Vincent laughed, not at anything funny mind you but just because of the thrill of it all. He watched them writhe and squirm under the hot lights like a mass of worms under a rotten log, and how better to describe DC after dark then the rotten and decaying husk of a once great tree. They danced, or as close to that as they knew how, to a driving "Industrial" beat, multi-tracks of drums overlaying one another to create a dark and tribal sound, and these......THINGS, loved it. They windmilling their arms in slow circles, they stood packed together like so many sheep in a pen. The air was rank with sweat, sex, smoke and greasepaint as well as the smell of fiction. The fiction of gender, the fiction of being. This place was the breeding ground of so many dark fantasies and desires best left unsaid.
Over the din of the crowd and the music he let his eyes focus on "her". She was beautiful in a damaged kind of way. She stood out from the rest, by her own choice of course. Her hair was a mass of black layers, highlighted with blue and purple streaks. It was a wig for sure but a rather bold fashion statement, and Vincent was naturally drawn to her exotic and even haunting beauty. She shifted her weight on the barstool and adjusted the neckline of her crushed velvet top to better show her hormone induced bust amplified by a liberal amount of foam. Oh she is worthy Vincent thought as He pushed his way to the 3rd floor bar above the dance floor.
Her dark scarlet Revlon coated lips graced the slender straw and she sipped her cocktail with a sexual energy usually reserved for casual lovers, her body in time with the beat though she was unaware of the fact. Vincent circled, like a lone wolf singling out a small mammal. He eyed her, predatory, hungry, and full of animalistic desire. She was still unaware, watching the circus on the dance floor, the painted faces weeping under the stage-like lights like a bad B movie, the unfolding drama as an older Queen in the corner got publicly dumped by her greasy looking weasel of a boyfriend. Vincent 's eyes were locked on her though. Her shapely legs and exotically painted features drowned out all the other life in the nightclub. It all was white noise, a background to the hunt. For Him at this moment there was only Her, and "She" was His lover though she was still unaware of that fact as of now.
The Jackal circled again, moving easily amongst the patrons; his eyes never leaving Her for a moment. He could see Her in His mind, lying there on the silk sheets, pale and drained and very happy. The Predator smiled, a feral and wild smile, the smile that the wolf gives to the wounded doe, and struck. She felt the His breath on Her neck and turned around to see who dared come to close. Sliding back in her seat and forcing conviction into her voice, she said "Excuse me, what in the hell do you think you are doing?" He just smiled; his smile said it all. It told of his lust, his desire and a power, a power that was useless to fight against. She looked at him like a painter critiques another's work, skepticism and awe dueling for control as the dominant emotion.
He just stood there, a statue amongst the animated backdrop; long raven hair hung to his waist plaited into a long French braid. His feral mouth framed by a groomed goatee, wearing a black silk dress shirt open at the neck with a hint of his chest showing, and tailored tux pants flowing to the ankles of his shined Gucci loafers. His eyes met Hers, and she tried to turn away to break his terrible invasive gaze but found herself drawn even deeper until He, on his own terms, broke it.
Vincent had her, and he knew it but he wanted more even still so he spoke " and your name would be...". She looked startled; the statue spoke. Quickly regaining her composure "Lavinia" she lied. He let a second smile play around his savage lips, thinking to himself that Lavinia the name of Titus Andronicus' doomed and ravaged daughter is a fitting name for such a damaged and deflowered creature.
"So tell me Lavinia, what would you say if I said that I find you incredibly beautiful and wanted to spend the night in your company?" The flattery went to Her head like a cheap gin. Still studying him, she took another sip from her watery and overpriced drink. "I would think you were a fool to be deceived by appearances," She said.
Vincent's eyes shone, reflecting the strobe of the lights. "Then think me a fool, but I do wish your company" Oh she is very worthy Vincent thought, as he gave her cheek a light caress. Lavinia knew better. Her friends warned her, and every fiber of her being told her not to; to run; to flee; to cut her losses and just get out, but for some reason that was impossible. She was his, and he knew it. The courtship was as quick and dispassionate as a glory hole in a bus station, but she was his for as long as he wished her. She languorously stood, rising from the well-worn barstool to meet him, to look into those terrible eyes again.
Wordlessly, Vincent made for the door, and she, like an obedient pup, followed him, pushing others from her path trying not to lose visual contact for fear that he would disappear and she would be left empty and alone. The transition from the crowded club to the crisp night air was enough to startle her as she followed him outside to his midnight black BMW. Vincent made no attempt to get the car door for her. He simply waited knowing that she would come to him. Lavinia slipped into the bucket seat and closed the door behind her, on her way to her destiny and oblivion.
They rode in silence, after all what was there to say. Two strangers alone in the artificial universe of the cars interior, Adam and Eve in a synthetic world of there own creation, each ready for what was to come but not at ease enough to speak. Vincent wondered what she was thinking; glancing over at her as she idly picked with an artificial nail at a stray thread on the hemline of her mini skirt. What secrets did she possess? And she wondered who he was, who was the man that she would now follow into hell. My god, I don't even know his name she realized with a degree of horror. The car slowed and rounded a corner to park in an alleyway off the side of an abandoned factory, which now served as Vincent's loft apartment.
Opening his door and paying no mind to Lavinia, Vincent left the car and started to unlock the heavy back door to the freight elevator. Lavinia followed him, her mind and body at war with each other. WHAT THE F*** AM I DOIN? I DONT KNOW ANYTHING ABOUT HIM!! Her body seemed not to care what her rational mind told her. She found herself stepping into the elevator and bracing herself against the sides as it lurched upward. Vincent just smiled; she was his, at least for tonight.
The elevator came to a halt, the horizontal doors flinging themselves open on their strong springs, revealing the vast but sparsely decorated living space. Lavinia's spike heels echoed on the concrete floor as she stepped outside the confines of the elevator. Blinking her heavily made up eyes, she let herself become accustomed to the low light. The large factory windows were covered over with heavy black velvet drapes so that even the light of the street lamps wasn't able to creep in. The only sources of light were a few small lamps on the floor and a few flickering candles. Shadows danced on the walls and made the factory loft seem even more expansive and dark than the actual night itself. The only furniture to speak of was a large bed in the very middle of the room, with soft black and purple silk sheets and satin pillows. Vincent stood behind her, taking great amusement as she fought within herself, the struggle between her will and his own, her body and her mind, her lust and her rationality.
Vincent saw her struggle; he knew her struggle. He knew the battle that raged in her even though her outward appearance was calm. He knew what lies beneath. He whispered a single word that echoed though the room and her mind. SURRENDER !!
And then, in the near darkness, she felt his hand, cold as the frozen tundra, grasping hers and leading her to the bed. Following like a lamb to the butcher's block, she wanted to scream and struggle. She wanted to run but found she could do nothing but go ever forward with him. Cold hands explored her face and an ice finger slipped into her mouth, her hot tongue and soft lips breathing warmth to it momentarily. Lavinia slowly unbuttoned Vincent's shirt, slipping it off his broad shoulders, letting the soft light dance on his brilliant luminescent skin, his cold chest so like chiseled ice. Kissing his frigid body, she worked her way ever downward, her long purple press-on nails worked at his belt as she kissed down his belly.
"Not yet" Vincent said as he pulled her up by her wrist. Vincent retreated a few steps. "Take off your clothes, let me see you." Dumbly complying, Lavinia strips the clingy velvet top off and then her heavily padded bra, letting the bra and foam pads fall to the ground with a flourish, revealing her small girlish mounds and erect nipples. The sound of the zipper of her miniskirt cut though the silence in the grave stillness of the vast abandoned factory. Lavinia lets that to fall to the ground, stepping out of it. Wearing only her spider lace fishnet stockings, gaff and panties, she looked to Vincent for approval.
"Did I ask you to stop? I said I wanted to see you...all of you" was Vincent's only replay, to which Lavinia slid off her black satin panties and removed the latex gaff, freeing her clit from its feminine prison. There she stood his Damaged Virgin, his Faux Fem Maiden exposed for him, waiting and wanting him. It was his lust in her, his control, Oh she is worthy he thought, and she is ready. The predator advanced, he pushed her back onto the bed, its plush fabrics enveloping Lavinia as she fell backward. His cold tongue played along her plump left nipple. The tongue's icy massage continued down her flat belly, to her exposed and now hardened clit.
Vincent's cold lips encircled Lavinia's shaft. She started to deflate because of the cold embrace but Vincent's sucking kept her aroused, sucking, drawing with a hungry fervor. Vincent coaxed her and pushed her to orgasm quickly. Vincent let her warmth into him, consuming her whole, her essence. The Jackal grinned; he felt her essence, her secret essence in him. He felt its power and its effect. He hastily undid his belt and unzipped his pants, quickly kicking them off into a corner. Lavinia gasped as she looked at him. What have I gotten myself into?? she wanted to scream, but instead just parted her legs.
Vincent descended like a carrion bird on a fresh kill, his now hardened manhood begged for release into her warm mortal flesh. Ok, ok I have had worse. Just let's get this over quickly. All the glory holes, all the backrooms, I can deal with this...Lavinia thought. Slowly he entered, stretching his way into her, his now warm organ working in and out of her, friction and desire, lust and heat. He started to tongue her nipple again, his tongue still cold as a North Atlantic ice flow. The Jackal smiled, teeth bared, fangs shown in the near light. Cool breath and arctic lips. The pleasures of the damned.
Vincent's teeth graced her girlish nipple and he gently nipped it, suckling the crimson liquid from her breast like a child suckles life-giving milk. Madonna and Chylde Vincent mused,his bright eyes closed, still driving into her with his erect manhood as he fed. Lavinia gasped, feeling him inside of her, his body growing warmer by the second. But I don't even know his name...
And there they stayed, locked in parasitic passion for the better part of a hour until Vincent could hold out no longer, his body warm and flesh pink, he gave of himself back to Lavinia. Cold, yet flushed, Lavinia received her own essence back through Vincent. Rolling in warm waves deep into her being, she felt something more, an understanding, an illumination. Lavinia's head, thrown back in the depths of the greatest passion she had ever experienced. She realized I am worthy and then it was over, blackness, nothingness oblivion.......
Awakened to the New Dawn, Lavinia found herself in her own bed, in her room, in her house. She squinted at the blinding light bleeding through lace curtains. She shielded her eyes and lay back in bed. Was it a dream? Did someone slip me something in my drink? What the hell just happened? Am I crazy?
She rubbed her face, feeling the remains of her makeup from last night. Still squinting, she labored to stand. Walking barefoot, and in a daze, she made her way to the bathroom. There on the sink it lay a perfect but wilted Blackrose. Laid out lovingly like a 1950s pinup girl, positioned with the utmost care. She spied herself in the mirror, nude and disheveled, and she heard him, the Stone Man, her Sire, her Father.
You are worthy...
Lavinia laughed, not because anything was funny mind you, but just because of the thrill of it all............
By Mina .....
(For my friends and stuff, also some really kickass authors & poets like Poppy Z. Brite, Chelsea Quinn Yarbro, Christa Faust, Jherri Lee, Arthur Rimbaud, and my MOM who I hope to GAWD never reads this, and my friend Cordelia who was the first to read this and has been very supportive about the whole thing :-} also to the my editor Sharon,who took a cheesy lil gothic story and made it fit to print)
© 2001
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