Message-ID: <13581eli$9808012338@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Archived-At: From: john_dark@anon.nymserver.com Subject: {Bombadil}JDR"The Masks B"( caution )[2/2] Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d Path: qz!not-for-mail Organization: The Committee To Thwart Spam Approved: X-Moderator-Contact: Eli the Bearded X-Story-Submission: X-Original-Message-ID: <6q0iml$a3u$1@sparky.wolfe.net> JOHN DARK REPOST The following story is posted for the entertainment of adults. If you are below the age of eighteen or are otherwise forbidden to read electronic erotic fiction in your locality, please delete this message now. The story codes in the subject line are intended to inform readers of possible areas that some might find distasteful, but neither the poster nor the author make any guarantee. You should be aware that the story might raise other matters that you find distasteful. You read at your own risk. The enjoyment of these reposts can be increased by reading the "Coming Attractions," which includes the titles to be reposted in the next week. These stories have not been written by the person posting them. Many of those e-mail addresses below the author's byline still work. If you liked the story, either drop the author a line at that e-mail address or post a comment to alt.sex.stories.d. Please don't post it to alt.sex.stories itself. Posting the comment with a Cc: to the author would be the best way to encourage them to continue entertaining you. The copyright of this story belongs to the author, and the fact of this posting should not be construed as limiting or releasing these rights in any way. In most cases, the author will have further notices of copyright below. If you keep the story, *PLEASE* keep the copyright disclaimer as well. ===================== The Masks - A Horror Story ( F/M F/F ) Short Story #3 by Tom Bombadil (c) Oct 1996 Disclaimer: All the standard rules apply. If you are offended by explicit descriptions of sex or the human body, if it is illegal to possess such materials at your location, if you are under-age by law in your location, or if somebody else thinks you might have too much fun reading it, stop right now and remove this text from your computer. This is purely a work of fiction, with all characters and actions described by me coming straight out of my imagination. As a work of fiction, it does not condone or condemn any of the activities or actions described, nor does it relate to any type of real events in my life, or known to me in the lives of any of my friends or relatives. You've been warned. Author's note: Squeamish? Prone to nightmares? Afraid of strange noises in the night? Maybe you'd better try a different story. This one is for those who like cold chills, shivers, and goosebumps, as well as other things that rise up and get hard. It is not for the faint of heart. ******************************************************************** ===================== The Masks A Horror Story by Tom Bombadil Via: stbush@iglou.com Section B: John heard noises, the sounds of a door, voices from above. (It's gonna happen. They've got someone else.) He felt guilty about being happy, but still the relief of knowing his time was almost done brought out a few tears of joy. He knew what was in store for the next guy, and the girl they probably had as well, but no longer had enough emotion left to really care all that much. He knew that even if he shouted as loud as he could, it would make no difference. He'd shouted enough in the past when there were noises, or voices, to be heard. It had taken him quite a while to realize several hidden microphones were piping in the sounds from elsewhere. His room was quite soundproof. The sounds of sex were plain now, and he bent his head in silent prayer. ******************************************************************** Wally was in heaven. He was lying flat out on the carpet, a cushion under his head, a mouth suckling on his member, and the taste of ambrosia in his mouth. His tongue was buried as far as he could get it inside the crack of the blonde woman, and he was licking up everything it could reach. There was no concern about what he'd left there so recently, since it seemed to have disappeared. Only the sweet juices oozing from her womanhood crossed his lips. He was in heaven. Both were now naked. She'd removed his shirt, the only bit of real costume he'd worn, then allowed him to strip her bare. He couldn't help but become aroused again while fondling all her abundant charms, especially those ones topped by strawberry coloured little nubbins. He'd fondled and caressed and squeezed and licked and tasted them until her increasing moans, and the signals from below, told him something else was in order. She'd taken control at that point, sliding him onto the floor, then mounting his face. After her third climax, but before she finished him off again, she got up. "I've got to go and get things set up in the playroom. You stay here and watch for a while. I'll be back soon." Too tired to really do much else, he looked to see what the other two were doing. His girlfriend was on her knees in front of the Contessa, who was standing with her legs spread wide, head thrown back, mouth open, and a wild look on her face. The light glinted off those fangs of hers. A crazy thought ran through his head. (I wonder if she bites while kissing?) The teeth looked sharp enough and real enough to make him wince. Both women were naked, and Jennifer was very busy in between the tall brunette's legs. He watched in awe as his girlfriend's actions drove the other woman to her knees, then onto her back. He stopped thinking again and just let the images flow into his brain when the vampire lady pulled the redhead up from where she was kneeling, into an embrace, and into some full-mouthed French kissing. The sight of their bodies, one on top of the other, kept him near his peak. Jennifer's skin was pale, all over, except for her face and arms, but it was the normal pale pink colour of healthy, untanned skin. That colour was dark compared to the pasty paleness of the Contessa. She was a powdered white everywhere, except for the tips of her breasts and the edges of her labia. The former was a pale pink, and the latter a pale tan. She had no hair below her neck to provide any relief for the glaring whiteness either. His girlfriend's carrot tinted hair, both above and below, provided the only real expanses of colour for either of the women. ******************************************************************** A noise at the door brought John back into his present. It was the witch woman, the one who'd trapped him there a year ago. She was carrying a number of items that he guessed were going to be used in their sacrifice later. His sacrifice. And another's. The large flat box he recognized. It was the same one she'd taken the last guy's mask from. The long wave-bladed dagger with the black handle he recognized. He didn't know why the gloves or the bucket full of wet rags, but knew from experience he would learn and wish he'd stayed ignorant. The pouch always contained something sinister. She was naked, as usual, and unarmed, as usual, although that had never made any difference in the past. Leaving everything at the altar, she walked around and lit the candelabra, one in each corner of the room, each holding five blood red candles. Finally she walked up to him. "How's my little pet doing tonight? Are you excited? Are you thrilled to death?" She laughed at her own supposed joke. "You soon will be, and it'll be so much fun! We don't have much time left, so let's get a move on. I have to get you prepared." With inhuman strength she pried open the bands holding him prisoner, using nothing but her hands. He didn't try to run or resist, as he knew she was much faster and stronger than him, even back when he was still fresh. She'd proven that with her fun and games many times. Rechained to the altar and unable to move, with his head held still between two clamps, he was ready for their ritual. His head rested on one end of the alter, his bottom on the other. Both legs were pulled wide and his feet forced to the floor by the tension of his bonds. Satisfied with her work, she reached down and picked up the leather sack. From the pouch came a wad of leaves coated in a greyish powder. "Open wide. Chew on this for a while. After all, we wouldn't want you to miss any of the fun. It'll keep you wide awake right to the end. Oh, and it'll keep you up 'til then too, since tonight you'll need to perform like never before. It'll be your greatest, and last, performance. After this, you'll be nothing but a voyeur, just like all the rest of my pets." He ignored her words for the most part. He remembered the last ritual vividly, so he didn't need her reminders. That he would die he considered a given. He welcomed that. Anything else he could bear, knowing what was coming. Even the pain. After putting on the rubber gloves, she began to wrap him up in the wet rags. His hands, arms, lower legs, feet, chest, and neck. She pulled up his torso to slide some under his back and bottom. His upper legs, crotch, lower torso, and face were left bare. "These'll start to tickle after a while. Don't worry, it won't last long. No, it'll change to pain!" She laughed again, then picked up the bucket and left. He soon found that she'd spoken the truth, as a slight tingling/itching sensation broke out on his neck, echoed by a similar feeling on his chest. A moan broke out as he anticipated what was to come. ******************************************************************** A hand snaking around his middle brought his mind back, or at least some of it. With red lips attacking his face, two fleshy cushions letting his hands wander freely, and a hot crotch pressing into his manhood, his brain quickly got sidetracked again. It took only a few moments for this beautiful woman, and his overheated thoughts, to bring him back to life. This time, the blonde turned him around and pulled him on top of her in the classic position. She was still sopping wet, he noticed as he slid home, bringing out a gasp from each of them. When he looked up from their kiss, he saw that the other two had moved onto the couch, only a few feet from where he and she were coupling on the floor. The Contessa was sitting facing him, legs spread wide, staring him in the eye. Jennifer was straddling her lap, knees on the couch on either side of the taller woman's hips. Her head was resting on the woman's shoulder, and Wally could sometimes see her tongue licking at the woman's neck. Both arms were laying over the back of the sofa, out of the way. When a pair of hands grabbed his buttocks and began a rhythmic pulling and pushing motion, he got the message and began stroking. In his imagination, his tongue was also lapping at the two slits positioned no more than a yard away. He watched the Contessa's hands roam all over the body he knew so well, over the rounded bottom, across the soft, muscular back, down the ribbed sides and around the narrow waist. They roamed freely over the territory that was once his exclusively. Her eyes stared at him, challenging, and he pumped faster. Amid the sounds of flesh slapping on flesh, his grunts, and the squeals coming out from under him, he heard the familiar moans and sighs of his girlfriend. She was ready for more, he knew, and knew she would be getting it, if the look in the brunette's eye was what he thought it was. As he watched, one of her hands snaked down between their bodies, down to the redhead's slot. With one, then two, and eventually three fingers, she stuffed Jennifer's crotch. By then her hand held still, and his girlfriend's hips moved up and down, seemingly independent of the rest of her body. Her head and shoulders stayed quite still, regardless of the activity lower down. The Contessa's eyes stared at him, challenging, and he pumped harder. With squeals and whimpers, both women approached climax. The Contessa smiled at him, then opened her mouth wide to bare her fangs. Moving very slowly, keeping her eyes on his, she lowered her head to Jennifer's neck. With a twitch of her muscles, she rolled the woman's head slightly, opening her completely to what could happen. Her eyes were intent on his, and his were intent on her fangs. He watched as one touched the skin, then broke through. There was a brief pause in two sets of hips, then both resumed at a more fevered pace. Groans and moans from two women filled the room. A trickle of blood, no more than a few drops, dark against the pale skin, slid down her neck. A tongue snaked out and lapped up the thick, sticky liquid. A pair of similarly coloured lips began to suck at the wound. Three women squealed in climax. He lost it and began to shoot, pushing himself as hard and as deep as possible. Completely spent, he lay there, breathing hard, waiting for strength, and maybe sanity, to return. A strong pair of arms rolled him over onto his back, then to his feet, long before he felt strong enough to stand. The blonde held him up and he wondered where she found the energy. "Time to go to the playroom, my pet." Out into the hall, through a door, past some shelves, through another door, and down some stairs she led him. What he saw looked like a normal basement. Leading him over to a brick wall, she stopped and let him sag down to the ground. He watched her reach behind a shelf and pull something. With a slight squeak, a section of the wall opened and he stared into a scene from his nightmares. Babs grabbed his arm and dragged him, kicking and screaming, into the altar room. He fought with all his strength, with muscles hard from exercise and training, with joints toughened by running and tackling, with the adrenaline-driven surge of power of his terror. She took no notice of any of it, nor of his punches or kicks. She almost pulled his arm off when he grabbed the doorframe, and he lost skin from his palm and fingertips as well as his grip. With a fanatical gleam in her eye, and calm, deliberate movements, she soon had him shackled to the wall. After she pulled all the chains tight, she stepped back and admired her prize. He was spread-eagled against the wall, all the chains being snubbed up tight to the staples there. She stood still and stared at him for a while, watching him struggle helplessly. "Oh, I'm going to like having you here. A brand new pet to play with. There's so much for you to learn, so many things for us to try. You'll love every second of it, I promise!" It was hard for him to grasp the fact that this naked little woman in front of him, one who still had his semen dribbling down her thigh, had just dragged him here like a rag doll and chained him up like an animal. Her strength was inhuman. His screaming, his yelling, his arguing and pleading, were having no effect whatsoever. She reached over and rubbed his testicles for a few seconds. "Yes, we'll have a lot of fun." Looking around for something, anything, that could help, he finally took a good look at the man on the altar. He thought it was a man, though he had his doubts at first. That something so wasted, so skinny, and so miserable looking was human was hard for him to believe. The pitiful whimpers of pain made by that man brought home the reality of what was happening. He began to shout and struggle again. A few moments later, the Contessa came in with Jennifer. The shorter woman now had several small trickles of blood running from her neck and down over her shoulders and chest. She was led in by the hand and positioned at the foot of the alter, before the tall woman, standing behind Jennifer, took her in her arms. She bent her head down, and soon a new trickle of blood joined the others. The redhead moaned in pleasure, reaching up to caress the other woman's neck. Wally was screaming at the top of his lungs but with no noticeable effect. He was being ignored by all four of them. All he could do was watch in horror at what was unfolding before him. ******************************************************************** John's world was little more than pain. Everywhere those rags touched, everywhere the liquid flowed, burned like a terrible fire. Whatever it was she'd fed him kept him right on the edge, alert and sensitive to every sensation from his body, multiplying the effect of her torture by not allowing his nerves to go numb. Despite the pain, he couldn't help but watch what was happening. He remembered, from a different perspective, everything that was happening, and anticipated everything that would be happening. He couldn't stop thinking, no matter how much he wanted to. Soon, he knew, the ecstasy would start, counterpointing the agony he was in. It happened as he remembered, with the tall woman fondling and bringing into heat the other sacrifice, then helping her step up onto the alter and down onto his fully engorged manhood. Something the witch had given him caused that as well, since he was certain he was in no shape to perform normally. He felt her heat, then her moisture, then the velvety smooth softness of her interior. Whatever he was on made it seem far more intense than he could ever remember. It was fantastically wonderful, and when she began to slide up and down, aided by the woman behind her, he almost passed out from the sensations. The pain and pleasure were balanced, but at a level that exceeded anything he'd ever felt before. He knew the mask would come soon, and then the knife. He prayed for the knife. ******************************************************************** Wally had yelled himself hoarse, and could now only whimper. He'd seen the knife sitting beside the altar. He'd seen the looks of agony and ecstasy on the other man. He was watching his girlfriend being slowly bled to death by the nips on her neck. She was completely oblivious to everything except the cock she was riding and the woman behind her. There was no awareness in her eyes even when she looked right at him. There was a signal passed from the brunette to the blonde, who reached down and pulled something out of a low box beside her. When he got a good look at it, he wondered why they would use such a thing. It looked like a blank facial mask, maybe made of wax or a similar material, but highly stylized. He watched the woman place it on the whimpering man's face. It seemed to mould itself to his features, taking on his looks almost immediately. A loud whine erupted from the man as soon as he realized the mask was being placed on him, and then nothing. Wally could see the man breathing, but he was now silent. Jennifer was becoming more and more active, bouncing up and down, tossing her head, groaning and whimpering her pleasure for all to hear. Babs placed the dagger in her hands with the blade angled down towards the man's stomach. The redhead didn't seem to notice, but she held onto the weapon anyway. The final few events happened very quickly. Later, Wally could recall them in slow motion, reliving every second in great detail, but at the time it all seemed a blur. The man on the altar grunted, slamming his hips up into Jennifer several times, as though climaxing. At the first sign of semen escaping from the woman's cleft, the Contessa leaned forward, pressing Jennifer forward as well, and putting their full weight onto the back of the knife. It slid slowly into the man's stomach, angling up under his ribs into his heart, just as it had been positioned to do. Right in the middle of his climax, he was sacrificed in terrible pain. As soon as he stiffened and rattled his last breath, Babs ripped off the mask. It now looked exactly like the man did at the instant of death. Wally watched as she brought the mask up and kissed it tenderly on the lips while she started to masturbate. With one hand in her crotch, she was making love to that inanimate object. He could hear her whispers, words interspersed with sighs and whines. "Oh, my precious pet" "My wonderful pet" "You taste so delicious" "Soooo much held inside" "You're perfect, just perfect" It was then he heard Jennifer begin her peak. Her high pitched scream tore through him, jerking his awareness back from the blonde woman. She was still bouncing up and down on the dead man, his member still somehow hard, and was in the throes of a climax the likes of which he'd never seen before. With her spine straight and her head thrown back, he had a perfect view of her neck, and watched in morbid fascination as those vampire teeth sank deep into her tender flesh. Blood squirted everywhere before the woman's mouth closed over the wounds. He could see her swallowing, and watched the overflow shoot from her lips and all over the body of his beloved. Jennifer was still climaxing, whimpering in pleasure, even while her motions got slower and weaker, and her breathing became shallower and more erratic. He could only watch, horrified, as she gave one final gasp, shuddered, and fell still. The vampire woman continued to suck for a while. When she finally finished, she looked up at him, smiled a very bloody smile, and laughed. A slight shove, and Jennifer's body fell on top of the man she'd killed, both completely lifeless. With a last whimper of denial, his mind finally gave up trying to handle what was happening. Wally fainted. ******************************************************************** John slowly gained awareness. First came the pain, the awful pain, surrounding him, but not seeming to be centred on anything he could identify. Then came the pleasure. Not quite as powerful as the pain, but just as nebulous in it's origin. He didn't know where he was, but he thought he should be dead. After all, he reasoned, hadn't he watched and felt the knife pierce his heart? Yet still, he thought again, I hurt, I feel, so I must be alive. Unless this is hell? The pain never grew stronger, but it never grew weaker either. It just was, and he slowly grew accustomed to it, and to the pleasure. He became aware of sound, a sobbing, a terrible heart rending crying from the soul. He could hear it, and knew it was somewhere close. With that knowledge, he realized he could also see. It wasn't like opening his eyes, or turning on a light, it was more like suddenly realizing that your eyes were open. The room was still there, but looked different, flatter, sharper, and all the angles were wrong. His sight, or his awareness, shifted over to where the sobbing was coming from. There was a man in shackles, fastened to the wall. He recognized the man. It was the one who'd come into the altar room shortly before he himself ... died? With another shock, John realized why the perspective of the room seemed all wrong. He was looking at it from somewhere other than his accustomed spot in chains. He was looking at the room from about four feet up on one wall. Directly across from him, on the other wall, one hundred groaning, crying, agonized faces stared back. He tried to scream ... ******************************************************************** ===================== The Masks A Horror Story by Tom Bombadil -30- -- +----------------' Story submission `-+-' Moderator contact `--------------+ | | | | Archive site +----------------------+--------------------+ Newsgroup FAQ | ----