The most addictive feeling in the world is that between panic and arousal. The feeling that submitting to overpowering lust will bring you pleasures you never dreamed of…in exchange for an eternity of death and damnation.
And I should know.
I felt it the night I died.
I was not an adventurous woman. I worked an ordinary nine to five job, in an ordinary office. I wore the same gray suit, answered the same boring phones, and distracted the same bitchy clients my boss avoided everyday.
I didn't fit any beauty standards. I wasn't blond, with perfect skin, big breasts and soft curves. I was tall and slender, slightly muscled from the variety of martial arts classes I'd taken, with an above average strength men found irritating. I was of Asian and Slavic descent, and the result were lips that were overfull, B cup breasts, pin straight dark hair, and ruddy gold skin. It was the signature slant to my eyes and their piercing blackness that gave my Asian heritage away. With an identity as ambiguous as my looks, I had no self-esteem, and as a result, I sold myself short during my short time on earth.
I'd had sex all of twice in my life. I lost my virginity to an overweight deadbeat who'd get so lost in incestuous fantasies about his sister that he couldn't get me off. Next in line was a selfish frat boy, who, like many frat boys like him, told me he loved me, and fucked everything but the light sockets behind my back. After that, I gave up on relationships, sex, and men. I knew it was pathetic to let two assholes ruin it for me, but in my brief lifetime I had so little confidence I didn't think there was anyone who'd want me. So I gave up. I bought a decent vibrator, and made sure to keep my best friends: Ben and Jerry, and Jack Daniels, near me every night. I had orgasms, but I realized they were a cheap thrill, satisfying me just enough to keep me sane. Between that and the odd martial arts class, I had a lonely, simple life…and I was miserable.
It all changed when I got the package.
I had just gotten home from work. It was October thirtieth, Devil's night. As usual, I threw my keys aside, and was undressing when I noticed the box in the middle of my floor.
It wasn't much to look at, about two feet long and half a foot high, wrapped in brown paper with a label bearing my name. I had no idea where it came from. There was no return address, and I'm not the type to order stuff online. I shouldn't touch it, I thought. It could be drugs or a bomb, and then, cursing myself, I tore the paper aside and threw the box open.
It was beautiful.
A red satin corset, designed in such a way that a woman wouldn't have to worry about small breasts and a slender frame. This was the type of thing made to produce cleavage and a curvy body in someone like me, who couldn't look in the mirror with a friendly eye. With it was a pair of skin-tight leather pants that laced up on both sides, and a long black cloak. At the bottom of the box, was a piece of paper.
"The Funhouse. 9 pm. Be There"
It was signed simply "Your Secret Admirer".
I didn't know whether to be flattered or horrified. The Funhouse was the local S&M club, and I'd always thought the people who frequented that sort of place were freaks. This so-called admirer of mine was undoubtedly one of them. What was it about me that had attracted someone like that? It didn't matter. The fact was that I needed to get out. I needed freedom from the misery of my ordinary life; I needed freedom from all the boredom.
To hell with the risks.
A half an hour later, I was showered and scented, and lacing myself into the corset. I eased the pants over my legs and zipped myself into black leather boots. With a steady hand, I painted my lips the blood red of the corset, and lined my piercing dark eyes in black. Tying my hair to the back of my head, I threw the heavy cloak over my shoulders and looked at myself in the mirror.
I couldn't believe what I saw. It wasn't me, but it
was
gorgeous, and the surge of confidence it gave me made me leave my panties at home. Tonight, I was a sex goddess. My admirer might turn out to be a freak, but his gifts gave me a feeling of power I had never felt. Meeting him was the least I could do. With the heavy cloak over my shoulders, I grabbed a tiny pouch with a twenty in it, fastened it 'round my waist and headed out the door.
The Funhouse wasn't quite what I expected...but let's be fair; I'd never been in a place like that before. The first thing I noticed was the darkness. The only light in the room came from one of those multi-coloured dance club lights and the dim glow that seeped through the door of the dungeon. Around me, people dressed in a variety of leather, velvet and PVC sipped their drinks from benches shaped like paddles. I could see in their eyes the knowledge that I was, until now, an outsider. They watched from their seats in that lazy way animals eye fresh prey. The hunger of the club's patrons was thick in the air and I inhaled it with every breath. It pulsed around me, filling my body with warmth…but that wasn't what made me so uncomfortable. In their watchful eyes was a look suggesting that they knew something I didn't, and that put me on edge. I decided at that point, that I would meet my admirer, thank him, or her, and leave. Little did I know that the second I set foot in the door the decision was no longer mine to make.
I scanned the crowd for my secret admirer, but he had yet to appear. In attempt to calm my growing unease, I went to join the few people dancing. As I approached the floor, they parted, allowing me entry. They were beautiful, I thought lazily as I began to sway to the music. Their skin, black, white and gold, was liquid smooth and seemed to glow in the darkness of the room. Their eyes, in varying shades of brown, blue and green, had a silvery gloss to them, and each pair seemed to bore into me with their penetrating stares. In a panic, I shut my eyes against them, and as my hips moved instinctively to the music, the club's patrons danced around me, hissing softly as they brushed against me. The hunger of the people around me was becoming stronger and it affected me like a drug. I hardly noticed when the dancers began touching me, for I was so lost in the music, and in the hunger, that I didn't care. As one brushed against me from behind, a beautiful blonde trailed her fingers over the tops of my breasts above the corset. Strong hands slid over my leather-covered ass and squeezed me firmly, while others slipped behind the cloak to trace the length of my spine between the laces of my top. As one man ground his cock against me, a woman slid her hand up the inseam of my pants. I gasped, and my head fell back against the shoulder of another dancer, who slid his fingers beneath the corset to tease my nipples, before releasing the clasp of the cloak I wore. The cool air of the room now teased my bare back, and fleetingly, I realized that the ground had been shifting beneath my feet. I opened my eyes when the movement stopped, and realized the group had led me down the stairs, and into the dungeon.
Consciousness returned in a rush, and in a panic I looked to the door, but one of the dancers was already locking it. He was a beautiful, androgynous looking male, clad in a leather pants and a shirt of crimson silk that hung open, displaying his pale skin and lean muscles. He ran his fingers through his long, dark red hair, and with a smile tugging at his lips, he held up the key.
"Looking for something?" he asked; his mild Scottish burr that only made him sexier. With shocking horror, I realized he was my secret admirer. As if reading my thoughts, he smiled and nodded in simple acknowledgment, and with a wink and a snap of his fingers, made the key disappear.
There had to be another way out, I thought. These people were going to rape or kill me, and I refused to go gently. I ran down the stairs and saw the door at the opposite end of the room, but the remaining dancers, staring and hissing at me, formed a wall that kept me from leaving … and then, one by one, they attacked. I was no slouch in a fight. I'd won medals in martial contests in the past, knowing that someday I would need those skills. It was the only thing I had ever accomplished. As the first one came at me, I delivered blows to the face, neck, and solar plexus, barely dodging lightning fast strikes at my neck and stomach. The second one attacked, and landed a blow to my jaw, but high on bloodlust, I whacked mercilessly at the back of his knees, and then sent a punch to his nose. One after another, I fought them, but they were unnaturally strong, and their endurance was endless. By the fifth attacker I was weary, and as a sixth came at me, I was prepared to die.
"That's enough!"
It was the man with the key. He was clapping as he descended from his perch atop the stairs.
"I'm impressed, Morgana. Most men don't last that long." He said as he approached me. Reaching into his pants, he offered me a red silk handkerchief and I stared down at it as though it were a scorpion. Sensing my hesitation, he laughed, "It's not poisoned…" he said, "…we wouldn't stoop that low". With a grimace, I snatched it from him and began to dab at my sweat soaked temples.
"…and besides" he added, "we don't really need drugs to get what we want, the hunger is affecting you, I could feel it in you on the dance floor, and you're not even one of us yet" "Why am I here?" I demanded, ignoring his comment.
"You're so rude, Morgana. You're normally such a passive, polite person. Why not ask my name first?"