Jack be Nimble: Dinner with Jill

Now, bear in mind I said I was in a bad mood which will explain my next action: taking some mud from the ground, I smear it across her pussy. It's cold and sticks to her and she is shuddering, though I imagine the sensation cannot be at all pleasurable, which is of course the point. My cock slams home and she screams, arching her back like a wild animal, eyes wide, mouth gasping and coughing and gurgling. Over and over I plow into her; her whole body is thrashing up and down like a beached fish gasping for its last breath. The mud slides deeper up into her, soiling and defiling her, bits of dirt, jagged and gritty, work their way across tender folds of skin, I imagine doing quite a bit of damage. My own skin is much more resistant and so I plunge into her with abandon.

Finally I spurt deep into her; her body is bruised from the pounding it has taken. She has acquired a black eye, I guess from having her body whip-lashed by the force of my fucking her. She's gone beyond crying, once again into that lamentable stage where the mind retreats from the body. I spill my cold seed deep into her stained pussy as she just lies there whimpering.

But, oh no, I am not done yet.

Retracting from her, drizzling my juices across her dirt stained ass, I position my cock up against her puckered asshole. Another redirection of blood and my cock hardens instantly. Viagra has nothing on this.

"NO!" She screams out. "Not that! Not there!" She is begging, which I really enjoy. I enjoy it more when I grab her ass cheeks in my hands, forcing them hard apart exposing her anus. She's crawling, trying to get away, so I free a hand and grab her pussy lips,

"Do you want them torn off?" I casually ask, pulling on them hard, causing a wail of pain and more tears to spring from her eyes. She is certain that I am serious.

"No," she whimpers. Plain Jane is broken.

"Now, repeat after me: I am a fucking little cunt," I tell her.

"I...I am a fucking little cunt," she replies robotically.

"With feeling!" I demand pulling on her pussy lips.

"I AM A FUCKING LITTLE CUNT! OH GOD!" she screams out.

"There we go!" I crow. "You're a dirty little slut aren't you?"

She sobs nodding, "Yes, I'm a dirty little slut,"

"You're boring, and stupid, and weak, and a fucking little whore aren't you?" I squeeze her pussy lips, which are looking quite raw and red from all the abuse.

"YES! Oh God, please stop hurting me!" she screams into the dirt.

"Now, beg me to fuck you up your little whoring ass," I whisper fiercely. She looks back at me, face bloody and tear strained,

"No please, no one's ever done that," she begs. I squeeze her pussy lips this time catching her clitoris between them. Another nice long wail of pain,

"No one's fucked your little slutty ass? Is that it? Say it!"

"No! No one's fucked me in my slutty ass!" She responds, at this point doing whatever will make the pain stop.

"Then I'm going to be the first. Beg me to fuck you in your slutty little ass or I promise you, you will beg simply for the pain stop." A few moments and then, in a broken little lost whisper,

"Fuck me in my little slutty ass."

"Louder!"

"Fuck me in my little slutty ass!" she screams out.

"Make me believe it, you whore!" I roar back, gripping her sex and squeezing it.

"Fuck me in my little slutty ass! Ram your cock up into me! Please!" She breaks down sobbing, hard convulsing sobs.

Well, give the people what they want.

With a single motion I ram my cock up into her ass. Her entire body goes rigid; she is unbelievably tight and I have no trouble believing that she was, until recently, an anal virgin. Her mouth gasps, then she grits her teeth tight, tears leaking out from her clenched eyelids,

"Oh....god, it hurts," she gasps. Good, it means I'm doing this correctly. I plow into her ass harder and harder, stretching tissue, tearing her, HURTING her. She crying and screaming and bleeding and wailing,

"Owwwowowwwwwwww!" she cries out and that does it for me. I spasm, spraying my cold seed deep into her bowels. I sigh in pleasure; there was no part of that that wasn't fun. Her ass doesn't let me linger and squeezes me out. I don't mind, it has served me well. I tuck myself back into my shorts and take a moment to look at her: bloody, crying, shaking, coughing, smeared with mud, twigs in her hair, and a black eye. I wish I had a camera.

Now for the final stroke: her blood should be just right. Leaping upon her I force her up to her hands and knees. She screams again, I imagine the sudden motion is not doing well for her ravaged pussy and sore little asshole. I grab at her from behind and hold her close to me, forcing her up onto her knees, in what could have been a lover's embrace. My hands snake up to grab her dirt stained tits and using those as leverage I pull back and plunge my fangs into her throat, tearing apart her jugular.

Her lifeblood pumps hard into my mouth, spurting from a desperately hammering heart. It tastes of terror and violation and disgust and it is exactly what I am after. Jane gasps; I can feel her growing cold as her blood sprays into my mouth in rhythmic spurts. I can feel her tits growing cool to the touch, her nipples begin to deflate. I greedily suck and drink mouthful after mouthful of Jane. Her arms drop limp to her sides and she is a rag doll. She spasms once then is still. I feel her hammering heart grow slow, quiet and then still.

Pulling away from her, I wipe my mouth off, and then casually release her. She pitches face first into the fountain and bobs there. Leftover blood leaking from her throat taints the water red.

I get to my feet and take stock of things: a lot of footprints but then again, the shoes are not going to be remaining in this world much longer (Richard Ramirez was a good example of why keeping the shoes is a bad idea), There will be semen in her of course, but good luck trying to get a DNA match or even the type. The chlorine from the fountain should do a good job contaminating anything like that. Other than that I should be good, fibers won't do them any good (again, not keeping the clothes), fingerprints are a joke (corpses don't leave any kind of recognizable fingerprints).

And as for eyewitness, well, another cute little fact about vampires in general and me in particular: every night upon awakening our bodies return to the state in which they were transformed. I was turned with fairly long hair and a beard. My hair color right now is the result of dye, and come tomorrow night it will be gone, my hair will be longer, my beard will be back, I've been speaking in typical Boston accent when I am not a native, I lied about my name and age as well as occupation and the only witnesses were drunk girls in a dimly lit bar. In other words, the bad guy gets away with this one.

Looking back at Jane's bobbing shell, I blow a kiss.

"Thanks Jane, I feel a lot better now." Chuckling, I leave her to the fountain's tender mercies.

Dinner was excellent.

Now: dessert.