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. bcinaede@gmail.com http://bcinaede.blogspot.ca/