous cock as it stood at ridged attention for the enemy. His mind wandered to all the tortures such an expert interrogator could inflict on a hard penis – in truth, possibly no more than could be inflicted on a flaccid one, but the thought was a scary one nonetheless. He fully expected the torture to begin at any second. He was truly shocked when the infamous Angel of Death stepped around from behind his chair wearing nothing but her thigh-high boots.

She stood before him, once more with her legs apart and her face stern. "Tell me what you know of the revolution," she demanded.

Confused, Manuel at first didn't reply.

"Tell me!"

"No."

She shook her head. "I'm sorry it had to come to this," she slowly lowered herself to where she once again crouched with her weight resting on her boots "I was hoping we could come to an agreement" she lowered her head toward his lap "before I was forced to resort to drastic measures" and took his cock into her mouth.

Her hands grasped his knees for support as she fiercely mouth-fucked his cock. It was the most intensive, aggressive blowjob Manuel had ever received, but it only lasted for a minute or so.

The Angel drew back, took a breath then leaned forward to rub one of her nipples slowly along the head of his dick. "Will you talk now?"

"No."

She switched nipples. "Tell me what you know of the revolution."

Manuel said nothing.

Her hands returned to his knees and her mouth to his cock. Once again she pumped away with a vengeance. After a couple of minutes she suddenly pulled away, his dick coming out of the vacuum suction of her mouth with a pop. She rose to her feet. "You disappoint me."

She stood and walked toward the door, her shapely muscular ass swaying gracefully. She folded her arms behind her back and faced the door as she spoke to him. "Can we not reach some sort of agreement?"

"No."

"I have other ways to make men talk, you know."

Manuel said nothing.

She turned and slowly, gracefully returned until she was standing before him, so close her leather boots rubbed against his knees. Her eyes locked with his, she reached up and massaged her breasts for while, then tweaked her nipples. Her left hand continued pinching her nipple lightly while her right hand made a slow trip down her belly. Her mouth parted slightly as her fingers found her clit. "Are you sure we cannot reach an agreement?"

Manuel shook his head.

A slight gasp escaped her lips as she let one of her fingers slid inside her. Her eyes closed momentarily as she slid her fingers in and out. Judging from the wet sound, she really enjoyed this part of her job. "Your friends . . . will never know . . . you betrayed them." She said, between deep breaths. "I can . . . see to that."

"No."

She stopped just as suddenly as she stopped the blowjob, although her finger remained unmoving inside her for some time as she looked her victim up and down, her eyes finally resting on his cock.

She turned around, giving him a view of her ass. "You were warned," she barked.

She then lowered herself so that her dripping cunt was just over his rigid cock. She reached between her legs and grasped his member, slowly rubbing it up and down her hot cunt. Manuel instinctively tried to force himself up and into her, but the restraints held him in place. She continued teasing the head of his dick.

"Is this what you want?"

"Y-yes."

"Then tell me what I want to know."

"No."

Her decent onto his cock was so slow it was almost painful. She took first an inch, then another, down until he was fully sheathed inside her, then she began grinding her ass into his lap. "Tell me," she gasped.

"No."

Her booted feet came up into the chair at the edge as she grasped the rails with her hands; she brought herself slowly up his shaft, then slammed back down. A tiny moan escaping her lips when she did so. "Tell me." She didn't wait for a reply. She began slamming his cock, fucking with as much vigor and energy as she had recently sucked it. Aside from light grunts and some gasping, she wasn't very vocal. Most of the women in Manuel's past had ranged from moaners to the occasional screamer, but the Angel of Death was mostly silent, save the wets slaps of skin on skin as she rode his cock. He felt the trimmers of her orgasm build to hard spasms, her boots suddenly came out of the chair as she convulsed but the only sound she made was a long shuddering moan. She rocked ever so slightly, back and forth on his cock. Manuel did the best he could to push into her, but the restraints kept him from almost all movement.

For a moment, the Angel ceased movement altogether. Then she pulled herself off him and rose to her feet. When she turned to face him, her fair face was flushed, but otherwise her expression was stern and unchanged.

"Still unwilling to talk?"

Manuel said nothing.

She climbed into his lap. His cock was raised, pinned between her stomach and his, her breasts pressed to his face. "Lick them," she demanded.

Manuel complied.

"We can do this the easy way or the hard way, but one way or another you will talk." She paused then demanded, "Suck my nipple." Manuel ran his tongue over her nipple lightly. "I said suck it," she said. 

His lips firmly attached to her breast, Manuel began sucking. The Angel started moving her body up and down, rubbing his cock between them. "Harder." Manuel sucked harder. "Harder!" she snapped. Manuel sucked as hard as he could, knowing it had to be at least somewhat painful.

The Angel of Death moaned slightly, then raised up and placed his dick at her hot wet entrance. She slid onto him slowly this time, and continued riding him sensuously for some time before she suddenly grabbed his head and pressed him even harder into her breast. "Suck harder!" she shouted. Manuel was already sucking as hard as he could, so he bit down on her nipple, not enough to cause injury, but a lot harder than he normally would have. Then he started sucking once again. The Angel was wildly riding him once more. It was incredible; he was close to coming. She apparently realized it as well. She jerked his head away from her nipple and rose out of his lap.

She once against stood before him, slowly jerking his slick wet cock with her hand, keeping him on edge. "This is your last chance."

"No," Manuel said.

The Angel of Death turned around, presenting him with another view of her incredible muscular ass, then she lowered herself into his lap, only this time his cock was pointed at the pucker of her ass.

"You want this?"

"Y-yes."

"Then talk."

"No."

She pushed her body down on his head. She grunted and pushed again, then again before his head finally passed her sphincter. Slowly, inch by inch, she slid down on his cock until her was fully embedded in her ass. She sat there for some time then finally gasped the words, "Last chance."

"No."

She started slow, but picked up speed quickly. Now becoming vocal, she grunted with every thrust. There was no gentleness to it; without any lube other than her own vaginal juices he knew that he had to be hurting her, but apparently she liked it that way because soon she was shuddering again. His own orgasm was building as well, and the very second she started spasming his body jerked and he began unloading into her ass. It was bliss, probably the best orgasm of his life. 

Once again the Angel of Death collapsed backward on him, and lay there for some time with his dick still planted in her cum-filled ass. He remained rock hard, the tightness of her sphincter refusing to allow the blood to leave his cock. 

After several minutes, the Angel of Death pulled herself out of his lap walked behind him and collected her clothes. She bundled them in her arms but didn't bother putting them on as she walked toward the door.

She turned to Chavez as he opened the door for her. "He won't talk," she said, "shoot him."

Chavez didn't bother closing the door and the hall was a straight shot to his chair, so Manuel watched her naked ass sway as she walked down the hall.

As he felt the gun pressed to his temple Manuel realized that the Angle of Death was feared because no one survived he interrogations, but he imagined she wasn't such a successful interrogator after all.

The Angel...Of Death



Weary. That was the single word which echoed in my mind as I sat in the dimly lit club. The smoky atmosphere making it seem even darker than the night outside. People walking past me, some coming within inches of where I sat but none saw me. It was childs play for me to hide from human sight, a trait learned long ago, perfected over time.

Parlor tricks, a simple matter after so many years. Only being seen when I so deemed it necessary. Sitting there, watching the minions, their clumsy mating rituals in full force. Doms seeking their prey, the weak seeking the strong. I too had a need, one I hadn't allowed myself to feed upon for far too long.

I almost laughed, the opening bars of a song performed by a band who it seemed had endured the test of time almost as well as I. "Sympathy For the Devil" filling the crowded room with even more sound, turning loud into deafening. A smile playing on the corner of my lips. Compared to the life I had lived, the devil...was an amateur.

The decades, nay, the centuries had passed and I had survived. I had been hunted through the years. From a time when weapons involved the ridiculous to the sublime. Wooden stakes and crosses giving way to silver projectiles, fired from the latest glut of automatic weapons, favored by the new breed of vampire hunters.

Closing my eyes I forced myself to remember the last time I had allowed the beast within to get the best of me. Ever since that night my enforced rest during the day had been filled with visions of what had transpired. Dreams painted in blood, today forcing me to awaken, the need so painful as to entice me to endure the remaining light at dusk. I had sworn I would never allow the animal within to surface in such a way but one thing was certain, I was as much a prisoner to him as he was...to me.

I could feel the tension in my body, every muscle taut, the call of the night filling my mind. With a deep breath I fought to relax, to will the desire to subside but as I slowly opened my eyes I found to my surprise that I was no longer alone.

The woman who sat across from me was not dressed like most of the fairer sex in the establishment. They favored leather and lace while she went for more of a, shall I say, rustic look. Her worn suede jacket and jeans clashed a bit with the three inch heeled boots she wore, still the look favored her. The garments rather masculine in tone yet there would be no mistaking her for such. Her body carried a raw sensuality to it, like that of an animal, one stalking its prey.

I took in her physical features, her body lithe and muscular, her chestnut hair worn short, framing her face. It was her eyes though that drew me in. I had read in older times where the eyes are the window to the soul and if this were true, then hers promised...death. It was a soul which in her case caused a man like even I to shudder.

On the table before her was a glass of red wine, a merlot, the color reminding me of the very bane of my existence. I sat there motionless as she lifted her own glass to her lips, her white wine in stark contrast of the glass of red sitting there. She put the glass down slowly, looking up, her hazel orbs seemingly staring directly into mine. 

Unmoving, I watched as she opened her mouth to speak. Her voice was soft, barely above that of a whisper. No one in the room could have possibly heard what she had to say with the exception of one, me.

"Don't worry, no one can see you, only I...in a manner of speaking. It's a talent I was given at birth, all thanks to you, Jonathan Samuels."

She could have physically struck me and not brought about such a reaction as she had done by calling me such. I had gone by many names, many different lifetimes but she had addressed me by the name I was born with, my Christian name. 

She must have sensed she struck a nerve, a laugh escaping her lips though her eyes reflected no such mirth. "Oh, I know quite a bit about you Mr. Samuels, much more than you can ever imagine. Here, let me tell you a tale."

She took yet another drink from her glass, confident in the fact I was going nowhere. In reality I could not have done so even if I had so dared desire. I felt paralyzed, incapable of motion. An emotion filling me, one I'd never deemed might exist in my lifetime, fear.

"Think back good sir, four centuries in time. A woman, a common streetwalker, the oldest profession if you will. In London, a woman with a body not only full of promise but also seed...your seed. You used her body like most but you had other needs as well. To your dismay though you were unable to finish the task. Do you remember?"

I did, the vision of the beauty beneath me. My physical needs met, her head turned to one side, the skin glowing in the dim light. I'd just had time to pierce the skin, the bite quick, sharp, painful but interrupted by a pounding on the door. There was only time to melt into the shadows, my taste, my task unfulfilled, my deepest hunger unabated. 

The hunter's eyes shining, amber in the dark, standing mere inches from where I stood yet unseeing. Finally turning and taking the woman in his arms, carrying her from this place and from me. I had never seen her again.

"She lived in spite of you. She lived long enough to give birth to a child, my great, great, great grandmother. Each succession has brought forth a daughter into the family line. From one to the next, growing stronger with special traits, talents bestowed upon them all thanks to you. A gift which has manifested itself in the woman before you. A gift that will allow me to finally fulfill the prophecy and put an end...to you."

Only then did I fully realize who the dark haired stranger before me was. There had been whispers, rumors abounding through the night of a woman whose path had left countless dead. Those who had been deemed indestructible now vanquished for all time. Words had been spoken, a single initial, X heard but she had become known best as The Angel...of Death.

I could not help it. I was not even aware that it was happening, her presence, her words combining to leave me reeling and I allowed my self imposed mask to slip. With that like a picture slowly swimming into focus I appeared before her and all eyes.

It was only when I saw my own reflection in her hazel orbs did I realize the error of my ways. Quickly, I cloaked my presence yet again but not before I heard, "I read in her journal of how handsome you were. The years have been kind to you Jonathan Samuels, you've hardly aged at all."

Her laughter was cold, loud and I felt the flush rise to my face. A combination of anger and embarrassment, though I'm not sure which more than the other. All I knew for sure was that I felt completely out of control, helpless, yet another human emotion I had never dreamed to encounter.

She leaned over the table, her eyes now as dark as the night. "You can make this easy or hard but the outcome is inevitable. No matter where you hide I will find you." Standing in her heels, seemingly towering over me she dropped a card on the table before turning to leave. Stopping suddenly, she glanced back over her shoulder and passed along a few final words of wisdom.

"Know this, the more difficult you make this, the more you will suffer and I do so enjoy seeing a creature like you...suffer. You have 24 hours", and with that she was gone.

I don't remember leaving the bar, walking the streets. My mind consumed by thoughts of what had transpired. The evening like my mood, dark, stormy. I caught a reflection in a storefront, a young woman looking my way. I turned, crossing the distance between us in a blink of an eye. My hand reaching up, touching her face gently and saying, "I am a monster m'lady, do you find me as such?"

As all had before her through the combination of touch, the sound of my voice and the look in my eyes I watched as hers quickly clouded and with a voice filled with passion said in reply, "No m'lord, how may I serve you?"

I left my fingertip trail from her cheek down to her neck, her eyes closing in pleasure. My hand on her throat, her jugular, the pulse vibrant and alive, the promise of blood awaiting. She almost purred, her eyes now tightly shut, her breasts heaving, a sexual primal awakening like never before.

With a sigh, I let my arm fall and seconds later her eyes slowly fluttered open, a combination of confusion and desire mixed within them. She spoke haltingly saying, "I, I don't understand?" 

I forced a smile to my face, my hand moving with a bit of a magician's flourish before her eyes while saying, "Your lover is a lucky man Angelique. Go to him now and give him that which you would have gladly bestowed upon me."

The woman nodded stiffly before turning and beginning to make her way toward her appointed rendezvous. As I watched her I had no way of knowing that we had not been alone. The dark haired woman from the club had stood in the shadows, her weapon at the ready. She reached down, flipping the safety back on and if I might have witnessed the look of complete confusion on her face I might have smiled yet again.

All she knew was that if I had made any move she deemed inappropriate toward the stranger I had encountered she was more than willing to end this, right here, right now. She would have executed me on the spot, it was as simple as that. Now though she found herself in a bit of a quandary, wondering why. 

She had not let slip about all of the various talents she had acquired from her bloodline through the years. In the club she sensed that I had not fed in quite sometime, my body weak from the lack of that which I required. She had been sure I would have given in to the basic instinct of the animal within but now, now she found herself questioning things. In that...she was not alone.

I looked up into the night sky, morning would soon be dawning and though I could easily survive it, there would be repercussions, ones I was not eager to experience. Instead I turned, intent on my destination, my own senses failing to tell me that I was being followed. It took scant time to arrive at my humble surroundings, usually a sight which left me feeling safe, a welcome sight but for some reason I felt nothing such.

Heavy in heart, I sat on the edge of the bed and slowly pulled the boots from my feet. Unbuttoning the silk shirt I wore, allowing the trousers to fall in a puddle at my feet all of this under the watchful eye of the woman who stood at the window, her eyes intent upon the scene before her. 

Finally my body slipping between the sheets of silk, the blood red color in stark contrast to my skin. The combination of hunger, the onset of dawn and the encounter with the woman who even now stood in close proximity have left me exhausted, weakened to the point that no sooner did I lay down than sleep claimed me.

What happened next for my part is pure conjecture. I really can't say though the events in all probability played out in such a way. The door was child's play, the lock easily breached and seconds later she was inside. Her eyes were as easily accustomed to the dark as mine though as she approached she did so with her weapon drawn and ready.

She finally came to rest, standing beside my bed, looking down at the figure in repose. A silent sentinel looming over the motionless form, she could see my face in silhouette, caught between awake and dreaming, my self imposed slumber. Reaching down, she pulled the sheet down, my nakedness in full view and if I could have seen the look in her eyes I would have known it all too well. It was that of bloodlust.

I'm not sure how long she stood there, though I believe she was gone prior to the day coming to full view. If not, she would have witnessed that which I fear would have haunted her until her dying day. We are called the undead but in truth, we die each and every day. Aging through the years, a horrific sight, a final breath taken each morning, the body decaying to the point that it seemed an ill wind might send to dust.

Of course all things must come to pass and to die one must first live and as the sun began to set I took a breath, sitting up in bed. My dreams had been vivid ones, filled with the vision of the dark haired assassin and I knew that come twelve or so hours hence our story would be finished, one way or another.

As I dressed I let my mind roam, thinking, pondering, planning and as the moon rose high I stepped forth.

It was nigh the witching hour when I approached the address I had found on the card she had left. The house was dark, foreboding, the only illumination I could see coming from candles perched strategically in windows, casting shadows yet showing nothing. I approached the front door which stood wide open in welcome but I stopped as I heard a familiar voice say, "There is no need to cloak yourself any longer Jonathan Samuels...enter." and with a sigh I acquiesced and did.

The room was enormous yet sparsely furnished to say the least. A large four postered bed was placed near the fireplace, the single object there. She stood by the fire, a poker in one hand, stirring the embers. Her weapon of choice in her other, held loosely by her side.

Her voice as it had been the night before was soft, her body in darkness and light, a combination of fire and candlelight making it appear so. "A wise decision, coming here." I waved her words away, dismissing them before moving slowly across the floor as I saw her body grow tense.

I stopped, taking a deep breath and forcing myself to focus on the task at hand. Ever since I had awakened I had given thought to what might transpire, wondering if I might have judged her well and knowing if I had not I would pay dearly...with my life.

My voice was my own, I sensed she would see easily though any ruse to use any of my own abilities to cloud her judgment, knowing to do so would quickly seal my death sentence. I began to speak, my words calm yet projecting an air of calmness I must admit I did not feel while saying, "I propose...a wager m'lady."

Her eyes flickered, a brief look of surprise and I almost smiled as I saw her fight to recover. I would give her no quarter though as I looked to maintain what little advantage my ploy had given me. "You have two choices. Accept my wager or not. If you accept and win I will willing comply with your demands. However if I win, I walk away and you...shall do the same."

Her body language remained aggressive, tight, fraught with a combination of what I perceived as anger and aggression as I watched her force the words between clenched teeth, "And if I do not accept your wager?"

I let my voice drop an octave but forced myself to remain still, my eyes moving to lock on to hers, unwilling to give an inch while speaking volumes in reply, " Then we shall find out which of us is not only quicker but the deadlier of the species."

Standing there, I watched her for any movement, any sign knowing as weak as I was that it would be no contest. My eyes remained calm, the blue though now having changed from the color of the sky to that of the midnight hour and I awaited her answer. To my own surprise, I saw a bit of a smile play at the corner of her mouth as she laughed saying, "I must admit, I admire your style Mr. Samuels. Very well, I accept. What is your wager?"

I walked slowly over to the fireplace, before turning, leaning against it, fearful that my legs would no longer support me. Looking up, I let a smile of my own come to my face as I let my eyes look deeply into hers while saying, "It's really quite simple. I wager that I...can seduce you."

It was her turn to flinch, the shock at hearing my words catching the dark haired beauty yet again by surprise. I kept the smile on my face but my eyes showed my serious intent. "If I am to find your pleasure, to make you...", letting my words trail off of their own accord while relishing the crimson blush which quickly spread over her face.

I began to unbutton the long coat I wore, catching her furtive glance at my movement as I continued speaking slowly saying, "I will use no illusions, no glamour, no magic, simply my body" as the coat fell in a puddle at my feet.

Her weapon was still in her hand, held loosely yet ready at a moment's notice. I knew what she was thinking and I pulled a piece of parchment from under my shirt. "I know what gives you pause m'lady. This is my solemn oath, stating I shall not take that which you do not offer. This is my pledge and I will seal it accordingly." With that I took a fingernail and drug it across my wrist, a thin line of blood quickly rising, the drops falling to the paper.

I held it out to her and as she reached for the single piece of paper I made sure our hands touched. Sparks flew back and forth but each of us was unwilling to acquiesce to the other. Her eyes looking down, scanning the words penned there until she finally finished and in doing so she turned and placed her gun upon on the mantle.

She allowed her hand then to slide between a slit in her skirt and with a flourish pulled forth a knife. The edge was razor sharp, the material content certainly silver and I watched as she laid the blade in the palm of her hand. Then, with a slow pull blood began to seep from her fingertips, mingling with mine on the aged paper.

The deal made, the wager in place but there was yet another turn, another card to be played and it was hers to play. I looked up to see her turn her hand over, palm up and before my astonished eyes I saw the wound close within seconds. I too had the ability to heal myself but as I looked down at my wrist, all I could see was the blood clotting. It would take days to accomplish what she had done in the blink of an eye.

Like two fighters who landing alternate blows she had staggered me yet again. The smile on her face was at my expense as she said, "I told you Jonathan Samuels I have many talents. I am stronger than you physically and mentally. I can do things you never dared dream might be possible. We will play your game but nothing has changed, the outcome...is destiny."

She crossed the space between us before I could even react, her hand reaching up and touching my face. With that simple gesture, I felt what others had endured over the years, throughout the past. Her eyes reflected back my own and I saw them lose focus, my will being drained even as she leaned close and with a warm breath whispered in my ear, "If at any time I feel you trying to turn me, I will kill you."

The words were no idle threat, simply a promise made and I could only nod my head in reply. Her eyes continued to probe mine as she spoke anew. "I find it quite intriguing, your choice of wagers. You see through the years, for each succeeding generation it became harder and harder to find a mate who could do what you propose. One who could satisfy a growing hunger. In fact, I have found no man who could do that which you so boldly claim."

Her fingers moved down my face, stroking my cheek and I almost crumbled as she said, "But then, you are more than just a man, aren't you Mr. Samuel's." With that her hand grabbed the front of my shirt and with a single tug, the buttons exploded from it and it was ripped from my body. I gasped, feeling my mind reel back into the moment, her smile now like that of a cat who had found a mouse worthy of its attention.

I stood there, naked from the waist up, trying desperately to regain some form of control but there would be no such thing as she sauntered over towards the bed, her back to me. Her blouse slid of her shoulders first and then her skirt fell to the ground as she turned and faced me. The vision was that of a woman clad in lace, a black bra showing off her ample delights, black panties with thigh high stockings running out of the knee length boots, their silver stiletto heels a fetish's delight. 

All I could do was stand there and dwell on such a vision. She moved fluidly over to the bed where she laid down in a classic pose, one which promised pleasures beyond a man's wildest dreams. A raw, sensual creature whose eyes were like the remnants of the fire, glowing embers.




The Angel...Of Death



I could feel her pull, the lure of the beauty as my mind was in turmoil trying desperately not to surrender to her call. Suddenly her voice exploded inside of me, the sound causing me to shake my head from side to side, hoping to clear it but to no avail. 

Listening, I heard, "I made no such promise to you Jonathan Samuels. I will use every power at my disposal to give you a journey destined to take you from heaven to hell." 

Once again I tried to regain my focus, to loosen the stranglehold she had on my very thoughts but I could tell by the look on her face that I truly was an open book, she knew all, even before it came to pass. She extended her palm and with her tongue licked at the still wet drops of blood, her eyes closing in rapturous enjoyment before smiling at me in wicked delight, the voice in my head saying, "So my pet, shall we play?"

I felt the anger in me rise, her laughter spurring me on and with a cross between a scream and a growl I flew to her and thus it began.

I remember little of what happened next, the bed becoming a playground of deviant delights. It would be difficult to distinguish between the physical and emotional demands that transpired within each. A flash of a breast, the garment which had been covering it rendered to scraps of material. The same for the black lace which had covered her hips and the most secret of places.

A nipple captured, its hardness forming with the touch of a greedy mouth. Hands reaching, taking hold, demanding that which was required. I had never felt such power, such raw emotion but no matter what I tried, every move, every gift that in the past had brought another such passion this time proved for naught. 

I remember hair being pulled, a cry of pain, though for the first time the sound coming from my mouth as a face was captured between willingly opened legs. A tongue spurred to heights, urged fervently on. Frantic kisses, lapping at the secret garden though no reward was to be found. The voice in my head growing from a need to a want to a demand until finally dawn drew near and I exhaustion.

The sound was bitter, the tone cold, the words spoken, "As I thought, you're pitiful. Without your power you're nothing, nothing...do you hear me?" The words screaming in my mind, the voice attacking, the scorn obvious and once again I felt a surge of anger coarse through my very being. I growled deep in my throat and I forced my head to the side.

Such pale skin above the black stocking, beautiful even in the dimness of the remaining firelight I allowed the animal within to inflict the one thing I had not so far on the dark haired woman. Pain. With such, I allowed my teeth to take the flesh of her inner thigh and I bit down, hard.

The bite could not have been construed as one looking to turn her into another such as me. She was far beyond me, this much was obvious. Perhaps I had thought though by such I would at least inflict the same that she would me by the time the night had drawn to a close. Instead, what happened next was beyond even my own comprehension.

My teeth closed down and with that her body reacted, her hands once again finding purchase to my long locks but this time pulling in a fit of passion. Her voice, the sound turned guttural raised to the heavens. I felt her body begin to convulse, to shake with such force as to threaten to throw us both from our perch. My eyes opened wide to see the sight of a woman in the throes of such, caught between pleasure and pain, riding the crest of what was quickly rising from within.

She screamed, loud and long, the spoils of my victory spraying forth. Her orgasm so powerful, so fluid that it came forth in torrents, coating her thighs, my face, continuing as I finally relented, releasing my hold upon her. As I did so she reached out, her hand grabbing my throat and as if picking up a rag doll she flung me from the bed.

My body slammed against the wall, my head striking it, the room threatening to swim into darkness as I lay on the cold ground. I had to struggle to remain conscious, my eyes trying hard to focus seeing the figure of the woman now standing above me, her eyes wild, the sexual predator within having finally been released.

She knelt down over me, her hand reaching down and with a cry she took my manhood in hand, squeezing tightly, the harsh touch sending spirals of pain throughout my entire body. Seconds later I was hard, harder than ever before and with a single movement she impaled herself on me. I was helpless, unable to move though it seemed not to a matter, I was simply an instrument to be used. An end to a means. 

The gate had been unlocked, the tempest turned loose and once she had drunk from that well her thirst was unquenchable. Time had no meaning, her body in the end coated with her own sweat, her hair having fallen down covering her face, her eyes wide, wanton, looking down upon me as I could only stare back in awe. Finally she leaned down, her face inches from mine and she granted me a smile. I will remember that smile...for all eternity.

It was then she took my head in her hands and she whispered softly, "You have granted me that which you promised m'lord, now, I shall grant you the same." Pressing her hands against my temple she closed her eyes and she forced her power into me. 

I felt my entire body begin to convulse, my mind invaded, her thoughts taking control and I felt my own release come rushing forth. This time though, it was like nothing I had ever experienced before. I too found myself riding wave after wave of such but with every passing crest I felt myself slipping further and further away. In the end, as my body finally subsided to the emotions which had taken it I lay there, all that remained was a shell, a mind lost, a body simply at rest.

I blinked, incapable of more watching as the naked stranger stood. She picked me up as if it was nothing, carrying me almost tenderly over to the bed where she laid me down. She leaned down as the all too familiar call of dawn was sending me to my rest and the last thing I remembered hearing her say was, "I will walk away this day Jonathan Samuels for the wager is won, but I will return this evening as your nights and you belong to me now...forever."

THE END