Razor Whip Pt. 02

Waking up on the bus confirmed my suspicions: last night, I had indeed seen the truth behind Ariel Steele's inhuman sex appeal. The secret was apparently, for lack of a better term, inhumanity. Clothes were the only thing that kept her actual form in check. Presumably, the same went for the rest of the band, although I had only really encountered her and Erika von Wolfe, who was, by contrast, a fairly decent sort as well as a guitar prodigy.

The space was fairly dark when I opened my eyes, lit only by the first bits of sun poking in through tinted windows. I was pretty sure that the bus was still moving, which made sense, it was a long way to the second venue. No figures were immediately obvious, which made me more relieved than anything else. I breathed in, took my bearings, and stretched a little. This was a new day, perhaps better than the one before.

"Oh, so that's where she put you."

The voice from behind me was a new one. Rolling to my side to allow myself to turn my head and look, I was still half-asleep. For that reason among others, Larissa Volkov, the group's bassist, looking curiously at me in a tank top and a rather unsexy pair of pajama bottoms was somewhat surprising. Cautiously, but still comfortably, I sat up and turned myself to face her.

"Er... good morning," I managed to present. She looked more or less unthreatening, but I was in no condition to be taking chances.

She stood up, yawning a little. Her hair, straight and a coppery reddish tone, was in a fairly mundane ponytail, a rather pleasant contrast with the flawlessly maintained appearance I had seen last night. She sat down next to me on the padded bench where I had fallen asleep, long enough to allow me to easily lay down at full length.

"Didn't expect to end up as her plaything, did you? Been a while since she had one, though, I can understand the thinking. But there's one thing you need to understand."

Her speech was totally different from either of the other two. None of the assured clarity I had seen in von Wolfe, and none of the haughtily composed perfection like Steele. For what it was worth, she seemed to have a certain sort of non-premeditated authenticity.

In a very abrupt change of pace, she shot out a hand to my throat, pinning me to the bench and leaning close, her relatively slender body exerting an alarming amount of force. She was smaller than me, but I was utterly pinned, and even struggling a little to breathe. Her eyes, a deep blue very unlike von Wolfe's pale iciness, were aimed straight at mine from point-blank range, teeth bared in a predatory sort of grin.

"You're as much mine as you are hers. Bottom of the food chain. You're not going to forget it, either."

Subtlety was clearly not her strong suit. Scrunchie and sexless tank top aside, she was clearly out for blood. I could feel excitement radiating from her, already breathing hard and grinning from ear to ear. I got the impression that she had been speaking to herself as much as to me, and was pleased that she had been right.

I felt a familiar tightness build in my chest as she moved her hips, grinding herself against my penis, which was paying thorough attention, and pressing her entire body against me, a gesture that would be one of gentle intimacy if not for the iron grip on my throat. I had fallen asleep in nothing but a pair of boxer shorts, leaving my chest completely bare to her nails, painted a vibrant red and filed to a very functional set of points. I knew for sure that I had felt her break the skin, a few droplets of blood welling up after she finished. Her smile only broadened, eyes sparkling with what looked like a sense of accomplishment before she aggressively kissed me, more than hard enough to hurt my mouth a little, and with no qualms about liberal use of teeth.

Between the grip on my throat, the body pressing against mine, the achingly warm crotch grinding against me, and the all-consuming taste of her lips and tongue, I was utterly at her mercy. This could only be described as a brute force tactic, but it had worked perfectly. I was shocked, and I was awed, already breathing hard into her unrelenting mouth. My arms stayed at my sides, mainly because I simply had no idea what to do with them, and had no desire to provoke her further. She clearly wanted something, and I was content to let her take it.

"Stay exactly where you are."

She broke the kiss, hurriedly standing up and removing the purple plaid bottoms, revealing a straightforward pair of lightly ornamented white panties, which were themselves quickly removed and tossed aside. The tank top was pulled off with one hand as an afterthought as she returned to her former position straddling my hips, but she seemed content to proceed with her bra where it was, ignoring the remaining garment and roughly pulling my underwear out of the way. I grunted with surprise as she lowered herself back down without the slightest hesitation, still smiling and giving me another, shorter kiss.

For some reason, I was not surprised that she neither put me inside her nor displayed any apparent interest in doing so. Instead, she pressed herself down hard against my penis, rubbing herself up and down its length and clearly enjoying herself, breathing harder and taking a painfully firm grip on my shoulder. I felt her nails draw blood again as she rounded her back, bending over me and looking into my eyes again, coming as close as one possibly could to drinking my confusion and uncertainty. Her eyes lit up as I groaned in response to the pain of her grip tightening.

"Mm. You bleed well. And you feel very nice too."

Excitement echoed in every word, slightly distorted by deep, hard breaths. She straightened up for a moment, reaching with both hands to let her hair down. Without any warning, she moved down quickly for another weaponized kiss, her hair forming a soft, reddish curtain that made for a welcome, softer sensation as she continued her onslaught, relentlessly stimulating me as a byproduct of pleasing herself.

This was not a kiss of affection. In fact, it seemed to be almost as self-centered as our contact further down. She was using her mouth purely as an expression of lust and excitement: I was merely a convenient recipient. I suspected that it was at least in part because of whatever aura her demonic aspect granted her, but I felt drawn into the rush of her pleasure, sharing in the hungry glee she felt and driven to let her take more.

She groaned hard into my mouth, her voice intensifying as she moved faster. I was getting more than enough stimulation to be painfully erect, but not enough to have any legitimate likelihood of finishing for myself. Regardless, almost without realizing it, I contributed with motion from my own hips as best I could, letting my body power her pleasure.

She arched her back, separating our bodies some and increasing the pressure from her hips. At the same time, she dragged both sets of nails down my chest, leaving fresh bloody trails. This provoked a long, low moan of pleasure, which mingled with my own throaty exclamation from the pain.

My sense were dulled by the parallel streaks of stinging blood down my chest, which had already begun to drip a little, but her frantically increasing movements drowned out other feelings. She was moving in a frenzy, enough so to bring me notably closer to the edge in the process, low whines peppered between deep, sucking breaths, gorging her clitoris with sensation from both of our moving hips.

Somewhere along the line, she had reached an impressive level of wetness, which was responsible for the moist sounds that had joined the soundtrack of her indulgence. The hot, damp feeling was all over my thighs, counterpointing the vermillion rivulets on my torso. As her throaty moans heightened, I could practically feel the fluids leaking from her, another unignorable marker of her arousal. The display, as a whole, was enthralling in every sense. No force on earth or anywhere else could have diverted my attention from her. My body needed her to continue just as much as I wanted her to. Even without any realistic expectation for my own pleasure, giving myself over to hers seemed a beautiful thing.

The turning point that she reached seemed almost inevitable, but it was still a stunning experience from beneath. With a far louder cry than any before, her whole body convulsed, sending a fresh angle of sensation through me, and propelling her back down to remind me that her teeth could be just as formidable as her hands, biting down on the fleshy side of my neck and practically screaming into her tight-gripped teeth, near-spasmodic motions overtaking her body and thrusting her against me, both hands digging into my upper arms.

This lasted for what seemed like a long time, slowly dying down to a tired rubbing of the hips against my still-hard penis, open mouth resting against the bleeding skin of my neck. She did not seem to have cut very deep, but there seemed to be a lot of blood, judging by the warmth and smell. Everything from my waist to my knees was absolutely soaked, and she was nearly collapsed against me, arms limp, and breathing hard.

After a moment, without any words, she pressed herself up with one hand, reaching back with the other as if for the clasp of her bra. This was the first moment since she had started in which I was actually able to rest for a moment, doing my level best to catch my breath and wincing as I gained full awareness of how many places she had made me bleed, letting out a low moan of pain that, for reasons utterly beyond my control, mingled with the still-present waves of sensation from her slowed but persistent movement against my hips.

As if only then remembering that I was there, she looked down at me and smiled.

"I like your taste. A lot."

With that, she undid her bra and let it drop onto my bloodied chest. The effect was nearly instantaneous. That had been her last piece of clothing, and nothing was left to keep her demonic form in check. She was, in some ways, not the same as Ariel. Her slightly greater facial angularity remained, and her skin was a deeper color, almost a reddish purple rather than a genuine dark red. Her eyes, however, were a bright orange-red, no iris or pupil disrupting the color. The nipples and lips were the same black, but her hair was snow white, adding all the more contrast to her much more dramatic horns, curling from her temples to the base of her jawbone.

She smiled again at my reaction, showing her off her pointed rows of teeth once again before kissing me once again, gentler than before. It was not a kind gentleness, not entirely. She tasted my lips as if partaking of a fine dessert, slowly taking in every bit of the flesh and lightly working her tongue in between. Brushing her hair out of the way, she licked her lips clean, running a hand over the wounds in my chest.

"Don't even try to tell me that felt anything other than wonderful."

By sexual brute force, she had already made herself a very powerful presence, and the revelation of her true form only pounded the point further in. I was half out of my mind with desire, and the maddeningly consistent rubbing over my aching shaft made dignity well nigh impossible. I had few options other than to nod and hope for mercy, as I did.

"Speechless? I thought that might happen. Go ahead, though. I want to hear your thoughts. In detail."

She punctuated the last point with a faster, more generous stroke over me. Enough of those, and I would likely be able to finish. By then, all I really wanted was the simple freedom of orgasm. I heaved in a breath and tried to say something that would give her what she wanted to hear.

"Nothing but wonderful. Your lips, your body... more than I could have possibly expected."

Another couple of strokes, and a palm pressed lightly against my neck. She leaned forward, not bothering to push back the hair that fell to border her face.

"More."

She licked her lips again, rubbing herself with one hand as she rocked her hips tantalizingly back and forth over me.

"Feeling you against me was indescribably beautiful. You could tell, I was under your spell. Entirely."

She seemed pleased, eyes burning bright and teeth just visible behind parted lips. I was given no signal to continue, but the point was clear.

"I could ask for nothing more than to cum for you. That would feel good, right? Feeling you take from me what you did was a lovely gift. Please. I ask little in return."

As she brought me closer, the sense of desperation intensified. I was more and more willing to say whatever it took, stoking her ego as much as she liked. She was nothing if not consistent, moving more enjoyably the more I spoke. I let myself go, sidestepping restraint and telling her everything that I thought she wanted to hear, meaning more than a little of it. Force of desire blurred the truth, and I found myself feeling a lot of the cravings for her that I said I did.

"Anything if it pleases you. I've given you my body thus far. My blood, my manhood, all for you. Please. All I want is to give you my climax as well. I need to feel that. I need to pay that tribute to your beauty, I long to gratify you to the ultimate level. Knowing that I had provided for yours is an ecstasy that courses through me even now. I wish only to bring your influence, your power, to a glorious ending. Please. Just let me cum."

I doubted that she was even listening to the particular words, as she had tossed her head back, eyes half-closed and mouth open, drinking in all that I had to give and once again reaching a fever pitch in her motions. This time, however, she was holding me in one hand, having given up simply toying with her clitoris in favor of using my penis as a sex toy in its own right, a hand wrapped around it from beneath and rubbing it against herself. The stroking I received was more or less incidental, but every move of her hand was still heavenly. Her fingers and my crotch were utterly drenched in her fragrant secretions, and my breath came in hard shudders. Not wanting to give her any reason to stop, I kept talking, bringing out every last word I possibly could in tribute, my mind entirely given over to the desire for release.

"All for you. Everything for you. Your beauty, your power, your words, your heat, your skin, your touch- you consume me. Every breath I draw is yours, every beat of my heart. My body moves as you will it. You using me, even as nothing more than a pleasure device, is heavenly."

Her breathing sped up again, the process very familiar to what had preceded her last orgasm. I was short of breath, and struggling to keep in touch with higher brain function, but I forced myself to keep speaking.

"I adore your every touch. You enthrall me. I beg you, keep using me, take all that I have to give. Don't stop, please. Please. I need you. My body burns with desperation, every part of me longs to feel you. Let me be your tool, your toy. I could deny you nothing. I ask nothing at all, only release. Please yourself along with me. I would want it no other way. Let my pleasure be fuel for yours. I- I..."

My voice faded, pushed aside by my own ecstatic groans. Her cries had begun again, rubbing herself with my penis at a breakneck pace as her convulsions began anew, stroking me even more quickly and flooding my body with long-awaited pleasure. I felt myself tumble into orgasm, any other thoughts in my mind instantly crumbling away as I came, serenaded by her seemingly endless moans and hearing my own join them.

I had told the truth earlier: my orgasm was entirely hers. In the moment of total oblivion that defines the peak of the sensation, she was the only thought in my mind. My climax seemed like nothing but the result of another kiss, multiplied endless thousands of times over and bound to her touch, pulling me out of any other reality and into hers for the briefest, most radiant of moments.

Somewhere along the line, my eyes had closed. My senses slowly returned to normal functionality, deep and long breaths providing a much more tranquil rhythm as I lapsed fully back into myself for the first time since I had seen her, looking back on all of what I had said with a mixture of confusion and, regretful or not, acceptance. All of it had felt very, very good.

Her body lay on top of mine, at last relaxed. She was practically limp, clearly satisfied, or at the very least, exhausted. As the moment stretched on, I even felt a semblance of calm. For some reason, it occurred to me to lay a hand on her back, lightly and appreciatively caressing her hot skin as our rising and falling breaths moved her. Even if I had been nothing but an accessory to her pleasure, it had been a fulfilling experience to say the least, and more than a little rewarding.

Beautiful as it was, I knew all too well that the moment simply could not last. Sure enough, the first sound of an outside voice was all it took to break the reverie.

"You think Ariel is going to like that?"

Yuki Kurokawa was as lively in person as she was on stage, curious eyes sweeping over the scene and missing nothing. Her words were no accusation, but rather a legitimate question. If anything, she seemed amused. My quasi-lover was apparently awoken from a trance of her own. She pressed herself closer to me for a short fraction of a second, then pushed herself up, assuming her dangerous persona again, but not quite hiding the slight note of uncertainty in her answer.

"She can live with it just fine. Not your problem."

"Whatever you say, Rissa. Don't say nobody warned you."

Somehow, it did not seem like a threat. Kurokawa left the scene as smoothly and quickly as she had entered, seeming to simply disappear. I would probably have wanted the gentle contact to continue for a while, but Volkov was simply not the same. It was as if she had remembered something, and a certain part of her confidence was gone. The sense of exhilaration, I realized, was the missing piece. There was unmistakable conflict as she stood up, bending down for what might have been intended to be another kiss, but she thought better of whatever it would have been, wearing an expression I simply could not read as she took a step back.

The uncertainty was a strong contrast to her true form, and I couldn't help feeling concerned. Even if, objectively speaking, I had been sexually exploited to an alarming degree, for whatever reason, my heart went out to her.

"I won't tell her anything."

I had no idea what drove me to say that, but it sparked a definite reaction. She grabbed my hand, gently at first, but almost immediately tightened it into a crushing grip that offset the placid look on her face.

"You won't. Just... behave. That did feel good. Don't get used to the nice stuff, but I may well decide to take more later."

"Does that mean I have to call you Miss too?"

Once again, my words had no apparent origin. I definitely felt the idiocy of my question, but her answer still surprised me.

"Lara is fine. Not around anyone else, though. I can make you feel good things, but pain is very, very much within my domain. Never forget that."

She might have wanted to say something else, but exhaled in a conclusive manner, abruptly let go of my hand, picked up her clothes, and left me where I lay, tired, somewhat confused, and touched in a way that I had yet to entirely figure out.