Little Crafter Ch. 03bySamhainchild©
Water had stopped sloshing and now poured uniformly around the edge of the perfectly level tub. There were bubbles in Ellie's nostrils, but they weren't forced out. She was limp, red eyed and blue lipped, and mostly naked. Nothing but blood and some bath water dribbled down her thighs. There would be no evidence of who had done this. Eleanor Celeste Little was dead.
Vasile stared down through the dark at his handiwork and for a split second he thought he felt something settle in him. If he'd had a body, he would have said he felt himself relax; but he was bodiless, just the essence of a murdered villain.
He wondered whether he'd somehow missed Ellie's departure, but then he recalled that he'd barely existed at all when he'd first died. It would take time, and energy, to make her substantial too. To make her substantial enough to control. He'd own Ellie again soon, and this time there would be no escape.
It was during his evaluation that someone crept in through the balcony door and softly moved along the wall to the bathroom. The darkness helped hide them, and luckily the running water disguised a harsh gasp as they registered Ellie's body slumped over the edge of the bath tub.
There was a sigh from the bathroom and, without anything changing, the newcomer felt the apartment empty of whatever presence he'd felt when he'd come in. He knew it was safe to venture to Ellie's body, if only to say goodbye to a woman he'd been destined to find, but ultimately found too late to do any good. He squelched along the bathroom floor, doubling back quickly to turn on the bathroom light. He needed to see her, see her face clearly and up close. He'd never had a chance to meet her in person, having always been delegated to watch her from afar. His stony face broke its poise as he comprehended how completely he'd failed this beautiful creature. The violence of the scene was absolute; but her body, posed so provocatively as to hide nothing of her most treasured spot, triggered a surge of heat low in his abdomen. The heat spread down and caused a twinge in his balls, and an uncomfortable restriction was trapping him at a bad angle at the crotch of his pants.
Ellie had always been appealing at a distance. But up close, her small, delicate frame was emphasized in contrast to his own towering build. As he knelt in the water and reached over her body to turn off the faucet, his arm grazed her back and he found himself drawn to push himself up behind her. It seemed like a magnet was compelling his movement, pulling him in, but it was purely a basic lust that defied his ethics and squeezed his moral fiber dry.
A small groan forced its way out of his throat as he felt his resolve crumble. She was gone, what harm would it do? She was newly dead - barely an essence to hold or create any memories. The warmth of her blood and the water soaking into his pants sealed the deal and he pulled her up and against him, holding her slack body at the waist as gently as his rough hands could muster. It took extreme patience and a touch of masochism to wait until he'd uncovered the tee-shirt from her face before he began massaging her breasts. He'd closed her eyes and half bothered to lie to himself, imagining that she was passed out as he rolled her nipples between his callused fingertips. Her skin was hot and wet and it helped his erection ignore the lack of life beneath his touch.
He secretly enjoyed a spark from the knowledge that he could do literally anything he wanted with her supple, yielding body. There would be no excuses or refusals; there would be no disgust or fear, no pressure to perform. With a desperate speed he found himself devoid of clothes and driving into her splayed body without pause or care. He drove deeply and with complete abandon, attempting to find some way deeper inside her small cave. He adjusted his weight on his hands as he peered down at her body, watching her rock limply with each slam as he drove deep within her - he wanted to see himself bottom out, and with each thrust he felt he was a little bit closer to achieving his goal. If Ellie had been alive, she'd have screamed bloody murder as he tore into her depths, pounding her cervix and thrashing her bruised vaginal walls. With a series of animalistic thrusts, he felt his balls finally smack and squeeze against the outside of her pussy. The sting of each slap was now quickly muted by the cushion of pressure as he bottomed out and the sensation was too much as he throatily roared his satisfaction, pumping himself deep inside her, milking himself with her abuse-swollen flesh. He collapsed on top of her with more force than he would otherwise have allowed himself, but as the throbbing in his cock slowly subsided, he realised the pulsing sensation was not just his own. Instantly on the alert, he pulled himself down to listen to her chest. A beat flooded doubtlessly into his ear and he examined her face with fresh eyes. Ellie's lips still held a bluish tint, but he held hope as he parted her lips and tilted her head slightly back. With her chin up, he pushed air into her throat, and after only a handful of pumps to her sternum she simultaneously vomited and coughed up water; gasping and choking, and best of all, breathing.
There was no guilt within him. He'd saved her life, as was his duty, and as far as he was concerned they were even. He stayed long enough to re-dress in his sopping wet clothes and be sure she was really likely to pull through. Placing her in the recovery position, away from the larger puddles on the floor, he turned out the bathroom light and made his way back out to the balcony to disappear into the night. He needed to seek out help - he had nothing to protect others against violent spirits. Soon Eleanor Crafter would have a team of guardians ranging in uncommon skills. And she would be none-the-wiser.
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