Dining at the Devil's Backbone

I turned my back to him and felt him step close to me. I was aware that I didn't feel any body heat coming off of him, but thought that was just a matter of the weather. I'd clasped my hands together at the back of my head and he put one hand there, where they met. At this first, innocuous, touch I gasped loudly and lurched against the car. My pussy and ass clenched and I felt a surge of fluid dripping between my legs. I'd never been so physically aroused in my life. I felt so hot that steam should rise wherever the fog touched me. My eyes rolled in my head.

Sergeant Tepes curled his fingers around my hands, helping me stay upright. He used his foot to push my feet farther apart and stepped up so that his body met my naked back and butt. He pressed himself into me, steadying me. His other hand met the first at the back of my head, and then each hand traced a slow line down my arms, squeezing gently until he got to my armpits.

He slipped his hands down the side of my ribs and I whimpered. His hands went lower, his long fingers splayed and reaching toward each other as his palms passed over my sides toward my hips. When he reached my hips he turned his hands so that both of his middle fingers grazed the sides of my vulva. I shuddered, moaning and beginning to whisper.

His voice was in my ear, "Sshhh, Miss Stevens. There's no need to talk now."

I forgot how to speak. I forgot what words were for. I moaned again, low, an incoherent entreaty as his fingers brushed the edges of my lips and met at the hood of my clitoris. He shifted his hands again so that his longest fingers touched together as they went back up. He was drawing the heat off of my body, drawing something primal from the center of me. My head lolled back against his chest, my eyes rolled up, my mouth hung open.

His hands traced up the front of my ribs, curving in, and then cupping my breasts. He held each of my breasts in a hand, kneading my flesh tenderly and then lifting them. He let my globes fall, my nipples scraping against his palm. My nipples had never been so erect; they stood away from the rest of my breast, the areola completely contracted into a hard knot. When he let go my nipples stood almost upright and the slightest touch of air on them caused me to shiver.

This otherworldly Trooper stepped back and I groaned again at the loss of contact with him. He brushed my back with his hands, down to my ass, and the backs of my thighs. Then he leaned into me again, gripping my breasts and tugging them out and down.

"Bend over," he said.

I bent down until my chest pressed against the hood of my car. My hands were still behind my head and I felt him gripping my wrists, one after the other, twisting my arms so they were straight and clasped behind my back. He patted my hands, and pressed lightly on the small of my back. I arched, tilting my ass higher in the air, and pressing myself lower onto the car.

"Show yourself to me, Miss Stevens."

I gripped my ass cheeks and spread them as far as I could. I spread my legs further and turned my toes in so my heels twisted out. I felt the cool damp air on my most intimate parts and I was completely at peace. Well, not completely, I wanted him to touch me again.

Instead, I felt the familiar hard knob of the end of his truncheon. It slipped between my ass cheeks and roamed up and down my perineum, tapping my opening, and then travelling back up again. Then he pressed the baton to my vagina, making tight circles at first. Then he spun the baton in place, and once it was coated with my juice, he pressed the end into me.

I moaned, my back arching instinctively, and I pushed back onto the intrusion without any thought. I wanted that stick in me, I wanted something he was controlling inside me. I cried out again, as more of the club slipped into me. I felt my muscles gripping it, contracting wildly around it. I gave in to the sensation, and an orgasm consumed me. I was writhing around on the car hood, my breasts compressed onto the hard metal, my hands grasping and pulling myself open so I could get more. I needed more, I had to have more, had to have all of it. I shuddered and babbled uncontrollably, and as the orgasm faded, I realized the Trooper, whoever he really was, had bent over so his torso was once again aligned with mine.

He had pulled out the low pig tails I'd put my hair in, and brushed my hair away from my neck. His weight on me was cold and comfortable, drawing off the fire that was raging in me, holding me still. His fingers brushed my cheek and I felt the hint of his breath on my neck.

He shifted his weight again, and I felt his hands on my back, then heard the unmistakable sound of a zipper being lowered. I grinned broadly as he shifted once more and his hard cock settled into the cleft between my ass cheeks. His truncheon was still firmly in my pussy, and I was still spasming around it. He didn't attempt to enter my ass, he just laid his shaft there.

Then he was laying on top of me again, his scent thick in my nose. Roses and ash; lilacs and smoke; cherry blossoms, and decay. The smell of a pile of wet leaves, or the cool earth at the bottom of a deep hole.

"Do you have anything to say, Miss Stevens?" His voice rumbled in my ear.

My power of speech returned.

"Yes, Sergeant," I managed to whisper.

"What do you want to say?" He shifted again, and another moan tumbled out of my mouth.

"Just do whatever you want. Just don't stop touching me. Please. I'll do whatever. Just don't stop. Please." I heard the need thick in my voice, the hunger. It was foreign and yet somehow felt perfectly familiar and true.

"Oh, don't fear," he whispered, from somewhere inside my head. "I'm not done."

One of his hands wound in my hair, pulling it away from my neck again. His other hand glided down my side, lighting sparks, trails of cold fire, until it slipped under me to cup my vulva. His fingers touched my nether lips, setting off another cascading orgasm. I bucked up, into his pelvis, rubbing my ass on his cock as his cool fingertips danced on my clit. I clenched hard around the nightstick.

Then I felt his breath on my neck. Something wet tapped there, just over the pulse, and then a short sharp pain. I caught a whiff of the smell of copper before another orgasm crashed through me so hard that I forgot what was happening. He suckled my neck and I tried to scream in pleasure but no sound emerged. I opened my mouth wide, meaning to groan and beg him to never ever stop what he was doing. But I was silent. I was still. My muscles so overwhelmed with sensation that I couldn't move. I didn't want to move.

A moment later, he let go of my neck, standing up straight and drawing me upright with him. He pulled the truncheon out of my hole and it clattered onto the ground. He spun me around to face him, and picked me up, sitting me on the hood of the car.

In one swift movement, he positioned his cockhead at my entrance and pushed deep inside me. His prick felt like an icicle. It felt perfect. He filled me up completely, his head pressing at my cervix, and stretching my walls far more than the truncheon had. My body accepted him like I'd been waiting for him my entire life. I wrapped my legs around his waist, my ankles crossed at his back and resting on his uniform tool belt.

He wrapped his arms around my waist and shoulders, drawing me to him. When our mouths met a light exploded in my brain, I saw galaxies and tasted stardust. I tasted my blood on his tongue and I sucked myself off of him, craving more. He moved his hips, pulling out of me slightly, and I couldn't bear even that minute loss of contact. I pushed my hips up, and he shoved back into me. His every movement spawned another climax, another crescendo of pleasure that left me dizzy and speechless.

I held on to him desperately, my whole body clinging to him, refusing to let him go. My whole mind spinning with desire and the absolute certainty this strange man was my life. That by whatever magic or fate I'd wound up where I had, I didn't dare leave.

He pumped into me, his thrusts going deep and faster until he grunted loud. My head was thrown back from all my silent screaming, my arms and legs jelly. He was holding me up and holding me to him. His climax came, and suddenly there was a heat in my belly that set me on fire. I felt his seed erupting inside me, felt him coating me. Felt him claiming me.

My last orgasm shattered me. I convulsed all over, arms and legs, stomach and head. I finally managed to scream a word, "Mine!"

He laid me down, gently onto the hood of the car, and stood stock still between my legs. He kept me from sliding off while the rest of my spasms subsided. He pulled his cock out while I was too far gone to notice. My pussy clamped down hard, and none of his seed leaked out.

I was so spent, so overwhelmed that I probably couldn't have walked the few feet it would have taken to get back in my car. I was babbling gibberish. He leaned down, and I managed to look into his eyes. They really were red. The red of Mars, or a burning coal in the middle of a deep night; the red of fresh blood on white sheets. I didn't care. He had the most beautiful eyes I've ever seen.

He picked me up, like I'd pick up a half dozen eggs in a carton. Carefully, but with no thought as to how much I weighed. Somehow the back door to my car was open. He sat me on the edge of the back seat, and suddenly I was dressed. Or at least mostly dressed. My skirt and the halter top were on, then a cardigan that had been in my suitcase. He helped me lay down on the seat, and settled a blanket I keep in the trunk over me.

My last thought before I passed out was the realization that he'd rolled up the windows, and was locking me in my car. He secured me safely, and I was gone.

When I woke up it was morning. The sun shone brightly through the car windows. I was warm and slightly uncomfortable. Surely that whole thing had been some kind of strange stress dream, brought on by getting lost. I sat up, and noticed my car keys on the console between the two front seats. Tucked under them was a note.

I picked up the keys, and pressed the button to unlock my doors. As I slipped out of the backseat, I realized my pelvis was sore, and so was my neck. I stood, stretching, my back aching, my legs still a little wobbly. I realized I was starving. Then I remembered I had no idea where I was.

I looked around. The awning and the gas pumps were still there. The remnants of a parking lot, a burned out husk of a building. No sign. I turned around and around, but there was no sign, lighted or otherwise. I looked past the building to the rolling mountain ridges, and then turned again to look at the towering hill I'd driven down.

The road was fine. The markings clear. It wasn't especially narrow. Perplexed, I sat in the driver's seat. I reached for my phone, and it responded normally. The GPS told me exactly where I was, and quickly calculated directions back to my apartment. I checked and saw a text from my friend asking if I was on my way. When I didn't respond he sent another text saying that he canceled the party because no one had showed up.

On the passenger seat, next to the borrowed cowboy boots, were my bra, and what looked like a policeman's nightstick. That's when I realized my underwear were gone. And then I remembered the note.

In tall, narrow handwriting, someone had written: "Miss Stevens, I don't know who you are, but I will. And you will know me. I had planned to take you last night, but found that I needed something different. Please forgive my transgression, and the sample I purloined. I shall endeavor to make recompense in a manner satisfactory to you. We shall encounter each other again anon. Your servant, Vlad T."

'Who writes like that?' I thought. But there was something earnest and endearing about it. I couldn't remember most of the previous night. Only remembered fear transforming into unbridled and unstoppable waves of pleasure and passion.

I put the note in my purse, pulled the boots on my feet and drove home.

*~~*

He knocked on my door about a month later, on a dark night when the moon hung in a small sliver. I surprised myself by answering. Typically, I ignore people who show up unannounced. I wasn't expecting anyone, and my roommate was out spending the night with her boyfriend.

I opened the door and my heart stopped. I recognized him immediately, though he was not in uniform. He wore black twill pants, dark shoes and belt, and a light colored fine gauge sweater. I think it was cashmere. I had on a t-shirt, old sweatpants, and an older cardigan. He looked at me like I was a supermodel.

Memory flooded over me, crystal clear snippets of that night, frozen as though they'd been illuminated with a strobe light. The sign. His eyes. The truncheon. I gasped and swayed on my feet. I was held upright only by my grip on the door handle. My cat ran up to him, hissed and ran away. As the flood receded I was left weak kneed and shallow breathing.

My hand still grasped the door, and my other hand was spread over my lower stomach. The memory of him inside me lingering after I was able to compose myself.

I managed a smile.

"I have something of yours, Sergeant Tepes," I said.

"You are everything of mine, Miss Stevens," he replied.

I knew the truth of that statement. I knew it in the nucleus of every cell in my body.

"Yes," I found myself saying.

I stared at him, absorbing him. Fixing his image in my mind, and attempting to compare him to my newly refreshed memories. His eyes were a soft gray, and a little blood shot. I'm taller than average for a woman, and he stood a few inches taller than me. His shoulders were broad, his legs long and his lips were the color of Merlot. His hair, which I hadn't paid attention to before, was brown and softly curled, cut short on the sides and a little longer on top. I drank in his scent, roses and smoke, cherry blossoms and that thick organic smell of a forest floor in summer.

He stood, stock still, waiting. For what I didn't know. His hands clasped loosely behind his back. He grinned in that slightly odd, slack jawed way that somehow managed to shield his teeth. I think I knew then. I knew, if not exactly what he was, I knew what he was not. That he was not entirely human. I didn't care.

"Do I need to invite you in?" I asked.

He inclined his head slightly. "It is the customary thing to do." He spoke with the slightest Eastern European accent, and the way he pronounced all the vowels sent shivers down my back.

"But not, strictly speaking, necessary. Is it?"

"No," he said, as his gaze dropped momentarily. "That boundary is already breached."

My hand had crept up my front, over my breasts, and I touched my neck where the sore spot had been that beautiful November morning. A look of dismay flitted across his face, and he winced in what might have been shame.

I stepped back from the door and to the side, clearing his way.

"Do, please come in Sergeant Tepes. Vlad."

He gave a little bow, and crossed my threshold. The door slammed shut behind him as though sucked closed by a gale of wind. I swear I heard the deadbolt slide, even though neither one of us touched it.

He stepped very close to me. I kept his eye contact, and felt none of the disorientation I'd felt the other night. He reached for my arms, but stopped himself before making contact.

"Miss Stevens," he said softly, "I would very much like to kiss you."

"Well," I answered, "if you're going to do that, you'd better call me Vivian."

"Yes," he whispered, "Vivian."

He cupped my cheeks and the back of my neck with his long dexterous fingers. Our lips met softly, so gently at first, and I felt myself melting into him. I leaned in, stretching, as he lightly tapped my lips with his tongue. I opened my mouth and he slipped his tongue inside, just a little at first, probing, seeming to wait for me to relax. I slid my hands around his waist, then arched into him, slipping my palms up his strong back. He held my head only, and I wanted more. I wanted his hands all over me, his mouth all over me, the length of his body pulsing on mine.

I opened my mouth wider, and he responded by letting me have more of his tongue. He allowed me to suckle him, and I finally felt one of his hands stroke down my back, wrap around my waist and pull me to him. I could have kept kissing him for hours. I could have died a happy woman right then. But I needed to breathe, and broke the kiss with a low moan.

He laughed, low, in the back of his throat. He kissed my neck, right at the hollow of my throat. I almost collapsed right there in the hallway. I forced myself to step back from him. I took his hand and lead him back to my bedroom. The cat heard us coming and shot out from under my bed, racing back into the living room, but stopping to hiss at him on the way.

"Where are we going?" he asked.

"To retrieve your lost belonging."

"You're not lost."

I turned toward him in the doorway to my room. "No, I don't suppose I am."

I surprised myself by saying that. If any other man had claimed me as a belonging, it would be one of the last things he said to me. I certainly wouldn't be leading him to my bed with every intention of making love to him. I shrugged it off, another oddity in my behavior that seemed normal in this situation.

I stepped into the room and he followed; I watched him survey the mess. He took in the random piles of clothes, the clutter on the desk, the various boxes for jewelry or hair stuff on the dresser. The candles in jars on the nightstands and the top of a bookcase. I pulled him into the room and shut the door behind him. His truncheon was hanging from a loop on the back of that door. Where I could see it every night as I lay in bed.

I reached around him to pluck it from the door, handed it to him, and stood next to my bed. He brought the end of it to his nose, smiling, and then lightly tapped his other palm.

"So," he said, grinning again. "Have you enjoyed my gift?"

I laughed. "No."

Suddenly he was very close to me, and I felt the tip of the nightstick on the inside of my knee.

"No?" he asked. The end of the club slid up, grazing my thigh, pressing the sweatpants to my leg.

"No," I responded, hoarsely. "I waited for you."

The tip of the club brushed my crotch, then he ran the length of it back and forth, pressing up, ever so slightly. My eyes were half closed; he wasn't touching any other part of my body. He controlled the stick, keeping his hand from making contact with me. Instantly, I ached for him, I ached for more. He breathed in through his nose, and I witnessed his eyes flash red.

The truncheon passed through my legs, again, his hand moving in a methodical and slow pace. He increased the pressure a little more, and the crotch of my sweats discolored with the amount of lubrication surging from me. He changed the angle of the draw just enough to create even pressure directly on my clit. I moaned, my hips pressing toward him, and my arms hanging loose.

He pushed the club back again, away from him, stopping just when his hand would have met my clothed pelvis. As he pulled it back to him, even more slowly, he whispered to me.

"Is this what you want, Vivian?"

"Yes," I whispered back.

He pushed the stick away again.

"You want this. You don't want MY nightstick?" he said, teasing.

"Oh, God," I moaned. "Oh. God help me. I want both." My breath caught in my throat.

He shifted even closer to me, now drawing the tip of the truncheon up, across my clit, and up the center of my stomach. He leaned down, putting his hand on the back of my neck. He tossed the nightstick onto my bed and brushed my lips with his.

"God," he said, "has nothing to do with this."

He kissed me lightly. Then there was a flurry of movement, the hint of a breeze, and at the end of my next heartbeat I was naked, sprawled out on my bed. Dead center, my legs and arms flung wide, and Vlad stood at the foot of my bed, beaming down at me.