The following tale of sexual depravity contains adult material.
If you are under the legal age for your area (generally 18 or
21), or object to explicit sex, stop reading NOW.

Otherwise, if erotic situations and taboo acts turn you on, then
please enjoy yourself. The characters and situations are, of
course, completely fictitious.

Feel free to post or archive, as long as the story remains intact
and unmodified, and my contact information (email and website)
are attached.

Otherwise, this work should be considered copyright 2007 Sissy Princess Heathyr.




In The Pink
By Sissy Princess Heathyr


        Foster Hanson jammed his bare hands deeper into his
armpits and shivered in the darkness. He was crouched beneath the
granite shroud of a glacial boulder, listening for the sound of
pursuit. Soft patches of moss brushed his neck. Tattered, wispy
spider webs clung to the sides of his face, and jagged shards of
rock poked into him from below. It wasn’t illegal be down near
the water. Idiotic, yes, not to mention unsafe, and extremely ill
advised – but not illegal.
        Attempting to actually cross the water, however, was
liable to get him shot on sight. Of course, the water itself was
just as likely to kill him as any jackbooted pursuit, but he
still felt hunted all the same.
        He counted to a hundred and tossed another rock into the
river. It still splashed. Maybe it was a trick of his
imagination, but the water didn’t sound quite so deep this time.
Less of a ‘plunk’ and more of a ‘plink.’ Another rock, maybe two,
and it would be time.
        Silently, he counted to a thousand once again. He
clenched his teeth to keep them from chattering and let his mind
drift back to the woman who had sent him here.

        “Remember, you have to be there by the seventeenth. Any
later, and you’ll miss the opportunity.”
        He sat on other side of the table and stared at his
hands. They’d stopped bleeding, but it still looked as if the
bones of her fingertips were about to poke through.
        “The hydro diversion schedule and lunar tide don’t
coincide very often. You need to take advantage. The extra water
being diverted from above the Falls will expose the remains. The
nudge of the outgoing tide, thank the Lady, and the chemical
flood from the water purification plant should make it relatively
safe to cross.”
        Foster continued to stare at his hands, silently counting
the ever-pink tips of his fingers.
        “Dammit, Foster! Say something!”
        This time, he looked up from his hands. He stared her in
the face, but didn’t say a word.
        “I’m sorry. I really am. I love you like a brother, but
there is nothing more I can do for you.” She bit her bottom lip.
It still trembled. “It’s not a matter of money or need, and you
damn well know it, so stop with the fucking guilt trip!”
        He reached up and ran one callused finger over the black
lump beneath his armpit. It gave, but did not break. So far, he’d
beaten the odds, surviving to the ripe old age of nineteen.
Nineteen long, hard years of suffering from no fewer than
seventeen mutated disease strains, three forms of cancer, and a
rare genetic disorder that left him without hair or fingernails.
The problem was, only the hair thing ranked him as below average,
as far as global health was concerned.
        “It’s bubonic, Kate. There’s no incarceration for that –
it’s automatic incineration.”
        “You think I don’t know that?” Kate was healthier than
most, with only one form of cancer and a few non life-threatening
viral infections. The young woman dispensed herbal and spiritual
remedies to those who needed them. A self-professed witch without
a coven – at least, since the religion was banished north almost
a decade ago – she continued to operate a discreet little shop at
the corner of Willow and Elm in downtown Buffalo, New York.
        “That’s why you have to go north, and why you have to go
now. I told you, the only thing that can help you know is a visit
to . . . the Goddess.”
        Foster let his rage go, seeming to shrink physically in
the process. “I do know, Kate, and I love you for everything
you’ve done. I probably wouldn’t be alive today, if it weren’t
for your potions and elixirs.” He continued rubbing,
unconsciously, at the lump. “The truth is I’m terrified of what
she’ll do to me.”
        Kate nodded her understanding. “Her price is high –
always higher than you would expect – but if you can bring
yourself to pay, she will have you in the pink forevermore.” For
the first time that evening, a smile touched her eyes. Sadly,
that didn’t stop the tears from falling.
        “Think of it, Foster – a cure for everything that ails
you, and immunization against everything that could.”
        He shuddered against an imagined chill. “Yes, but at what
price?”

        The wind howled down the sparsely wooded slop above. He
shook away the memories and tossed another rock into the river.
This time, it bounced off something solid below.
        The water was as low as it was going to get.
        It was either now, or never.
        Before he could second-guess himself, Foster scurried out
from beneath his rock and stepped onto the twisted steel girder.
It slimy with years of watery neglect, but patches of rust
provided some purchase beneath his feet. Even still, he nearly
toppled off before taking a single step.
        It had been fifteen years since the bridges between the
mainland United States and the rest of the world had been knocked
out in a mass-coordinated terrorist strike that not even the
disaster at the World Trade Center could have predicted. Ten
years since the end of the last ‘war to end all wars’ that had
left half the world in ruin, and the other half poisoned and
dying.
        With the rancid, contaminated water racing inches beneath
him, Foster began crawling across what remained of the bridge. He
hoped he had done a decent job of waterproofing his knapsack,
because these clothes would have to go the moment he reached the
other side. The knees of his jeans were already staring get soft,
and the tips of his gloves were beginning to smoulder. He could
already feel the flesh of his shoulder beginning to itch where it
rubbed against the jagged, saw-toothed uprights.
        There was no line between the two, just a wandering edge
of airborne debris, but he swore he could feel himself pass
between the dirty twilight of America and the eternal night of
its neighbour to the north. After the war, some freak natural
phenomena had pushed most of the fallout north, leaving the
United States under putrid yellow skies that allowed just enough
tainted sunlight through to keep temperatures above the freezing
mark.
        As for Canada . . . well, there was a very good reason
those bridges had never been rebuilt.

        Nearly two hours later, a tired and thirsty Foster Hanson
climbed over the broken retaining wall, high atop the Niagara
River. It had taken him almost a week to make his way from
Buffalo to Niagara Falls, and another three days to locate the
remains of the correct bridge. Climbing down the nearly
two-hundred foot embankment hadn’t been a picnic, but climbing
back up this side made that seem easy.
        If he’d picked the bridge right, then the road stretched
out before him would be Bridge Street. Two blocks up, and a block
to the left, was where he’d find the Stone Jug, an abandoned
relic of the nineteenth century and home to  . . . the Goddess.
        “Well, good evening, handsome! Aren’t you a sight for
synthetic eyes?” A pale-faced harlot leaned out of the darkened
remains of a customs-booth behind him. One hand rested between
her breasts, while the other beckoned him closer. “A crisp will
get you these.” She unzipped her blouse to reveal a pair of
oversized, torpedo-like breasts. Full and pointed, with rosy red
nipples that looked painted on. “An extra hard will get you . . .
well, a little extra.”
        Despite himself, Foster Hanson paused. A hundred and
fifty bucks was a price he could never pay, but might be able to
work it off. For a moment, he let himself believe she might be
the real thing. All he really knew about the woman he’d been sent
to meet was that she dressed exclusively in glossy latex and PVC
– two materials that hadn’t been used outside American hospitals
for longer than he could remember. Indispensable in preventing
the further spread of disease, they were strictly regulated and
far too valuable for use as common street-wear.
        He didn’t have to get very close to see through the
charade. Her blouse was cheap cotton, painted with a little
recycled automotive paint, and she still showed tan lines where
the skin of her shoulders hadn’t yet faded to match the rest of
her. He turned away.
        Disappointment fought with relief.
        “Sorry, maybe on my way back.” For the first time since
leaving Kate’s shop, he fingered the odd little pink charm around
his neck. It looked like combination of the symbols used to mark
male and female rest rooms, but combined into one. “Right now,
there’s an appointment I really have to keep.”
        “Fuck you, boy.” The woman zipped up her blouse so fast,
it was a wonder the teeth didn’t seize. “If you’re stupid enough
to do more than brag to your friends about touching this side of
the river, then I ain’t wasting no more time on you!”

        Surprisingly, many of the buildings of old downtown had
survived the explosions, the collapse of the bridges, and the
fighting that followed. The building before him was three stories
of grey stone, with a few intact windows on the second floor. The
feeble glow of a half-powered streetlight was enough to
illuminate the words ‘Bank of’ spelled out above the main door.
Whatever had followed had been worn away by the years.
        The moment he turned onto the side street, he knew
precisely where his destination lay. The building at the far end
looked to have been built roughly around the same time as the
bank, but it had weathered the years far more poorly. The roof
was in tatters, with a few withered tree limbs poking through the
holes, never to feel the touch of the sun again. The windows had
all been boarded up long ago, with only a few glimpses of broken
glass showing where the wood had rotted away.
        What struck him most about the structure was its
presence. It sat there, alone in the darkness, commanding the
entire block. Stories of ghosts had lost their power to frighten
the innocent long ago, overwhelmed by horrors far more
commonplace, but if any building was truly haunted, then this was
it.
        Foster shivered a little more deeply, but not just from
the cold. If he wasn’t in such desperate need of the woman
inside, if he hadn’t gone through hell to get here, he wouldn’t
have walked past the place, much less tried to get inside.
        Following Kate’s instructions, he bypassed the main door
– covered with several sheets of plywood and padlocked shut, in
any case – and made his way around back. The cinderblock wall had
fallen prey to vandals long ago, but it was still a tight squeeze
getting through the gap into the courtyard. Inside, he stepped
awkwardly over broken furniture and scraps of building materials,
eventually coming to a halt before the wrought-iron gate set into
the darkest corner of the building.
        With the strange pink talisman in one hand, he pushed on
the gate and stepped inside.

        She could smell him the moment he stepped into the
courtyard. Young and virile . . . but sick and damaged at the
same time. He still smelled of the river – whatever spots he had
failed to dry would certainly scar – and of the industrialized
air of the south. His clothes would have to go the moment he
stepped inside, but at least there would be no need to worry
about the hair.
        “Ah, he has the talisman. Another present from my sweet,
sweet, Katherine. I wonder if he knows what it means.” She
slipped from her chair, as subtle as a snake, and perched herself
atop the table-cum-altar. “He needs much, much that only I can
give, but his price shall be the same as the others.”
        With a flick of her fingers, she illuminated the brass
lantern above her shoulder.
        The creak of metal on stone echoed throughout the
building. “Ah, the gate opens. He comes . . .”

        “Um, Hello?” Foster jumped as the heavy, wrought-iron
gate clanged shut behind him.
        He wouldn’t have been surprised to find that it had
locked behind him, but he wasn’t about to check. Right now, he
really didn’t need to know.
        The room in which he found himself smelled old and stale,
as if it hadn’t been opened in years. It took a moment for the
dust to clear. When it did, he spied a sickly yellow glow coming
from the doorway to his left. Not enough to illuminate the room
he was in, just to point out a destination. Careful of where he
placed his feet, yet stumbling anyway, he crossed the room and
stepped through the door.
        The moment he saw her, Foster dropped to his knees. Her
very presence compelled him. She was the most radiant, glorious,
beautiful woman he had ever seen. Even sitting as she was, he
could see she was over six feet tall, with almost abnormally long
legs, an impossibly slender waist, and the kind of breasts that
were rarely seen outside a brothel or mandatory maternity ward.
        She was encased, head to toe, in glistening, pink PVC.
Only the oval of her face and the tips of her fingers escaped its
skin-tight embrace. The flickering flames of the lantern danced
across her body, alternately revealing and disguising each curve
and dimple. It was difficult, almost painfully so, but he forced
himself to look into her eyes.
        Even if they hadn’t been surrounded by a face of
absolute, unblemished whiteness, those eyes still would have
looked blacker than the darkest night. Her lips were black as
well, full, and wet with the promise of pleasures to come.
        “Strip off those clothes and dry yourself properly.” He
never saw her move, but suddenly a towel was flying his way. “You
are work enough already, without adding further scarring and
sickness to your helpless flesh.”
        Her voice was old, but strong, with an accent that sent
shivers down his spine. Had the room been dark, that accent would
have been enough to seduce his fears away.
        A handful of heartbeats later he was standing naked
before her. Foster had never been comfortable with his body. His
lack of hair highlighted every bruise and blemish, and his torso
was a roadmap of scars that would never heal. Although not
technically a virgin – he and Kate had masturbated one another
often enough – he’d never made the commitment necessary to risk
sharing all the contaminations of the world.
        Yet, beneath the all-consuming gaze of those black eyes,
he felt . . . comfortable.
        “Not bad.” She didn’t so much stand as simply flow away
from the table. “You, at least, provide some material to work
with.” She raised one hand to her face and placed the tip of the
index finger between her lips. When she pulled it back out, there
was an inch-long fingernail extending from the tip. “Now,” she
whispered softly, “let’s see if you have what I need.”
        Foster watched, spellbound, as she used that fingernail
to trace a diamond pattern between her breasts. She dropped her
arms, causing her breasts to swell against the gash. A tiny hole
revealed itself in the material. Her fingers peeled away the
material to reveal the full depths of her cleavage. Next, she
traced a small circle around each nipple. She removed the
material there with nothing more than a flick her of finger. The
nipples beneath were black – flat black, as opposed to the
shining black of her lips – with just a hint of white flesh
revealed around them.
        When she laughed, the sound was like music. “So, you are
capable of becoming aroused.”
        He looked down at the erection between his legs. He was
embarrassed, but made no move to hide it.
        Next, the pink temptress traced a path between her legs,
turning herself around so he could watch the nail slide between
the cheeks of her ass. This time, instead of peeling away the
material, she simply left a slit through which she dragged her
entire hand on the way back to the front.
        The juices of her sex glistened in the lamplight as she
licked it clean.
        “Now, if you wish to be cured, you must be prepared to
pay the price. That you already know.” She moved, rather than
stepped, forward and pressed her breasts against his chest. “What
you do not know is that the cure and price are one and the same.”
        She felt cold against his chest. Her breasts were soft
and yielding, as natural as could be, but her nipples were hard
and sharp.
        “I will not explain.” She stepped into him, forcing him
to turn. “You will obey my every instruction. Is that clear?”
        He swallowed. “Yes.” How could he possibly refuse? “Yes,
my Goddess.”
        This time, her laugh was the sound of bells chiming. Why
they reminded him of church bells, when he had never so much as
set foot inside one, he had no idea. “I do so like that,” she
cooed, “but I think not. If you must call me anything, you can
call me Lamia.” She placed a hand behind his head and gently
pulled him towards her breasts.
        “Suck, my pretty one. Suck me . . . drink of me, so that
we may be joined.”
        He was nervous. Terrified. A dozen emotions were swirling
through his head, demanding as many different responses. This was
not how he had imagined his first time would be.
        Who was he kidding? He never really expected to have a
first time.
        The moment his lips touched the puckered black flesh of
her nipples, all thought ceased. She tasted clean. Tasted of
purity and health. He swirled his tongue around one nipple, then
the other. His mouth raced back to the first one again, his
tongue sliding across every tiny bump. Gently, he flicked the
nipple with the tip of his tongue, and actually felt the jolt of
pleasure that rippled across her breast.
        “Yes, very nice,” she cooed, “but you must suck, if we
are to begin.”
        He obeyed. He took the nipple between his lips, scraped
the tip with his tongue, and began to suck. Almost immediately, a
torrent erupted into his mouth, nearly choking him with the force
of its flow. Instinctively, he tried to pull back, but she was
holding him tight. Only now realizing that they were closed, he
opened his eyes and watched as her free hand squeezed her breasts
through the pink PVC, forcing more and more of her milk into his
mouth.
        Having never tasted milk, Foster found himself savouring
every drop. It was thick and heavy, but oh so smooth. Like that
first drink of water on a hot day, he could feel the milk flowing
through his body, racing to where it was needed most. It hurt, in
places, but he knew he needed more.
        This was the pain of purification.
        Foster felt himself growing harder. Maybe it was just
her, or maybe it was just the circumstances, but there was
something alternately erotic and nurturing in the act of feeding
at her breast.
        “The other side, my greedy sweetling.” She released him
long enough for him to take a deep breath, then forced his face
into her other breast.
        By the time she released him again, he felt as if his
entire body was on fire. He wanted to jump up and down, dance and
shake and shimmy, until the world recognized how alive he felt.
Instead, he dropped back to his knees, quivering beneath her
hands.

        She stared down at him and smiled. A long time had passed
since she’d fed another. Even longer since she’d fed in full.
There wasn’t much hope left in the world, not for humankind, but
she was quite willing to risk a little on her latest specimen.
“The preparation has begun.” Lamia leaned down and placed her
hands beneath his arms.
        “Wait! The blisters! They’re—“
        “Hush. I know what they are. They do not matter.” She
picked him up from the floor and brought him to his feet. While
he dangled above the floor, she darted her head forward and
nipped at each of his puckered, wrinkled little nipples. The
blood that flowed was weak and sickly, almost repellent to the
taste, but it was necessary if she was to taste his healing.
        “What happens next may hurt as well,” she warned, but it
is necessary.”
        He just nodded.
        She carried him, effortlessly, to the table. In a matter
of moments, she had him secured by the wrists and ankles with a
set of old-fashioned manacles. They had come with the building,
dating not to its short duration as a police station, but to the
original customs house. She took her time adjusting the length of
each chain, leaving him with room to move, but no room to
struggle. It wouldn’t do for him to become cramped or
uncomfortable.
        Besides, a little movement would be necessary to show his
enthusiasm.

        The concrete table was cold beneath his back, much colder
than the bands of iron that held him in place. His nipples hurt,
but the pain would fade. As helpless as he felt, Foster was more
aroused that ever. Vaguely, he remembered hearing tales of people
who engaged in activities like this, back when casual sex was
more than just a legend. He still didn’t understand how or why it
should be so arousing, but he was willing to accept the reality
of what he felt right here, right now.
        When she took his cock in her mouth, gently scraping her
teeth across the head, he nearly cried out in terror. Even when
she’d bit his nipples, it had been so quick, so unexpected, he’d
been able to forget the stories of what was said to roam the
streets here in Canada. Now, they all came flooding back. He was
sure, like he’d never been sure of anything before, that she was
going to bite it off.
        Instead, she began moving her head up and down, sliding
her tongue along the shaft while her lips provided a gentle, soft
suction. Up and down, again and again, she stroked him with her
mouth. Every once in a while she would pause at the top and
nibble lightly at the head, before ramming the entire length deep
down her throat. At the same time, she was fondling his balls,
rolling them between her fingers, and squeezing them in time with
her suction.
        Foster lost himself in the moment. Oral sex. A blowjob.
This was what he’d heard whispers about in the streets. Men
talked about it with the kind of hushed awe that was usually
reserved for hospitals and cemeteries, while women talked about
it as if it were the guiltiest pleasure in the world. The truth
was that it was more glorious than he could ever have imagined.
        It was like oral masturbation, only smoother and more
consistent. He found himself wanting to thrust against her face,
to fuck her mouth. The urge to give her more, to feed more of his
swelling flesh between those lips was impossible to resist. He
strained against his chains, barely able to lift his ass from the
cold cement table, and groaned in pleasure.
        When he felt the familiar swelling in his balls, he
opened his mouth to warn her. At the same time, she squeezed him
tight and forced his cock deeper into her throat. Instead of a
warning, his mouth cried out with an unintelligible moan of the
deepest pleasure. Time seemed to slow. He could feel the cum
racing up the inside of his cock. Lamia was slowly releasing the
head from her throat, but not in time. There wasn’t enough time!
        He exploded. He began showering the roof of her mouth
with hot jets of cum.

        The moment of climax was perfect. Lamia reached down and
quickly stabbed her nail into the tender flesh beneath his sac.
Whatever pain there was would be lost in the pleasure of the
moment. She held a finger against the wound and continued to
suck. His volume of cum was already dropping with just the second
spurt, but it would be enough for this first round.
        Finally, with a few weak thrusts of his hips, the moment
was over. While he struggled to draw breath, she looked him in
the eyes. She allowed a glistening pearl of semen to escape the
obsidian prison of her lips, then quickly sucked it back in. It
wouldn’t do to waste it. Certainly not.
        With her cheeks full of his seed, she dropped back down
and began sucking at the wound she’d opened beneath his balls.

        Foster gasped. It didn’t feel like a big cut, and only
stung a bit. The feel of her tongue lapping up his blood was
weird, but not altogether unpleasant.
        Before he even realized she had stopped, Lamia standing
atop the table, straddling him with one leg to either side of his
hips. How she got there, he had absolutely no idea.
        She leaned over, never moving her legs, bending only at
the waist, until her face was an inch from his own. Foster
watched as she opened her mouth wide. A pool of glistening cum
nearly overflowed her teeth. It was an extremely erotic sight,
seeing his cum filling her mouth, but something about the moment
disturbed him. He had no idea what she had in mind, but he began
to wonder if this was why he’d been bound.
        Quick as cat, her head darted down to leave a cum-stained
kiss in each of his ears. Next, she pulled back and kissed his
eyes, leaving a sticky film on each. He was certain she was going
to kiss him on the lips next. Instead, she let a dollop of cum
roll to the tip of her tongue before licking his left nostril,
and then did the same for his right.
        His ears felt plugged, and he was unable to open his
eyes. His nose was filled with the overpowering smell of sex,
male musk, and cum. It was already beginning to dry around the
edges. As it dried, he realized it had created a film over both
nostrils, leaving him unable to breathe. Blind, deaf, and unable
to draw breath, he was forced to open his mouth.
        That was when she kissed him. Her lips were soft, but
firm, and brutally cold to the touch. The instant they touched
his, a bond was formed. Her kiss became much more than just a
kiss. She slowly fed him his own cum, depositing one drop at a
time from her tongue to his.
        Strangely, once his initial revulsion passed, it didn’t
bother him as much as he’d expected. The taste was salty and
strong, not at all pleasant, but the way she delivered it was
tender and sweet.
        He desperately wanted to open his eyes, to read her
intentions in her own, but it was no use. He could only lay
there, completely helpless, as she passed the cum from her own
mouth to his. It seemed to take an eternity, but finally his
mouth was as full. Somehow, and he knew this, it exactly as full
as hers had been. It was only then that he realized he had not
swallowed.
        When she broke the kiss, he continued to lay there,
unmoving, with a mouthful of his own cum. The taste and the smell
were completely overwhelming. He felt as if he’d been ambushed
with his own sexual desires, and forced to experience them from
the other side. He wanted to swallow just as much as he wanted to
spit it out.
        For some reason, he did neither.

        Her tongue flicked each ear in turn, returning at least
one of his senses. “Very good, my sweet one. Most who come to me
have to go through the ritual two, three, even four times before
they accept the seal.”
        She licked open his eyelids and allowed him to gaze into
the liquid black pools of her eyes. “It was necessary to create a
bond, in order for the healing to begin. My fluids into you, and
back into me, through you.” Finally, she opened his nose with a
kiss, allowing him to breathe once again. “Your fluids into me,
and through me, back into you.”
        She waved her hand and freed him from the restraints.
Never breaking contact with his eyes, she helped him to sit upon
the table, still holding the cum in his mouth.
        “Milk, semen, blood, and saliva – the four essential
fluids of life and love.” She sat down in his lap and wrapped her
legs about his waist. She smiled as she reached up to place both
hands behind his head. “Now, you will kiss me, and do for me what
I did for you.”

        They kissed each other, passing smaller and smaller
amounts of cum back and forth, each of them swallowing a little
at a time. It was thick and warm where it ran down his throat,
and it filled him with the same sense of life that he’d
experienced while nursing at her breasts. Every once in a while,
his tongue would scrape against her sharpened eyeteeth – her
fangs, a distant part of him recalled – drawing a fraction more
blood. Finally, when there was no more left to share, they
touched tongues one last time, and parted.
        While he was still coming to grips with what had just
happened, she laid herself down on the table and spread her legs
wide. “Now,” she whispered, “you will do for me, what I did for
you.” She pulled open the slit in her suit, revealing the
glistening valley of her sex, framed by pink PVC and a fan of ten
perfect black fingernails.
        A few flicks of her index finger were enough to expose
the tip of her clit from the folds of her labia.
        He didn’t need any help. Foster lowered himself to the
table and moved his head between her legs. The smell of her sex
was intoxicating, a blend of everything female, and everything
sexual. He was drooling in anticipation, almost shaking with the
need to please her. That tiny little clit was calling out to him,
begging him for attention. Fortunately, he had played with Kate’s
before, so he had some idea of what to do.
        She moaned as he kissed the tip of her clit. It was wet
and slippery, and much more firm than Kate’s had ever been. He
licked a circle around its base, feeling her quiver with each
touch. Gently, so as not to hurt her, he took it between his
teeth and rolled it back and forth. When he felt it begin to
swell beneath his touch, he began sucking on it, drawing it all
the way out.
        “Mmmmmm, yes . . . very nice.” She let go of the slit
she’d made and intertwined her fingers around the back of
Foster’s head. “I knew you had potential when you walked in the
door, but for the first time, I think I may have found success.”
        What that meant, he didn’t care. The smell and taste of
her pussy flooded his senses as he continued to suck, nibble, and
lick at her clit. It was still growing, nearly twice the size of
Kate’s when she climaxed, and showed no signs of stopping. Lamia
was grinding herself against his face now, holding his head in
place, and forcing his mouth against her.
        It felt good to please her.

        “Yes, keep sucking, my sweet.” While she’d had patients
perform this task countless times, it had been over a decade
since one had displayed so much enthusiasm. The knowledge
intensified her pleasure.
        She was thrusting herself away, then back against his
face now, as if she were fucking his mouth with her clit. “I can
get very big, so don’t let its size . . . distress you. “ She’d
be out of breath by now, if she still needed it, and sweating
heavily, if she still could. “You . . . you are doing an
exquisite job.”

        Big? Foster adjusted himself so that his nose wasn’t
quite so squished. Her clit was already huge! Even at the
farthest arc of her thrusting, an inch of clitoris was still in
his mouth. Not only was it getting longer, it was getting thicker
too. He had no idea whether this was normal – Kate’s was the only
clit he’d ever touched, much less seen – but he felt like he was
sucking on a thumb, only one that tasted far more sweet.
        Eventually, as it grew from thumb to index finger, he was
forced to give up on the licking and the biting.
        She continued to grow with each thrust, until he could
feel the tip of her clit rubbing the back of his throat. If it
weren’t for the fact that he’d seen it with his own eyes, Foster
would have sworn it was a man’s cock inside his mouth, rather
than a woman’s clitoris. Even knowing what he did, he still found
himself looking up between thrusts to fix the sight of her
breasts in his mind.
        “Oh, sweetling! Do not stop . . . do not stop!” She
pushed him over onto his back and squatted above his face,
freeing her hands to play with her breasts. “Keep sucking, hard
and deep, and do not stop until I tell you.”
        He had his hands wrapped around her thighs in a futile
effort to slow the speed of her thrusts. That monstrous clit was
sliding in and out of his throat now, choking him with its
length. The shaft sliding between his lips was still the same
smooth pink as the clit he’d begun with, but it was already
larger than his cock. His throat felt as if it was being
stretched, and even his lips were beginning to feel sore.

        She dropped her hands from her tits. Lamia braced herself
against the table with one hand and wrapped the other about her
clit. There was more than enough room for her to grasp it outside
his mouth, even while the tip was still deep in his throat. She
was very pleased indeed to realize that fingers could not close
around the whole shaft.
        That was a true reflection of his devotion.
        When she came, it was with a roar that shook the dust
from the ceiling. She slammed into his face so hard, they both
bounced off the table. Another bruise to heal. It was hard, so
hard, not to let it all out. Her hand was clasped around the clit
like a vice, holding back decades of neglect. The tip was still
quivering and quaking, deep inside his throat. Finally, she
pulled back, leaving him gasping for breath.
        “Ah, ah, ah. You’re not finished.”

        He shook the sweat from his eyes and looked up to see her
holding her clit before his face. Only, it wasn’t a clit any
longer. Sure, it was still the same smooth pink flesh, but now it
had a head with a slit in it. Before he could register much more
than that, she released it from her hand.
        It exploded.
        Time seemed to slow. He saw the slit open wide. He
watched the bubble of white, glistening cum emerge. That bubble
raced towards him, propelled by an expanding jet of hot cum, all
of it exploding from a woman’s clit! The instant it crashed into
his still-open mouth, Foster felt time resume.
        The blast was hard and hot, ferocious in its intensity.
It literally stunned him with its intensity. The taste was
nothing like his own. It was sweet where his was salty, rich
where his was tangy. Wherever it seemed to come from, it was
distinctly feminine.
        “Yes! Open wide!” She returned to stroking her impossible
clit as it kept feeding its seed into his mouth. “Take it all, my
sweetling. Swallow, swallow, swallow . . . this won’t stop any
time soon!”
        She was right. By the time the last drop slid down his
throat, he had swallowed at least seven, maybe eight mouthfuls of
her cum. It had coated the whole of his mouth, the entire length
of his throat, with a film that simply would not go away.
        “Magnificent, my sweetling. It has been many, many years
since I have cum like that.” She rose from her crouch to stand
above him, one ivory hand clutching her clit, the other caressing
her breasts. “I will need some time to recover, but I see you are
already there.”
        Foster looked down, through the inverted ‘V’ of her legs,
to where his own cock was nearly at full erection, straining for
the sky.
        Lamia took three steps back and positioned herself above
his cock. “In the meantime,” she promised, “you may please me
once again.” Suddenly, she kicked her legs out to the side and
dropped through the air.
        Her aim was perfect.
        “Ahhhhhhh!” He bucked against the table as her pussy
swallowed his still-sensitive cock in one single stroke. The
cheeks of her ass slammed against his thighs hard enough to leave
yet another bruise. He was inside her, deep inside her, with
neither protection nor a care for it.
        Her pussy was cold, almost painfully so, but it ignited a
fire inside him all the same. She was grinding herself against
him, twisting and turning so that he explored every inch of her.
At the same time, he was thrusting into her, pushing the head of
his cock just a little deeper, to feel just a little more of her
sex. It was incredible!

        This almost made the years of waiting worth it. She took
his hands and wrapped them around her clit. They were warm and
rough, callused and scarred. The friction against her flesh was
delightful. “Play with clit. Stroke my cock.” She smiled down at
him. “Call it what you wish, my sweet, but please me . . . make
me hard again.” She sucked each of her fingers, slowly,
seductively, sharpening the razor-like black talon on the tip of
each.
        “It really would be better if you were to have me ready,
before you finish.” Laughter, like the sound of a summer
thunderstorm, echoed throughout the room.
        A flurry of dancing fingernails later and her breasts
were fully exposed. Freed from the tight confines of the pink
PVC, they were even larger than they’d looked. Two glorious white
globes of female beauty, capped by perfectly round nipples of
obsidian darkness, hovered just out of reach.
        It felt good to let them free, to expose them to the air
once more. As long as she had a willing patient to suckle them,
they would remain fresh and firm. They would need constant care,
but she trusted very much that, with this one, that care would be
available.

        With a cry of hunger, Foster lunged upward to take one of
the dangling globes into his mouth. He licked his way across
every inch of frost-coloured flesh, sucking and biting wherever
he pleased. This time, when he sucked the nipple, there was no
milk to be had, but that didn’t deter him.
        He was lost in a mindless sexual frenzy. He was fucking –
being fucked, more accurately – by the most beautiful woman ever
to grace the face of the earth. Her breasts were slapping him on
both sides of the face as he sucked and licked, worshipping them
with his mouth. At the same time, he had an eight-inch clit in
his hand that he was stroking with more care and desire than he’d
ever devoted to his own cock.
        “Oh, Goddess! So close! So close.”

        “Not yet, my sweet.” Her laughter shook the brass lantern
above. The flame flickered, giving the illusion of lightning to
the thunder of her laugh. She continued thrusting against him,
contracting the muscles deep inside her pussy. It was within her
power to manipulate the insides of her vagina to squeeze and
caress the cock inside with just as much dexterity as a pair of
hands.
        The lust in her eyes must have been frightening to
behold.
        “No, not yet. I absolutely forbid it.”

        He was absolutely powerless to resist. As much as it made
him want to scream out in frustration, he held himself back. He
began biting his lip. He chewed on his tongue. Anything to keep
himself from the edge. It was doubly hard concentrating on her
clit, stroking its length and rubbing the head against his thumb,
but it had to be done.
        As he watched, Lamia reached up to slice the hood away
from her head in a cataclysmic flurry of dancing black talons.
Pink shreds of PVC fell atop him like fake snow, revealing a head
as bald as his own. The flesh there was more creamy than white,
slightly darker than the rest of her exposed flesh, running to a
perfectly even band of black around her throat. She leaned
forward, fucking against him the whole time, and began a string
of kisses around his neck.
        “You will have a collar as pretty as mine,” she cooed,
“before we are done.” The hickeys were sharp. Biting. Painful. He
couldn’t see, but knew she was breaking the skin with her teeth.
The pain helped to distract him, and seemed to make her grow even
bigger.
        “I’m nearly ready, my sweetling.” She twisted his head to
one side, then the other, completing the chain of kisses.
        That’s when it happened.
        She moved too fast for his eyes to follow. One moment,
she was hunched over his sweat-drenched frame, with her clit in
his hands and his cock in her pussy. The next, she was kneeling
at the far end of the table, with his legs in her hands and his
ass in the air.
        “Sweetling. I’m ready.”
        Nearly an inch of her clit drove into his ass. The pain
was excruciating, yet he found himself relaxing his muscles,
opening for more. She pulled out and drove into him again. This
time, he took another half-inch. With each thrust, she pushed his
legs farther forward. By the time he had taken half her length,
the tip of his own cock was poking him in the face.

        “One . . . more . . . time.” A grin split her face from
ear to ear, revealing a line of sharpened white teeth behind the
blackness of her lips. Her fangs were growing, making it hard to
close her mouth, and leaving her with a slight lisp. “My fluids
into you, and through you, back into me.”
        She kept thrusting into his ass, forcing him to accept
more each time. Even though she would be able to control
everything about him, later, virgin ass was always the best. Over
the centuries, she had fucked them all – men and women, young and
old, willing and unwilling – but never like this. She still
wielded power over him, and the uncertainty in his eyes was
nearly as sweet as the terror with which she was so intimately
familiar, but this was different.
        This was virgin territory. Male territory. Willing
territory. If she held back just that extra little bit, and if he
was willing to give just that extra little bit, her sweetling
just might survive to continue the feast.

        Foster was writhing around on the table -- as best he
could in the position in which she’d placed him. The pain was
lessening with each thrust, replaced by an uncomfortable
sensation that wasn’t yet pleasure, but promised to become. At
the same time, she continued folding him forward. He already had
the head of his cock between his own lips, and it was creeping
closer and closer to the back of his throat.
        “More, more, more, my sweetling!” The entire length of
her clit was inside him now, all eight inches, pushing and
straining to new depths with every thrust.
        Now he found himself squirming in pleasure. It felt good,
it felt right, and it felt like he wanted more. He had half his
own cock inside his mouth, and a woman’s clit deep inside his
ass. Her every thrust inside him sent him deeper inside himself.
        Lamia leaned all her weight against his legs and reached
down to fondle his balls. “Suck it, my sweet. Lick your cock,
feel it inside your mouth. Explore it with your tongue.” She was
pushing more and more of it into his mouth. “You’ll want to know
it well, before it fills you.”
        He obeyed. With half his mind focused on fucking back
against the clit in his ass, the other half devoted itself to the
cock in his mouth. He couldn’t do much more than suck and lick,
held as he was, but it was enough. His cock was responding to the
attention, growing harder with each touch. Before long, his
smooth, hairless balls were brushing against his chin.
        “Oh, my sweetling . . . YES!” Her cry shattered the tiny
windows of the brass lantern above. Dust streamed down from the
gaping holes in the ceiling. She slammed herself into his ass,
driving the breath from his lungs, as she came.
        Moments after that hot stream of cum splattered him deep
inside, Foster came as well. The head of his cock was deep inside
his throat for the first explosion.
        Lamia came again inside his ass, releasing his legs at
the same time. His cock began slipping back out, showering his
tonsils with the next blast.
        Again, she came inside him, the force of her climax
pushing the first loads deeper and deeper inside. Foster came
again, this time against the roof of his mouth.
        She came, pushing more cum deeper inside him. He exploded
against his teeth, only the frantic suction of his lips keeping
the torrent of white from running down his chin.
        She pulled out for the final blast, leaving a puddle of
cum in the crack of his ass. Foster’s final spurt left a trail of
white cum from above his left eyelid, down across his nose, and
back into his open mouth.

        She wanted to scream with rage, with pent-up frustration.
It hurt so much to hold back, to deny herself the final thrust.
It was necessary, though, if he was to continue under her care.
“You are cured, my sweetling.” Lamia crouched down and ran her
face through the cum she’d deposited atop his ass. “Nothing will
harm you, from this day forth.” She crawled across the table and
rubbed her cum-smeared face against his own. They kissed, deeply,
passionately, as only the most intimate lovers can. The taste of
cum, whether it be from cock or clit, became one.

        Foster could feel the difference. He knew he was cured.
For the first time in his life, he cried tears of joy. “And your
price, Goddess? What can I possibly do to repay you?”
        They were words said often enough, without meaning, but
he meant every syllable. “I will do anything.”

        She laughed. He was hers – now, and forevermore. An
eternity of endless lust, of further experimentation and delight.
There was still far more she could do with her metamorphic flesh,
that she knew, and he would provide the opportunity to try it
all.
        “But, of course,” she told him. “I would expect nothing
less.”
        “I don’t understand.”
        “Did I not tell you that the cure and price are one and
the same?”
        “Yes, but –“
        While she waited, her fingers coaxed the pink PVC of her
outfit back into place until the material was whole once again.
Even though he couldn’t see what she had done, Foster tensed
against her, feeling the slick material insert itself between
them.
        He didn’t have to be smart to please her, but she wanted
to see understanding dawn before she took him further.

        He made the connection. “You mean, we continue like this
. . .?” He licked his lips, which were suddenly dry. “For how
long?”
        “For as long as you wish to remain cured.”
        Foster was surprised to realize he really didn’t mind. In
fact, he was curious as to what other tricks she might have up
her sleeve.

        Lamia read the answer in his eyes. “Given enough time, my
sweetling, we will become one. One day, years and years and years
from now, you tool will know my hungers . . . and my delights.”
        She smiled.

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