Valhaven Station

"A story for my love."

A bell chimed loudly in the cold afternoon air, harkening the time at 3:15pm. The train station upon which this exquisitely ornate clock-tower stood had been rather slow as of late. As the industrial age had dawned, swiftly reaching its peak, there was far less reason for people to visit such a small country village. Valhaven had all but resigned itself to a quiet, desolate existence; even the proudest locals had long since left. The passage of time had not been generous to this village, and it truly showed in this train station.

There was a time in which the golden leafed clock-tower sang chorus to the busy everyday life of those that called this place home. The trample of many feet had left the once-pristine mosaic floor a scuffed husk of its former self. The myriad gods that adorned the tiles had become obscured and dull; nothing about this station retained any shine, any life. Even the few staff that remained had given up, damn-near abandoned life, and it showed.

On this particular day the only sign of movement was the now seldom seen "3:15" from London. The train itself only pulled a singular carriage, although the beauty of its architecture was entirely out of place in Valhaven. As if compelled by some higher force with a particular fetish for solo digits, the beautiful red and golden carriage had but one passenger. A rather displeased passenger; one whom felt as though she had no place in such a "filthy little hell-hole". To some, this place had a sad, sombre, solemn sort of beauty; but those sorts of people had other reasons to lurk upon a near-abandoned station platform, concealed in the shadows.

Mary gave a displeased huff as she took a step off of the carriage, her rather expensive black heels creating an echoing crack as foot met tile and her icy blue eyes sweeping the immediate scene. Running her fingers through her flowing blonde locks, and clutching her worn novel to the bosom of her wolf-skin coat, she shuddered. It wasn't the cold that gripped her, however, it was the eerie sense of total seclusion and a growing silence as the train's booming coal-engine chugged away into the distance. "Why would he wish to meet me here?" she thought, "And no luggage? Does that ruffian think a lady simply wakes with a perfectly made face?" Mary could scarce understand why Dimitri, the man she had been compelled to seek, would remain in such a dead place.

***

It was not until the monolithic clock called out a rude four chimes that Mary was snapped out of the hypnotic state that her choice of book had cast. Despite her almost ferocious desire and ambition, the woman had a softer side, and a particular fondness for romance novels. When she had first met Dimitri she had felt her heart stop in her chest. The initial picture of perfection had soon faded, however. The man had all but stopped seeing her, no longer visiting her at unholy hours, turning up unannounced; and it was late, always after 11pm that she saw him. Even so, Mary could not deny his beauty, a true prince framed by a dark, macabre aura. The poor girl's mind had begun to wander to thoughts of him, something that often occurred throughout the day.

Mary pressed her legs tightly together as a familiar ache began to creep up on her. She was so close to hating that man, so furious whenever she thought of him, yet he had her in his grasp; he occupied her deepest desires and brought them to the surface, even when sat on a lonely bench in the middle of an empty train-station. She shook her head angrily as a deep blush caressed her cheeks, and a new thought became her, "How could he make a lady wait? Had I not this novel, I'd be close to violence"

Enough was enough, Mary had never been a patient girl and was far more prone to brash spontaneity than playing the part of the prim and proper lady, it was how she had managed to progress in the male-dominated business world. Folding her book over the red ribbon page-marker, she stood abruptly. As the woman's mind caught up with her emotions, she realised that she had no idea where to begin looking for that "accursed scoundrel". With a frustrated sigh, Mary expelled all worries and set off toward what seemed to be the exit; a rather intimidating tunnel with a single flickering light bulb mid-way through. For all her flaws, she was at least a brave girl.

A once-magnificent archway of marble framed the entrance to the tunnel, though it had certainly seen better days, and now flakes of marble had cracked and littered the floor. Nothing about this thoroughfare was left appealing, and to any typical person the lack of light and absence of a visible exit would have alarm bells ringing. Taking a few steps inside, every hair on Mary's porcelain skin leapt to attention and a chilling shiver raced through her spine. It did not matter; she was stubborn and kept onward.

After a good five minutes of walking, passing various crippled doorways with no indication of life, Mary stopped. No logic could explain this action; it was complete and total instinct. Something felt entirely amiss all of a sudden, as if the shadows that flickered around her like dark flames had taken on a personality; a sort of physical being.

She had not even had a chance to scream as a cold hand clasped shut over her mouth mid-exhale. Mary's entire body became stiff, her mind raced to find a reassuring explanation of what was occuring, but reality quickly dawned on her; a man was grasping her to his body with an iron grip.

In an instant, Mary's heart had sped to a painful pace and threatened to break free of her ribcage. Moist breath cascaded over her left ear, and the dark tones froze her blood in her veins. "The darkness has many eyes, ma belle pêchê." were the stranger's words, precise and clinical; familiar yet alien. "Why is he doing this?" Mary thought, but everything she had ever been told about the cruel and gluttonous nature of men cried a loud response in her head.

It was for a long moment that the man kept Mary restrained, unmoving and with presumably sinister intention, yet a familiar feeling began to occupy her loins. This restraint, this impending danger, was thrilling her in a new way. It could not be allowed to dominate her, however; she was prepared to retake her senses.

With a sudden burst of adrenaline, Mary kicked her right heel downward to a fleshy collision with her assailant's toes. As she did so, she drew her perfectly manicured nails violently over the man's hand. She felt his flesh rip as she tore away from his grasp and made to run, toward what? She did not know.

Mary's hopes of freedom were immediately crushed by strong fingers that swept a gentle caress through her hair before tightening in an agonising grip. The momentum of her bid for freedom had her head whip backward painfully as she was pulled around to face her attacker. She was not able to gain her bearings as the shadowy figure forced her violently through a doorway and into the wall of what seemed to be a derelict café; the windows to the outside word covered in thick layers of dirt that blocked out the sun. Mary's back hit a wall hard, as the man came upon her. His grasp of her hair allowed him full control of the angle of her head, a benefit which he used to yank it backward to free up her neck. A damp "O" was left there in the wake of a single, oddly sensual, kiss. Against her will, Mary began to feel comfortable; her fear had begun to ebb away. It was only as the powerful man's lips met hers that her last complaints were silenced. There was no other being alive that she felt more at home with than the one who now kissed her. All fear was replaced with longing and desire, for the man who had taken her as his own was none other than Dimitri.

Mary's lips parted slowly to allow forth Dimitri's eager tongue, her own seeking it like a forlorn lover. Their lips seldom parted whilst the internal tongue-wrestling ensued. The woman had never felt such passion before, not even in any previous encounter with her man. This new edge took her beyond her usual self; completely seized her every thought.

Dimtri's hands groped greedily over Mary's body, slipping beneath her coat. With a terrible tearing screech, he ripped it from her body with unnatural effortlessness. At any other time, Mary may complain endlessly about how much it had cost her, yet now the violent act only fed her desire. Ever swift, yet ever methodical, Dimitri's touch danced over her flesh; she could not even recall him unbuttoning her silk blouse to expose her pale skin and her firm breasts held in place by the finest black French lace, yet he must have. In all truth, it was hard for Mary to really comprehend anything beyond a deep, painful want.

The only time the lover's lips parted was to suck back the necessary air to stay conscious, although something about Dimitri's touch had Mary almost giddy. Dimtri's hands continued to skate over her skin, with a soft sensual touch that raised goose bumps in its wake. She wanted him so badly, any contact, all of him. It took her brain, in its eclectic state, a few seconds to realise that Dimitri's lips had left hers to seek her neck. He left many gentle kisses upon her, each one sending electricity through her nerves.

Mary let out a squeal of a gasp at the exact moment that Dimtri's touch could be felt upon her breasts. Having leant back, his gaze bore deep in to her own, piercing her with a raw, animalistic lust. The man's hands cupped Mary's breasts, massaging their way beneath her bra to slip over her sensitive areola and nipples. Each hand took position, barely containing her appealing curves, with a nipple between each index and middle finger. With each circular motion, he also adjusted the angle of his fingers to tweak her nipples in a firm pinch.

Their bodies were so close together, Dimtri's protrusive crotch rubbed against Mary's leg. How badly she longed for it to be inside her. She could not help but to gyrate, thighs firmly together as if to hold back her ever growing moistness, desperate for any contact between their genitals, even if through layers of clothing. Words could not describe the magnetism that seemed to be compelling their organs to one another.

Without warning, Dimtri's careful control suddenly snapped. It was as though some manner of demon had taken siege of him. Tearing his hands away, and causing Mary to give another of her shocked gasps, he shredded the bra to pieces from her body. Not once had this preternatural strength been called to question. Mary simply did not care.

With the hunger of a madman, Dimtri swung Mary from the wall and slammed her down to lay horizontal upon one of the dusty tables. Like some predatory beasts, he tore at her clothing, leaving her clad in nought but ribbons of material. If her clothes wept for their fate, so too did Dimtri's elegant velvet coat, simple silk vest of white and plain black trousers, as they received a similar end.

Even through the haze of pleasure and desperation that consumed Mary, she could not stop herself from admiring her lover's body. His pale skin was entirely flawless, all but a thin wisp of a scar here or there. The low-lighting only served to cast contrasting shadows over Dimtri's musculature, having it seem ever more impressive; he could have been chiselled from marble. There was never a wasted motion, never a muscle failing to serve a purpose, as Dimtri moved between Mary's legs.

With a fevered pace, the marble-esque man pulled at Mary's legs. She slid a few inches closer and let out a low, long, dull moan as for a mere moment the head of his manhood drew over her wetness. As many people were in that age, Mary was Christian, yet she now employed God's name in various sinful ways as she threw obscene language at Dimtri. A large portion of her words were incoherent through shudders that occasional wracked her body, but with a mammoth effort she managed to resound an echoing cry, "I want you to fuck me! I want you to fucking tear me from God's warm embrace and fill me with your sin! I am yours; I want to be fucked like a beast! I am your toy; do with me as you please!" Not a word was uttered in response, only a rasping, sadistic chuckle as Dimtri's lips curved into a cruel smirk. He was not to deny her; she was his pleasure, his lover and his fuck-toy.

It was with a slow, perfectly positioned push that Dimtri entered Mary, her damp, warm, hungry sex parted. Even as she begun to feel full, his sin kept on within her. Right as it felt as though she may tear, he reached his base.

For a few seconds, neither being moved, the throbbing of Dimtri's engorged member pulsating through them both with a beat as regular as their hearts. It was as though they had begun to merge as one with a shared pleasure baptising them to new sinful pastures.

The pleasure had no time to dissipate as just before it threatened to do so, Dimtri began his slow, rhythmic, deep thrusts. With each one the man pulled out almost entirely, before forcing his way deep back in to the warmth of her core. As her lover filled her, Mary's nails found his back, scratching painstakingly slowly down over his flesh. She could feel the skin shred as it had upon his hand, and he could feel the beads of blood become thin little streamers over the pale canvas that was him. This stinging sensation only furthered the man's arousal, and his penis gave a noticeable pulse within Mary.

As Dimtri's pace began to increase, each deep thrust was a near-painful thump that created waves of pleasure to ripple through Mary's every cell. She had no doubt that this creature before her could have her orgasm powerfully with but a glance of that stern, unblinking, oddly crimson gaze; yet even so he somehow had her dancing right upon the precipice without ever quite crossing over. A fire ignited within Mary's saturated vulva, she could feel herself close, and all too soon her climax was cruelly stolen from her.

It was in a flurry of motion that Dimtri pulled free of her. His hands tangled in her hair as one had earlier, pulling her painfully from the table. The poor woman landed hard upon her knees, but had little time to complain as her mouth now became a substitute for her cunt. Pulling her onto him with each thrust, Dimitri buried his shaft between her lips, hitting the back of her throat every so often. Far from the silent, controlled, simmering passion of before, he now grunted and groaned occasionally like any other vile man. Even so, Mary could not think of him as anything other than a God. She WAS his to use as he saw fit, after all.

Mary was not subject to the throat-fucking for long, as Dimtri's symbolic manhood sought solace within its counterpart. Never once requesting compliance, he turned Mary over to be on all-fours, her hands and knees scraped and grazed from the rough surface. Digging his nails into her hips, Dimtri thrust hard into her from behind. Mary spat a loud yelp as her master entered her once more; that first thrust elevating her to her previous state.

Mary's buttocks slapped against Dimtri's glorious abdominals with each ever-faster thrust. Wet squelches sung a naughty melody of their sinful love. Mary now almost-consistently sustained an amorous moan, harmonised with Dimtri's low-pitched growls. It was obvious that they both grew close to the finale, locked in their coital prayer. Dimitri grabbed roughly at Mary's breasts as they rocked beneath her; her tongue unleashing sickening obscenities, "Fuck! Fuck! Break me! Fuck me! Take me! You're tearing me apart!" This was met with a rarely spoken phrase from Dimtri, who leant low to save his words for her ear only, "Your cunt is my abode; your soul is my home." God surely wept as he watched this beautiful corruption.

It was not so dis-similar from the snapping back of an elastic band, the sudden tipping over the edge of orgasm. Dimtri's hot seed splashed over Mary's quivering walls, her body violently convulsing in an all-consuming climax. As more and more juice filled her already full core, a crescendo was sung of moans and groans and all manner of pledges to darkness. And as Mary knelt, penetrated upon her dark God, back pressed to his chest, Dimtri finally sunk his razor-sharp fangs into Mary's neck, penetrating her jugular as he did her heart and soul.

Mary grew paler and paler as the only man she ever truly loved, ever could truly love, drank of her very life. With final breaths, she managed to speak, "So it was my dark angel whom finally showed me the glory of God's kingdom..." As the last drops of precious blood were coaxed from her arteries, Mary could feel no sadness or pain, only the complete satisfaction and joy of heaven.

***

Darkness...

His voice...

"Wake, ma belle pêchê..."

Her own voice, somehow alien...

"...Ma belle pêchê..."

Their voices in a dawning encore...

"My beautiful sin..."