When I finally came too, Tyler was standing over me.

“James, you ok mate ?”

I looked up stunned as well as Tyler’s face there was now a crowd.

I managed to stubble out “what did we do?”

When Tyler grabbed my hand and told me we’ll discuss it when we got back to mine. When I got up onto my feet Tyler kept a hold of me till we were safely in my house. We sat in the living room looking into each others eyes. I broke down into tears, Tyler came over and hugged I pushed him away. What we did it was so wrong your my brother or lest we think your my brother.

I have so many feelings right now Tyler please, just don’t touch me right now. Tyler sat back down now he was crying.

“I have a confession when I left here I went back to the park I had to do something about my raging hard on, there was no way I could travel home like that.”

“I was hanging round the toilets to see if anyone would go in when I spotted you coming down the path so I when in I saw you come in I couldn’t resist so I stuck my dick in the hole and hoped for the best.”

I was in complete shock here was a guy I barely knew, who may or may not be my brother, admitting he wanted to fuck me. I got of the chair he screamed

“don’t hit me please.” He cowered

I wasn’t going to hit him I leaned over him and gave him a hug. I told him about my boner when he picked up his bag earlier. He sighed with relief. We looked into each others eyes and couldn’t deny there was something there between us. I leaned in and kissed him it was full of passion and love. When we parted we noticed it was getting late so Tyler phoned his mum and told her he was staying with a friend she was fine with it since there was no school. Tyler and I made out on the couch for a while groping each others dicks and ass’s.

After a while I took Tyler’s hand and led him up to my room. We started kissing again taking off each others t-shirts. He had a great body he had more definition in his abs than I do, I later found out he works out in his own gym. I started kissing down his neck taking in his gorgeous scent. Kissed down his chest stopping to lick, suck and bite each nipple. I licked down all the lines in his abs when I got to his belly button I ran my tongue in and out it. I could hear the slight moan escape from his lips. I was getting closer to my prize when he put his hand under my arms picks me up and throws me on the bed. I was amazed at his strength. He unbuckled my belt and pulled my jeans of. My dick sprang up and slapped back onto my stomach I was solid as a rock.

“It’s my turn to have some fun” he said as he started licking, up and down the 5 inch shaft.

It was oozing pre-cum he sucked and kissed the head he had such a talented tongue. Then he shocked me and took it all down his throat. It felt so good. I could feel his hard-on rubbing up against my leg. He was so big. I couldn’t wait to have him deep in my ass again.

He was working his tongue all over my dick. I ran my hand all over his head pulled him and held him there while I shot my biggest cum load down his throat. He kept sucking till I was too sore he moved back to my dangling empty balls. He moved his tongue further down till he reached his goal my lovely pink button. He teased my butt hole then started nibbling and biting my cheeks. He kept driving his tongue in and out my hole. Opening me right up, with his fingers. When he got me all wet and ready he put on his condom lubed up his dick, as he slowly entered my hole he slid a hand round and started jerking as he slowly entered my hole he slid a hand round and started jerking my now re-hardening dick. Kissing up and down my back with every stroke. He filled me over now I was on my back my feet on his shoulders.

I started jerking myself off, James running his hands all over my chest tweaking my nipples. I was so close to cumming James must have sensed it he bent down and took my dick in his mouth and swallowed all my delicious cum. Once he?d drained me he flipped me over onto my side so still pumping hard in me his arms wrapped around me, after a few more pumps he screamed I?m cumming. Then I felt his warm cum fill my hole.

We must have fallen asleep like that. Cause the next thing I remember the sun shining in my eyes. As I rub them I can feel something in my ass I couldn’t think what it could be, I ran my hand down my body and I felt his arm still wrapped round me, then the events of last night all came flooding back I smiled as I took his arm and pulled me further into him. James started waking up kissing my neck he said

“Morning sexy.”

Then a voice from my door said

“How could you do this Tyler, you’re going to break your dads heart.”

There was Uncle Steve standing in the door way standing tall at 6 foot 5 short messy black hair I looked down his muscles were unbelievable he had arms you want to be held in forever, looking down his jeans were hugging him tightly showing off his nice package. With that uncle Steve flew down the stairs. We jumped up quickly pulling on our boxers and followed him downstairs. When we got to the bottom of the stairs Uncle Steve was sitting in dad’s chair with his head in his hands. I sat down beside him, he looked up at me tears dripping down his face. I’ve never seen a grown man cry I was so turned on (what he fuck is wrong with me).

I rubbed his knee looked up to him and told him that it just happened we couldn’t stop it. He stopped me got up, I thought he was going to hit me. When he was on his feet I moved towards James he stroked my hair as uncle Steve paced around the room.

“Your dad knew this would happen he’s going to kill me when he gets home. He sent me over here to check up on you make sure you weren’t doing anything stupid.”

He sat back down on the chair I moved back between his knees and lay my head on his lap. (I noticed he had a stiffy and thought this was weird) I told him how it all happened and how I went cruising and got fucked by James in the toilets but in my defense I didn’t know it was him. James piped up and told Uncle Steve he knew I was cumming in and explained why he did it. All the time we were telling our story I was rubbing my head into his groin. He kept stroking my head it felt like he was pushing my head into him. I moved around and put my mouth right on top of his groin and started liking the shaft. He pulled my face up and said

“James hunny what are you doing, this is wrong.”

I push his hands away from my face unfasten his belt pull down the zipper and fish out his semi hard dick. All the time he’s protesting put not moving me away I know he wants it I want it, when his dick his finally free I ram it all down my throat. Feeling it swell with every stroke. It grew to an impressive 9 inches (god I hope I grow to be that big someday.) it slides easy down my throat my tongue working all around the head. I bucks underneath me he’s enjoying it. He moans as he pushes my head further down my nose burred in his gut. I noticed he shaves all his pubes off like me and Tyler.

I could feel the orgasm building, he was close. I pulled on his balls some while working my tongue down the vein under the shaft it drove him wild. I slid his shaft back down my throat as far as it would go. He held my head again as he shot his lovely creamy juice down my throat. I sucked him a couple more times, then got up with some of his come still in my mouth went over to Tyler who had his dick out and was stroking it slow, and kissed him sharing our uncles cum.

We sat for a few minutes catching our breaths Uncle Steve gets up walks over to us, takes our hands and leads us up to the bedroom. I thought we were going to my room but Uncle Steve took us to dad’s king-sized four poster bed. Uncle Steve lay on his back I went straight back to gobble down his delicious meat. Between moans Uncle Steve told Tyler to come feed him his gorgeous teen meat. Tyler sat on Steve’s chest feeding him his dick slowly. I licked and sucked his hairless balls flicking my tongue teasingly over his balls.

We moved position so now we were in a triangle my mouth on Uncle Steve’s dick, his mouth on Tyler’s dick and Tyler’s mouth on my dick. We were all moaning with pleasure as if we were all psychically linked we started probing each others holes with our fingers. Suddenly Uncle Steve pulled off Tyler’s dick and told us he needed to feel my teenage meat in my ass. So I jumped up went to my room grabbed the lube and ran back to dad’s room. When I came back Tyler was tongue deep in Uncle Steve’s ass. God what a gorgeous site. I jumped on the bed licked up Tyler’s back, up Uncle Steve’s back and started nibbling on his ear lobes whispering

“Ready for the fuck off your life?”

Tyler got off Uncle Steve’s ass and made his way up to his head. I lubed up and aimed my dick at his peachy little pink bud. Tyler’s was face down ass up at Uncle Steve’s face with his tongue deep in my brothers ass. I could hear him moan and see him squirm as I slowly entered Uncle Steve’s ass. He was so tight and warm I was loving it Tyler had now moved into a 69 position while sucking Uncle Steve he was licking my shaft whenever I pulled out of Uncle Steve’s ass. I was so close to cumming I knew they were too I started fucking him with all I had. When all of a sudden I hear someone coming up the stairs. I tried to pull out but it was too late. There was dad standing at the door.

Uncle Steve looked up to see his brother. Dad screamed


And he bolted down the stairs. Uncle Steve pounded after him while me and Tyler sat holding each other on the bed.

Authors note: This is a Victorian Alt Universe type of story. Most of the “toys” and people I mention existed during the Victorian era, however some things were invented a few years after 1866. Please be patient with me. ;)

Pity my homegirl Brenda for having to beta this, and put up, with my abuse, of commas.

**Warnings:** This story includes femdom, drug use, BDSM, anal play, urethral play, nonconsensual sex acts, rampant misogyny, and a bunch of other nasties that I haven’t decided on yet.


~ Dr. Jonathan Maxwell’s office — London, 1866 ~

Jonathan sighed; today was dragging. Mrs. Parvoy left only moments ago and his last patient of the day was due in the office in ten minutes. Thinking of little Nettie, he shuddered internally; the silly girl sobbed almost the entire time she was in the chair. He didn’t understand why, as he was the one suffering the indignity of having to give her a massage for nearly 90 minutes. His hands were aching. He grit his teeth, the things he would go through just to get into the upper class’ good graces.

How someone like Victor Parvoy put up with the little chit was beyond him. However he had heard rumors that the young man had recently taken the beautiful Emma Frances on as a mistress, but nothing was confirmed. Considering the Frances woman’s assets and the way she flaunted them, he assumed that a lesser man would be able to forget his wife with her.

But Jonathan Maxwell wasn’t a lesser man. With new patients each day, and the word of his success rate spreading, he was slowly but surely working his way through the middle class. If this continued, his son would be able to attend university when he came of age. And perhaps someday they would be accepted into upper class society. It would be as “new money”, meaning they would still be looked down upon, but his son would marry well and he would be taken care of in his old age. His hands were sure to be arthritic by then.

Whenever he thought of his son, it conjured up images of his late wife Edith. Now she was a fine upstanding woman. She lay with him at night, did her wifely duty quietly until he finished, and most importantly, never ever complained. He would never have had to treat her for hysteria – Edith knew her place in the world. There were days, like today, that he missed her terribly.

Shaking his head to clear the depressing thoughts and focus on work, Jonathan dropped his utensils into a boiling pot in the corner to clean them. No, he didn’t give any credence to those charlatans that stood outside the medical college; he just liked his instruments to shine. Louis Pasteur be damned.

Walking back over to his desk while cracking his knuckles to ease the cramping, he looked over at his notes for the next patient before her arrival.

Miss Eliza Wesley Age: 26 Referred by her family. Notes: Former fiancée of the late Dr Clinton Lambert. Suffers from severe hysteria. Possibly brought on by masturbation, although this has not been proven. The family states that if I am unable to cure her of this blight, she will be referred to Dr Isaac Baker Brown for immediate surgery, and then will attend classes and lectures on morality. Her symptoms are as follows: Willful, irritable, energetic, prideful, and unable or unwilling to accept her place within our great society.

Jonathan frowned. Unlike many other medical professionals, he greatly admired Clinton Lambert’s work, and had wanted to attend one of his fitness camps up in the wilderness near Latchford. It was really a pity that the man had been killed while out running three years prior. A bear attack had to be a terribly painful death.

It was also a shame that his former fiancée seemed to be mentally impaired, possibly by something as insidious as masturbation. This whole episode of hysteria had to have brought on by Lambert’s death; he had no doubts that before then she was an obedient creature by nature. To be a member of the prestigious Wesley family and engaged to someone as well known as Dr. Lambert she had to have been upstanding.

Sitting down in his chair, he felt a grand daydream coming on. If he were able to cure her, word could spread even further about his humble practice through the upper classes. He might even be able to hire two more doctors! Yes, two doctors fresh out of school that would deal with his troublesome hysteria patients while he dealt with important issues like surgery and nervous system research. He smiled, and allowed himself to drift for a short time.

~22 minutes later ~

Jonathan angrily narrowed his eyes as he glanced at his pocket watch again. The damnable woman was over ten minutes late! How he hated tardiness. Well, perhaps she was too faint to make it. If that was the case, he could forget curing her, she could only be helped by the hands of Dr. Brown! Taking in a deep breath to soothe his anger and attempting to take his mind off the rudeness of his new subject, he let his gaze wander around the office. He noted with satisfaction that, while cluttered, everything therein was spotless and in its place. Just the way he wanted it. He absently arranged the inkbottles on his desk from large to small to insure that order was kept.

A knock broke into his musings, and Jonathan strode over to the door to open it. Henry, his sometime assistant, was taking the overcoat and hat of an older gentleman, while a woman he assumed was Eliza Wesley was slowly shrugging out of hers. Her back was facing toward him, but he could see that she was of lean build, and held herself with her back straight and head high. Like a *man*. This wouldn’t do at all. Women were supposed to be soft and meek, not filled with confidence and pride. Obviously he had his work cut out for him.

“Mr. Wesley, it is good to finally make your acquaintance.” Jonathan shook his hand, “What can you tell me about Miss Wesley’s condition?”

As the good doctor and her uncle walked into the examination room and began to talk quietly, Eliza shoved her overcoat into the arms of the confused redhead and angrily glared at the two men through the open doorway. Just like all the other bastards, this one didn’t acknowledge her presence either.

“My niece has been having troubles since her fiancée’s death. Our family has tried everything to get her to behave properly, but have thus failed. She has already seen six other physicians with no results. It’s gotten so bad that we’ve had to acquire a separate flat just so her behavior does not contaminate the minds of my young daughters.” The man shook his head sadly, “I’m sorry to say that if you fail Dr. Maxwell, it will mean that she has fallen to the moral disease of masturbation, and I will have no other choice but to bring her to Dr. Brown for treatment.”

“I understand.” Being honest with himself, Jonathan didn’t particularly like the idea of sending anyone to Dr. Isaac Baker Brown, as a physician, he heard things about the man that the public was still unaware of.

“My wife and I will await your diagnosis, and will make further arrangements if necessary.”

Assuring him that he would do his absolute best to help his niece, he bid the man farewell, as treatment would last hours. Jonathan also promised that he would insure her return to her flat afterward. As it was already late in the evening, he dismissed Henry as well, it made no sense to pay him hourly to do nothing but sit around gathering dust. Motioning for the young lady to come inside the examination room, he sat at his desk and began his assessment of her state.

Eliza Wesley was roughly a head shorter than he was, with skin like ivory, brown hair, and gorgeous blue eyes that flashed at him with anger. Gorgeous? Preposterous. She was a woman under severe mental duress. He shook his head mentally and began to make notes in his file.

“Miss Wesley, I understand that you were once engaged to Dr. Lambert. I admired his work.” He stated absently without looking up, if only to make small talk. It was always good to make the patient feel at ease.

Eliza was surprised; most other physicians thought Clinton’s ideas about physical fitness and diet were bunk. If the good Dr. Maxwell only knew that her fiancée only pushed himself to be fit just so he could keep up with his other vices, he would probably choke on his own spit. She chuckled inwardly. And if he knew that some of Clinton’s more wild behaviors rubbed off on her, he would definitely not have sent his cute but dim-witted assistant home.

She also was acutely aware that if Dr. Maxwell failed to “cure” her, that she would be sent to that madman uptown. Clinton had called him a butcher. Well, that was just not going to happen. She was never going to be tamed, and she was not going to Dr. Brown. Acting the part of a subservient woman was easy, but inevitably she would wind up married, the truth would come out, and she would wind up in the same position she was in now. No, the best course of action was still to have a doctor in her pocket in case of emergencies. And the man in front of her was the perfect candidate.

Quietly, she began assessing Dr. Maxwell. He was young for a doctor, and once you got around the pompous personality he was really quite handsome. His black hair, light grey eyes, and pale skin nearly mirrored to her own features. He was not like the other physicians she had seen in the past few years. Most were too old, too fat, too unattractive. Letting them touch her was absolutely horrifying, but she persevered.

Watching how stiffly he stood while scribbling into his file, she surmised that while handsome, he was the typical specimen of a modern man. She knew the type well. Noticing his wedding ring, she surmised that he was a man who attended church every Sunday, has an exhausted wife from birthing too many children, and turns out pregnant maids from his employ. All while having a mistress on the side, and visiting prostitutes. One huge hypocrite. One very foolish hypocrite, she thought as she glanced back to the man and eyeballed the various bottles that sat on a shelf next to her.

“…lacks femininity and seems to be oblivious of her current predicament. Thus I must conclude that her intelligence, like most women, is below average…”

And this is why while Dr. Maxwell sat immersed in taking his notes; the predator he invited into his office was able to silently stalk up behind him, as silent as a cat. He didn’t even have time to react as a delicate handkerchief was placed over his nose and all went black.


Various A/Ns and random facts:

Hysteria was a “real” disease that women suffered from in the Victorian ages. Those considered to be suffering from it exhibited a wide array of symptoms, including faintness, nervousness, insomnia, irritability, loss of appetite for food or sex, and “a tendency to cause trouble”. Women considered to be suffering from hysteria would undergo “pelvic massage” meaning the manual stimulation of the genitals by a doctor until the patient experienced “hysterical paroxysm” aka orgasm. It’s a pity that most doctors were not very good at this, as many complained that it took hours. Thus with the invention of electricity, the vibrator came into existence shortly thereafter.

Isaac Baker Brown was a real person in the Victorian era. He was alive and working in 1866. He was a “specialist” in gynecology and developed the clitoridectomy as a cure for epilepsy and hysteria, which he attributed to masturbation. He was later ousted from his position in London when it was discovered that he was performing these surgeries without consent. However, the US was a little late in catching on that this man was a quack, medical texts until 1936 suggested the removal of the clitoris as a way to curb promiscuity.

Louis Pasteur is real, was alive in 1866, and he supported the germ theory with diseases. He is most known for heating liquids to kill bacteria, aka pasteurization. He only got a brief mention, but whatever.


I accept all comments and constructive criticism – as I am an amateur author and still learning.

(I ask that any who even think of following this type of fetish go get a blood pathogens test done for both partners. The risk to your health is incredibly great. With that note of warning enjoy the story)


Pulling the car to a halt in the parking lot of my club I shut off the old beast and open the door. It protests being opened with a casket like creak. Getting out I stretch, inwardly cussing the unholy hour of the day. I look at the setting sun and want to flinch away from it. Grabbing my sunglasses from my pocket, I clamp them to my nose hiding my eyes from the light.

Looking into the windows of my black T-bird I agree with my reflection … it’s too damn early. I walk away listening to the engine with it customary pinging of cooling metal. The smell of hot oil and brakes is in the air around it.

I unlock the large wrought iron gateway and push the doors open. The first guest will be coming in soon.

Beth will be here sooner.

I smile thinking about my wife. She called me and woke me to see if I would come to the club early today. Like I would refuse her anything.

Especially this.

As I walk past the tombstones draped in dead roses I check out the front of the club. With the sun still up it has the same feel as a haunted house in the daytime. Like something’s not right about seeing it before dark. Like a very important part of it’s being is missing.

I run the tips of my fingers across Aleister Crowley’s stone. My black nails catching in the granite’s rough texture. Reaching into my jacket I take out a single red rose and lay it on top of the pile of withered ones before the stone. His is one of the most popular in the graveyard. Among the men at least.

Elisabeth’s Bathory’s stone is almost hidden under the piles of roses.

As I stand up a yawn threatens. Like the prophet I wish I was asleep. Maybe just like him. I shrug away that thought. Tonight was going to be fun. I need to stay on an upbeat as much as I can.

Looking up at the dark neon lights above the door, I smile.



Unlocking the thick wooden doors I swing them open. The inside of my club seems to protest the light as it comes through the doorway. It eats it, swallowing the offender whole into its dark depths.

Just as it swallows the part of me called Todd.

I give a shrug and a side neck pop as the part called Syn steps to the forefront. Walking through the hanging chains and into the large open entrance. I flip on the lights by the doorway. Again I feel an almost angry grumble from my club as I wake it too early. I smile. Like me it will enjoy this night enough to be worth the indignant awakening.

Especially when Beth gets here. Beth? The name sounds almost strange to me now. Looking into the large black framed mirror opposite the door I see myself realize why.

Syn doesn’t really know a Beth.

He knows a Baethny. Baethny the Daughter in Syn.

My daughter? No…but most of the people who come here think that. I grin at my white haired reflection. I aged quickly my hair going white before I was thirty.

Baethny…well she could on a good day maybe look twenty. Not bad for a woman approaching thirty-five.

I walk down the red carpeted hallway to the former chapel in this old funeral home. Past the doors that open into rooms where bodies where shown. I look into them as I pass seeing the various themes. The sweet smell from the leather room, that acidic smell that new leather has. It had cost us a fortune to have the walls done in leather but it had been worth it just for that smell.

As I walk past the bondage chamber I see a whip has been left out on the table. I cross to it and shiver at the sensations of pleasure pain I feel from its worn handle. I hang it on the wall next to all its brothers and sisters. My fingers brushing the thongs as I walk away. I can almost feel the hot crack across my spine again as I pass an old friend of mine. I run a finger across the soft leather top of the whipping horse just as I leave the room.

In the chapel I go to the long bar with it massive wooden top. A single peace of wood twenty feet long, five feet wide, it’s top a swirl with intricate patterns and whorls. The legend goes it was sawn a century and a half ago from a massive tree in California. It lived most of it’s life after that in a brothel in Texas.

It’s a good legend. I started it myself.

Getting a lighter from the bar I go around and light the dozens of incense bowls, the drifting smoke from them only strengthens the now permanent smell of sandalwood and frankincense the room will forever have.

I lower the five massive candle chandeliers down to the tabletops they hang over. I light the hundreds of candles, replacing the few dozen that have died and gone to candle heaven. As I pull back up the last one I see a single drop of wax fall to the table top under the first one I lit. The chandeliers would weep hot tears all night.

Going to the bar I reach under it and open a small sliding panel. I pull out one of the few remaining bottles of true European absinthe. I’ve have had them smuggled to me by friends over the years. I opened this bottle last Saturday and it’s all but gone. Counting the remaining bottles, I know I need to make a few phone calls some times soon. I’m getting out sugar cubes and glasses when I hear Baethny’s bike pull into the parking lot.

Knowing I have a few minutes, I go through the ritual of properly fixing a drink of absinthe. There is just enough in the bottle for her and myself a drink. I sit the empty bottle on the dark wood bar mourning its loss. I watch a single wet line run down it’s side. I pity that waste.

The trickle of cold water melts the sugar cube as I ever so slowly poor it over the silver spoon. When it gone I give the drink a stir with the spoon watching the white green liquid. The anise scent comes to my nose and I wonder again how many thousands of these drinks this spoon has stirred. The spoon, unlike the bar top, really is over a hundred years old.

I can hear her heels even on the carpeted floor of the hallway.

As she steps into the chapel I start my eyes at her feet. The five-inch black stiletto boots encase her to the knees in shiny ebony. The crisscross of black fish nets starts there and running up her thighs to just under the edge of her short skirt. I can see the clamps of her garter belt pulling at their tops. The short skirt of black Spanish lace rides atop an under skirt of red satin. Her midriff is bare above the wide shiny belt that encircles her narrow waist. A red bra top shows through the short sleeved jacket of black lace. At her throat is my collar. It’s metal ring begging for it’s leash.

Maybe later.

I watch her take the dark purple Gargoyles from in front of her eyes. The kohl above her eyes making them shine out at me. She shifts her head and the shadowy black hair with its red tips falls in front of her face hiding it from me.

My eyes drop to the silver armor ring on her right hand. The razor tip glitters in the pale candlelight. The jeweler who made it for me thought I was crazy to have a ring made with a scalpel on the end of it, but then he doesn’t know me.

Or Baethny. The Daughter in Syn.

My eyes go up from the ring across the black lace gloves she wears to the dark bands of tribal tattooing that runs up her arm and across her shoulder. I’m one of the very few who know that it does covers her ‘whole’ right side. Only her face has nothing not given by needle and ink.

I don’t speak to her, nor she to me. We never have, not here. Not in ‘Sanctuary’. Here there is no need for words between us. Only need for… need.

Not taking my eyes off her, I never do when she’s in the mood I know her to be in, I reach over the bar to flip the switches. With a thunder of sound all three sound systems start up. I turn the dial and lower the volume to manageable levels. Set to different genres of music they fill the bar with soft sounds that blend with no kind of harmony, but impose one by shear will. ‘Siren’ by Theater of Tragedy, wars for dominance with piano by Chopin. My vote is for them till the powerfully angry cello of Tina Guo comes alive.

I pick up our drinks and take Baethny hers. The thick glass a swirl with cloudy greenish white.

Baethny takes hers and inhales the scent. She moved the glass from under her nose to met mine as I lift mine in toast. There is no need for words. We both know the toast is to each other.

I watch her shiver in pleasure as I sip at mine. The green anise a sweet bitter rush of flavor across my tongue.

Sitting her glass to the side half-finished she glides the last steps to me. She rests her face against my chest, looking down I can feel a tremble in her as my hands come to rest on the soft lace on her shoulders.

Beth told Todd earlier on the phone that she had been having a ‘bad day’

Syn knows without words that Baethny has spent the day screaming.

I lift her chin with a hand and look down into her eyes. I kiss her. I taste her lips reveling in the mixture of her and absinthe that my tongue gathers in. The soft feel of her lips, the slick feel of her dark black lipstick.

I feel cold metal on the side of my face as her lips pull away. I watch unmoving as she backs up a step. I try not to shiver as I feel the scrap of the side of her ring across my cheek. I watch her dark eyes as it goes over my jaw and crosses my jugular. Her hand stops at the top button of my shirt.

A curl of her finger and the button drops to the floor. I watch her unblinking eyes as it brothers soon join it by my feet. She slides my shirt off my chest. It comes to hang like a black kilt around my belted waist. At her silent command I back up till the back of my thighs are against one of the big tables. I feel the sharp point as she centers it between my pecks on my bare chest. When my leather-encased leg hit the wood the point pierces my skin. I flinch, but remain quiet. I feel the hot trickle flow a second latter down my chest.

A low moan escapes me when I feel her mouth on me in a rush. Her tongue is hot against my skin as she licks the carmine trail from by my belly button back up to the puncture. I feel the lace of her jacket brush my chest as she places her mouth on the bleeding wound and sucks hard at my skin.

I give a jerking gasp as hot wax falling form above hits my shoulder and back. I shudder as I begin to anticipate the next one to fall.

For several minutes she licks and sucks at my chest. Greedily taking from me. I give the occasional flinch when the wax greets me with heat.

A wet sound other than her licking attracts my attention then. Opening my eyes I look down past her breast and see her hand up under her skirt. I can tell by the sound I’m hearing she is fingering herself with a fury.

She shouldn’t have to do that. I can see that the wound on my chest has almost stopped bleeding. I catch her around her waist and lift her feet off the floor. Taking a half dozen steps I sit her on top of the bar. Looking up at her face I watch her lick the last drops of crimson off the black lipstick.

Placing my hand between her breast, feeling the red silk soft and warm under my fingers, I push her back onto the bar top. She leans her face against one of the tall copper draft pulls. I watch her lick the side of the tap, her piercing clicking on the metal.

I run my hands down her side across her hips then down the length of her legs. My fingers revel in the texture of her fishnets. When I touch leather I step back a bit and lift one of her boots. I caress the shiny warm leather my fingers trace the curve of the dangerously sharp stiletto heel. Moving a hand up her inner calf I catch the zipper and start to very slowly pull it down.

Leaning in I let my tongue taste the side of her boot, as I look down into the dark place between her thighs. I see nothing, but skin under the red satin skirt.

Slipping off her boot I bring her foot to my mouth and place soft kisses against the side from her toes to the heel. The warm fabric of her stocking carries the smell of leather from her boot along with a darker musky smell from where her feet have sweated in the thick leather boots. I kiss the round bump of her heal, then nibble at the side of her ankle. I pull her fish nets away from her skin with my teeth then let them lose. I pull her foot to my chest and holding her firm by her ankle I place soft kisses on the tips of her toes. I can see the dark red polish under the cloth. I let my teeth scrap the top and bottom of her big toe for a second then I begin to kiss my way down the inside of her foot. I pass her ankle again, kissing up past it I follow the soft curve of her calf muscle. The line where her boot had been is like a border between nations. The leather smell on one side, a totally different smell on the other.

I’m determined to track that smell to it’s source.

Running my hands up ahead of my mouth I feel satin then warm skin even softer than satin. My hands cup her ass cheeks as I kiss down into her inner thigh. The smell of her sex drawing me down to it like a wolf to prey.

My tongue lashes at the warm metal of her pierced hood. I move the metal ball around with my teeth making her squirm. I lick slow long even strokes through her labia feeling the folds of skin slip into my mouth, I suck at them.

I fell her hand come to rest on the top of my head her fingers warm and demanding as she forces me deeper into her. I drive my tongue as far into her as I can, lapping at the deliciously thick fluids I find there. My chin grows wet as her juices run down my face.

I turn my face to the side when her hand with the metal ring brushes the side of my cheek. I hear an audible gasp from her then a low moan.

My mouth is flooded with the taste of copper pennies. I lick at the red flow following it to the source, the small cut on her thick outer lips near her hood. I latch my mouth onto it like a leach and suck in the taste of blood and pussy.

I feel her shift under me and then the back of my head is being driven into her by the warm leather of her boot. I feel the sharp stiletto heel touch my shoulder and like a spur I double my efforts to pleasure her.

I feel her fingers curl into my hair, then they tighten. I listen with pride and pleasure as I hear the intake of air that proceeds her ‘orgasmic death scream’ as she calls it.

Her loud cry of pleasure fills the bar and drowns out the music. Her warm wet thighs press hard on the sides of my face as her boot drives me into her. I feel a moments panic when I can’t breath.

I feel pity for anyone who was ever been water boarded as she lets lose a near flood of moisture under my mouth. I feel her hand leave my head and the sound of metal on wood as she digs the armor ring into the bar top.

My hand snakes out to catch the Absinthe bottle when I hear her knock it over. The cold smooth glass under my fingers gives me an idea and when she relaxes enough I pull away. Looking down at the wet folds of skin,I watch the little trickle of blood that still trails down into her.

The glass top of the bottle enters her suddenly. She arches her back up off the top of the bar as the neck of the bottle widens. Ignoring her piteous moans I lean back in when I have it as deep as I wish it to go and begin to lick around where the cold glass meets the warm skin.

My mouth is assaulted with a mixture of tastes. I taste her, and from the bottle I taste raw absinthe, but over it all there is the coppery taste of her blood.

Turning the bottle in my fingers making it spin in my hand I lick as hard as I can from between the cut to her clit and back.

Minutes feel like hours as I devourer her flesh into my mouth, reveling in the taste of her blood.

The violence of her orgasm scares even me!

I pull up away from her, taking in the sight of her black fingernails digging into the wood of the bar top. The scalpel blade sunk at least a quarter of an inch into the old wood. Her legs tremble and her booted foot comes up to the center of my chest. I feel the stiletto hit with unplanned perfection on the place she cut before.

I stumble back when she kicks me away from her, yanking the bottle from inside her as I go.

And I thought she was violent before!

My nearest neighbor is the length of my parking lot and theirs away and I’m seriously wondering about the possibility of the police being called!

I watch her eyes roll up into her head and then she goes slack. Her feet slip off the bar top to hang down, her heel slowly swaying to tap the wood. I watch the rise and fall of her breast with concern for several seconds.

Walking back the few steps to her I place the blood and juice smeared bottle back on the bar.

I place a hand on her bare stomach and give her a little shake.

I see her eyes flutter for a second. Her breathing slows.

“Beth…” I start the word but don’t get more than the first part of it out.

I stumble back from the bar clutching at the left side of my face!

A hot line of fire runs from by my ear to just beside my mouth. Then the warmth spreads to cover the whole of my face as the sting of the slap registers above the pain of the cut. I pull my hand away from my face and look at my blood covered palm. I look back at the bar in disbelief

Baethny, the Daughter in Syn is sitting up with a look of true horror on her face. Her mouth, hidden under her hands. Tears flow out from her eyes as she hops down from the bar top. She lands on the one boot and with a limping gait comes to me.

Her hands come to my face. I flinch away from the one with the blood tipped ring.

Panting in fear she takes my chin and turns my head. I feel her hands pulling me down. She gently runs a finger down beside the cut. I see a look of relief pass across her face for a second.

For only a second.

Then another look replaces it. It is the most raw, pure look of lust I have ever seen in a woman’s face!

Her tongue lashes the line of fire as she pulls me into her. I feel the blood smear up the side of my face, pushed away from her mouth by the force of what she’s doing. Panting, shaking she clutches at me lashing my skin like a large cat licking blood from it’s prey. The feeling is just like that! I see an orgasmic shudder shiver her from the top of her head down!

She drops to her knees in front of me, her fingers clawing at the buckles of my belt, the buttons of my pants. I feel air on my cock for only a second then it’s in the warm depths of her mouth.

I moan as I feel her suck the length of my painfully hard cock into the wet warmth of her throat. I hear a gag sound then feel her clutching at my hips and ass determined to keep me at depth. Her teeth rake the side as she pulls back gasping for air, then I’m again feeling the constriction of her throat around the head of my cock. The warm plastic feel of her lips under the thick lipstick as they clamp onto the base. Then the wonderfully sinful feeling of her tongue going to work on the underside of my cock.

My hands go to the top of her head by their own accord. The fingers curling onto the black and red tresses. A slow in out pump through her lips starts with out any thoughts from me. As I start to move her head, fucking her mouth with the length of me I listen to the wonderfully obscene sounds coming from her mouth. The wet slurp from her as she works nonstop on me even as I fuck her lips.

Too much has happen, I’ve been hard for too long. I feel the begins of my cum as it starts to rise. I beg inwardly for it to hold off and at the same time for the release.

She takes the decision from me.

Her fingers in the scratchy lace gloves curl around the bottom of my cock allowing only the head and an inch or so to enter her mouth. I feel her fingers tighten painfully hard around me.

Like a tourniquet!

July 2018
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