Dreams and Desires (61 page)

His own lusts upon him, Blackthorne stood and began to disrobe. The Ukrainian girl whined as she anticipated her ravishment. At the same time, her rigid nipples and the engorgement of her breasts and lips bespoke her rising passion.

Once naked, Jonathan ordered her to her hands and knees and took up a position kneeling next to her. With one hand he fondled her downward pointing breasts while he roamed her long, sensuous back with the other. Her skin was soft and smooth. He ran his hand over her taut, pale rear globes and over the back of her thighs, transmitting waves of lust to her. When he pushed her graceful thighs apart and he captured her still hairy mons with his hand, she moaned.

The passionate sighs and moans of the other women in the room served as a background to the renegade's excitement of the new girl's lust. Her pussy was wet and soft as he stroked it, and the unmistakable aroma of her arousal floated up to him. His cock was hardened and distended and he pressed it up against the distressed woman's thigh as he drove her passion higher and higher. The girl could not help herself as she pushed her heated pussy back against his hand, grinding her svelte hips, crying out her need.

Blackthorne maneuvered himself behind the girl. The tiny brown star between her rear cheeks peeked up at him invitingly. He took a swipe of her pungent moisture from between her dilated pussy's lips and applied it there, pressing his fingers inside it, spreading the tight ring of flesh in preparation to receive his hard, thick cock. He could feel the girl's misery as she realized how she was to be used. It was amusing to him how almost all of the newly enthralled females revolted at the piercing of their small, round rear hole. To him, it was perfectly natural a man would want to take pleasure in the tight opening. It was an act that permeated all of recorded history and was probably the second thing the first man had done after he had discovered the pleasures of fucking.

Having lubricated the entrance, Blackthorne compelled the frightened but impassioned young woman to loosen her rear muscles in anticipation of his penetration. He could feel her torrent of shame as he addressed the head of his thick prick to the hole. He left it there while he increased the frail woman's lusts with his hands, rubbing them over her rear globes. He wanted the girl to impale herself, to accomplish her own degradation.

The distressed woman felt the surge of need the man sent through her body. Its intensity was beyond anything she had ever experienced. Suddenly, her mind could focus on nothing else but her desire to have the man fill her there, to feel the rasping of his cock across the sensitive ring of flesh, to experience the filling of her bowel with his cock. She pushed her rear back slowly, moaning as the large wand of flesh stretched and tore the tender tissues. She gasped as it inched further and further within her. Her eyes were clamped shut, her delicate, bony hands clasped into tiny, little fists. Her heart beat wildly and her breasts ached with the blood engorging them. When she felt the front of the man's thighs against her pale, round rear cheeks, her mind filled with joy.

Once the woman had encased him fully in her bowels, Jonathan began a slow, steady, rhythmic stroke across the enflamed membranes of her anal ring. She cried out at each thrust, her thin, reedy voice filling the room. Her body was awash with the sweat of her lust and her hips welcomed each stroke of his cock. Her pussy tingled and burned. All reticence at this deviant form of intercourse had left her. Her passion built higher and higher towards an inevitable climax.

Jonathan reveled in the feel of the tight ring circling his cock and the hot, murky warmth of her interior. He could feel his fluids rising, electrified signals of pleasure shooting through his body. The woman's lusts flowed from her like a cloud escaping her body and he drank them in, thrilling at their sweet taste. As he felt his lusts cresting, he reached down and took hold of the moaning woman's hair, pulling her head back. He commanded her to open her eyes. There, on the wall in front of her, was the harsh, cruel emblem of her subservience. She cried out with pain and fear as she beheld it.

At that moment, just as her new lord's cock began to pulse and throb within her, her own lusts crested, pushed over the top by the demonic mind that held her in thrall. “Ohhhhhhhhh! Ohhhhhhhhh!” she moaned with pleasure and despair. “Ohhhhhhhhhhhh!” Jonathan filled her ecstatic and terror filled mind with a vision of her dark future, the endless procession of cocks that would fill her, her slavery to her lusts. As his seed was absorbed by her inner pores, she felt its corruption, the permanency of her indenture to the evil symbol that filled her view. “Ahhhhhhhoooooooh! Auughhhhhhhhh! Auughhhhhhhhhh!” she cried out in pleasure and despair.

Jonathan felt a wave of relief and pleasure flow through him. His tenseness and anxiety had left him, replaced by the satisfying absorption of the woman's emissions of terror and unhappiness. It took him a few moments to recover his sensibilities, and when he returned to awareness, he sensed his beautiful, lust filled, black skinned acolyte kneeling at his side expectantly. She had finished, for the moment, with the exhausted, still moaning Dolores, who she had left still kneeling and crouched over, behind her. The shiny, discharge covered black instrument jutted fiercely from Yvonne's loins. Jonathan eased his still hard cock from the distraught, pale skinned women's rear and stroked her flush pussy with his hand, reigniting her lusts for the pleasure and amusement of his favorite acolyte. The thin, elegant, black skinned woman pushed the other woman to her side and then turned her to her back, spreading her thighs. She pushed the head of the black dildo between the young girl's widened pussy lips and entered her, causing her to sigh deeply. Leaning over, Yvonne pressed their breasts together and taking the other woman's lips with hers, began a steady, languorous stroke with her hips. The other woman, filled with Blackthorne's induced need, reached her arms around her and drew her body in.

Still infused with his own lust, Jonathan turned his attentions to his familiar on the bed. He went to the washstand and cleaned himself thoroughly and then stepped over to her. He could sense her desire for him. She was filled with the essence of the Whole, having drawn it into her as her mind whirled in psychedelic dreams. He would drain her now, feed of the life's blood she had accumulated for him.

Diane had sensed the arrival of her lord and master when he entered the room some time ago. After five years, her mind was exquisitely attuned to his psyche and could feel his emanations of dark, brooding lust. Her body yearned to be filled by him and her lust had been primed and accelerated as she received his waves of passion while he copulated with the other woman. Her thighs were spread with her need and her hands twisted and turned in her bonds to gain access to her yearning slit. She sensed him as he approached her and she presented her loins to him lasciviously.

Diane had no idea how long she had been enthralled to the loathsome, evil man. Time had seemed to stand still ever since she had been brought to this place. She had no yardstick to measure the passage of the days, months or years. She knew it had been a long time. And yet she felt like she was in some kind of suspended animation, had entered a weird, sensual Twilight Zone. Her body never tired of its stimulation, even as her mind screamed for its surcease. Every time he entered her, be it her loins, her rear or her mouth, it felt as feverishly pleasurable as the first. Her prior life was a far distant memory, its details misted in fog. Her bouts of sanity were few and far between, and in those rare moments, she would cry and mourn her loss.

Blackthorne saw and felt the turmoil of his familiar. Her resiliency was a happy surprise to him. This race was sturdy and held on to life dearly. He had not rued his choice to remain as one of them for a single moment. He would stay forever if he could.

The renegade dream man knelt on the bed and approached the franticly lustful woman. He captured her writhing legs and caressed the inside of her thighs, fueling her passions to an even higher level. His ears heard her anguished moans and his mind received her mental turmoil. His hands relished her softness and heat. He made a note to increase her exercise regimen, to keep her body better toned.

The captured female's bodily state was carefully monitored, her weight, her blood sugar levels, the rhythm of her heart, everything that could be measured. She was still his only access to continued life and he spared no expense in maintaining her health. She was his strength and his weakness. He had come to despise her, in spite of his need for her. He detested being bound to her, needing her. He tormented her frequently, bringing her mind and body acute pain. He had created this subterranean hell for her to live in, ordered his acolytes to drive her mad with desire, denied her all human warmth. And yet, here she was, opening her pussy to him, begging him to fulfill her slavish needs.

Blackthorne tantalizingly ran his cock along the length of the woman's hairless, dilated slit. He could feel her lusts billowing from her body. She was suffused with the essence of the Whole and he felt drawn to her in spite of his contempt. When he sank his cock into her womb, the vital, psychic substance from the other dimension began to soak into him.

The clinging, hot warmth of the woman's canal sent the renegade into a state of ecstasy. He lost all mental control and fervently began to pump his cock back and forth in the steamy sex. He tore the hood from her head and seized her mouth, thrusting his tongue deeply inside it. She came almost at once, her back arching beneath him, her hips grinding against his. He drank the ethereal substance from her body and could feel his strength being restored.

It did not take long for his own climax to come. He groaned loudly as his cock began to spurt and spasm within her. She came again, her moans and cries reverberating in his mouth. The essence she had gathered flowed to him like a torrent as his mind reveled in his pleasure. He pounded his strong, broad hips into her, causing the whole bed to shake. As his lusts overflowed, his passions spread throughout the room, evoking a cacophony of moans and cries from the other females as their bodies responded with wrenching orgasms of their own. It was his satanic orchestra. Bereft of their souls, which he had stolen, the women's bodies writhed and shook as if overcome by a contagious epileptic fit.

And then it was over. The task of delivering the otherworldly essence to him had exhausted his familiar and she lay beneath him limp and unconscious. His acolytes and the other women emitted soft, languid moans as their bodies reverberated with the aftershocks of their climaxes. He rose from the bed, sated, momentarily.

Blackthorne left his sexual menagerie behind and exited the catacomb like warren beneath his hacienda. The stairs from the basement led into the library on the first floor. He had not bothered to redon his garments. They were confining on his body and he didn't want to disturb the fine sensations of satisfied lust reverberating in every pore.

It was late and the well pleasured renegade did not linger in the well appointed room. He stepped out into the grand entrance hallway and proceeded up the broad, polished oaken staircase leading to the second floor. The house was quiet and dark, the lights having been turned low by his servants. Embonded, naked females stood like silent sentries in various alcoves along the way. As he passed them, they fell to their knees and bowed their heads to the ground fearfully. He had no interest in them tonight. He could read the sense of relief filling them as he spared them from his terrible usage.

His bedroom suite was at the end of the second floor. He opened one of the heavy, wooden double doors and entered it. The sound of a piano echoed through the connected rooms. A lovely, enraptured female sat at the keys to a large, shiny black grand piano. She was wearing a diaphanous, white, silken chemise and her long, brown hair was done in a braid down her back. The light in the room was dim, giving her lithe body a warm, sensual appearance. He approached the woman quietly, not wanting to disturb the graceful, elegantly rendered notes of the Chopin Prelude she was playing.

"She must have sensed me coming,” he thought. “She looks lovely tonight."

There was an easy chair located about ten feet from where the young woman played and Jonathan slid into it. A small table next to it held a small snifter of 50 year old cognac, the corked bottle standing next to it in the event he wanted a refill. The Lord of Conquerors sat back in the chair and, taking a small sip from the rich, oaken flavored liquid, closed his eyes and let the comforting notes surround him.

There had been, in the many years since he had been in this dimension, only one female who had enraptured him. She had grown on him slowly after her capture. Her soul had proven so sweet, so fragile, he had decided to preserve it. Cathy, the stepdaughter of his gold digging wife, had proven to have charm and grace and a deep sensuality. He had found himself returning to her use again and again. He had removed the harsh, damning control he had emplaced in her mind and replaced it with a tender, fulfilling love for him. She was like a mate to him, someone he could relax his eternal vigilance with, a flower he nurtured in the midst of his almost universal callousness. If only he could draw his essence through her, he often thought. It would be like a communion of souls. But he refused to have her placed in the insensitive hands of Dr. Morton for his cruel experimentation. Her delicate psyche was something, the one thing, he never wanted to lose.

He had developed a strong bond with the young woman, now five years older than when he first captured her. It was she who had poured his cognac, knowing he would want it, detecting his approach from far away. When she was finished with the melodious, harmonic piece, Blackthorne opened his eyes and looked at her. She turned from her music momentarily and gave him a warm, affectionate smile, happy to serve him. “Another,” he said to her softly. “Play another, the one I like."

Happy to please him, Cathy softly and delicately commenced the Prelude in F Sharp minor, No.8. Her hands floated above the keyboard and her body swayed gently as the notes rose fluidly around her. Jonathan took another drink from his glass, letting the fiery warmth infuse him with peace and tranquility. For this alone he would fight the pursuer with the last breath in his body. His trap for the Whole's agent had worked so far. Tomorrow, he would know better if it would bring the opportunity for victory. He would kill the man if he had to. Jonathan had cast aside almost all of the ethics of the Whole in becoming who he was now. He had little sympathy for the lesser creatures that populated this world. They were like ants under his feet. But to take the existence of a portion of the Whole and snuff it out, that was something else. It was a taboo so engrained in him that doing it was almost unthinkable. But he had thought about it many times. He would lose what was left of his soul, but he would do it if he had to, even if only to preserve this little island of peace.