Feature Writer: Mialovesitall
Feature Title: From Kiss of Death, Valentina Cilescu
Story Codes: Religious
Link: TUMBLR / 10.10.19 / Posted by mialovesitall.tumblr.com
From Kiss of Death, Valentina Cilescu
It was happening at last.
The Master was awakening: his immortal soul was rising through seas of consciousness, thoughts unfreezing, clarifying, memories melting the icy prison of enforced forgetfulness.
His spirit hovered, like a formless black shadow of unspeakable evil, above his motionless body, trapped and impotent within the unforgiving crystal; looked down upon the heavy lid of the sarcophagus and was filled with rage, grief and the longing for sweet revenge.
But his powers were still at a low ebb. There was a dim flickering where before there had raged a sulphurous furnace of chaotic energies, the servants of his perverse and terrifying desires.
He was going to need time, imagination, cunning. But he was patient. He could wait. The world would know his power once again, and this time there would be no mistake.
There had been long years of imprisonment, betrayal, defeat. But he was back now. The arrogant fools had thought they could kill him: that in trying to kill his body they could annihilate his spirit. Soon they would know that there are some things in this world that are beyond understanding: some things that never, ever die.
He wondered what had provided the stimulus to his reawakening, what had struck the spark of consciousness into his frozen heart. In his weakened state, he was still blind. He could not even see his own face, fixed in an expression of unbearable agony beneath the heavy stone coffin-lid. He did not even know where he was. His memories were muddled, clouded by pain and long slumber. A dark cellar, somewhere beneath a great stately home. That was all he could recall. A silent and deserted place, walled up and forgotten for – how many years? He could not tell.
But he could feel. And already he sensed the power-source, as yet just a trickle of feeble electricity, but soon, soon he knew, to burst forth into a great surge of life-giving energy.
The sexual energy on which he fed. The power-surge generated out of the chaos of frenzied coupling. Someone, somewhere very close at hand, was preparing an orgy and, although they did not realise it, the Master was to be their honoured guest.
The girl wore nothing but a thin white shift made of the thinnest, most diaphanous cotton lawn. Her body was pale, firm, perfect: the body of a young and beautiful girl. She could not have been more than fourteen years old at most.
‘Beautiful,’ breathed Delgado, reaching out a bronzed hand and running an incautious finger down the girl’s cool, white arm. She shivered slightly, as though she were cold, but she did not flinch. The girl seemed unusually docile, and her eyes stared almost sightlessly before her. ‘You have drugged her?’
‘Of course,’ replied Madame LeCoeur. ‘A little injection to calm her down, a shot of something to make her more … receptive. Our lovely little child will enjoy her initiation, never fear. It was so good of Herr Königsberg to volunteer his daughter’s … services … for our opening night. Such beauty should not be wasted. Among us, she will learn to be a skilled whore. One day, she will thank her father for what he has done to her tonight …’
Delgado surveyed the girl and took in her charms. Tall, slim-waisted and full-hipped, her body was enough to delight any man. The bright blonde triangle of her pubis showed clearly through her thin dress and proved that she was a natural blonde. Her pert breasts were cherry-tipped and hard, bearing witness to the efficacy of Madame LeCoeur’s aphrodisiacs. Her eyes were a brilliant blue: clear and deep as an August sky. He was pleased with her. He turned to Madame LeCoeur:
‘You are quite certain that she is a virgin?’
‘You would like to see, perhaps?’
Delgado nodded. He was not easily moved by feminine beauty. A lifetime spent masterminding white slavery and the brothels of Marrakesh had left his palate jaded, and it took something exceptional to whet his appetite these days. He noted with approval and some surprise that he was salivating, and his hardened penis was bulging appreciatively inside his Savile Row trousers.
‘Lie down on the bed, child.’
Slowly, mechanically, like a sleepwalker, the girl obeyed. Her pale golden hair flowed over the pillow as she lay down on the blue silk bedspread.
‘Pull up your shift.’
She did so, wriggling to free the flimsy material from underneath her ivory-pale buttocks. Madame LeCoeur stepped forward and took hold of the girl’s knees, pulling them apart to expose the treasures within. The girl offered no resistance: in fact, Delgado thought he heard her breathing quicken.
The girl’s cunt was appetising and rosy-pink as Madame LeCoeur parted her nether lips and revealed the gleaming pearl of her clitoris. Delgado felt a surge of unstoppable desire, and it was all that he could do to prevent himself taking the child there and then on the bed – but of course he couldn’t. He couldn’t rob Winterbourne Hall of this costly virginity – and on its opening night at that. There would be some very important and exclusive guests at the Hall tonight: guests who would pay dearly for the pleasure of deflowering and debasing such a delectable virgin. Each maison de passage must offer its own specialities, and this fresh young girl was Winterbourne’s very own spécialité de la maison.
‘You wish to check her for yourself?’
Delgado did not need asking twice. He burrowed an exploratory finger into the young girl’s tight cunt, finding to his surprise that it was both hot and wet. She did not even wince as his finger came up against the leathery hymen. The child was excited, her young woman’s body crying out for the first thrust of a hard, insistent prick.
Instinctively, without thinking what he was doing, Delgado began to move his finger in and out of the girl’s fast-moistening cunt. Her lips parted and she began to moan quietly.
‘Be careful, Delgado,’ warned Madame LeCoeur.
‘Don’t worry, I won’t damage the merchandise,’ he replied with grim humour. ‘Just a little induction course for our new trainee …’
The girl was writhing about now, and her cunt was glistening with moisture. Smiling at the power he was exerting over her, Delgado climbed on to the bed and knelt between her thighs. Still frigging her, he stretched out his other hand and thrust it up underneath the shift until he made contact with her hard-tipped breast. She groaned with pleasure as he pinched a nipple between his knowing fingers.
Delgado could resist her no longer. Even if he could not fuck her, he knew he must come inside her. Those pretty lips: sweet and gentle and innocent, and ripe for defilement …
He unbuttoned his flies and exposed his prick. It was fine and hard, throbbing with unrestrained delight. He turned around on the bed so that he was lying over her, his head between her thighs and his prick poised over her mouth. Greedily, just as he had hoped, she took it between her lips, and in turn he began to lick her clitoris.
Madame LeCoeur’s aphrodisiac had worked its spell on the girl. Totally inexperienced and yet so, so knowing, she gave him such pleasure that he felt his head swim, his senses reel. And he could feel her own pleasure mounting as her clitoris swelled and throbbed beneath his tongue. Then she moved her hands up towards his balls and began to caress them gently, firmly, almost lovingly.
It was the strangest sensation: at that moment, Delgado felt as though he were no longer in control of his own body, as though some other, much more powerful presence had entered him and was sharing and magnifying his sensations, spurring him on, making him lick the girl faster, more and more obscenely.
He was floating, spinning, reeling, falling: a wheel within a wheel, a cloud within a cloud. There was a voice within him – he could not make out the words, but it was calling to him, urging him on, amplifying his desire, taking hold of his very soul. For a second, he thought he glimpsed a face: a strange, dark face containing all the evil of the world and yet so handsome, so seductive, so irresistible that he felt drawn into the flame-red, furnace-hot eyes. And then the fleeting vision was gone, and only the sensations remained: the aching desire in his loins, the velvet caress of the girl’s moist tongue, the feel of her fingers on his balls, the scent of her untried womanhood in his nostrils. He felt as though he were losing his mind.
It was all too much for him. He exploded into her mouth and she swallowed his semen like a practised whore, eagerly, as though she relished the newness of its taste in her virgin mouth. Seconds later, Delgado felt the girl’s own orgasm tearing through her, setting up great waves of pleasure that racked her whole body and left her exhausted and panting on the bed beneath him.
‘She is ready,’ decreed Delgado, buttoning his flies. ‘Have her prepared for tonight.’
Far below, in the forgotten and bricked-up cellars of Winterbourne Hall, the Master’s spirit feasted on this gift of raw sexual energy, and slowly began to understand. Tonight he would grow in strength, and one day, very soon, he would be free.
At last, his deliverance was at hand.
THE END