Falling Prey Ch. 02

Thank you for the positive response to the first chapter, ergo, as threatened, here's the second. Thank you to those who made suggestions and were actively involved in the creative - *snerk* creative? - process. You know who you are, UKOD, and there was even encouragement from the USA for which I am grateful. Right, before I get all emotional like a celeb at the Oscars I'm outta here. Enjoy, I hope.

*

As the weeks before Christmas passed, accelerating towards the feast of gluttony and excess with a fanfare of commercial enterprise that amazed me, Helen fell truly within my grasp. My mind held hers fast; she was my slave. On the occasions I allowed her to visit I resisted penetrating her; it was only when she was completely despoiled that I would take her. Despite her having sunk so far into the mire there were still unplumbed depths for my sweet Helen. Of course she protested at my refusal to fuck her, but I found the tears and the begging, so humiliating for her, all part of the fun.

What kind of man am I? You may ask that question and would probably label me a monster -- which wouldn't be far from the truth. For a man I am not. I choose to exist among you but I am a creature of the ether. I'm not alone in the universe; there are others, many others, of my kind. But among those of my ilk I'm rather special. For while those entities, those lesser demons, probe blindly through the upper air like earthworms in wet soil, I am in a higher place. I'm self-aware, reasoning, intelligent, but still forced to live according to my nature. I need sustenance just as you, but my food is suffering; suffering and evil.

You'll find my kind drifting amongst the onlookers at the scene of an accident. Ghoulish ravens, invisible to your eye amidst the mourners around an open grave, with more skulking in hospital wards, although I find hospitals are tainted with hope and love amidst the fear -- a terrible thing for me since hope and love weaken me. Wherever there's suffering one of us will be watching. If you sense us amongst the mayhem, I tell you now, turn and go and don't look back. For if that thing notices you -- even being incapable of reason -- the instinct is strong and it will latch onto you like the leech it so closely resembles. And then your life will be over.

We aren't Death I hasten to add, although we do engineer her visits -- oh yes, Death is female; she's exquisitely beautiful but completely heartless. As cold and unfeeling as the moon, hers is a duty, a calling, and no amount of pleading, tears, anger or rage will deter Death when she turns that face towards you. Age, sex, race, whether you've been good or bad -- according to your scale -- it's all the same to Death.

I'm sustained by suffering. If I don't feed every two years, perhaps three, my force would be so diminished I doubt I could recover. I find that perversion and its consequences add a piquant sauce to my dish. It's an unusual taste for one such as me -- I did mention I was special -- I appear to have developed a penchant for a certain quality of woman; attractive women, one whose slide into corruption nourishes my dark soul.

***

Helen arrived early; she was eager to see him. She braced herself and prepared to brave the cold. Dark for less than half an hour, the bitter conditions had laid a layer of rime on the cars surrounding hers. She took a deep breath, partly in anticipation of the chill, but also to calm her nerves. She knew what to expect; Matthew had been very clear on the events she was shortly to be party to.

"Two," he'd said. "There'll be two, plus me and the camera. I'm going to film you, Helen. I'm going to film you and then you're going to sit and watch the results. Right there in that room, immediately after you've been used. I want you stained and filthy while you watch, with their semen drying on your body; oozing from your cunt."

The scene he described melted Helen's sex. She felt the trickle between her thighs even as the phone fell silent in her hand. Matthew had given her the hotel address, the time and date; there was no question she'd take part.

What have I become? My God, he owns me. I'm his to control. Why do I crave him so much?

Bundled inside her coat and with her breath showing in little puffs as she walked, Helen hurried past the cars seemingly huddled together like some kind of prehistoric creatures sheltering against the cold under their veneer of frost.

"Good afternoon," the woman behind the desk smiled with professional courtesy and disinterested eyes. "Checking in?"

"My..." Helen paused. How could she describe him? The woman remained impassive as Helen felt the heat rise in her face. "My friend," she blurted. "He's already here; he should be in the bar."

"Certainly, madam," the receptionist acknowledged. "The bar is that way."

Helen followed the direction of the pointing finger, missing the smirk on the other woman's face. "Friend my arse," the woman muttered, shaking her head before dismissing what was to her an everyday occurrence in the hotel.

Helen paused before fully entering. From the door she could see the short side of an L-shaped room. Two girls were in harassed attendance behind the bar; serving drinks to a collection of van drivers, salesmen, transient construction workers, and other itinerant folk whose livelihood took them away from home. The bar was noisy with its predominantly male clientele and Helen expected to be examined and studied, an object of curiosity, too well-dressed for her surroundings.

Under normal circumstance Helen would have baulked at that point; in fact, this hotel was of a kind far beneath her usual tastes. Such was the power of Matthew's influence that Helen's previous attitudes no longer counted, for now she was about to embark on the most sordid adventure of her life. Early on, shortly after meeting Matthew, Helen had been ripped by feelings of guilt and shame over her betrayal of her husband, Bobby, however Matthew's power over her now meant that taking this step further into the mire invoked only feelings of excited anticipation; guilt was redundant emotion. Helen was so eager to please Matthew she would do anything for him, and that included fucking two strange men while being filmed, as well as being unconcerned by the hungry looks of the oafish gaggle.

Matthew turned in his seat to face Helen. She saw him turn and gasped, thinking: How did he know I was here? Shrugging off the thought walking into the hubbub she felt the slide of arousal at the sight of him, accompanied by a flutter of deep, warm anticipation and a sinking feeling in her guts, indistinguishable between excitement and dread.

Matthew walked casually to the bar and seemingly without effort, despite others waiting their turn to be served, drew the attention of the barmaid. Helen couldn't hear his words as she approached but simply waited behind Matthew while the drinks were poured.

Without speaking Matthew handed Helen a glass and then, returned to his table. It was simply expected that she'd follow.

"So," he said eventually, "are you ready?"

Helen sipped at her drink and grimaced. "Jesus, how strong is this?"

Matthew laughed and replied, "It's a double. Dutch courage -- not that you'll need it, Helen, I'm sure." He leaned in, "Are you ready?" he repeated. "Are you ready to be fucked?" Matthew was satisfied to see Helen swallow heavily.

"Oh, Matthew; I'm ready. I'll do it for you, anything for you."

"Of that I have no doubt, my dear." He reached out a hand and pushed his fingers under the hem of Helen's dress, squeezing the bare skin of her thigh above her stocking top. For Helen the touch of his fingers against her flesh caused a tingle of excitement to ripple through her body, the epicentre of which was her juicing sex. She shivered and her thighs parted in an unconscious response. "And soon," Matthew continued," I'll fuck you too, Helen. I'll fuck you as you've begged me to. Would that be good for you?"

"God, Matthew," she sighed, "That would... I..."

"But before I have you," Matthew interrupted, "there's today's fun to be had."

Ten minutes later Helen followed Matthew along the anonymous corridor. When he inserted the card that acted as a key into its slot Helen swayed and fell against the wall. Her legs felt weak and incapable of supporting her. She experienced a final, feeble stab of remorse at her betrayal of Bobby as Matthew pushed into the room and, as the thought of her faithful husband melted, Helen followed unsteadily.

There were two men -- as expected -- waiting with casual insouciance. Despite knowing the men would be there their presence shocked Helen enough to gasp at the sight of them. The black man, well-muscled, shaven-headed and confident, grinned at the sound of Helen's sharp intake of breath.

"Did we scare ya, honey?" he asked unfolding his arms and grinning in a dangerous way. "We don't mean no harm."

"Helen, may I introduce Clayton," Matthew waved his arm in a flamboyant gesture towards the man. "Clayton, this is Helen, the lady I told you about."

"You weren't kidding, man," Clayton nodded approvingly. "She's an oldie but goodie alright."

Recovering slowly Helen dimly noticed the man's accent, American, she thought, American or Canadian.

"And this is François," Matthew added indicating the second man.

Helen glanced at François. Unusual name, she mused, possibly French? and then noticed the elaborate tattoo that adorned his arm from wrist to the cuff of his tee-shirt. He too was finely muscled, smiling at Helen with a predatory glint in his eyes.

"Are we gettin' down to business?" Clayton suggested. "I can't wait to get missy all naked and sucking my cock."

"Impatient, eh, Clayton?" Matthew grinned. "She's all yours boys. I'll just set the lights and take control of the camera. Use her and abuse her. She loves it."

While Matthew concentrated on the lighting and equipment, Clayton moved around the bed. "Come here, baby," he crooned. "Come and get some of this." He unzipped and unbuttoned his jeans, pulling them open and grinning when the length of his cock flopped into view. "Ever had a black cock before?"

Helen's eyes widened when she saw the terrible length and girth. It was bigger than any cock she'd ever experienced, or even seen.

"Hey," François interjected in his accented English. "Just because he is black doesn't mean he has the biggest cock." He too unzipped his flies and revealed his own long, thick, penis. "I think you should suck me first. Come here, baby, come and suck this big fucking cock."

He is French. The thought was irrelevant, Helen wouldn't and couldn't refuse this man whatever his nationality; she was powerless to refuse either one such was Matthew's influence. She glanced at Matthew, who gave a slight nod, and Helen abandoned all control.

"She's all yours, François," Clayton graciously acknowledged. "Let her suck your cock first. I'll watch the show and then give Miss Big Tits here a slice of the ol' Clayton tongue. I'll make her squeal on my face before I give her the pleasure of the ol' black snake. Would you like that, honey? Would you like Clayton to lick that hot, pink pussy of your'n?"

The men spoke and acted as though Helen had no mind of her own, which at that moment was close to the truth. She was mesmerised by the size of the men's appendages, both men of course chosen especially for their endowment. Clayton turned Helen around, slid her coat from her shoulders, and whistled in appreciation when he saw her figure hugging dress.

"She sure has the big titties, eh?" François concurred. "Maybe we should see them, no?"

"Come here," Clayton cajoled. "Come here and let me help you with that dress." He reached forward and pulled the zip that held the dress at Helen's neck. When the garment was loosened enough Clayton pulled and Helen wriggled. "Yeah, baby," Clayton grinned when Helen's breasts fell free. "Damn but they's big titties." Helen continued to slide the dress down over her hips, allowing it to fall in a heap at her feet before stepping out from the folds. "Ain't she sure put together well, Franky boy? Damn we got ourselves a hot-bodied cougar here."

Matthew, camera in hand, moved in close to capture the moment of Helen's revelation. The image in the viewfinder showed Clayton fondling Helen's breasts, his dark skin in shocking contrast to hers. Clayton kissed Helen, pushing his tongue roughly into her mouth while his fingers continued to knead and massage her flesh. It took a moment for Helen to respond to the kiss, but soon her tongue rolled around and around with ardour inside Clayton's mouth.

As they kissed, Helen's fingers curled around the shaft of Clayton's cock. Immediately it thickened and grew as the man grew aroused.

"God it's so... So thick," Helen whispered in awe.

Naked now François moved forward, having undressed hurriedly during Clayton and Helen's kiss. "Feel this one also. This one is also thick. Can you get your mouth around me, Madame?"

Turning at the touch of his hand on her shoulder, Helen faced François. She noticed the intricate tattoo extended not only the length of his left arm, but also adorned his torso, forming a complicated pattern from shoulder to his waist. Then her eyes fell to his engorged length and the tattoo was forgotten. "Fuck," Helen sighed. "It's huge. Both of you... Such huge cocks."

Helen turned to comment to Matthew a moment later and, even in the midst of impiety she was taken aback by his expression. As he surveyed the scene, his camera in hand recording the events, Matthew's look was unguarded. Helen felt a shiver of unease ripple down her spine. For a moment she felt his malevolence; a portent of doom like a goose walking over her grave. It was a momentary phase, one which was quickly pushed from her mind when Clayton's voice interrupted her thoughts.

"Suck him, bitch," Clayton ordered as he began to divest himself of his restrictive clothing. "Get on your knees and suck it."

Like a supplicant, Helen knelt, a slight residue of unease staining her consciousness which rapidly faded to nothing as she confronted the terrible thing in front of her. François grinned down at the woman as, slowly, she took his shaft in hand and, her eyes wide, examined the brutal cock. After a short time she shook her head as though waking and realising what was expected of her.

Matthew captured the spectacle, focussing upon Helen's lips stretched tight around the man's girth as she opened her mouth wide to take the bulbous cock-head between her lips. Helen gagged as François forced his length into her mouth, letting the thing drop from her lips as she choked and retched.

"She ain't used to a big ol' thing like that, Franky baby," Clayton chuckled. "You're gonna choke the bitch."

"I will have to train her then." François pulled Helen's head back towards his cock as it waggled heavily."Like I train the French ladies back home, non? Lick it," he insisted. "Lick the tip like a lollipop."

"That's a nasty sight," Clayton continued. "Big titty bitch on her knees suckin' cock. Damn but that's a bad thing to be seein'. He stroked his own length further into engorged anger. "I can't wait, Franky. Let her suck some of me too. C'mere, bitch, lick Clayton's pole."

"Oh my God," Helen murmured when faced with the double assault. "I..." Her words were cut off as Clayton forced his meat against her face. She opened her mouth and attempted to take some of the offered length. Once again she gagged and spat, saliva dripping onto her breasts while cords of goo connected her face to Clayton's cock. "Too big..." she spluttered. "Too long, both of you; I can't take you so deep."

"Lay on the bed; open your legs; I wanna taste your hot, juicy pussy." Clayton lifted Helen to her feet by one arm and flung her onto the bed. "Come on, bitch," he ordered roughly. "Hurry up and show me some pink."

Helen rolled onto her back and allowed her thighs to fall open. She saw both men's eyes glint with interest at her smooth, newly shaven mound. Peeling her labia apart in a shamelessly lascivious act, she offered her bubbling centre to the men. "Lick me," she begged. "Lick my cunt" -- she knew the use of the word would please Matthew -- "I'm so hot and wet. One of you, hurry and lick me."

"I'd be happy to," Clayton grinned. "Sweet, white-girl pussy; I'm gonna enjoy this."

"Yes." Helen cried in rapture when Clayton tongued at her opening. "I can feel your hot breath on my body, it's so exciting. Curl that talented tongue inside me, you black fucker," she groaned, "lick me till I come."

Clayton tongued and slurped at Helen while Matthew filmed and François massaged her breasts, his cock inches from her face.

"Suck me again," he grunted, pushing his penis toward Helen. A smear of pre-come stained her cheek as she turned her head to facilitate François request. Her grunts of pleasure were muffled as François forced his penis into Helen's mouth, this time mindful not to choke her. "That's the way, baby," François hissed in approval as Helen's tongue swirled around his cock head. "Suck my cock, that's it; lick it just like that... Ah, that's so good."

"Oh shit," Helen grunted. "Stop licking me... Please... Fuck me now. Put it in me now and I'll come." Her breath came in pants, her face was flushed, and her eyes bright. "Put it in me Clayton I'm begging you. Put it in me and fuck."

"Anything you say." Clayton knelt between Helen's thighs and rubbed the head of his cock against her labia and clitoris. He moved the thing up and down, splitting the sticky folds before finally nudging into Helen's opening.

"Oh God," Helen's eyes widened as inch after slow inch invaded her body. "It's stretching me," she squealed, squirming on the bed. "It's filling me... Oh..." She swallowed heavily, eyes bulging wide as she looked along the front of her body and saw the dark shaft slowly disappearing. "Look at it going in," she grunted and then sighed when Clayton stopped for a moment only to pull back an inch or two. He eased further out of Helen's body, pausing before reversing direction and pushing back into Helen, this time going deeper than before.

"Look at the sticky stuff on my dick," Clayton grunted as he again pulled his length nearly completely free of Helen. "The bitch is so horny she's gettin' all gooey on me. Damn but she's all hot for my black cock. You like that, honey? You like Clayton's big, black snake? Is it gonna make you yell and squirm?" "Yes, you glorious bastard," Helen groaned. The tendons in her neck and throat were as sharp as a knife edge as she grimaced in ecstasy. "Come on, you big fucker," she continued through gritted teeth. "Move that thing in and out. Fuck me with it."

Her urgency and desperation for climax was evident in the way Helen thrust her hips up to meet Clayton's own downward force. Her nails clawed down along the man's back and sides as she desperately tried to pull more of him into her body. As she strove for release Helen's eyes met Matthew's. Suddenly an independent thought burst and Helen stared with haughty disdain at Matthew. Her eyes glinted in challenge; sparks from a forge, but, alas for her it was a confrontation instantly defeated by the man's intense look in response.

***

Test me would you, bitch? Do you think I care about them fucking you? I care less for their rutting; their grunting sweating bodies invading your own delicious form. I have no real taste for the physical release of your sex; it's the despoiling of you that nourishes me. Let your brief pleasure wash over you. Let them take their fill of your cunt, and you in return have your fill of them. Drain them of their seed. Concentrate on your own needs, my harlot, come on his cock and put on a superb show for the lens. This recording will be the currency by which I buy my supper.