This story was written especially for a website called DARK FLUIDITY. The website is now gone, but the story remains. It is adult in nature.
Karen E. Taylor
Hands. She becomes aware of the hands first. Hands probing and examining. Hands with their latex-covered caress, checking her pulse spots, touching her forehead, pressing her knees apart, positioning her feet. Clinical, but familiar. Struggling to place the touch, her mind grasps at these hands, reaching out to fall just inches short of connection. Then the warmth of the hands is replaced by the sharp cold sting of metal, penetrating and piercing. She feels pain.
Her own hands clasp into fists and attempt to break free of their restraints, succeed only in drumming on the metal surface to which she is affixed.
"She's coming to."
"Then give her more."
Ah, that voice, she knows that voice. It is as familiar as the hands.
"But she's already had more than three times --"
"Give her more."
And the voice and the hands dissolve into darkness.
Magda woke, rolled over and looked at the sleeping form of her lover. Evan Thomas was a brilliant man; truly brilliant, as well as powerful, arrogant and cruel. The combination pleased Magda well. Especially, she thought with a rueful smile, the cruelty.
It was not that she sought to be hurt. The presence or absence of pain made no difference in her quest for pleasure. What mattered most was being mastered; only the feeling of being completely powerless in the grip of another could give her satisfaction. It had taken her many long and lonely years of experimentation to understand her needs. Magda needed to be overwhelmed, needed to be subdued; she craved the ultimate seduction she’d made possible for so many, but that no man or woman had yet given her.
Before Evan she had feared her needs would forever go unsatisfied. And forever for Magda was much too long a time. But with one look, she had known instantly -- this man would change her life. The certainty that he’d also known it showed in his eyes, his walk, the possessive way he appropriated the space next to her that night at the crowded bar.
"I've seen you here before, haven't I?"
Magda shrugged and raised a delicately shaped eyebrow. For an opening line, it wasn't much.
"Yes, I have,” the man continued, unaffected by her scorn. “I have watched you. So many nights, so many men. No, not men. Boys. So many pretty boys. And what did they do for you but leave you hungry for more? You should try a man of substance, a man with presence and power."
To punctuate his words he took her hand and pressed it onto his upper thigh. She could feel the heat of his skin through his jeans, feel the muscles of his leg. He moved her hand again, impatiently, and she felt the jump of his penis beneath her fingers. Her breath caught in her throat.
"We will dance first," he said, "and then you will come with me."
When they danced, he held her close with one arm, while holding her arms behind her back with his other. Surprised by his sheer aggressiveness, Magda allowed this familiarity and abandoned herself to his control. Her reactions were instinctive; the almost instant surrender of her mind and body to him was sweet, intoxicating.
And later, when he had rendered her helpless, bound, gagged and blindfolded, when he had taken her and coaxed and teased and tortured her beyond her most secret dreams of ecstasy, she knew she would never have another lover like him. With each penetration, each new invasion of her body, he had bound her to him, more certainly than the ropes and scarves holding her as his captive.
This is not love, Magda thought, one could not call it love. "But it's better this way," she whispered, stretching for a second before wrapping herself around Evan's warm body, "much better."
"I know what you are," he had said to her after their fifth night together.
Magda sighed. He was such a wonderful lover and this moment had come too soon. "Really, Evan?" Wondering what had given away her secret, she ran a sharpened nail down the center of his chest to his stomach and stopped at the junction of penis and groin; a knife held to a neck. It must have been the gags, she thought, and the distinctive fang marks I left on them. But she held back her anger, and held on to her hopes that she was wrong. "And what am I?"
"You are a dream. A fantasy. The illusionary creature I've searched for, my entire life." He picked up the threatening hand and kissed the tip of her fingernail. "You are the answer to my prayers."
She laughed. "You pray?"
He didn't return the laugh. "I am a scientist, but I still believe in the presence of some other existence, some something that cannot be proved by science. Yet. And you are my proof."
Magda had searched his eyes for confirmation of her own beliefs. And had seen nothing, then or since, to make her think Evan knew her secret.
Five years, Magda realized as she continued to watch Evan sleep, we've been together for five whole years. Not a long time, especially by the standards of her lifetime, but for Magda it was a record. Never before had a man kept her so satisfied and so intrigued. Like Scheherazade, he always did something to postpone his ending. As if sensing a potential boredom, he would introduce some new sexual game; featuring himself in the dominant role, of course, with her as the submissive. And although she was always bound in some way as well as gagged and blindfolded, his variations seemed endless.
He had spent one week entirely focused on her feet. Stroking them with fingers, or feathers, or pricking them with pins with her splayed out on the bed, her arms and legs each tightly fastened to a bed post. He would lick them, sucking on each toe with excruciating slowness, making her squirm and whimper through the gag. He would rub himself against her soles, order her to bring him to climax with nothing but her feet.
The next week it had been her breasts. Biting and suckling, pinching and tweaking, nipple rings and clamps, so very many degrees of scintillation, Evan played rhapsodies on a familiar theme and her body echoed them back to him.
"I think you must have a list of fetishes a mile long," Magda said one late evening as she prepared to leave, "what will you do when you get to the end?"
Evan laughed. "If we ever get to the end of my list, I suppose one of us will have to leave. Or die." He glared at her for a second. "Are you complaining?"
"Never, my lord and master. I am yours to command." She had given a quick curtsey when saying these words, then had dropped a quick kiss on his cheek and she was gone, leaving with a smile and a hunger for their next meeting.
"Perfect." Magda spoke the words quietly. "You are the perfect lover." Except eventually you will grow old and tired. And then it will be over. She sighed loudly and Evan woke.
"What time is it?"
"About four, I think."
"Oh. And you'll be leaving soon, no doubt. Did you sleep well?" His voice held a concern totally uncharacteristic of him.
"Not bad," Magda admitted, oddly flustered by his question, "although I had a strange dream."
"Oh? What was it about?" Evan got up and went into the bathroom.
"I don't quite remember. It was a dream. Sort of familiar, like a dream I've dreamt before. You know how dreams are. They make sense at the time, then what little meaning they have seems to fade away." She heard the stream of his urine splash into the toilet. Start, stop, start, stop. Another sign of the inevitable aging process she hated.
He came out of the bathroom, naked, scratching his side absentmindedly. "Was I in it?"
Magda frowned then shrugged. "I can't remember. It doesn't matter."
"No, I don't suppose it does. So what would you like to do tonight?"
"What?" In the past five years, Evan had never asked her that question. He commanded and she complied.
"It's a special night tonight," he said, "and I thought you might want to have dinner or go out or something."
"And not fuck?"
"Jesus, woman! Ever since we've been together that's all we've done. Do you realize we've never actually had a reasonable conversation that didn't have to do with sex? You've never once expressed an interest in me or my work or anything else outside of my bedroom."
"Oh. I didn't think it mattered."
Evan crossed the room and took her hand, bringing it to his lips. "It matters, Magda. Quite honestly, you have been the most important person in my life. And tonight, after our celebration, I will tell you why and how." He pulled her out of bed and embraced her, his semi-erect penis snuggling into her stomach. Then he pushed her away and slapped her naked ass. "Now get dressed, vixen, and get the hell out of here so I can get some work done."
Magda did not spend most of the day sleeping, as was her wont. Instead she simply lay still, hands clasped together on her abdomen, eyes closed, wondering about what Evan had said. She knew something of his life, after five years how could she not? Evan was a gifted doctor, a geneticist by specialty and a brilliant man by all reports. But the content and body of his work meant nothing to her; he could have been a truck driver or a short-order cook. The career he chose was irrelevant to their relationship.
In fact, until he spoke earlier, she'd never even considered that what they had was a relationship. As a single-minded creature of instinct, Magda's interests were basic. Shelter, sustenance and sex. And not necessarily in that particular order. She provided the first two for herself and the third was given by others for as long as they continued to please her.
She rose and began to prepare herself for the evening, fervently hoping Evan was not planning some demonstration of his affections. A marriage proposal would be a death knell, even a declaration of love could be a disaster.
When he greeted her at his door with a kiss, her worst fears were confirmed. And when he presented her with a single white rose and the words "For you, my love," every instinct within her urged her to turn and run, or stand and fight. Instead she allowed him to put an arm around her and seat her on the couch.
"Comfortable?" Evan poured a glass of deep red wine and offered it to her.
"Evan," she began, "you know I don't drink..."
"I know, Magda. I do indeed know. But tonight," he said, handing her the glass, "tonight you will drink."
Her eyes darted from his face to the wine and back to his face again.
"It will be fine, trust me.” Evan gave a sharp chuckle. “Trust the doctor."
First love and now trust? Magda held her glass up and studied the color of the wine. Such a beautiful poison, she thought and realized she would drink. Simply because he'd asked. Five years of what she had thought was mock submission to this man had become real. She was his to command.
Evan stared at her, as if reading her mind. A slow, sinister smile moved over his lips. "Drink."
Magda drank, sipping slowly at first, gagging on the bitterness and death the wine held for her, choking on the self-hatred her obedience contained.
"All of it."
She sipped again. The second taste was not as bad as the first; like the abandoning of pride, the task became easier with each swallow. Finally she drained it completely,
She tried to place the empty glass on the table in front of her, but her hand shook. The crystal fell to the floor and shattered leaving one small drop of wine on the carpet. She looked up from the floor to his face. "Evan?" Magda's voice sounded faint even to her own ears.
"Yes, I'm sure you feel a bit dizzy right now. Sit still, close your eyes and allow the drug to work. It's painless, my dear. Maybe even pleasurable, if you will abandon yourself to it. And as you drop away, I will tell you my story."
The wine burned through her veins, her stomach rolled, she felt the beat of her heart slow with each passing second. Even without the drug, Magda knew she had no choice but to obey. She rested her head on the back of the couch and listened to voice of her master, Evan.
"I knew who and what you were long before we met. I had been watching for signs of one of your kind and when I found you I knew I had to keep you near me, long enough to study you and to commence and complete my work. But what could I offer to a creature like you, one blessed with eternal life and beauty and youth? One possessing more power than any mortal, man or woman?"
Magda looked up at him, suddenly knowing the answer, and he laughed cruelly at the realization in her eyes.
"I certainly had no intention of giving you either my blood or my life. So I gave you what you could never have. An absolute surrender. And oh, Magda, you are so good at that surrender, it is almost a shame our time is coming to an end."
Magda’s mind reeled with the possibility of her own death. It was something she’d never before considered. She was an immortal creature, or so she’d thought until this moment. The fact that she could be wrong, was wrong, chilled the already sluggish flow of blood in her veins. Her eyes narrowed and her lips pulled tight in a grimace of anger.
Evan laughed. “Don’t scowl at me, Magda. You wouldn’t want to ruin your porcelain white skin with wrinkles, would you? Resistance will do you no good anyway, and neither will a display of temper. Bow your head, my dear, and accept the inevitable.”
She had no intention of doing either. Instead she swallowed hard and brought one harsh word up out of her throat. “Why?”
He smiled at her, an indulgent smile one might give to an inferior; she seethed with rage at his condescension, but he continued. “It has long been my theory that the female vampire might be an interesting creature to study. Given the fact that they don’t age, caught and trapped at the peak of their sexual potency, I surmised it was a possibility that their reproductive organs might still function. And thanks to my experiments on you, I proved my theory correct.”
She glanced down at the floor and the broken glass. If I could move, she thought, I could cut his throat with that.
“Pay attention to me.” He leaned over, slapped her face, then grasped her chin, tilting her head up. “You, my dear, are a depository of fertilized ova, all of them potential creatures of death and destruction like yourself, but frozen at the moment of conception, kept ageless and preserved by the vampire genes which are your legacy. How long have you lived? Five centuries? Eight?”
Magda shook her head. “Longer,” she whispered. He’d taken his hands from her and her eyes dropped back to the floor, studying the shards of crystal. That piece, there, she thought with a touch of triumph, I could use that one.
“It doesn’t matter, really.” Evan shrugged off her comment. “What matters is that many of your sexual encounters resulted in cells that had the potential of life. I have been harvesting these cells, experimenting with different sorts of environments in which they can grow, in which they can properly gestate.”
Magda shifted her body forward on the sofa slightly.
“Perhaps you want to know whether I succeeded? But of course you do. And I’m happy to say I have. And so it turns out congratulations are in order. For both of us.” He laughed again. “You are mother, Magda, to twenty magnificent creatures like yourself. Pity you won’t live long enough to enjoy maternity.”
He took his eyes away from her and looked back over his shoulder, to where two white-coated men entered the room. Evan nodded to them. “She’s ready now, gentlemen, shall we finish the job?”
She lurched off the couch in a desperate attempt to escape but the muscles in her legs seemed paralyzed by the drug. Landing in a tangle of limbs on top of the broken glass, she gasped with pain, her fingers fumbling to pick up one of the shards, but failing to grasp it. Then she faded away into the familiar dream which, she now knew, was not a dream.
Hands grasped her roughly, and carried her to that cold place, stripping her clothing from her body and laying her on a cold steel surface. Her wrists and ankles were fastened with metal cuffs, the smell of the air was rich with fear and disinfectant and then blood. Her blood. Her eyes shot open as the sharp stroke of a scalpel opened her from breasts to groin.
“She’s awake,” one of the men said. She rolled her eyes to the side to see him and he backed away. “She knows what we’re doing.”
“And your point is?” Evan’s voice sounded faraway.
“It’s inhumane,” the other man stuttered, “it’s, it’s, well, it’s horrible. She must be in a great deal of pain.”
“She’s not human.” Evan said, coming nearer. “So your point is again?”
“Nothing, Dr. Thomas.”
“Good,” he said. Magda felt his hands probe around inside her. “There,” the hands moved away and Evan’s voice was triumphant now, with a frightening note of finality, “that’s the last of them. Leave her for now; we’ll do the last dose of drugs when we’re done with this last egg.”
“But shouldn’t we close the incision? And what if the drug wears off more? She’s already more awake than she should be.”
“Didn’t you hear me?” Evan lowered his voice to a threatening depth. “I said, leave her.”
Magda lay still, listening to the sounds of the men moving away. She heard a door shut, and looked around at the room. Good, she thought, no windows, so no one will be watching. Evan should have listened to his assistant, the drug was wearing off; he may have known a lot about her, but he didn’t know it all, had no comprehension of her limits, her ability to regenerate, her very strong desire to survive. Her mouth curved into a triumphant smile.
She tried moving her hands within their restraints and was rewarded with a slight loosening. Again and again, she pulled until finally one of the metal cuffs broke apart, followed quickly by the other. She sat up, feeling the warmth of blood washing over her stomach.
Magda grimaced in pain, pulled the flaps of her skin together as if she were closing a garment and waited for the pain to subside. When she finally felt the healing begin, she reached down to pull off the restraints on her ankles, grinning when the metal shattered in her grip.
Swinging her legs around, she picked up the scalpel left on the small table next to her and slid silently to her feet.
She swayed for a moment and steadied herself on the operating table, then began walking to the door through which Evan and the men had left. Her steps were slow and staggering, but by the time she reached the door, she had recovered some of her strength.
“More than enough,” Magda whispered as she put a hand to the doorknob, “more than enough to deal with human males.”
The door opened quietly and Magda entered. The room was warm and she inhaled deeply, pulling the heat into her lungs, feeling her body rejuvenate with each new breath. Row upon row of glass coffin-shaped tanks filled the room. Some were empty but others contained a red liquid in which human forms writhed and twisted. Two men hovered over one of the tanks and she approached them, scalpel in hand.
Silently, she drove the blade below the right ear of the closest man, cutting deeply and curving around to end up at his left ear. He slumped over, his upper body dropping into the tank, his blood pouring out, darkening the liquid within. The other man, the compassionate one who dared to argue with Evan about her, stared at his dead associate for a second, watched as clawed hands reached up and pulled the man deeper into the tank. Then his eyes traveled from that sight to Magda, standing naked and angry in front of him. Like countless others before him, he was mesmerized and enraptured by the sight of her flawless body. She felt his shock as he stared at the healed incision on her stomach. His lips moved soundlessly and he began to tremble.
She smiled at him and clasped him in her arms. “Because of your kindness,” she whispered, “your death will be enjoyable. For both of us.” Her mouth fastened on his neck and she drew his blood into her mouth, draining him completely and rejuvenating her weakened body.
And now for Evan.
There was a door on the opposite wall and she moved toward it, stopping at all the occupied tanks on the way, to twist the neck of each poor creature within. The killing grew more difficult for Magda with each successive form; they were all male and they all wore the faces of former lovers, but they were weak and helpless and there was no doubt in her mind that they must die as their fathers had before them. None would remain to walk the earth.
After disposing of the last body, she reached the door, wiping the slick red liquid that now coated her hands onto the walls. Magda tightened her grip on the scalpel and turned back to survey the room, making a quick count. “Nineteen. But he said twenty,” she whispered, “where is the final one?”
The answer awaited her on the opening of the door. Two identical men stood there, both of them clothed in garments she knew were Evan’s. The one facing her glanced up at her entrance, shook his head slightly and turned his attention back to the other. The real Evan was explaining the cloning process to his double, pointing out the notebooks lined up along one wall, that, he said, detailed all his research. “Don’t forget, though, that you are the best of them,” Evan said. “I’ve embedded my knowledge and memories in you. You’re my son and the inheritor of all I have.”
Evan must have missed the twisted smile appearing on the face of the man he instructed. He even missed the gleam of anticipation in that duplicate pair of eyes as Magda approached soundlessly. She held back a laugh. Evan was a fool after all. Brilliant, true, and capable of doing great things. He had accomplished what she had never thought was possible; the attempts she’d made to replicate beings like herself had always failed. Yet after all that, he was still a fool. This creature was not his son, but hers. Her endowment to him, the blood lust, was written plainly on his body; Evan should have been able to read the clues. But, poor dear, she thought, he’s only human. And now he’s a dead human.
She drove the scalpel into his back, twisting the blade, appreciating the glorious burst of blood staining the back of his white lab coat. He gasped and turned to looked at her, his eyes filled with pain and confusion. She smiled, kissed his cheek and gave him a push, into the waiting arms and teeth of their son.
When it was over, he looked up at her, gleeful and glowing with his first meal, his mouth coated with Evan’s blood. “Mother?” The body dropped to the floor.
She shook her head, walked over to him and licked the blood from his lips. “Call me Magda. I am and will be much more than a mother to you. And I will call you Evan.” She gestured to the notebooks on the shelves and kicked the body lying bloodless at her feet. “Do you understand how he did this?”
“And do you indeed hold his knowledge and his memories?”
She held her breath for a minute. So much depended on his answer, this man with the face and eyes so like Evan’s.
“Every bit of him,” he said, reaching out and caressing her naked breasts. Then he grinned and it was as if she were looking into a mirror. He had her smile, her teeth, her fangs. “Except I am better than he. Finally, you have the perfect lover.” His face darkened a bit with that thought. “But who will give me the bliss of surrender?”
Magda threw her head back and laughed. Perfect indeed, an ideal blend of Evan and herself. Suddenly the centuries didn’t seem as long. “Don’t worry, darling,” she took him by the arm and led him back through the lab into Evan’s apartment. “We’ll take turns."
© Karen E. Taylor 2003