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Message-ID: <48731asstr$1091866213@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: rache696@yahoo.com (Rache)
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NNTP-Posting-Date: Sat, 7 Aug 2004 02:20:43 +0000 (UTC)
Subject: {ASSM} Decadents (M+/F, Cons and NC, Bloodsports, Rape, Violent, Stylized Romance Narr)
Lines: 442
Date: Sat,  7 Aug 2004 04:10:13 -0400
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Decadents

Copyright March 2004 by Rachael Ross. Intended for the free private
viewing by persons 18 years of age or older. Released to the public
domain without reservation. All similarities to persons or places is
unintended. Reposts of this story must contain the author's name and
email in the message body.

It is highly recommended that readers do not engage in bloodsport
without first ensuring the health of all parties concerned and taking
some rudimentary precautions. Some people would say don't do it all,
but...it is fun. So go ahead and live a little. -rr 18march04 Manila


Decadents
Fiction by rache


"Ohhhh...my sweet love." Jenny sighed breathlessly. She held the pearl
handled straight razor up to the light, turning it just so, and the
blade shimmered in response.

Her blue eyes sparkled with excitement and she touched the thin sharp
edge to her tongue, pulling it slowly down the length, cutting a fine
red line of blood from stem to tip. The blonde young woman sighed,
closing her mouth as if sucking a fine sweet candy. She tasted her
blood and her eyelids fluttered briefly and her palpitated. A shiver
ran along her spine and she swallowed thickly.

"So lovely." She breathed, waving the blade slowly in front of her
heaving breasts. "Kiss me now." Her voice was so soft as to only have
been a thought.

The razor's edge touched the top of her left shoulder and she drew a
slow round line of crimson across her pale flesh, twisting her wrist
delicately, each movement possessed of a subtle charm, down between
her swollen breasts, straightening lower to her flat stomach, and
further across the tender swell of her mound to the ache of her
clitoris.

She felt the wetness spread slowly, the wounding deep enough to tease
the muscle and sinew beneath her frail skin. Small rivulets spilling
like tears across the rise of her breast, and a single long runnel of
red that became a steady spring between her legs, staining her thighs
and calves and feet.

Jenny did the same across her right shoulder, arching the blade down
to circle between her breasts, forming a crimson Y just beneath the
elegant hollow of her neck. More blood ran, and she faced the mirror
quivering with excitement.

"More." The girl whispered. "Love me more!" And she caught the bottoms
of each of her finely upturned breasts, slicing the pale skin deeply
to split the soft fat beneath. Warmth spread across her ribs, like wet
fingers caressing her body, urging her to paint her lust with
deliberate and flattering strokes.

Her hands moved in precise ballet, to rend the smooth delight of her
flanks, across her hips in mock pirouette, leaving a trail of blood
from the small of her back to the tops of her thighs and down, around
to meet upon her clitoris. Her thighs blushed and shone with that
vivid hue.

Jenny placed the blade to the dainty wrinkle where thigh meets hip and
bent over slowly as her hand traveled that silky path, over the top
and sliding aside the knee and along the back of her calf to circle
her ankle and crease the length of her dainty foot. Another long
single stroke up, along her other leg, ending opposite her beginning,
and both legs now masked with the sweet rush of blood.

Her head swam in tempestuous sensation. Only her back remained
unmarred, imperfect, and incomplete. Her back and her lovely face. She
touched the razor to her eye, to the very point were top met bottom at
the bridge of her nose, pulling the blade with a tiny flick of the
wrist to leave a single crimson tear.

Jenny folded the razor slowly and set it on her vanity. The light was
dimmed to black and applause fell upon a black curtain. The
divertissement was ended.

The underground shows at the Palais de Sade were among the most
popular and notorious in all of Rio de Janeiro. Jenny moved off stage
as her bedroom was taken away and the set for the short play "Les
Noces" was brought into place. She would walk the crowd, filled with
the distinguished of Brazil's nobility. Businessmen, cabinet
ministers, diplomats and their wives and mistresses; all desperate to
experience the sensation of life and witness death's terrible
despondence.

Jenny felt nothing but contempt for them. Their eager eyes drinking
the blood as they held their collective breath, like children at a
masque, affecting boredom or delight as it might please their peers.
They were mere poseurs of the worst sort standing at the edge of the
human condition and afraid to take that final step.

She wore her blood and nothing else, moving through the dark passages
behind the private boxes far above the common gallery below. Voices
whispered and slow or frantic movement was caught in flickering
candlelight and just as suddenly lost again.

"Appropiare!" A male voice whispered urgently and a hand appeared
through a sliver of burgundy cloth. Jenny took the hand in hers and
slipped inside the dimly lit alcove.

"Good evening, sir." She breathed, standing with her hand still
raised, held by the well-dressed man in front of her.

On the stage below a new bride was being whipped by her husband and
her screams echoed throughout the theater. She had confessed upon
their nuptial kiss that she was not a virgin, but rather had been an
infamous whore from Minaus. She was tied to the alter and beyond them
the wedding party watched, dressed as harlequins and whores, engaging
in vulgar sexual delights as they cheered and clapped and affected the
young man to extremes of cruelty.

"English?" The man asked, sitting down in his high-backed chair. To
his left sat a dignified woman, leaning only slightly forward as she
watched the performance, her soft lips parted so that the tip of her
tongue was visible between them.

"American." Jenny replied. 

The man had removed his penis, "Take me in your mouth." He said simply
and the young woman did as he instructed, kneeling on the stone floor
and putting her warm mouth over his stiff member. She suckled him as
an expert, teasing briefly and then giving him the depths of her
mouth. He rested his hand on her head, occasionally stroking her long
silky hair, but making no attempt to control or influence.

He moaned softly as the husband grew tired of whipping the bride. He'd
not removed her gown and the tatters of her lace and satin wedding
dress hung over the alter like a large serviette, stained red with her
blood from the savagery of his whip. He sodomized her then, exclaiming
for the audience that a marriage to such a woman could only be
consummated in her anus.

As the humiliated husband entered his new bride's asshole, the man in
Jenny's mouth whispered to his companion that he was near orgasm. The
woman assumed an austere countenance, pushing Jenny aside and
replacing the young woman with her own mouth. The man ejaculated
forcefully, pushing the woman's head down and arching his back while
she swallowed him. Jenny sat on her heels, watching until they were
finished.

The man stared at Jenny as the woman lifted her head, licking at her
lips and wiping them with the back of her black satin glove, like a
beggar at a soup kitchen. She caught Jenny's eyes on her and she began
to flush, looking up at the man and seeing his eyes on the girl.

"Roue!" She spat at him and sat back in her chair, her chin high and
eyes closed.

The man shrugged and gave Jenny a smile, then waved his hand
dismissively. "Que sera sera."

Jenny stood slowly, moving from the alcove, and passing the next, and
the next after that, until another voice bid her enter, soft and
tender. He was alone and pulled the heavy drapes closed behind the
woman, and immediately running his hands over her body.

He was tall and fair, a foreigner then, weary of the Carnival and
seeking more than just flesh. Much of her blood had dried, and cracked
and chipped and flaked beneath his touch. He picked over her, using
his fingernails to pry and larger drops, to burst them like tiny ripe
fruits and feel her blood between his thumb and finger. He stroked her
legs, between her thighs, entreating Jenny silently to spread her legs
for him.

On the stage below there was intermission before the final act of The
Wedding. A young man was being crucified by two older men. They were
large and powerful and hammered long thin spikes into his wrists and
feet. The cross was angled somewhat, not vertical, and this made the
task a simple one.

Jenny watched the man's tortured body rebel, twisting on the thick
beams of wood as he cried out for mercy. The man with Jenny ignored
the scene completely, using his attention to follow the path her razor
had made with his tongue, tasting her, biting at times in an attempt
to reopen a part of her wound that had closed. It felt good for the
girl and she allowed herself a slight relaxation, to enjoy it.

" Rouge..." The man finally whispered, "En grande tenue..." He was behind
her, squeezing her breasts so that the blood once again flowed from
them, especially from the deep cuts beneath. He gave her a gentle push
forward so that she could see a small round table with a bone china
tea cup on a delicate saucer, and next to that an opened razor,
similar to the one she'd used onstage earlier.

The man put his hands on Jenny's shoulders, massaging her with his wet
sticky hands. He urged her to pick up the razor with his soft voice in
her ear. He dropped one hand to loosen his trousers and free his hard
penis, then resumed his casual caressing of her back and neck and
shoulders. His heavy prick was erect between them, caught upright
between the soft deep valley of Jenny's ass and his stomach, he rocked
himself slowly against her. The blonde woman did reach out, taking the
straight razor in her hands and opening it, murmuring to ot soft words
of love.

On the stage the men had left, having finished their roles. Now there
were three women, two of them sisters, twins of ethereal beauty and
they carried around them the awful silence of the crowd. To their
backs were harnessed small wings of gold and silver. One of them
carried a whip and the other was leading a younger woman, possessed of
transcendent form, but whose face bore the mask of simplicity. While
her body had grown to womanhood, her mind would forever be that of a
child.

The crucified man, bathed in sweat and stained with blood at his feet
and hands, had been aroused previously, and perhaps he was still, for
his penis was large and painfully erect, and bound by a tight leather
collar at it's base. It was swollen and dark and the angel with the
girl mocked it, slapped it and teased it. She offered him the young
woman she cradled to her breasts, promising him her virgin blood, her
virgin love, even...she smiled at the audience...her virgin soul. All the
man need do is ask for her.

The other angel snapped her wrist and the whip cracked loudly over the
man's head. She promised him only pain. She stroked his flesh with the
sharp barbed tip, pricking his chest and thighs. The whip would bring
him clarity, she promised, awareness and understanding. The pain was
wisdom. The whip, she told the man sweetly, would free his soul. It
required only his wish to receive it.

Above that small play, Jenny felt the man's hand sliding down her arm
slowly, to cover her own as she held the razor in front of her. He
guided her gently, slowly to touch that ken edge to her flesh, Just
there, between her legs. Jenny shuddered with it, feeling his warmth
against her back, his hot breath in her ear as they both looked down
her body. His turgid penis, jutting upward, leaking his fluids to cool
on her bare skin. And that razor, so bright and shining, with no other
purpose than to touch and cut.

The cold steel ran across her swollen labia painlessly, splitting the
flesh neatly so that at first Jenny wondered if she' been cut at all.
And then a sweet shock as her body reacted, a sudden rush of blood and
a delicate shard of pain that embedded itself seductively within the
folds of pleasure. Jenny cut herself repeatedly, each at an angle to
compliment the previous. Under the man's tutelage she flayed her
clitoris, biting at her scream as her body protested only to yield
breathlessly a moment later when her orgasm peaked fully.

It was then that the man found his cock in his hand, rubbing it across
Jenny's lacerated sex and then pushing in as he felt her legs weaken
and threaten collapse. He steadied the girl with one hand and followed
her hand with the other as she brought the razor higher, to her
stomach. His fingers were only brushing over hers now, there was no
urgency in him, no force of will, she wanted to do it and he let her.
He whispered into her ear, his English heavily accented and punctuated
by the soft grunts of his penetrations.

"Nothing equals the joy of the drinker," he said, "but for the joy of
the wine being drunk"

He felt her blood pouring across his penis, spilling down his thighs.
He moaned with appreciation for her actions and kissed her neck
tenderly. Jenny responded equally, pushing herself down as sweet pain
enveloped her. She retraced her earlier cut, from her vulva to her
navel and the man moved his hands to her breasts, pulling her upright
against him as he drove his cock deeper, arching his back so that when
Jenny's razor had completed its motion her flesh grew taut and blood
poured from the wound.

The blonde's body stiffened as another orgasm stole into the heart of
her being. Her arms went rigid and she dropped the razor with a
clatter to the floor. The man orgasmed then as well, spending himself
within her depths, and holding her tightly to him. He kissed her neck
and cheeks, whispering his fervent gratitude. When he released her,
Jenny felt the ache in her breasts, bruised from his eager hands. The
front of her body was covered with fresh blood and the wounds between
her legs were dull and awash with pain.

Jenny smiled weakly as the man dismissed her finally, looking down at
the blood spilled on his legs and trousers. He was in terrible
disarray and he began cursing softly in French at his clumsiness.
Jenny smiled at that and left him there, moving slowly as her body
became more aware of the pain she'd inflicted upon her body. But it
had been worth it, she thought, it made her feel so much more alive.

The young woman left tiny drops of blood across the floor as she
moved, at last finding herself drawn by smooth hands into another
small balcony above the stage. This man was impatient, having watched
Jenny across the candle light as her previous gallant had taken her.

He was a dandy, dressed in dark alpaca trousers and a crepe blouse in
keeping with the modern fashion fetishist. "I smell you." He reported
to his young catch, speaking with the affectation of a lisp. "I smell
your shit and I wonder..." He walked around the girl, who stood with her
head bowed, basking red within the flickering light. "Does your ass
bleed also? Or do you feign that dirty hole a paramour of virtue?"

On the stage below, the crucified man had made his choice and the
angel with her whip had brought him to the very brink of death. He lay
on his cross now, sobbing weakly and the white of his ribs showed
through the flayed flesh of his body. Blood pooled around his back,
soaking into the wood and running down it, or dripping onto the floor
slowly. At his feet sat the angel, holding the simple innocent to her
breasts, caressing her as they watched.

"Bend over now, mademoiselle, and we shall see." The young dandy had
removed a stylet from his pocket and he extracted a long thin blade
from the handle, pushing Jenny to lean against the railing, looking
down upon the crowd. "Ah, perfection lies greatest when dreamt
unseen." He brought his hand to the girl's buttocks, probing her with
his fingers, finding the small tight sphincter of her anus. He rubbed
it slowly, feeling the humidity of her perspiration, the sticky warmth
of her blood as it had seeped lower from her sex.

The angel with the whip had ceased her efforts, and paced the stage
now; her hips thrust forward, her hard rouged nipples pointed at the
ceiling, she dragged her whip behind her, leaving a wet red trail
across the blonde parquet. "Do you still love me?" She cried, speaking
to the man without looking, but instead smiling at the audience. His
penis was still hard, still trapped by the leather band so that it
seemed to swell twice what a normal man should possess. He could not
speak, and so a moment later the woman turned to crowd. "I beg thee,
kind jurist, what shall be his fate? Must I set him free?"

The crowd shouted "No! No!" and applauded loudly as the angel cocked
her head.

"Then you are damned!" She smiled sadly at the people and threw down
her whip. A young man appeared, carrying a translucent bowl of water
and the angel pushed her hands into it.

"Such dramatics are overdone, I fear." Jenny heard the humor in his
voice and his fingers inside her ass. "You are not a virgin, I can
tell. I have an experience in these matters." He pulled his fingers
free of her ass and she felt them replaced with the cold metal of his
blade. She shivered, but made no move to escape as he thrust it
violently inward until his hand pressed to her skin. The steel was
keen and double edged, the point tapering as a needle might, and
bringing with it a pain grievous to behold. Jenny's body stiffened and
her fingers gripped the wooden rail so that the color drained from
them. Her face tilted upward and her throat seemed to swell with
grace. A sharp cry, causing some few heads to turn briefly, issued and
echoed and was just a quickly forgotten as the man repeated his
thrusting.

The girl's rectum seemed suddenly full of blood and her bowels
loosened so that she feared rudely for her pride. The experience was
excruciating and her teeth were clenched as if to bar any screams from
boorish exhibition. The dandy fell to his knees behind Jenny, dropping
his knife and pressing his mouth to her gory hole. He spread her
cheeks with his thumbs and fingers, probing her with his excited
tongue.

"Give me your ass!" His desperate voice muffled. "Give me your blood
and shit, you worthless whore!" The man sucked at her without
tenderness or effort to ease her suffering, but with an indifference
to any but his own perverse desire. Her blood and waste filled his
mouth to overflowing and his efforts to swallow spilled it from his
lips so it ran down his neck and painted his fine shirt with the
woman's spoils. "Oh you bitch, you witless cow!"

Jenny's guttural cries were lost to the collective throng below. They
were cheering as the innocent was finally given to the crucified
figure on stage. Her angel helped the young woman to perch her sex
upon his jutting member, with a foolish smile upon her lips for the
audience. She faced his feet, leaning back upon his prone form until
her smooth back rested on the blood soaked remains of his torso. That
she was virginal was soon apparent as the angel pushed and prodded the
girl into the correct position, feeding the swollen cock to her small
and shaven vagina. The angel wrapped her hands around the girl's small
waist finally, the cockhead penetrated her, and pushed down so that
the penis ripped into the simple woman, bringing forth an agonized and
sharp scream of painful surprise.

The young woman's face was contorted and she moved as if to climb
away, but the angel held her firm, smiling and goading the girl to
move, to give herself to this vulgar penetration. The girl jerked and
writhed on the man, seeking relief as her inexperienced sex was
stretched and torn from within. Only after several minutes, when the
angel was certain her beautiful charge would not remove herself, did
she finally let go. The angel stood back, as though admiring her work,
while the girl rutted herself obediently on that huge prick. The angel
walked over to where the bloody whip still lay, picking it up and
bringing it to the cross. She pulled the girl down further, nestling
her head above the man's left shoulder, so that it too was able to
rest on the heavy wood, side by side with her new lover's.

A stage hand, dressed in gray, brought forth a falchion, bright and
silvery upon the brilliance of the stage. He stood nearby as the angel
bound the man and the woman to the cross, bringing the thin leather
cord of the whip across their bodies, just below the girl's heaving
breasts, pulling it tight and securing it beneath. She reached between
their legs, freeing the man's turgid erection from its cruel collar.
The girl was weeping now and blood was evident from her cunt. The
man's mouth beside her own issued a guttural cry as his body spasmed
and released its long pent ejaculate into the girl. His arms and legs
strained so that his muscles became rigid cords and the girl cried out
at the new sensation of her tender womb replete with sperm.

It was as their emotions were enslaved to a fleeting moment of
depraved pleasure, that the angel took the sword over head and brought
the heavy blade down across their necks. The stroke was pure and bit
deeply into the cross so that the angel could leave it there, now a
part of the cross and its awful burden. Blood seemed to fount into the
air for precious seconds, and the two heads fell to each side, landing
on the floor to roll a few awkward feet. Their bodies moved to an
orchestration of death and then were finally still.

Between her legs, Jenny felt the young man feasting on every bit of
her ass and bowels he could reach with his mouth and fingers. Her
senses were dulled and she no longer enjoyed the acute lance of pain,
but rather a general malaise as her body, weakened from exertion and
blood loss, were sated and contented with its sufferings. Jenny felt
the desire to leave this man now, to find her small room beneath the
stage and rest, to enjoy the slow process of healing so that she might
perform another night. But the man who had gorged himself of the
remains of her stricken anus, now sought to infuse her with the ichor
of his intromittent organ.

Jenny bore his penetration with lidded eyes, whimpering her acceptance
of his ruthless coupling. He slapped at her flesh and fucked his prick
into her torn ass, complimenting and berating her at turns, as though
to torment himself for enjoying such a filthy sport. His bloody hands,
ripe with her sweat and shit, clung to her hips and pulled the girl
recklessly onto him. When he felt his cum rising, he jammed himself
deeply and held her, laughing madly so that his spittle rained on
Jenny's back.

On the stage below the final act of The Wedding was being performed.
The wife, now an admitted whore and libertine of the worst sort, was
being raped by the members of the wedding party while her husband
looked on. Very soon, after the sobbing and pitiably beaten woman had
been used a dozen times over, her husband would regain his honor as
she was slowly impaled on a large wooden spike, fashioned in the form
of a great penis.

Jenny passed behind the act slowly, holding herself and taking small
resolute steps. The woman's screams as the phallus passed through her
womb and into her belly held little interest for her, although she
usually enjoyed it. The girl had indeed married the man now killing
her, but his was a particular gift for finding such women, innocent
and faithful. She was not a whore at all, until tonight. Jenny smiled,
despite her weariness, the man was adept at enticing them to his bed,
and then to the alter, and finally into the performance itself. Their
parts were seductive and their enactments flawless, the corruption
complete.

Fine
rache696@yahoo.com

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Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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