March 19, 2015

Friday Free Read: The Gothic Doll

It's time to meet yet another one of the demon clans from my Blood and Fire series. You can read all about the succubi in my short novella, Angel's Keeping, but first enjoy a little taste of their magic with this story about a wistful young man and his darkest fantasy.


It started innocently enough: she appeared in the coffee shop, a fair-haired girl, a little gothic doll.  She wore dark lipstick, gray eyes framed by dark lashes and smoky eyeshadow.  She wore her hair with a headband decorated by the skull-and-crossbones symbol, and her off-the-shoulder black blouse showed the tattoo of a Chinese dragon winding up her right shoulder.  She sat in the corner, sinking into the cushions of a sofa to watch the readers with silent interest.

Darren noticed her during one of his poems, her head tilted slightly to the side as she listened, fingering the heavy pewter pendant around her throat.  She was instantly captivating: dark and elegant, beautiful in a way he might never have expected.  
When he left the stage, though, she glanced away, almost skittishly, and stood up again, hurrying out the door.

That night, Darry woke in a cold sweat.  The sheets tangled up with his legs; his arms trembled as he shot up from his mattress, dripping and feverish.
He’d been dreaming about her. Her gray eyes, turned shyly up to him as she knelt in front of him, silently asking permission to touch him.
He drew in a heavy breath and ran a hand through his damp hair. 
Beneath the cool sheets, his cock gave a petulant throb.  It stood fully erect, almost annoyed that the dream had stopped, that the velvety feel of that strange, mystifying girl and her gentle hands had been stolen away from it.
As he lay back down, he reached absent-mindedly for the stiff member and started kneading it.  He hardly thought about what he was doing—the memory of her pretty face would not be pushed away.
The eager arousal was still very real, even if his fantasy girl was gone.  Putting his other hand behind his head, he closed his eyes and tried to remember how she had looked to him in the dream: naked, slender, on her knees with her dark, dark lips pouted in a little cupid’s bow.
Another throb.  He let out a tiny sigh as he closed his fingers around the head of his cock and slowly stroked the length of it, squeezing gently as he thought of her pale, slender hands.
Who is this girl? he thought.  She’s driving me crazy.
He thought of her black-cherry lips kissing his flat stomach, just below his navel…her pert little breasts pressing softly against his groin, nudging against his erection, her nipples grazing against his thighs.  He imagined her delicate fingers closing preciously around his shaft, almost like a prayer, and he could see her shy expression again, those big gray eyes gazing up at him as she brought those lips to the head of his cock and brushed them across the tip, her warm breath tickling his skin.
He moaned to himself, closing his fist a little tighter, moving it a little more quickly up and down his shaft as he imagined her pert little tits pushed up close to his thighs, imagined tiny, stiff nipples tracing against him.  Those cherry lips opened just a little, just enough to taste the head, to brush it, to kiss it shyly and then trace the tip of her soft, pink tongue around it, like licking the frosting off the head of a cupcake.  His cock jerked in his palm; the first bead of semen formed like dew on the head of it and he felt the climax building, tense along the lines of his groin.
Her mouth, warm and wet… her tongue, like soft, rolling sugar around his stiff erection.  He imagined those long dark lashes closing over those beautiful eyes as she moaned around him, her purring pleasure thrumming against his skin. 
His rhythm grew faster now, desperate: in his mind he felt her dragging her tongue up and down his cock, closing her mouth around it and eagerly taking it deep, savoring it, adoring it, hungry for his cum.  His free hand came out from under his pillow and fisted in the sheets. He choked back a cry of release as his cock jumped, the first jet of semen spurting into his palm—in his mind he was no longer in her mouth but in her pussy, her tight little cleft convulsing around him as he came in her heated, lithe little body.  He came hard, squeezing his cock with a soft moan as he imagined himself deep in her warm, wet sex.  

When the last trembling spasms of his orgasm gave off, he found himself breathing heavily, still clutching the sheets, shaking with release and surprised at himself.  The intensity of his fantasy—almost frightening.
“Do you think she’ll show up again?”
Winnie—Darry’s longtime best friend—didn’t seem nearly as enamored by his story of the strange girl in the coffee shop as he’d hoped she’d be.
“I’m hoping she’ll be back at tonight’s open mic,” he said.  The sounds of the university marketplace clamored around them; he found himself scanning the crowds for the girl he has caught such a fleeting glimpse of three nights ago.  Winnie was right though: he would probably never see his mystery girl again, and even if he did she would probably not be nearly as perfect as he remembered her. 
So why couldn’t he stop thinking of her?
“I can’t explain it, Winnie,” he said, feeling his ears go warm.  “I keep dreaming about this girl… she keeps me up at night.”
Winnie frowned.  “I’m eating.”
“Well, I’m serious,” he replied.  “I can’t get my mind off of her.”
“You’re insane,” his friend said.  “You’re obsessing.”
He sighed.  “Will you come with me?”
She rolled her eyes.  “Why do you want me there?”
“You can be my wingman.”
“You want your ex to be your wingman on a mission to meet this fantasy dream girl you’ve never met before and probably don’t have a chance with?”
He flashed her a sheepish little smile.  “You’re not my ex.  You’re my best friend.”
She threw her head back with an exasperated groan.  It was enough, though; he knew she’d come.  Who could resist the best friend card when it was played?
As he finished his burger and got to his feet, stooping to pick up his books, a curious sense came over him—the same feeling he’d had lingering just over his shoulder for days.  He saw the flash of something out of the corner of his eye, and he spun, for an instant sure that the little gothic doll was standing across the university quad watching him.
But he didn’t see her.
He’d brought his own portfolio along to the coffee shop, like he did every night there was a poetry reading, and he’d hoped his mystery girl would be there to hear him.  When she wasn’t, his heart fell, and he almost turned down his chance to read altogether.  There had been members of his literature classes there, though, who urged him on, and Winnie, too.
“Fine,” he muttered at her, shoving his portfolio into her hands and picking up his anthology of British Literature instead.  He’d read William Blake: the Romantic writer was the current subject of study in his English course and the poems were short and sweet.
Of course, the moment he read the title of the first piece, she entered the room.  He caught sight of her just as she slipped in the door, not even tinkling the little bell above it, and he fumbled over the title.  Her pretty eyes flickered up to him—shy and plaintive, just as they were in the dreams he’d been having of her—and she slipped unnoticed into the corner, quietly taking a seat to listen.
Winnie had noticed his sudden hesitation, and she followed his gaze across the room to look at the little doll herself.  Tonight, his mystery girl wore a delicate blouse that covered her throat and cleavage with an overlay like a spiderweb.  There were no sleeves—the black, interweaving patterns tied up behind her neck, like a choker.  Her flesh beneath the lacy weave was pale as a delicate champagne rose; beneath the webwork there was an opaque black length covering the front of her body from her collarbone to her navel.  When she had turned to inch past a few of the café stools, Darry had seen the opaque material only covered her front; her graceful back was bare except for more of the dancing woven overlay, and she had another tattoo right on the small of her back: two small, winged dragons facing away from each other and some kind of hieroglyphic character between their opposing wings. All around the hem of the blouse were more black threads, dangling down like tassels.
A smile came to his face and he glanced down at Winnie for confirmation—the look on her face, though, was decidedly suspicious, and when she looked up at him, she had an eyebrow quirked in troubled doubt.
The strange girl across from him, though, waited for his voice like a patient devotee.
He read three of Blake’s poems, and descended the stage to the subdued but appreciative applause of the other poets in the crowd.  Winnie snatched at his sleeve, demanding his attention.
That’s your dream girl?” she muttered.  “She’s… she’s not much, Darry.”
He frowned.  “Are you kidding?  She’s gorgeous!”
Already he could feel the low murmur of arousal in his loins.  The girl was much more beautiful than he had remembered—she was so beautiful he thought he might lose it if he had to go one more night knowing only the wispy dream version of her.
“I didn’t think you were into tattoos, piercings and black makeup,” Winnie scoffed.  “You’ve never ogled a single Suicide Girl: you’re strictly a Playboy Playmates man.  I mean, come on… she’s kind of scary.”
He flushed.  “Get off it, she’s pretty.”
“Face it… she’s not your type.”
 “I might be his type. You never know.”
Winnie spun and Darry felt his face go instantly warm.  His little gothic doll had drifted right up beside them, silent and unheard.
Her voice was quiet and silkily gray, without a hint of offense or affront.
“I mean, I assume you’re talking about me.”
The scent of roses was all around her.  For a moment he was dizzy from it.
“I’m Genesis,” she said to him, extending her pretty, delicate hand.  Somehow he managed to take it, though he remained speechless as she gave it a single, gentle, almost too familiar squeeze, and let it drop.
“That’s a beautiful name,” he said.
Winnie stared at the both of them, glancing from one to the other, her face a startled mask of confusion.
“I enjoyed your reading of The Tiger,” she said.  “I love Blake. I also like The Marriage of Heaven and Hell, do you?”
His face fell.  “I… haven’t read it.”
She smiled.  “We should get together sometime and discuss it.”
Then, something very strange happened—Genesis leaned forward, laying a hand tenderly on his shoulder and brushing her lips against his ear as if they’d been intimate friends forever.  The air around them seemed to grow thick and shimmery, like the mirages that danced on the horizon on hot days.
Next to him, Winnie cringed and shrugged down into her jacket, as if something insectile had crawled across her neck.  Genesis’ voice—though she only whispered—seemed meant as much for her as it was for him.
“I can give you what you’re looking for,” she said.  “Passion… pleasure… pain.  I can give you everything.”
Her tongue, tiny and perfect and pink, slowly slid across her white little teeth—distractedly, Darry realized her canine teeth were pointed, like fangs.
Winnie made a strangled sound of fear beside him, and Genesis turned her attention there.  Darry caught the strange sparkle in her eyes, like the sun glinting off tinted glass.
“You, too,” she whispered to Winnie.  “I can make you cry from pure bliss, drown you in your deepest desires until you never want to resurface.  I can teach you what it is to hurt, and to love…”
Winnie shook her head—all around them, the entire university café seemed to buzz on, nobody noticing the strange little spell that was going on between them.  Darry saw his best friend flinch; a sudden look of fear crossed her face and she brought her hand to her mouth.
“Oh, god,” she gagged, and spun, searching for the bathrooms.  As she rushed off towards the back, he reached out after her, but Genesis put her own hand on his arm and gently brought it down again.
“Darren,” she said quietly; it didn’t occur to him to wonder how she had learned his name.  “I would very much like for you to walk me home.”
He found himself nodding.  The smell of roses was like heaven.
The sidewalks were silent, mostly abandoned, as he followed his little gothic doll back to her home.  It was just the two of them, walking quietly, and—to his strange surprise—saying nothing.  She led, he chased; she glanced up from under her dark lashes and flashed him a smile, like a lady leading a puppy, and he trotted obediently at her heels.  It was a clear night, but there was no moon, leaving only the streetlamps to cast their pools of light along the path.
Her hair was so fine and pale; he thought it must be soft, like long strands of spider’s silk.  Without realizing he was doing it, he reached out to catch a few strands drifting in the breeze—and Genesis ducked away, spinning to face him.

At first he thought she must be angry, but she was smiling again, a sweet little smile, like dusted sugar.  They had stopped between the streetlamps; in the slanted darkness he thought she looked very, very pale, almost white.
“Darry,” she said quietly.  “Do you want to touch me so badly?”
He couldn’t believe his own words as they escaped him.  “Oh, God, yes.”
His mind was spinning, spinning… he knew, distractedly, that this was insane, that he was following a stranger home with no idea who she was or what she wanted from him; he’d left Winnie behind when she was sick and in trouble, and all he could think of was this girl’s gossamer silver hair, her pearlescent white skin, her soft, velvety gray eyes…
She laughed quietly.  It was like a little patter of rain and wind chimes.
He sidled up closer to her, and when she didn’t shy away this time he slipped his arms around her waist.  She was shorter than him, coming only to his chest—he could bow his head and breathe in the scent of her hair, clean and silky beneath his lips.
“Who are you?” he whispered.  “What are you doing to me?”
“Nothing you haven’t dreamed about a thousand times,” she whispered back.  She tilted her head up to him, those black cherry lips parted in a pouty smile, offering them up for him to steal a kiss.  Still lost in the haze, the floating perfume of roses all around him, he did.
Her mouth was soft, and gently eager.  When he kissed her she reached up her hands to cradle the back of his head—she even tasted like cherries.
“Sweet boy,” she chuckled as their lips parted.  “Do you know what you’ve stumbled on?”
He shook his head.
She was quiet just a moment, searching his eyes—then, she laughed again, a merry tinkling sound, and his momentary trance was broken.
“You don’t want to wait, do you?” she asked sneakily, pressing her body a little closer to his.  He couldn’t have lied to her: already he had a raging erection straining under his jeans, and she had to feel it as much as he did.  He shook his head, and pressed his own hips closer to hers, as if he could show her any more plainly by rubbing his insistent cock against the flat of her belly.
“Then,” she murmured sweetly, taking a moment to glance from side to side.  “Why don’t you do it?”
He gave her a look of surprise, and followed her glance up and down the street.  It was a residential block, with well-lit houses lining both sides of the road; anyone could come outside to bring their trash barrels to the curb, or to let the dog out, or smoke a cigarette on the porch.  Anyone could drive past, pulling up to any one of the houses right across from them.
“You want to do it,” Genesis said.  “I can tell.”
“Here?” he whispered.  “Right… right now?”
“Uh-huh,” she replied.  Taking another quick assessment of their surroundings, she smiled as her gaze rested on a white garden fence, marking the edge of someone’s lawn.
“There,” she said, tugging him in that direction.  Wriggling out of his arms, she quickly slipped towards it.
“Genesis!” he whispered.  She threw him a flirting glance over her shoulder, then climbed up on the little white railing, sitting herself on the crossbeam between two posts.
As he crossed the small space of grass to her, she reached out her arms and pulled him into an embrace.  Wrapping one arm around his neck to kiss him, she let her other hand drift down to expertly unfasten his jeans and slip the zipper down.

Before he knew it she had her hand on his cock—like a patient admirer she slowly caressed it, petting it firmly but gently as she coaxed it free between them.
“Christ,” he murmured.  What are you doing?”
She pulled him closer, lifting one leg up around his waist.  He saw that, beneath her knee-length, flowing black skirt, she had on thigh-high nylons… but no panties.  Her soft, sweet womanhood was clean-shaven, smooth like an alabaster statue.
His cock gave a familiar, eager throb.  He closed his eyes and moaned quietly, and pressed his body against hers.  He could feel her smiling as he kissed her, leaning back on the fence to open herself up to him, guiding his cock to the opening of her smooth, pink cleft.  A thousand questions went through his head but they were all immediately forgotten as he inhaled her perfume again—roses and wine and incense, some bitter, ancient incense—and she slipped the head of his cock into her wet, warm flesh.
Another moan—he slid himself in slowly, savoring each dewy inch of her little pussy, tight and welcoming.  He decided he had to be dreaming again: it couldn’t be real, fucking his little gothic doll in public, right there on the street in front of somebody’s well-lit house.  But, there it was.  She took him in with a happy sigh, tilting her head back and guiding his hands to her hips.
Oh,” he muttered, eyes shut, slipping into a slow, gratifying rhythm.  Her pussy was hot and eager; she lifted her hips to meet him with every deep, indulgent thrust, and he felt her firm and tighten around him when he slid it all the way in.
“Do whatever you like to me,” Genesis whispered in his ear.  “Oh, sweet boy…you just know somebody's going pop their head out their door, and see you going at it like a horny dog on their front lawn…”
He groaned in response, fucking her a little harder.  She laughed happily, putting her other hand behind his neck and hanging away from him, opening up wider and taking him even deeper.  He pressed her against the little white picket fence and thrust faster, more eagerly, driving his cock again and again into her slick, perfect sex. He could already feel his orgasm building, his cock straining as her pussy tightened around him, squeezing as he withdrew as if she couldn’t bear to let him go, as if she needed his hard, desperate fucking to fulfill a deep, forbidden craving.
She let out a moan, thrusting her hips against him, eyes rolled back in pleasure.  He fucked her faster, banging her sweet wet pussy harder, feeling the hungry, frantic drive to explode inside of her, to fill her up with it over and over.
“Can I—can I come in you?” he gasped against her ear.  She nodded, head turned to the sky, body arched against his as she moaned in rapture.
“Do it,” she whispered.  “Come in me as deep as you can… please, Darry, fuck me until it runs down my thighs—”
“What are you?” he breathed, his rhythm intensifying.  He could feel it approaching now—each hungry stroke brought him closer and closer, his cock throbbing and swelling in her, the heated pleasure climbing with every deep, slick thrust.
She suddenly let out a voiceless gasp, thumping her hips against him, rocking back with a groan—he felt her coming, her pussy tightening around him, quivering and clenching with desperate pleasure.  An instant later he reached his own peak, and he was coming inside her, burying his cock  in her as the spasms of orgasm shuddered through him.  He came so hard he wasn’t sure she could take it all, and sure enough as he pulled out it was running down her delicate pussy lips, glistening on her thighs.
“Oh, God,” he murmured, staggering away from her, grabbing his cock without realizing it and immediately starting to knead the head.  “Oh, fuck…”
Then, she surprised him: sliding down from the fence she dropped onto her knees and quickly took his cock in her mouth.  Sucking eagerly, she licked every last drop of his cum and hers off of it, swallowing without question, winding her tongue around the head with a hungry sound of joy.
“What are you doing?” he panted, but then he gave another deep moan as he was coming again without warning, semen jetting on her face and throat and blouse.
“Oh, God, I’m sorry,” he muttered, but she only chuckled. 
Blinking a little, she returned to her licking.  She was patient, more gentle this time, slowly claiming the last of the cum on his cock.  When she was satisfied, she stood up, and wiped the cum off her face, licking it off her fingers as she did.
Darry practically fell backwards, putting out his hand to lean against a tree.  Genesis gave him a sweet, joyous little smile, waiting while he regained his breath.
“Is that better?” she asked, when he finally managed to rearrange himself, and stood up straight again.
“God, Geni,” he muttered.  “I don’t know—that was… God.”
“I like you, Darry,” she said, taking his hand affectionately in hers.  Again, he was struck suddenly by the glinting sparkle in her eyes… like coins, glittering silver coins.  And her teeth… they looked even more like fangs now.

“Would you like to come home with me now?” she asked softly, brushing back a strand of his hair.  “We can do whatever you like there… Anything at all.  You can do whatever you want to me.”
He knew, somehow, that this was not right.  He knew there was something very wrong about his gothic doll, something scary and dangerous and thrillingly insane.
But… she was so beautiful… and he wanted her so badly
He somehow managed a nod, forgetting about those strangely bright eyes and her preternaturally sharp little teeth.  He only wanted to follow her, to feel her soft skin and get lost in that strange perfume.  He wanted to be in her again, again and again, filling her over and over with his seed.  Nothing else seemed quite as important anymore.
He had to follow her now.

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