She had been allowed to feel too much. She had let him in too far. It was impossible now…to resist…resist…
This was ridiculous. How could any part of her still possess the means to fight? He had won…had he not? His touch was so…insistent; his tongue so preciously delicious; lunacy to believe herself capable of any form of defiance…but perhaps that was it, a lunatic's chance of winning…
"Perhaps if I were to show you…just how powerless your God is…you will…" He gasped heatedly as his fingertips moved relentlessly along her thighs.
He tugged her playfully towards the huge stone baptismal font that stood insignificantly out of place in the centre of the aisle. She felt her legs move along with him, grotesquely in time with his. She closed her eyes and tried to pretend that his beautifully tapered hand was resting anywhere but on the small of her back.
He twirled her around as he hummed in his curiously sweet sounding voice.
"Take a cup my dear! Pour it on my stillborn heart! Let us not see if your God will cast me down!" The tone of command in his maddening voice made compliance necessary.
He slowly but tenaciously moved his hand from the small of her back, up across her stomach, then flittingly stroking her navel before moving irreverently along her breast to finally come to rest around her flimsy wrist.
She moaned softly, his touch melting her thighs. His hand tightened slightly and she felt a great fear rise in her like a sinister wraith. Her breathing came deep and heavy and the saliva in her mouth evaporated, leaving her mouth arid. She could see it so clearly, with her waking eyes she imagined him snapping her wrist like a dry twig, yet she could not move.
"Why would I hurt you?" He moaned lovingly. "I want you."
She almost believed him…if it weren't for the pain in her wrist… she would have.
Using his cool fingers he wrapped hers around the small, unadorned chalice. Her eyes were still tightly shut and she relied on her other senses to form a picture for her. The water was pleasantly cool, not the iciness of Dracula's touch…and not as treacherously pleasurable.
Suddenly she felt the water seethe. It scorched her skin although the temperature did not change. It seared like acid. She cried aloud in anguish…his hand kept hers firmly in place.
Next she smelt the burning. That awful stench of charred flesh assaulted her nostrils. She turned her head away in vain to avoid it. She was dimly aware that it was not her own skin.
"Open your eyes." A terrible snarl penetrated the veil of pain that had enveloped her.
Her eyes shot open against her will.
A terrible sight awaited her. For an instant all that existed were his eyes. Those horrible demon eyes that had told a hundred thousand lies and beheld a hundred thousand women such as her. Those eyes, that seared and burned more than the acid her hand was submerged in. Those eyes, that any woman would love.
Gradually the whole scene revealed itself to her. She turned her head in the direction that he had signalled, like a shadow puppet she followed his every move. The water in the font had turned a sickening hue of purple. The smell of corruption was rife. Slowly she felt her hand withdraw. She retched when he extracted his once perfect hand. Where the holy water had touched was rotten, putrid. His porcelain flesh hung in ribbons from the bone. Through gritted teeth she heard him laugh. Quietly at first and gradually getting louder until he was roaring with laughter.
To her astonishment her own hand was completely unscathed. It hung as pearly white as it had before it entered the water and the small freckle on the base of her right hand stared up at her still, unaffected.
A glimmer of hope fluttered against her ribcage before the icy hand of wisdom quashed it. She watched in grim fascination as his skin began to slowly re-knit itself. The tendrils of ragged flesh clung to each other while invisible needles artfully patched them together. The corner of his mouth tugged upwards in a malevolent smirk as he watched her grim absorption in this macabre act.
"That, my dear, is how powerful your God is…" He hissed huskily.
He twisted her violently until she was facing him, until her hips were firmly on his and her breasts moulded like putty against his sculptured torso. Once again she became aware of the chalice of holy water, still tightly clutched in her right hand.
"Let us test him further…shall we?" He whispered softly, deftly into her ear, his dulcet tones caressing her very eardrum.
"Please…" A rather pathetic incoherent reply was all that she found herself able to mumble.
"I'll take that as a yes…my dear." He giggled like a love-struck puppy.
She was paralysed. Completely still. Immobile. He reached down between them and tore off the buttons on his shirt. His hand had now completely healed, leaving no inference of its violation. One by one he let the buttons fall like good-luck pennies onto the hard stone flagged floor. One…two…three…four…five… Each sounding made her flinch. They were insignificant sounds, yet all the same, vitally important.
She realised then. She felt, simply what she was allowed to feel. The suggestion of each sense was his. Should he wish her to feel pain, she was obliged to feel it terribly. Should he wish her to fear him, she would fear him more than death itself. Should he wish her to find him pleasing, she would revel in his very voice. Her mind was no more hers than the stars were.
The thought did not disturb her…
I wanted to update;) The next chapter will have more adult themes… …