Malicious Intent

His home was shadow, nestled away from sight, hidden. Even the blinding bolts of lightening that wrecked havoc outside could not illuminate the features of his body as he moved about the room, silently, brushing past the white-laced curtains that fluttered ferociously in the wind. He circled the bed, watching her through dark, smoldering eyes, absorbing every detail of her body into his mind. He listened to the labored breathing; the slow, gasping breaths she took. He smiled satisfactorily as the terror crept across her pale face. Even as her body began to writhe violently and her chest pound, she slept, lost in a nightmare of his making.

He knew exactly what she felt – the absolute horror of dying – and he savored every moment. He had known her fear ever since her childhood and he played his malicious influence upon her mind, forcing her to relive that memory of almost dying; he kept her at the pinnacle of her distress, that moment when she had lost all hope and her lungs were filling with water. He was on the shore, watching from the darkness of the trees; mesmerized by her struggle to remain afloat, and that expression on her face - uninhibited terror - it was what drew him to her. He had wanted to get closer, to see death overtake her, but he crept too near, and her eyes found his, cried out to him; he could not turn away from her pleading gaze; the look of fear in her eyes stirred something deep within him; and in the end, he had dragged her to safety, leaving her at the river bank, shivering and coughing up water.

He did not stay to ensure her safety; the village was close, and the villagers would have killed him if he were seen. So he escaped back to his shadows. The villager who arrived summoned the others, and they took the young child to her mother, her body limp and cold, but still a murmur of life could be heard. She was nursed back to health, and it was not until weeks later that the village elders were summoned to the mother’s house. They encircled the child as she lay asleep upon the straw mat, her skin had become paler in the candlelight, and they saw what was to be feared - a mark, in the shape of a hand gripping her, pulling her by the wrist. The air grew heavy with an uncertain dread. He had touched her, enough to leave his taint upon her; she was bound to his curse now, to be his upon her death. When she had awakened, she could not remember anything, and the village elders felt it wise to remain that way. She was sent away with her mother, to find refuge in the more populated cities, to hide from him. Thus she grew into adulthood unaware of what had transpired; those who kept the secret had long since passed away.

He, however, had not forgotten.

The wind lashed violently against the window shutters as he continued to circle the bed. Crimson silk sheets drew itself around her body, her frantic movements imprinted onto the fabric. Her hands gripped the silken sheets, fingers digging into the bed. Her body arched itself, rising up to the ceiling; the muscles tensed, starved for oxygen, reaching out as if to rise above the waves for that last breath of air. Her face became flushed, the red lipstick she wore lusciously highlighted against her pale countenance. The long dark hair tossed about her face, strands resting only momentarily before being whipped in another direction by her body movements.

He released his clenched fist slightly, and her body began to fall back into the bed; a trace of precious air finding its way to her mouth, invigorating her lungs just enough to soothe her quivering body from the forceful spasms that traveled its way through her. His slender, coarsely textured fingers unwrapped completely, and she immediately stopped struggling, her breath returning easily now, her body slowly releasing its anxiety. Her breasts rose majestically as she took deep breaths, sleeping soundly as her body recuperated.

His eyes burned with a fierce intensity as he contemplated his next move. Watching her struggle for life had an intoxicating effect upon him, he craved more, wanted to gaze upon the fear; but deeper within something new took life. He could sense the new arousal in him, to inflict that pain upon her, to become the source of her suffering. He hovered above her, his dark shape foreboding against the raging storm outside. He averted his eyes to his palm momentarily, staring at the clay doll he held so reverently. His thumb rubbed the soft, golden clay and he could sense her presence in it, faint, but he knew her spirit well. From the small leather pouch upon his waist, he removed a sharp stone, and bringing it close to her face, he cut a few locks of her hair, very carefully, as to not brush his body against hers.

He inhaled the scent of her hair, and pressed the soft locks to his lips, kissing it before wetting the strands with his saliva. From his pouch he took out a small parcel wrapped in leaves. He undid the string around the leaves, and from within took a small amount of damp clay which he adhered to the locks of hair before placing both upon the head of the doll. His fingers were nimble and nurturing as he pressed the clay together, his hands moving about the doll most lovingly, whispering an enchantment in a passionate and strange tongue. He worked the two pieces of clay into one solid form, and her hair flowed from the head of the doll. He took a dark powder from his pouch next, and removing the silk coverlet from her body, sprinkled it upon the lips of her sex.

Her body let out a sigh as the powder took effect, drawing the warmth of her blood to her inner thighs, arousing her body. She felt the sexual teasing inside but still she slept. Her body was giving way to him. He carefully parted her legs wider, and he could smell the heat of her arousal, the scent that called to him, tempting him to feast, to consume her. He fought the alluring vision of nestling himself between her thighs and tasting the sweet nectar; instead, he slowly watched as she became wetter, transfixed by her body’s slow, deliberate movements. When he could see the moisture of her sex glistening, shining against her lips, he drew his hand close, and ran his finger along her, parting the opening even more, absorbing her wetness onto his finger. Her body arched itself toward his touch, seeking the warm, phallic instrument again. He withdrew from her, his body slinking away lucidly until he stood again at the foot of her bed, his fingers still wet with her aroma. He rubbed her wetness against his thumb and forefinger, and began to bathe the doll in her sexuality. He massaged the warm liquid into the doll, intensely focused on the task at hand; he poured himself into the doll’s power. When he had completed the task, the clay doll took on a new life. Its luster became deeper and shined richly, lacquered with her sweetness.

He took the remaining powder from his pouch and sprinkled it upon the doll, again chanting lyrics that seemed to seduce in their resonance. He cradled the doll in his hands, and closed his eyes for a moment, binding his desire to the doll. He opened his eyes and ran his finger along the full length of the doll, and watched her body, studying it as she responded – she stretched herself upon the bed, feeling the line he traced upon the doll. His soft thumb rubbed the doll’s neck, and she turned her head to the side, feeling a warm hand caress the soft nape of her neck, slowly and steadily. He continued to course his hands over the doll’s body, and watched hungrily as she felt the seduction being played upon her. The effects of the powder on her were short-lived, but that did not matter any longer. Her arousal was her own now, burning hotter and fiercer than any magic could hope to accomplish.

Something inside consumed him, his hunger came to the surface and he pressed his hand upon the doll’s chest, almost breaking the clay… he saw her go breathless, feeling the crushing blow upon her breasts, seeing the panic in her face, the pain as she tried to struggle free of the overwhelming weight. Only very slowly did he release his grip; her body panting, her face distraught, wracked with conflicting emotions. His hands found their way between the doll’s thighs, cupping her sex, stroking. She felt the sensation in her body, of his hands protecting her, so intimately holding her. And then she felt his finger pressing against her sex, forcing its way in, sliding against her lips. She began to moan and buck against the pleasure his hand gave. Her arousal began to stir his own dark desires, and he moved towards the bed, his eyes fixed upon her body. His eyes gleamed in the darkened room and his member rose. Her body writhed with the invisible pleasure. He straddled her, his weight pressed upon her hips, but she did not take notice. She continued to buck, now suppressed by his body upon hers.

He positioned himself above her, his cock pressed against her sex, probing her lips. He drew her hands above her head, clasping them forcefully in his grip, and he whispered the word to wake her from his spell. Her sepia eyes opened, beholding the dark figure above her; before she could react he entered into her, hard, impaling her with his member. Fear consumed her as lust did, and her hips began to move in unison with his thrusts; she was possessed by the feeling of herself on the verge of coming, riding him as the pleasure mounted in her. His hand clenched around the doll, pressing down hard on it, and the sensation of being crushed fell upon her again; her body became tensed, her sex pressing against his cock, holding him fast within her. He did not stop this time. He held the doll between their grasp, his hand surrounding hers, bearing down on both her hand and the doll. His strength upon the doll caused her cry out in pain, to scream as she felt herself being crushed. He gazed into her eyes, watching the terror fill them. He saw it again, that look that drew him to her, absolute fear, and he found himself thrusting into her harder, pleasuring her as she was gripped by fright.

He could feel himself about to come, and he pulled her hands beneath her, still clenching the doll; he released his grip upon it for a moment, just long enough for her orgasm to begin; and then he held her tightly, his body pressed heavily upon her, anchoring her orgasm within her, and she exploded within herself; he felt her draw him into her, and he could feel himself about to climax, pumping himself into her as the orgasm flowed through her body. His hands bore down on the doll, crushing it to a powder, and he came as the ecstasy of her orgasm exploded into her last moment of life; the euphoria on her face transformed into sheer terror as she died, looking into his eyes that took everything from her. His orgasm continued, fueled by the terror in her eyes and the convulsions of her body.

He withdrew himself from inside of her, and gazed upon her lying motionless upon the sheets. The mark on her wrist now grew, overtaking her body. He smiled satisfactorily, waiting for his taint to consume her, for his seed to take control of her body. She would be resurrected into his life, only serving him. He would take from her again, that terror, that fear that intoxicated him.