The Yellow Sign free porn video

Eroticism, it may be said, is assenting to life.

AMY

The Demhe out of Batumi lay at anchor in a quiet cove on the western shore of Kheros. A warm, red light rippled across the water from the deck like a paler echo of the setting sun. The faint sound of a Dvorak piano quintet drifted to the shore.

Even in the pale twilight the woman’s nudity was startlingly luminous against the grey sand. She zipped up a weighted bag containing her newly-bought clothes and carried it into the sea - the cool, black water lapping around her calves and thighs until she was wading chest-deep through the shallows. Soon she was close enough to make out the boarding ladder slung from the yacht’s deck in readiness, and, dropping the bag, she struck out towards it, swimming surely and smoothly. Dmitri smiled and left the cabin to meet her.

The following Monday afternoon Vasiliki paced briskly out of the hospital morgue and through the narrow streets of Baphoria, past the crowded white terraces with their gaily painted doors and down the steps where neo-classical houses cascaded from the hill to the harbour. At the street door of her apartment she fumbled for her key, a little out of breath, and hurried inside. Carissa was waiting in the shuttered coolness of the salon with a bottle of Dempina in a terracotta chiller and the most recent King in Yellow video clip. As she rose in greeting she set it playing and an image of His scalloped tatters filled the widescreen.

“You’re late” she said, wearing nothing but a wicked smile. Her deep blue eyes widened in surprise and then closed in surrender when Vasiliki flung her bag aside and bore down on her ruthlessly, seizing her round face in both hands for a fierce, hungry kiss. Their hips ground together for a moment before they pulled apart, panting. Carissa glanced at the opening scene of the illicit recording but gasped and jerked her head back as her cheek was slapped hard. A furious blush spread across it.

“Now” Vasiliki purred “let’s watch it together while I tell you my news”. She fell back to sprawl in her chair, slinging one black denim leg over the wicker arm and taking a mouthful of wine from the neck of the bottle.

“Was it another sex murder?” asked Carissa, as a young, yellow-haired actress – not unlike herself in appearance – peeled off her satin dress before a black-draped altar. “And the victim cannot be identified”? On the screen, cloaked and hooded figures closed in around the woman and hands reached out to her from all sides. The tip of Carissa’s tongue darted between her full lips and her lashes fluttered. The devil was in her eyes again. “I think it would excite you to tell me about it”. Vasiliki ran a hand through her fine, dark hair and stroked her fingertips along the line of her jaw. She swallowed.

“It was him, I’m sure of it” she replied without taking her eyes from the screen, where the willing victim now lay supine while the cultists produced curved blades from the folds of their robes. “The cadaver was recovered from the beach at daybreak, after a call to the coast guard from a tourist who now cannot be traced. The police found nothing around the site - they are calling this case the ‘brain teaser’ because they don’t realise that all the clues were left for me. And all the clues point to a woman giving herself to the Waldenstein cannibals”. A shiver ran down Carissa’s spine and her breathing quickened, but a silence fell while they both focussed on the bizarre footage. The blonde woman’s bosom rose and fell, and her head rolled from side to side. The camera pulled back to show steel blades gently stroking her belly and thighs, sharp points pressing into her nipples and clit without breaking the skin. At last, Vasiliki continued, “My subject today had an unusual tattoo behind her left ear, very fresh and composed entirely of shades of yellow”. She pulled a sheet of paper from her back pocket and unfolded it.

The actress’s hands slid over her hips and the muscles of her flat stomach and knives pricked at her soft flesh while her lips moved silently. She pouted and let her eyes close for a moment and her fingers lazily caressed her ribs and flanks. Her body arched and twisted sensuously under the icy caresses of the steel blades.

“The cause of death was severe trauma” Vasiliki almost chanted the words, as though her pathologist’s report were part of some eldritch recitation. “This was most probably due to displacement of the internal organs by a length of metal which was passed through the body from anus to mouth, although neither metal nor internal organs have been recovered. Much of the flesh from chin to ankle has been cut away using at least two sterile, high-carbon blades by someone familiar with anatomy and with butchery. The body has been grilled over open flames, although the head, feet and hands have been preserved from the heat. Gashes running from the ankles to the remains of the calves and from the small of the neck to surviving fragments of shoulder suggest a comprehensive laceration of the body before roasting using one or more flexible implements. Prints have been taken successfully from hands and feet and mouth swabs have yielded DNA evidence of the sperm of five separate, unknown men and of the vaginal and anal secretions of the deceased”. She tilted her head back to pour a long stream of wine into her open mouth, letting the paper fall from her fingers. “Of course, the document I filed says none of that. It speaks vaguely of death due to internal bleeding and partial consumption of the cadaver by crabs”.

As she spoke, the silent film had reached its inevitable conclusion. One by one the hooded figures had stopped their insidious teasing, lifting their knives away from the woman’s white flesh to form a ring of blades poised in readiness over her spread-eagled nudity. She threw back her head and arched her spine up towards them until they stabbed in unison, cold steel violating her young body in a great, bloody explosion before the screen went dark. According to urban legend, these scenes were not staged; the anonymous devotees who shared the films on the dark net insisted that the deaths were real. Carissa’s slender hands wandered over her heavy breasts and rounded throat and she moaned softly. Sliding forward to the edge of her seat she began to pull a patterned stocking over her foot, her eyes begging silently to be told more.

“I think that her tattoo meant something” Vasiliki mused. “It was a sign of some kind...something to do with the King”.

“A brand…” Carissa began, and a look passed between them. Stretching out the other leg with a gymnast’s grace to sheath it in black silk she sighed low in her throat. “Perhaps a brand to mark her as livestock” she breathed, swinging her foot above her head as she tugged the stocking top into the softness of her open crotch. “You promised me”. Vasiliki watched hungrily, teasing at the tip of her little finger with sharp, white teeth while Carissa clipped on a leather choker necklace

“I promised you” she agreed. Carissa ran her tongue around her lips and fluttered her dark lashes. Vasiliki reached out to grip her chin in strong fingers. “This is happening” she growled. “I’m close to penetrating the cannibal grapevine behind the King in Yellow films. When I do, there can be no second thoughts, no going back. You can scream, but you will not be heard. You understand that”? She let her hand fall away and Carissa nodded.

“It has to be this way” she agreed, lacing the leather garter-belt tightly around her trim waist. Her tone became ardent and passionate. “I have been waiting for you to kill me since the first time we shared our nightmares, when we were still medical students obsessing over the Waldenstein Affair”. Vasiliki snorted.

“You’re such a romantic” she said, scowling scornfully. “Bend over”! Carissa turned to lean over the back of the couch and presented herself obediently. Her tawny hair fell before her in a curtain as she twisted her neck to look back over her shoulder. Vasiliki held up the crotch strap with its evil rubber plug and smiled at Carissa’s smouldering gaze. “In a little while” she said, sliding from her seat to seize the proffered buttocks in strong hands and spread them apart. “You’re so open when we speak of your sacrifice” she murmured, leaning in closer. Carissa voiced a soft sigh of resignation.

“No, please” she whispered, then bit her lip; Vasiliki’s tongue lapped with infinite gentleness at the sensitive strip of skin between her gaping cunt and the tight rosebud of her arse, then her sharp teeth nipped at the velvety softness of her inner thighs. Growling softly in her throat she arched her neck over her panting slave’s loins, tracing the contours of her cunt lips with a soft wet tongue and then darting the tip between her cheeks into the pink, puckered ring. Carissa whimpered and ran her hands languidly along the back of the sofa, slowly rolling her head from side to side and baring her teeth in a tortured grimace as she fought to keep control of her traitorous body. Teeth and nails ran over her quivering flesh, nibbling and scratching from her heels to her neck, never breaking the skin yet always threatening to draw blood. With one finger Vasiliki tilted Carissa’s chin up to suck a mouthful of her white throat into her hungry mouth. This tender, teasing torment continued relentlessly until her thighs began to quiver and her breathing became hoarse and rapid - then Vasiliki sat back on her heels and wiped her mouth.

“You are on the very edge” she remarked. Helpless, Carissa could only groan and nod her head. “Then you know what to do” she went on, handing over the plug before returning to her own chair and her bottle of wine. Carissa carefully buckled the thong to the back of her belt while Vasiliki regarded her with cold amusement. Wincing and panting, she forced the broad plug into her moistened arse and then pulled the attached leather deep between her cunt lips and up to its fastening in the front, never taking her blue eyes from Vasiliki for a moment. “Now attend to your face and hair” she ordered, “and wear the white cotton frock - and the high-heeled boots. Then we shall go to Susan’s villa and see what she does with you”.

Soon they were making their way along a winding road back up the hillside to where an isolated and derelict Venetian villa looked down over Baphoria’s harbour. Night was falling, and as soon as they were away from the edge of town Vasiliki bent Carissa over a rough stone wall at the side of the road, swiped her arse twice with a braided leather dog lead - just to leave two red marks - and secured it to her collar to lead her onward.

“I think I am coming to like Susan” she observed, suddenly talkative after a long silence. “She is evil to her slaves - quite brutal. Before the first of these cannibal victims washed up on the shore of Barataria I even hoped that she might be the one, if only we could have found a way to make you disappear”. She sensed that Carissa wished to speak. “Yes”?

“I - perhaps I can do that” she stammered. “I think about it all the time - and I found a blog about Dmitri which said that some of his women may have been falsely reported missing in an avalanche. I could do something like that. I don’t know”. Her voice trailed away.

“We must be completely sure” Vasiliki pronounced. “And I know that they are out there, watching me, waiting to make contact”. She set her jaw and quickened their pace. “I’m sure of it. Enjoy grovelling for me tonight, because these games and pretences will soon be over. Soon we will find the King in Yellow and it will all become very real”. She smiled to herself at the shiver which ran through her slave’s luscious body from head to foot and pulled the leash tighter to whisper in her ear “We will have your haunches grilled with cinnamon. I promise you”. Carissa moaned quietly in response.

“Eat me alive” she whispered, “and screaming”.

“Such a romantic” Vasiliki said again, mocking, and they went on their way.

The villa was boarded up and fenced off but, as arranged, the mesh gate was not padlocked, and the two women slipped through it and entered via a side door. The interior was harshly lit by bare bulbs strung from the ceiling and powered from a boat battery. The few items of furniture were just anonymous grey shapes under their dust covers but three mattresses lay side-by-side across the tiled floor and loops of steel chain hung above and around them. A red-haired young woman with long, white limbs sprawled on the nearest, her eyes closed and her fingers working slowly and gently into her cunt. A long, antique dagger lay on her flat stomach. If she was aware of Vasiliki and Carissa arriving she gave no sign of it and kept on touching herself, her small bosom rising and falling. Then Susan stepped out of the shadows, cool and elegant as ever in a short grey and cream kaftan and carrying long glasses of iced tea on a silver tray. She smiled, and her teeth flashed white against her brown skin.

“My darling Vasiliki!” she exclaimed warmly, leaning in to kiss her on both cheeks. “It’s so good of you to come. I have been looking forward to this evening”. Her Greek was faultless although the English accent was unmistakable. She turned to Carissa. “For me?” she asked, her eyes twinkling. Carissa stood with her head bowed while Susan unlaced the front of her dress and pulled it down over soft shoulders to expose her voluptuous form.

“To do with as you will,” Vasiliki smiled “if you want to trade”. Susan paced slowly around Carissa, looking her up and down, bending a little to inspect the strip of black leather which imprisoned her cunt and arse before replying.

“Her life is promised” she said, indicating the masturbating woman at their feet. “Do as you will with the meat”. The redhead did not open her eyes, but her fingers moved a little faster and she lifted her hips so that the knife slipped over a few centimetres of smooth flesh and came to rest against the silver pendant at her navel. Vasiliki squatted down beside her and inhaled deeply, watching attentively while sipping her drink. Meanwhile, Susan ran one sharp fingernail down the length of Carissa’s spine with a slow and evil tenderness, making her tense and sigh breathily. She smiled and stepped closer, nuzzling her ear and reaching around to brush her hard nipples with her fingertips. “I’m going to begin by caning you here and here” she murmured, drawing another helpless gasp from her. “Brace yourself”. Carissa nodded her acquiescence then reached up to wrap her wrists in the chains hanging above her head. Susan’s heels rang on the white marble as she strode over to where a brace of wicker canes lay in readiness. The sound stirred Vasiliki from her trance and she reached to take up the dagger. She tested the edge with her thumb and the young woman regarded her through long lashes, licking her lips lasciviously and circling her clit with slow fingers.

“This will slide into flesh so easily” Vasiliki purred. Behind them, Susan smiled into her victim’s eyes and dipped her head to lick softly and wetly at each nipple in turn so that they stood proud and glistening from her round breasts. Carissa chewed at her lip to contain her excitement at being so gently and cruelly prepared for the cane and her breathing came a little faster and a little deeper. Gripping the chains more tightly she turned her face to the ceiling, but Susan would not permit this.

“No” she commanded in a calm voice. “Watch me, never look away” and with that she brought a short but supple wicker switch down hard onto a defenceless breast, making it flatten against Carissa’s chest. A bright red line stood out across the pinkness of the areola when it sprang back to shape and a terrible scream burst from her. Susan waited, twisting a strand of blonde hair girlishly between her fingers until her victim recovered and straightened her shoulders, pressing her bosom forward boldly to welcome further punishment. To catch her unawares she targeted the same breast for the second stroke, slicing into the tanned skin parallel to the burning trace of the first and provoking another anguished howl of animal pain and terror. Carissa fought to regain her breath, her lovely face twisted into a tear-drenched mask of agony, and then moaned in despair when the eager tongue again found her poor nipple and wet it anew. “It soothes” remarked Susan as she lifted the cane again, “but it makes the next blow more painful, don’t you think?” and she arched a perfect eyebrow.

“Yes, yes” Carissa panted. The wicker whistled into the other, untouched breast even faster and harder than before, tracing a line of white-hot fire level with the others and driving all the air from her lungs. Her knuckles whitened where she clutched at the steel links and her fair hair tossed to and fro as she flung her head from side to side, stamping her feet and screaming herself hoarse while her bosom was viciously striped by a flurry of backhand and forehand strokes. Finally, she could hold on no longer and slid to the floor wailing pitifully. Susan knelt beside her, stroking her head and making soothing noises.

“And do you scream so prettily, I wonder?” asked Vasiliki of her victim, leaning over the slowly writhing body to prick gently at a nipple with the point of the knife. The woman met her gaze with a voluptuous smile, then winced momentarily when the blade pressed a little harder, almost breaking the skin, before tracing an invisible line over her pale, freckled chest to rest threateningly at the other breast. “Your skin is flawless, unmarked” she went on. “You have not been cut recently”.

“Not ever cut yet” she replied dreamily, with an even stronger English accent than Susan’s. She had been sliding two fingers back and forth between the lips of her cunt but now she reached with her other hand to hold herself open and stab the fingers inside herself to the knuckle. Enchanted, Vasiliki pressed their mouths together in a deep and lingering kiss which ended with a long, low moan. The knife was now buried half its length into a pert breast and a startlingly red trickle of blood ran down her ribs. “Yes…” the woman sighed and Vasiliki sat back to draw the tip carefully down her naked flank describing a shallow cut down to her knee. Tiny droplets of blood started along its length and she sighed again, arching her back to invite more of this sweet torment.

Carissa lay back, propped up on her elbows, weeping softly as Susan licked and kissed her torn breasts with a tenderness born of calculated cruelty. Her fingers wandered to the delicate buckle that secured the thong and quickly unfastened it, freeing her victim’s dripping cunt but leaving the anal plug in place, then she reached for the cane and rose gracefully to her feet. Carissa followed her every move with smouldering eyes, slack-jawed with lust.

“Turn around” Susan ordered in her low, musical voice. Carissa lifted herself onto her knees and elbows, with her head down and her hips raised high. Smiling, Susan planted a foot on her outspread blonde hair to hold her in place and took aim at the round cheeks humbly presented to her, framed by stocking-tops and suspender-belt. Carissa bore two dozen powerful swipes in obedient silence, never shifting her position, until a fine latticework of crimson scars decorated her abjectly surrendered arse and a drop of moisture ran from her cunt lips to fall on the mattress between her outspread knees. “You are so greedy for pain” Susan told her, with real warmth in her voice, and she could only close her eyes and nod her head. “Now spread yourself as widely as you can and give your arse up to me”. As she obeyed, Susan stepped over her to stand astride the flare of her hips and bent forward to grab the leather straps hanging from the thick rubber plug in her arse. “Pull yourself open” she said and as Carissa reached back to spread her burning cheeks apart she drew it out with a slow, steady motion that made her groan deep in her throat. “And keep still for as long as you can”. Gazing up at her over her shoulder she saw the cane rising again and her cunt twitched with delicious dread.

Vasiliki looked over from where she sat cross-legged above the crying and sighing body of the English girl and smiled. Her exquisite knife-play was etched all over the lithe body before her - patterns of arabesques and curlicues standing vividly red against alabaster skin. She touched the edge of her blade to the woman’s white throat and she slowly returned from her ecstatic trance like a diver emerging from the depths, her blank eyes focussed on Vasiliki’s again and then followed her gaze to the tableau unfolding beside them.

Susan tapped the end of the cane lightly against Carissa’s anus once, twice, then flicked it gently back and forth over her open cunt. Raising the switch again she brought it down smartly onto the pink, bud. Carissa screamed, and her arsehole winked, but she held her position and kept pulling at her bleeding buttocks, opening herself to the bitter kisses of the supple wicker. There was no rhythm to the beating now; her cunt might be caressed for long seconds between blows or the cane might fall several times in rapid succession. Carissa howled and wept and moaned, trembling from head to toe and fighting for breath. Susan only paused to haul her dress over her head and fling it across the room before continuing her punishment of the burning ring so abjectly surrendered to her. She was satisfied only when Carissa’s eyes rolled back into her head and her shrieks were silenced as she fell forward, swooning, onto her face.

“Roll over now” Vasiliki told the redhead in an urgent, thrilling voice and she lay down alongside her to begin decorating the flawless milky-whiteness of her back, buttocks and thighs with more stinging, bloody tracery. Her crisis was imminent and her fingers still busy between her legs, tremors making her tight arse quiver and her long lashes flutter at every fresh wound carved into her yielding flesh. “If I just cut a little deeper,” Vasiliki whispered, dragging the gleaming steel over her shoulder-blade “I could flay you alive and watch you bleed to death while you frig your wet cunt”.

“Please” the English girl begged. “Do it deeper! Kill me”! Vasiliki smirked as she drew the sharp edge over the sensitive skin where Amy’s upper thighs joined the globes of her arse and watched thin streams of blood run into the warm crevices.

“They all want that” she said absently, toying with the ivory hilt.

“They all want that” Susan confirmed from where she now knelt behind Carissa, pressing sweet, teasing kisses onto her reddened arsehole and soaking her fingers in the thick wetness of her cunt. “Sacrifice this one to me, and you may kill Amy”.

Angered, Vasiliki stabbed Amy, a second time - sliding the tip sideways into her taut buttock. “It’s only a dream” she spat. “She wants it and I want it, but it cannot be”.

“My poor Vasso” Susan replied, and immediately there was a rasping cry from Carissa as two toes were suddenly and brutally rammed into her arse. Susan worked them in and out and added more, pushing in as far as the ball of her foot. “There is none so blind” she mused in her native English - which she knew Vasiliki could understand.

“Kill me” Carissa panted, lifting a face drenched with tears and tensing her shoulders to take the pain of Susan’s whole foot sliding inside her. “Impale me” she sobbed and then pressed her own fist into her mouth, gnawing at the knuckle to stifle any further indiscretion. Susan was expressionless as she focused completely on her merciless reaming of the tight arse yielded up to her, treading down and grinding Carissa’s clit onto the mattress. Vasiliki also returned to her play. She sat astride Amy’s thighs and ran the knife almost mechanically over her back and shoulders but when she brushed the auburn curls away from the girl’s neck she backed away, shocked, her hand flying to her mouth. Looking from Susan to Amy’s yellow tattoo and back she frowned in concentration for a moment as the full truth sank home.

“The Yellow Sign” Amy said, in English.

“She has already vanished without trace” Susan said without looking away from Carissa, still churning her foot inside her. “Her name is with the King in Yellow; Amy no longer exists in life. Nobody will come looking for her”. Carissa’s mouth opened and closed soundlessly, and she pressed back against the violent fucking, welcoming the pain. “Kill her” Susan continued. “Be your true self”.

Vasiliki licked at the amber and lemon symbol, making Amy shiver in anticipation, then sat back. She turned the knife to and fro, watching the bright electric light play on its polished blade. “Why?” she asked, simply.

“We want Carissa” Susan replied. “Give her to us. Let me sign her up to be sacrificed like Amy”.

Carissa was already approaching delirium when Vasiliki spoke. “Then take her” she said, and a copious spending gushed from Carissa’s neglected cunt as her body froze rigid in a transport of catharsis.

It was profoundly dark outside the villa when they finished using the tablet computer. Susan and Vasiliki had watched while Carissa submitted her whole identity, personal, professional and academic, to the King in Yellow.

“And now she waits in the apartment for a few days until I come to collect her” Susan concluded. “By then a trail will be laid showing that she left Kheros tonight for heaven knows where, her share of the cosmetic surgery business will seem to have been disposed of last year and her departure will appear to have been planned long ago”. She eyed Carissa hungrily. “I’m envious of you, Vasso. Pentecost weekend is coming so you will have lots of free time to spend on her”.

“Unless I lose another day to a forensic autopsy” Vasiliki ventured, uncharacteristically unsure of herself.

“That won’t happen” Susan smiled, laying a delicate hand on her shoulder. “Amy’s remains will not be found”. Together they looked to where the redhead still lay bleeding from many superficial cuts, a blissful smile lighting up her freckled face. “She is your payment as soon as you are ready”. Vasiliki opened her mouth as though to speak and in an instant, she and Susan were sharing a slow and passionate kiss.

They had Carissa and Amy lie on their backs side by side and they took their places obediently yet languorously. Susan threw off her lingerie and hurriedly stripped Vasiliki from the waist down, still kissing her mouth, face and neck and running busy hands over her trim, athletic body. Gently breaking their embrace, she handed Vasiliki the knife then led her by the hand to where the two naked offerings awaited them. Carissa stretched her throat and parted her lips as Susan straddled her face, presenting her cunt to be sucked and licked. She guided Vasiliki beside her onto Amy’s eager mouth. They shared another lingering kiss, their tongues fluttering like trapped butterflies. Vasiliki reached down with her free hand and tenderly took Amy’s wrist to place her hand back at her open cunt. She understood at once and began to rub herself with soft fingers, her face buried happily between the bare thighs of her assassin. The room filled with soft cries and whispers and the faint, wet sounds of lapping and swallowing.

Susan was the first to call out “Yes!” when she felt Vasiliki begin to quiver and shake, her hips bucking and her bosom heaving. “Now!” she cried as the excitement flowed from one to another like an electric charge and Amy clutched convulsively at the slim hips imprisoning her, straining her body away from the mattress and up towards her own death in a frenzy of self-abnegation. “Do it!” Susan wailed in a faltering voice as her own climax finally gripped her. The tip of Vasiliki’s knife wavered over her victim’s breastbone until Amy reached up to enfold her trembling hand in both of her own. Her lightly-muscled arms tensed as she guided the blade to her breast and pulled down with all her strength. She cried out in despair and triumph.

“The Pallid Mask!”; the sharp steel slammed under her ribcage to its full length, ripping her open. Vasiliki screamed her excitement as Amy’s dying breath spattered a fine mist of blood onto her cunt.

Late the following afternoon a parcel of beautifully marbled steaks was delivered anonymously to Vasiliki’s apartment.

 

OLIVIYA

Oliviya closed the oak kindergarten door, still smiling and waving cheerfully as the last parents left with their child, then shot both bolts. The sharp cracks rang out like rifle-fire. Hitching the skirt of her grey matron’s uniform she hurried upstairs to the office with a girlish enthusiasm and impatience, shaking her hair free from its austere bun as she went. She flung herself into the chair and quickly jabbed her password into the computer keyboard. Her elfin features were bathed in a yellow glow from the screen as the forbidden sign flashed up and an illicit recording began to play. She loosened the front of her dress and idly wrapped a strand of straight, black hair around two slim fingers.

“I could fast-forward” she mused aloud, crossing her legs tightly as she leant forward and removed her glasses. The clock in the corner of the screen ticked on, and the anonymous message on her phone had told her the exact time when the secret would be revealed. But, although she had already watched this footage many times searching for clues, she allowed herself the luxury of one final viewing, just for her own pleasure. Nibbling delicately at her lower lip, she followed the young actresses’ – or victims’ - bizarre crucifixion scene. There was no sound but the distant rumble of Mirenburg’s rush-hour traffic.

A pair of black crosses cast long shadows in the setting sun. Two nudes crawled with a slow, serpentine grace over the wet grass towards them, occasionally casting lascivious looks over their shoulders to the camera. They smoothed their lithe bodies up against the rough timbers, wrapping long legs around the beams and pressing fervent kisses to the woodwork, sharing a long and burning gaze of pure lust before dipping their heads to suck and lick lingeringly at the bulbous heads of the two sediles. Their fingers stroked the worn oak and their own soft bodies, pert bosoms rose and fell, tongues fluttered in mouths slack with mindless desire. At last, with yet more knowing glances into the lens, each stepped up the set of three wooden steps before her own cross. Oliviya let slip a small sigh and pressed her nylon thighs more closely together. No matter how often she witnessed this dark lewdness she felt herself melt every time with vivid premonitions of embracing her own fate. She knew that she might face only a quick stroke of the knife – and the mere thought of that sent a hot thrill coursing through her body – but she still dared to dream of a lingering, public demise that she would meet with the same naked self-abasement as these two performers – or sacrifices. Bending from the waist with a deliberate and elegant motion the dark-eyed beauty on the right closed her red lips around the polished wooden dildo that jutted from the centre of her cross. The other dropped promptly to her knees and spread her companion’s buttocks apart with both hands, craning her slender neck to probe the exposed arsehole with an eager tongue. Both women writhed for long minutes in this brazen display before changing their stances so that the nude on the left enjoyed a slavish rimming while she, in turn, leant forward to lubricate her own sedile with a hot mouth. Oliviya’s fingers tensed around the mouse and her pupils widened as the women settled themselves in place, wincing and biting their lips while their hips sank slowly and inevitably onto the protruding rods. The lengths of smooth timber disappeared between their arse cheeks as their knees bent and their empty cunts gaped wetly and hungrily above the invading pegs. Again, they drank each other’s souls through their eyes in a deep, mutual stare and then, as though rehearsed many times, they reached out to slip their wrists through the leather loops at the ends of their crossbars and kicked out, propelling the steps away over the floor so that each was helplessly transfixed on the sedile stabbing up into her bowels. They screamed silently, and piss spurted briefly from the cunt of the woman on the left before diminishing first to a trickle and then a spattering.

The camera panned out and zoomed in, it changed angles crazily and then picked up again from the original position. The victims were now convincingly dead, slumped motionless and decorated with fearsome whip marks that had transformed their whole bodies into slabs of raw, bleeding meat. It was so easy to believe that the film was a macabre piece of performance art, staged and edited to titillate the jaded appetites of nameless perverts – but Oliviya was watching carefully to see the digital display edge remorselessly towards the critical time. The camera tracked around the beautiful corpses until she froze the frame as instructed and forced herself to focus unblinkingly on the still image. Spotting a faint legend typed on a scrap of paper in the corner of the shot, she gave a small squeal of delight and magnified it excitedly. As promised in her mysterious text, there was an internet address hidden in plain sight. With trembling hands, she noted it down and typed it into a fresh address box. A familiar scene unfolded immediately; the moaning and writhing pair hung evilly suspended from their crosses as before. A deep and warm voice that thrilled her to the very core spoke from out of shot.

“Fasten the restraints before we start” he said. At this an athletic, blue-eyed young woman, naked and sporting the shaven head and collar of a chattel slave, stepped into view. Oliviya felt her own nipples pucker and tighten at the sight of the heavy rings the actress wore in her breasts, and she imagined how it must feel to wear them permanently. With a calm and business-like efficiency, the bald slave moved around the crosses, standing on tiptoe to tighten the leather cuffs around the women’s wrists. They spoke words of thanks, she assumed, in some strange language. Both were already panting and straining from the effort of supporting their bodies on the cruel rods embedded inside them.

“It is done, Dmitri” the slave announced, and Oliviya’s heart leapt at the sound of the name. She had found him! Without ever taking her eyes from the screen, she unfastened more buttons at the front of her staid dress until she was able to slip it from her shoulders and wriggle out of it, revealing a half-cup brassiere and leather suspender-belt which would have shocked and scared the stolid bourgeois who patronised her school.

“Back behind the camera” he rumbled, stepping forward as the slave moved away, regarding him with worshipful eyes as they passed. Dmitri was just as Oliviya’s imagination had created him in her erotic nightmares. He dominated the room by the sheer physicality of his presence; the huge muscles of his broad shoulders were not disguised by his loose shirt and his hair and beard were a great mass of grey-flecked curls that was somehow savage and animalistic. He drew the full length of his black whip over the palm of his hand, lost in thought, and then spoke to some accomplice. “Have them repeat the message”. A different male voice spoke from the shadows, in the strange tongue the women had used before. There was a change of focus, to the anguished face of the dark-eyed woman, and she began to speak in the curious, stilted way of someone reciting words memorised from a foreign language.

“You have been chosen. For collection. Later. There will be a form to submit”. As she finished speaking, she turned to the other and the camera followed her eyes.

“We will die now” her fellow victim pronounced. “Watch. And follow us. If you choose”. Dmitri turned his head to look out of the screen and deep into Oliviya’s soul. Entranced, she put the tip of her little finger to her mouth and closed sharp, white teeth gently around it. Before her, the screen went dark for a moment, and then the scene opened again with Dmitri readying himself and the two sacrifices helplessly crucified and breathless with anticipation. There was a sudden explosion of energy and the long whip swung in a great, blurred arc around his head and into the soft flesh of the victim on the left. A fierce crimson line appeared against the white curves of her breast and belly where the bitter kiss of the plaited steel wires had opened her skin. She drew in a great, tortured gasp and streams of blood started along the length of her wound. Without a moment’s respite the whip swept around again. Both women screamed, the one in physical shock and pain but the other in wide-eyed terror. She was quickly silenced by the cruel laceration of both her breasts by a whip-cut deep enough to start a fine spray of blood. Her wounded bosom heaved twice before she threw her head back and screamed again and again.

“Dmitri...” sighed Oliviya, distractedly, staring intently at the awful drama unfolding before her. The two women writhed helplessly under the vicious onslaught, arms straining and loins trembling over the wooden shafts that pinned them to their crosses while his whip carved a thousand cuts into their outstretched bodies and blood rained down around them. Hoarse screams and hopeless sobbing filled the air. Oliviya, too, moved sensuously in her seat. Her hands roamed about her undulating form, brushing her skin and tousling her mane of coal-black hair, now caressing the arm of the chair, now pressing the aching nub of her nipple between thumb and forefinger. She groaned deep in her throat and, without taking her eyes from the screen for a second, reached lazily to open the desk drawer. A particularly vicious stroke had caught one of the women on the side of her breast and carved deeply into the tissue. The wound gaped raw and bloody and her cunt spurted copiously, shamelessly, at such brutal treatment. With a shaking hand, Oliviya took a smoked-glass, jewelled plug from the drawer and brought it slowly to her open mouth to roll her tongue around the glass bulb, moistening it languorously while her black eyes drank in the brutal depravity of the film. Both women were slick with gore now, and blood poured freely from many cuts. Their movements were becoming more sluggish and less frequent as the punishment took its toll. Oliviya raised her legs, planted her conservative shoes wide apart on the edge of the desk and drove the wet plug hard into the dry bud of her arsehole. She groaned again, and her breath came in ragged pants until her tight ring accepted the invasion of the coloured glass and closed around the waist so that only the semi-precious stone at the base was visible, glinting in the flickering light of the computer screen.

Dmitri’s face looked into the camera and his eyes bored into hers. Slowly and deliberately he raised his right hand and pulled on a strange gauntlet of brass and leather. Each finger was fitted with a five-centimetre blade of blued steel, fashioned to resemble the talon of a raptor - or perhaps the claw of a big cat. Buckling it securely around his wrist, he turned back to the bleeding and crucified submissives. They slowly lifted radiant faces at his approach, with utterly broken yet tender and loving looks. With one last, meaningful glance over his shoulder he stepped close to the spread-eagled beauty on the right and drew his finger-knives slowly and almost gently down her raw, bloodied flank to sink the wicked tips deep into the flesh of her arse. Her face was already a transport of agony when he seized her thick hair in his other hand and pulled her head to the side, exposing her slender neck to his hungry mouth. The woman whispered a phrase in her strange language which Oliviya was sure must be the hailing of the Pallid Mask and then her face froze in a rictus of terror and pain as Dmitri’s teeth clamped again and again on her outstretched throat, rending and tearing in a huge outpouring of blood which splashed over his face and beard. Soon she slumped motionless in her bonds. He turned a wild and gory face to the camera before moving in on the other woman. She licked her lips and strained imprisoned arms to force her flayed body away from the cross towards his fatal fingers. He took her delicate chin in his left hand and pinned her head back against the rough timber. Gazing into his eyes she repeated the other’s dying words in an exultant cry that became a gurgling, rattling whisper when the wicked points drove between her breasts and into her chest. Powerful shoulder muscles moved beneath his shirt as he thrust steel-tipped fingers deep into her dying body, rummaged inside her ribs and finally, with a cry of triumph, tore the dripping heart free and held it above his head. Oliviya began to shudder uncontrollably; her slim thighs trembled, and her fingers clenched on the arms of the chair. Turning to the camera, Dmitri slowly raised the dripping heart to lips that were already gory from his first victim, closed his eyes in a dark ecstasy and sank his teeth into the raw meat. Blood streamed into his beard and spurted into the air - and Oliviya gushed across the floor under her desk with a strangled cry. The image froze, and the room was silent save for ragged breathing as she struggled to control herself, knuckles white at the edge of the desk.

The haunting sound of an oud drifted from the speakers and the screen became a business-like patchwork of text and entry fields. An ornate silver crucifix swung between Oliviya’s bared breasts as she leant forward to type, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face with one hand while the other tapped at the keypad to enter her National Identity Number. The sun was setting now, and her delicate features were up-lit by the glow of the screen while she typed intently, giving up her financial and personal details and all of her passwords – the blasphemies and obscenities that she inwardly yearned to shout aloud but only ever picked out in secret at a keyboard. Before long - because the jotter in her locked drawer had every code and reference carefully noted in readiness for this day – the display refreshed, and one word appeared in an antique script of rich, dark yellow.

When her submission was acknowledged, Oliviya switched to another screen and reactivated her gym membership. She wanted to be lean and fit when she was collected.

 

SUSAN

Carissa climbed gracefully over the side of the Demhe, tossed her wet hair out of her face, and stood before the men next to Susan, her arms loose at her sides, one knee bent in a relaxed pose and her chin tilted proudly upward. Droplets of water ran over her smooth flesh and fell onto the teak planking. The two women had swum out from the beach nude, and now presented themselves obediently on the deck of the yacht. Dmitri and his companions looked like any group of tanned, wealthy tourists in their crisp linen suits and light cotton ducks as they gathered around, eyeing them appraisingly.

“You understand that you have been collected? You understand what collection means?” Dmitri asked in English.

“Yes” breathed both women in unison. Carissa turned startled eyes to her mistress.

“You served your purpose well, Susan” Dmitri went on. He threw an amused glance at Carissa. “She was submitted to the King in Yellow since before you first knew her, just like Amy”. He took a seat and crossed his legs. “Her mission was to bring you here, to act as my agent in acquiring you. You may speak”.

“Why?” she asked. “I am not worthy - you can have any woman”.

“Indeed” he confirmed. “I have so many women to choose from, it is scarcely a challenge for me and I grow bored sometimes”. He leant forward, “I have plans for your future, which we can discuss over dinner”. Carissa groaned as though in physical pain and he smiled with his eyes. “Yes” he mocked her. “Not only do you have to wait, but you have to watch - and partake”. Rising, he gently ushered her to one side while the others pressed in closer around Susan. Andrei touched her first, turning her head from side to side and lifting her hands - checking for jewellery - then staring into her face while his fingers rummaged in her cunt and his thumb pressed onto her clit. When she breathed a soft sigh he stepped back, running his fingers under his nostrils and inhaling deeply.

“She is quite ready” he said, turning to Pierre who stepped forward.

“Please, gnädiges Fräulein, let me show you to your place” he invited, with old-world courtesy. Susan parted her lips but did not, or could not, speak. Pierre nodded in understanding. “Here” he said, sweeping his arm back towards the other side of the boat “we have a full-sized gas barbecue with a rotisserie large enough for a döner - or a sow”. She sighed. He raised an eyebrow then walked over to the grill. “The spit detaches easily” he went on conversationally as he disengaged it from its motor and ran the six feet of stainless steel over the palm of his hand. When he tested the point with the ball of his thumb, Susan took a great breath and her round breasts rose, the nipples standing out long and hard. She sank her hands into her blonde locks. There was the rasp of match on sandpaper as Dmitri lit a Burmese cheroot.

“Put her on the machine, man, for pity’s sake” he said, exhaling luxuriously. Pierre beckoned her to follow him over to where a sun-lounger was positioned in line with an electric engine. With practised ease, he knelt to fit the steel rod onto the crank and looked up to where she stood watching intently.

“Face down” he said curtly “and present your cunt”. Susan nodded and spread herself over the cushions. Looking over her shoulder she shifted her hips up and back until the gleaming tip aligned with her wet and welcoming opening. A sudden clank made her turn her startled face to the front; Leon had approached barefooted, making no sound until the buckle of his belt fell to the deck. Naked from the waist down he sat on the headrest before her face, legs spread wide and his stiff, twitching cock presented to her mouth. Propping herself up on her elbows she wrapped one hand around it and commenced a gentle, humble kissing and licking of the head, darting the tip of her tongue softly over the slit and ridged underside until a tremor ran through his wiry frame and he pulled her down by the hair to engulf him in her mouth. While she sucked furiously, bobbing and turning her head and walking her fingers over his shaft and balls, he draped his braided leather single-tail over her back down to her open crotch, teasing it to and fro between the swollen cunt-lips. At last his breathing quickened and he took her face in both hands to fuck her throat roughly, grunting his satisfaction as she swallowed. A single trickle of spunk started at the corner of her mouth, but she stopped it with a knuckle, determined to drink every drop. Leon shivered once, drew a great lungful of air, and rose to his feet. His whip still lay on her back and as he bent to recover it he stroked its full length across her cunt one last time and her shoulders tensed with the effort of keeping her hips still. Pierre had settled back with a cold bottle while Leon was being serviced - now he looked around for somewhere to put it down and shuffled on his knees to the controls of the motor. He spent a moment checking the connection of the spit to the crank one last time before finally flicking the switch. The length of steel began a slow vibration and he clambered to his feet, grinning. Leon waited patiently while Pierre leisurely retrieved his drink and took a long pull. All eyes were on the ripe nakedness of their victim, poised millimetres from the sharp, shivering point. Susan remained compliant and motionless, but she could not help but close her eyes and lick her lips, her cunt quivering in anticipation of the coming ordeal. At last she was given her order - “Take it” - and she pushed back gratefully to swallow many centimetres of buzzing metal into her sopping hole. A long, low moan of animal lust was wrenched from deep inside and her head fell forward onto her forearms. Then the whip struck.

Leon used all of his strength, swinging the leather from far behind him, high over his shoulder, and violently down across her upturned cheeks with a tremendous crack that echoed around the deserted cove. Susan froze rigid and a dark red stripe stood out immediately on the ivory flesh of her arse and around her hip. He paused just long enough to let her draw breath and then slashed into her again, flattening the flesh where a second vivid stripe crossed the first. She screamed. On the third strike, she fell forward onto her face crying out brokenly as floods of tears coursed down her soft cheeks. Still sobbing she lifted her hips again and pressed back onto the humming steel, emitting a low sigh as the vibrations worked on her. Leon smiled grimly.

“You welcome the spit now,” he said, hefting the whip “but it will not be my knout that kills you” and he laid into her again and again in an explosion of energy, forehand and backhand strokes falling viciously in rapid succession. Her knuckles whitened as she gripped the frame of the lounger and she clamped her jaws over her own arm, but she began to grind against the sharp steel, sucking the point still further inside herself. The twin orbs of her pale arse were marked with lines of fiery pain before the thrashing stopped and Andrei moved to position himself behind her. Naked, he stepped over the rod that still tantalized her, spat onto the head of his cock and pressed it down into the ring of her arse with his thumb. A thrust of his muscular hips buried it right inside her and she opened her mouth wide in a silent cry of dark pleasure.

The men were all now at least half-naked and all were excited and erect. Carissa’s eyes darted to and fro as she took in the whole scene, enthralled. She shivered when Dmitri’s hand brushed her ribs and flank to rest on her hip.

“Watch” he murmured as Grigori stepped up between Susan and the motor. Sweating, Andrei pulled out and stepped aside while the older man straddled the vibrating steel rod to drive into her arse in his turn while Andrei moved around to present his twitching cock to her mouth. She lifted herself onto all fours to worship him with her lips and tongue, closing her eyes to relish both the brutal shafting and the heavy, sweet taste in her mouth. Both men turned their faces to the night sky, the tendons in their necks standing out as they panted and snorted in furious passion. The lounger creaked and rattled in time to their thrusts, and the engine buzzed relentlessly. “In the banal world, the tame world, they call this ‘roasting’” Dmitri whispered into Carissa’s ear. “Look how excited she is”. Carissa sighed. At last, Andrei let himself explode into Susan’s mouth, his fists locked in her hair and his muscular body rigid and tense like a statue. Drawing a great breath, he disengaged and went to gulp thirstily from his glass while Grigori took his place, making way for Pierre to use her arse.

“She is so beautiful” Carissa breathed, forgetting herself, but Dmitri only nodded his agreement.

“You are all beautiful when you have found the Yellow Sign” he said, stroking her cheek with strong fingers and making her blush like a schoolgirl.

Grigori pulled free from Susan’s mouth and spent over her face; she wiped his spunk from her cheeks and chin, sucking it greedily from her fingers, panting and gasping in time to the pounding at her arse. Grunting a curse, Pierre came inside her and over her cheeks then almost staggered back to the controls of the electric motor and switched it off. At this, Gregori seized her hair and pulled her cunt away from the steel and she fell onto her belly blinking in confusion, looking to Dmitri for instruction.

“Clean her” he told Carissa, and she went eagerly to kneel behind Susan, dipping her head to suck from her arsehole and scrupulously lapping every drop of spunk from her welted buttocks. Taking Susan’s face in both hands she kissed her full on the lips and passed the precious mouthful to her. She swallowed and smiled her gratitude. Pierre waited patiently, composing himself.

“On your back,” he said, almost gently, re-aligning the spit with the lounger “and present your arse”. Susan turned around, lifting her hips and spreading her legs as ordered to offer herself up for further, final punishment. The others watched while Pierre adjusted the controls so that the steel began thrusting back and forth, extending a little further each time and inching towards its victim with a painfully slow inevitability. Only Carissa looked away, only briefly while Dmitri took her hand and guided it to his rigid cock. With a flush of pride, she accepted the honour and began to caress him softly, so spellbound by the sight of Susan’s sacrifice that she scarcely dared to breathe. Dmitri ran his fingers idly through Carissa’s golden tresses.

“She frigged me over our last victim,” he rumbled in his beard “just as you are doing now. She saw Ellie skewered in this very place. Look at her now”! Carissa followed his gaze. Susan’s nostrils flared, her fists clenched and unclenched and she chewed her lower lip in an agony of anticipation. Her cunt was wet and open. “We left that one’s remains to be found as a clue, as part of my little game with your Vasiliki” he continued, as Susan reached beneath her hips to part her cheeks, holding herself open and ready for spitting. “But Susan is dying simply because her work is done, and we are hungry”. He chuckled quietly when the women moaned in unison. Then the tip penetrated her punished and stretched ring and the impalement began, steadily and deliberately, she arching her back to accommodate it. Leon and Andrei steadied her, forcing her down onto the sun lounger by the hips and shoulders and trapping her arms.

There was a sudden hiss and a sputtering; all eyes turned to where Grigori stood preparing the barbecue. A warm orange glow spread from the other side of the deck and danced on the droplets of moisture trickling from her cunt onto the steel rod stabbing her arse. Pierre left the engine and reached between the others to maul Susan’s breasts with clawing hands, kneading the flesh and pinching brutally at her teats. Her breathing became ragged and she twisted helplessly in the men’s grip.

“Pin her down now” Pierre said as he excited her throbbing nipples with evil fingers. “The steel is about to break into her torso and slide between her vital organs - so long as she is sufficiently still”. Susan wailed in an ecstasy of despair and her cunt spattered its juices over the canvas. Then she caught her breath abruptly.

“Watch!” hissed Dmitri and Susan’s eyes opened impossibly wide in shock, her face contorted with the fierce pain of the shaft’s fatal violation. Carissa almost slumped against him, moaning her arousal as her legs trembled beneath her. Susan’s spasm passed, and she began to emit a series of short, soft cries as it pressed further into her. Pierre slapped her breasts hard and took his final position holding her head back, immobile over the edge of the chair.

In a husky voice, she purred “The Pallid Mask” and her eyes rolled back in her head. Her whole body quivered, her throat bulged, and Dmitri sprayed her face, throat and bosom with thick gobbets of spunk at the sight of the head of the stake emerging, dripping and throbbing, from her mouth. Shyly, Carissa let her hand fall back to her side. After a few minutes, there was a half metre of steel protruding from Susan’s mouth and Pierre went to turn off the motor. Andrei and Leon took an end each and together they hoist the spitted victim over to the grill, where Grigori gleefully whetted his gutting knives. Carissa managed to exchange a look with her as she died swinging like a pig in a slaughterhouse.

Later, Dmitri fed her mouthfuls of woman flesh when she lay curled at his feet as his pet bitch.

 

HEATHER

Vasiliki threw herself into her work after Carissa was collected, but there was nobody to notice any change because she mainly worked alone and unsupervised. After a week of long days and intense activity she found that her outstanding documentation and administrative tasks had all been cleared and time began to weigh heavy on her again. Casting around for something to keep herself occupied she discovered that she was owed a handsome stretch of leave due to an apparent error within the personnel department; she wasn’t inclined to question it twice so booked herself a long holiday. On her last day, she was eager to depart and had brought a packed suitcase into work with her, but a cadaver came in for routine examination just as everyone was leaving for the weekend. Vasiliki was tempted to redirect them to the main site but her work ethic got the better of her and she had them put it in the autopsy room.

She looked over the paperwork as she made her way there. The corpse was a young woman named Heather, an American student who been struck by her own boat’s propeller in full view of the shore. The US consulate only needed the cause of death confirmed officially before collecting the remains to ship home. Resignedly, Vasiliki set down the folder and removed the sheet from the body. The dead girl had been rather attractive, she noted with professional detachment, and had been sunbathing nude. She lifted sundried blonde hair away from the neck and shoulders to examine the lacerated throat and then froze, open-mouthed with shock. The cadaver bore a tattoo identical to Amy’s, in the form she now knew to be the Yellow Sign. She stood and stared, her mind racing, then shuffled like a zombie to bolt the door. Stiff and slow in her movements she unbuttoned her coat and pulled off her shirt and slacks without ever taking her blazing eyes from the mesmerising design on the neck. She was so beautiful, Vasiliki thought. Utterly available and vulnerable, completely open and offered. Why had she never realised, she mused as she stripped, that the taking of a victim was only the beginning, not the end?

“I’m going to do this” she whispered, unfastening her brassiere. “She submitted, and they sent her to me”. She slid her briefs down her slim thighs, stepped out of them and climbed onto the autopsy table to lie alongside the girl’s cadaver. Suddenly, it seemed bizarre that she had never allowed herself this intimacy with the dead before now. She ran her hands slowly over the smooth flesh, stroking the belly and ribs and then the cheek, sweeping the hair aside. With infinite tenderness, she traced her fingertips down the body again to the knee. “How did you die?” she asked softly, and it seemed the most natural thing in the world that the corpse should open her blue eyes and answer.

“It was wild and beautiful” Heather told her, in accentless Greek, as she draped a cold, white arm over Vasiliki’s waist and pulled their bodies closer together. “We all met on the island of Dascalio on a moonless night; everything had been planned months in advance”. Her dead eyes fixed Vasiliki with a basilisk stare and drew her deep inside. “There was so much blood”.

They gathered in the courtyard of a ruined farmhouse; there were only a few sun-bleached stone walls still standing and neglected olive trees surrounded the site, secluding it from the beaches nearby. A dozen women of various ages and nations were grouped in twos and threes, all more or less naked but for fripperies of silk, lace and leather. There were flames everywhere – from the circle of torches around them, from the huge pyre of deadwood in the centre and from three firepits laid out at a distance from the trees. Grigori tended the spits over these, wearing only a leather apron. It was the crimson glimmer from the coals that caught Heather’s attention as she approached to join the throng. With a frisson of excited fear, she realised that the spitted roast crackling over the nearest pit was the body of a woman like herself. Her hand went to her mouth, but she took another faltering step forward, and another, and soon found herself in the midst of the company. A dark-skinned beauty wearing only laced court shoes and a pearl necklace approached her.

“Heather” she said.

“Jazarah”. And she pulled the cotton dress off Heather’s shoulders and down her body. They stood like that for a moment, with the torchlight playing over their naked flesh and Jazarah’s hands resting lightly on her hips. Heather parted her lips but before she could speak a quiet voice came from beside her and she turned to see two women embracing on the parched grass. The younger knelt behind with her long arms enfolding the other’s fuller figure, pinching her swelling clit and kneading her heavy breasts. Pierre and Andrei approached them. Both wore black jeans and shirts.

“Take her” Pierre said, looking neither in the eye but handing a long knife towards them, hilt first. All eyes were on them now, drawn by the magnetism of the man and by the sweet, menacing allure of the blade. Tentatively, the older woman extended a trembling hand and took hold of the dagger. There was a profound silence broken only by the faint hissing and cracking of the flames. Reluctantly pulling her lover’s fingers away from their wicked tweaking of her nipples, she pressed the dagger gently but firmly into her hand, guiding the point into her own soft belly. Her head leant back for a long and deep kiss and then her mouth and eyes opened wide as the icy steel penetrated her flesh, again and again and again. Blood welled from the wounds to run over her pale cunt and thighs.

“The Pallid Mask” she gasped, then coughed and choked while her killer clasped her more tightly pushing the blade deeper and grinding her crotch shamelessly against her back, her ecstatic face almost a parody of her victim’s death agonies. At last she was released to topple forward. The men stooped to seize the body by wrists and ankles and haul it away. The young woman followed after them, treading daintily amongst the loose stones and stunted shrubs, until they stopped at the fire pits. Heather looked back to Jazarah.

“I have such delicious nightmares about this” she whispered