Deathless Whispers On The Wind

In the deep woods beyond the corner house, a lone owl cried out in the night. On soundless wings it emerged from the shadows, swooping with terrible precision on a bounding, too-slow rabbit. In an instant, the owl altered its flight and rose again, its talons sunk deep into the flesh of the still-jerking rabbit. The talons closed, crushing the victim; twice the great wings flapped, then the bird resumed an unseen perch to relish the warm brains of its prey.

Looking blindly into the dark of the woods, Becky shivered. She drank in the cold night air on the back porch of the house, the eerie party music throbbing behind her. Her skin tightened from the cold as she stared up intently at the sky, wobbling on her feet, staring at the moon ghostly and pale in the cloud-darkened sky.

What kind of wine was that?

She shivered again and became aware of her nipples hardening in the cold beneath the gauzy top of her costume.

What the hell was I thinking, dressing as some princess from the Arabian Nights on a night like this?

But the hardening of her nipples was pleasurable, and she found her hand straying to cup a breast and squeeze it. She shivered again, but this time it was from the pleasure that rippled through her body.

Maybe some day Ethan will learn to explore my body.

The wind gathered in the tops of distant trees, then came rushing breathlessly towards her, whipping the wraithlike cloth of her pants against her thighs.

Too much wine tonight, gotta snap out of this. . . where did Emily go?

Gotta tell her I need to go, gotta leave Ethan here.

In the distance a lone creature wailed in the night, a low mournful sound. Time seemed to be suspended by the sound, and details of her surroundings assailed her in incoherent waves of impressions, overlapping vignettes of slowed motion. She slipped a hand inside the elastic of her filmy costume pants, aroused now by the wind that slid across her body as though she were naked for all to see.

I don't need a boy for this.

Her eyes closed as her fingers swirled against her flesh, then she opened them again slowly, disturbed by something that evaded recognition. Black clouds now shrouded the moon and drifted through the chill air into her thoughts: the night had turned suddenly threatening. The cry came again, closer, too close. Her mind struggled to frame ideas. Dead leaves swirled towards her from the shadowy woods, suddenly accelerating from a slow, twisting vortex to whip without warning against her face. Her hand, frozen against her body, touched the only warmth in that night. The chill she now felt spreading came from her core, from her soul. Numbness stole over her body. The cold air was suddenly dry and strangely thick in her throat. Her eyes grew wide and slid slowly sideways, straining to see behind her frozen head. She was no longer alone.

"Becky! Becky?" Ethan's voice came from afar. "Where the hell is she?" With sudden prescience she saw his image; he was leaning back against the bathroom vanity, holding some indistinct head of red hair that bobbed up and down at his crotch. When he threw his head back and his belly spasmed, she could feel the blood pounding in his ears, drowning out her unuttered cries for help.

Right here

, she thought.

Ethan.

But he was gazing down in her green eyes, framed by the riotous red hair, watching her smile and wipe off her lips.

The image dissolved as the porch door suddenly began to recede before her eyes. The door she had stepped out minutes before was racing backwards into the night as hundreds of feet of porch decking filled the gap between her feet and the door. The music came to her again, the lyrics, distant, silly, ironic. She slowly experimented with withdrawing her hand from her pants, feeling the reassuring warmth of her body as her hand slipped free. Then strange, cold hands settled imperiously on her hips.

She could not move, but she felt the rippling goose bumps race across her body from where the hands gripped her; she felt the wind chill on the wet fingers of the hand she had just slipped free. Beneath the black moonlight, she felt not heard a slow overwhelming voice like the faintest whisper of the wind in her ear, a voice whose whispered rise and fall seem to beckon her like a lover in the night. She could not move, but her body changed. The heat that the wind had aroused returned, but now she fought the unwanted power that was assuming its own within her. She did not move, but she felt warm blood rush into her cheeks, blood rushing below, swelling tender flesh. Her breasts responded to the wind's caress, growing heavy and firm with hard, pointed nipples. The cold hands slid up over her bare midriff, leisurely cupping her breasts, kneading them through the fabric of her costume, pulling away the gauze that had been her top as though it had been woven of mere cobwebs. Her nipples tightened still further.

So now I die.

The thought came unbidden but inevitable.

And then her mind was drained of thoughts. No words came to her mouth. Cold lips were now at her throat, sliding imperiously over the bare flesh of her neck; lips as dead as the hands on her breasts.

Ethan!

She moved her head sluggishly as though through thick mud, and her eyes seeking the form behind her. Her body was heavy and slow. It could not act on her muddled thoughts. Adrenaline churned in her intestines but she could not escape. There was the fierce, lurid gleam of red eyes and—as the moon escaped the clouds—the chiseled features of a deathless, indifferent face.

Those eyes held hers, mocking her, flashing hunger. The hand closed like ice on a swollen breast, slowly crushing it in a cruel grip. There was pain, awful pain, but her body took no note and answered the crushing grip with a pearl of moisture seeping out from between her thighs. The dark head moved slowly toward her breast, which now bulged away from the relentless clasp. She watched its slow movements helplessly. The teeth closed on her tender breast, bearing down slowly but with inexorable force on the flesh until pain seared through her white-hot as the flesh gave way and felt the teeth plunge into her soft, warm tissue. Darkness washed over her eyes and she felt a lizard-raspy, cold-lapping tongue, the curious warmth of her blood running in a rivulet through the iron fingers, down her breast, down her belly.

Why . . .?

But it didn't matter; it was death. Dizziness overtook her and she felt her blood rushing away from her into his unhurried mouth, as though some dark magnetism sucked her blood cells into that everlasting night. Her last thoughts mingled with the black clouds filling her eyes. Her legs melted and her body gave way, dangling limply in the moonlight, suspended from the breast that could not escape and which fed the beast. Then somehow her hair was clenched by the other deathless fingers. A knife rose and fell in the air and a deep, glistening rivulet of blood stained his chest.

"Drink, my sweet," came a disembodied voice, the slow and mesmerizing whisper in her head that shook off the darkening clouds in her mind. Her throat was suddenly dry and parched, and she found her face pressing against the wound. Then her mouth was at his skin, feeling its icy hardness. She discovered her arms about him and was astonished by the sensation of her still warm lips against the cold hard skin of his abdomen. She tasted the bitter metallic salt of his blood and licked it with her tongue, cat-lapping the ribbon of red into her mouth. Her thirst, newly discovered, was insatiable. Her fingernails sank slowly into his back as she licked wildly at his chest, moving up now with sudden strength to fasten her mouth upon his wound and drink deep the mingled blood of long-forgotten centuries.

* * *

What the hell am I doing, man? How the hell did I end up here?

Oh my god, what the hell am I doing?

The bathroom was cramped and steamy, lit only by a jack o'lantern nightlight beside the sink. She was kissing his throat, nuzzling her thick red hair against his shoulder. Her hand still held his penis, wet from her mouth and his cum, for it was only when his pleasure had shattered the tension and fought through the haze 16 ounce cups of Halloween punch that his thoughts had returned to his abandoned date. "Look, Cindy," he said, pushing her gently away. "I gotta go."

Her eyes flared briefly, green-hot, then she smiled languorously. "It's Sandy, dumbfuck." She squeezed his penis hard and began to pull on it slowly. Blood began to flow back into it. "And you're an asshole." She forced out a short, ironic laugh. "But are you sure you gotta go? I was sort of hoping for something more than just a warm drink. Don't even assholes know how to stick their dicks in wet twats?" His heart was racing. He saw her hardened nipples pressing against the satin of her witch's costume, took in the lush space between her white breasts that were being pressed together by the black lace bra he saw. His penis was almost hard again and he was keenly aware of how wet and luscious her parted lips seemed and of how delicious her hand's motions were as they traveled up and down, varying speed and pressure.

"I'm sure." His voice trembled. In his eyes he saw not the redhead's green eyes, but Becky's own dark ones, wounded and reproachful. "Sandy, I really am sorry. I didn't mean to lead you on or anything. I just . . . ." Words failed him.

"Shhhh, you poor asshole. Hush. You look guilty as hell. I shouldn't have come after an innocent one like you." She laughed again, still working his penis with her hand, but more slowly now. "You've never had a girl come on to you like that, have you?"

"Me and Becky came together; we've been going out for a year and a half," he began, falling silent as he realized her had skirted her question.

"And I nabbed you when she went out for some air and you needed to pee? You are a pathetic little boy, aren't you? Has she never gone down on you?" Her green eyes were amused now; his face reddened still more.

"No, no. She has. You were just so . . . . I don't know . . . I had been drinking and I was feeling horny when she said she wanted to grab some fresh air. We'd been dancing . . . ." His blush was scarlet. "Look, I didn't come to the bathroom looking to get a blowjob or to get laid," he stammered, angry that he was so transparent to her.

"Shhhh." She put her finger on his lips, then bent down to kiss the tip of his penis before she let go and, looking up at him, softly cupped one side of his face with her hand. "Maybe you're not as much of an asshole as I thought. Your Becky found herself a sweet guy. No, don't worry; I'm not going to ruin your relationship!" He had risen up, alarmed by her name, but then he slumped back, reaching down awkwardly to pull up his pants. "You better find this Becky quick," she said, smiling now. She patted his penis through his pants. "I don't think you've given her half the chance she needs to show you what she wants, little boy. I'm not going to tell you how wet my pussy got when you grabbed my head and began to fuck my face with your dick. I looooove that. But I could tell that you've never done that before. You've never grabbed Becky's head and just fucked it, have you?" His expression answered her. "Go find your Becky. Now that I've bewitched you, go and fuck her properly. I don't want that nice little boner of yours to go to waste!" She spoke lightly, but there was an edge of sadness to her voice. When she moved to the side, he hastened out of the bathroom in search of Becky.

The main party room throbbed with the hip-hop beat. Friends jostled him, reaching out from the dance floor as he wove his way past through the sea of goblins, witches, superheroes, and countless other costumes. A friend punched him on the shoulder, hard, to get his attention and then used his tongue and fist to simulate a fellatio. "Ws she a good fuck, Ethan? I saw you go in there with her!"

"Shut the fuck up, man." The bravado had returned with a new cup of punch. "Have you seen Becky?" The other shook his head no and turned his back on Ethan, sliding down behind his date's body and then slithering back up her. Ethan had made his way across the room now, and he looked back and caught sight of the redhead leaving the bathroom. His mind was filled with the image of her hair in his hands, bobbing up and down on him, with the recollection of her warm tongue on his shaft and her fingers teasing his balls. He shuddered, drank a deep, deep swig from the punch cup, and turned toward the porch door. The lights abruptly died, the music with it, and yells arose from all about him as bodies collided. For a few seconds, confusion reigned in the interior darkness. Outside on the porch he thought he glimpsed Becky with some tall stranger in the spectral light, but then the lights came back on and the music blared again and the moonlit scene was lost in the glare of the dance floor lights. Were they talking? "Blown fuse!" someone yelled as someone else fell into him, splashing his bright red punch down his Han Solo outfit. He didn't notice.

What the hell am I gonna say to her? I can't tell her the truth. Oh, shit. What the hell have I done?

He had reached an open area near the porch door, but suddenly he turned back. He was heading back to the bathroom to collect his thoughts when he remembered the redhead, so he abruptly turned about and headed for the punch station. He slid the new cup down into his empty one, drinking deeply again to calm his nerves.

I just got a blowjob from a witch in the bathroom.

His body responded to this thought, tingling warmly, but he fought this and concentrated on what he would say. Nothing came to him, only the thought that she was still outside and the memory of his own infidelity finally impelled him to the porch door—there had been someone with her out there.

What if . . .?

"Becky?" The porch seemed deserted, cold and silent after the din of the party. When a figure detached itself from the shadows, he thought for a moment he had glimpsed a pair of eyes, red and bright, as if caught in the glare of a flashlight. There was only moonlight, though, and into moonlight Becky stepped. He was mesmerized as she drifted towards him. Despite the bitter chill of the night, she seemed quite at ease in her Arabian nights outfit. As she glided to him, the wind whipped her costume about her body, lithe and sleek. A red stain seemed to color one side of her top and run across her bare belly, but he saw with growing desire the way in which her nipple pressed hard against the fabric of her top on her unstained side. Then she was there, reaching out for his hands. Her hair was wild from the wind, and her eyes seemed to positively glow in the moonlight as she looked up at him.

"Your hands are freezing, Becky!" He had taken them and felt guilt rush through him in a wave, thick in his throat. She was beautiful in the moonlight, somehow unfazed by the wind that made him shiver. He felt only his own cheap impulses from earlier in the night, felt how unworthy he was of her. "What happened to your costume?" He pointed to her stained top. "You spill your wine?"

"You know how the dance floor can be," she said. She pulled him close to her and he was momentarily aware of a rank odor until he found his nose buried in her dark hair. He was trembling now, the enormity of his betrayal paralyzing him even as his body responded to her cool hard form pressing against him. He felt helpless, unable to speak.

"Did she suck your cock well, Ethan?" she breathed into his ear, her hands caressing his head. They had moved somehow beyond the windows into a more secluded but moon-drenched corner of the porch.

He could not move then, could not react.

How can she . . .? Who told . . .?

Her hand was on his penis now, squeezing it just as the redhead had done. "Becky, what are you talking about?"

She moved behind him, her body rubbing close to his, and he was acutely aware of how thin the fabric of her costume was. It did nothing to the mask the curves of her young body. He didn't move. Her hands slid into his pants, and she cupped his penis and balls with cold hands that made him shiver with pleasure and unease. "Did she jerk it for you first? Did she run her warm tongue up and down you shaft and tease the tip with her tongue? Was she hungry for your cum, Ethan? Could you feel her hunger when she opened her lovely lips and took your cock in her warm, wet mouth?"

He was numb now and spoke without realizing it. "I did."

She pulled his pants down his legs, and the wind and the frost-tinged air sent tremors through his body. Standing behind him, she whispered near his ear, her mouth gliding across his bare neck. "And did her hunger make you want her more? I bet you wanted to bend her over the sink; you wanted to watch your perfect, thick cock disappear into her pink cunt. You thought about that, didn't you? How her pussy would feel as it clenched your cock? But she had such nice full lips, such pretty green eyes . . . mmmmm, how lovely to bury your fingers in her hair and pull those lips on top of your cock." One hand pulled on his balls, toying with them, while her other hand began to jerk him off slowly. The blood rushing into his penis was a heady contrast to the frigid air, and he felt himself moaning. A sudden sharp pinch on his neck recalled him to the present.

"Sorry, love," she whispered, "I didn't mean to nip you." She released his balls, still stroking his penis, and ran her free hand up his body. His body felt electric, alive: her hand was cold but sensuous, and when she began to tease his nipples, he felt the first pearl of precum slip from the end of his penis. he leaned his head back against her, only to find her moving again, slipping down to her knees on the cold porch deck. Still she worked his penis, jerking it faster and faster until it seemed purple in the night, swollen and turgid. "Did she lick it like this?" She lowered her head to his penis and took its head in her mouth, her tongue flicking over it in quirky, delicious patterns that held no rhythm. He wanted to sink his fingers in her silken hair, so lustrous beneath the moon, but he seemed paralyzed by sensation again. She released the tip, leaning down to suck his balls into her mouth, letting them flop out one by one when her mouth moved north towards the tip of his penis again.

"Did she swallow your cum, baby? Did you fuck her throat until you came, impaling her on your cock and pulling those thick red curls to you until the sensation was too intense and you had to pull your cock out? Or did you pull out and jerk off in her face, letting the sight of your cock wet from her mouth and those lovely green eyes begging you for your seed send you over the edge. I bet that is what you did; you came on her face, spurting thick jets of cum on her so that you could watch her catch them on her fingers and lick it off with her tongue." He felt unbearably horny now, as though he might literally explode if she kept on. Her words rekindled his visions of the redhead, of the sensations of his cock hitting the back of her throat. Yet strangely he couldn't cum, despite the enormous tension, the pressure, the need.

He looked down at Becky, this Becky he had never known before. Her top had fallen away, exposed her breasts to the night air; one stained, one not, both smooth and silky and capped with hard dark nipples. Her hair was tousled and wind-tossed, but their was a fierce hunger in her eyes as she stroked his almost painfully hard shaft.

"She was good for you, baby boy, but she couldn't do this." She pulled his penis to the side, gripping it firmly, and fastened her teeth along the side of his shaft. He felt her mouth suck on him hungrily, then he was wracked with exquisite pain as her teeth plunged into the swollen flesh of his cock and her sucking grew even fiercer. He grew dizzy and knew he was about to cum harder than he ever had in his life, harder than he ever would again. His fingers and toes tingled, bright lights danced in his eyes, and suddenly an explosion of sensation wracked his body. His life-engendering seed spurted past her face to fall on the cold porch decking where it glistened in the pallid moonlight. Again and again he came, and with each pulse of his penis he felt her mouth suck him in response. Overwhelmed by the intensity of his pleasure, he cried out, his body tingling with life and sensation. As this ebbed, he could only mourn its loss while clinging to the last vestiges of feeling. Then she pulled her mouth off and leaned back. His blood ran from her lips, trailing down her throat and across her bare breasts that glistening in the silver light, yet never he had felt more devoted to her, more in love with her, more willing to yield his life to please her. She was smiling. "She couldn't do that, could she, my love?"