Subj: Scent of Lilacs No More -- 2
(Mature)
Date: 6/8/99 8:57:34 PM Central Daylight Time
From: Beverly LaCroix
(Explicit violence, sex, suggestion of f/f/
Mature. If this is offensive to you, don't read)
Chapter 2
Painful Visions and Unyielding Pleasure
Roxanne and some man Quentin didn't recognize had picked up a young girl in a bar, and had taken her down by the lake for a moonlit picnic. The girl was drunk, and easily manipulated. The moonlight reflecting off the lake gave a sense of false serenity of the evil lurking waiting to be unleashed. He felt the exquisite pain of the whip on the girl's naked back, and saw the laughter of a sensual Roxanne, as she watched the man whip the writhing girl, who was now standing on tiptoes, with her arms over her head, and her hands were securely tied to a tree branch. Quentin could feel the tears pouring down his face as if the whip were lashing him. Trying to shake the vision was useless, he found that out a couple of hours ago. They were constant, and they were getting worse. They would start out with pain that was torturous, and then it was as if he were experiencing the delicious pleasure Roxanne was getting from watching the torture of her victims. Roxanne would present herself to her victims after being tortured by some acolyte Roxanne would find in the seedier sections of a province or town, and assign him or her the job of torturing helpless, innocent, and unknowing individuals. Quentin felt sickened knowing instinctively this was for Roxanne' pleasure, and she revelled in it. Roxanne walked to the nude form, and grabbing her hair, pulled her head up, and said, "beg me to fuck you." The victims were always too frightened to say no. Man or woman, they would always comply with the hypnotic voice of the vampire, drowning in the dark evil vampire eyes, they were as good as dead. She would toy with them, until the desire and arousal was so painful the victims would be crying and begging, and offering to do anything she wanted in return for the release of an orgasm. Some would beg for death, and these would be tortured sometimes for days. Anger would build in Roxanne, and sometimes she would use different devices to rape them sexually, man or woman, sometimes she herself would engage in sex acts with them, and then she would sink her deadly fangs in her unsuspecting victim. He felt the tears of agony and degradation, felt the open gaping holes tearing, the warm gushing blood, as they were large and vicious looking as if a wild animal had attacked. She would always make sure they felt the pain, the searing burning pain of a forceful entry. Then she would turn the victim to face her, disengaging her bloody fangs, and making sure blood was dripping down her chin, she would let the victim see what she was, and what she was doing to them. She would take her finger and touch the torn carotid artery sensuously, caress it for a moment, the victim would shudder as desire ran through them, and let the blood flow onto her hand.. When she ceased the caressing and stroking of the sensitive area, the victim would arch his neck towards her in an almost obscene manner, wanting more of her evil touch. Taking her bloodied hand with the blood of her victim, she would seductively place one finger at a time in her mouth, suckling on it gently, as if a lover, and then with the same hand, she would rub the sensitive spot of their genitals, and they would immediately climax, at the same time she would sink her fangs into her victim, and very slowly drain them of their life force. She would rip at the openings, tearing the vein, sucking the blood into the small openings of the fangs, mixing it with her enzymes from the saliva in the fangs, and then she would pump it back into the victim. It was heady, a human being could barely live through an experience such as what Roxanne would do, and ever be satisfied again with mere mortal pleasures of the flesh. She would do it over and over until the victim was having a seizure from the orgasmic frenzy Roxanne's sensual blooding had created. By the time she was through with her orgiastic feeding frenzy the throat of the victim would be unrecognizable, the large vein or what would be left of it would be carelessly hanging from the victim's throat as a side thought. Quentin didn't think he could stand this anymore. The more sadistic the vision the more intense his pleasure. It was late afternoon, and he was hungry, and he was tired. He couldn't sleep for the visions, and he couldn't eat because of them. God, what was he going to do, he thought as he held his head in his hands. He had caught the fleeting scent of lilacs two more times throughout the day, and it had irritated him, and he had finally told the annoying ghost to go away. He laughed almost hysterically when he thought about him being in love with a ghost, and had lied to Barnabas and Julia about what he had known. The beautiful raven-haired doe-eyed girl from another time almost had him until he found the beautiful exquisite Roxanne, and her unholy love. What in the hell was wrong with a normal flesh and blood woman? he wondered sarcastically. He froze at this thought, he could feel the visions starting again, but it wasn't that, something had been nagging at his subconscious all day, and now he knew what it was. It was Barnabas. The presence of Barnabas seemed to be in the visions he was having. Maybe that's what kept him half sane today, but what about tomorrow, god what was he going to do.
"Focus!" he exclaimed, the sound of his voice startled him. Barnabas, Barnabas, Barnabas, he said to himself, snapping his finger, pacing, trying to come to some conclusion as to why Barnabas? He knew without a doubt that Barnabas' presence was always present in the visions, although he never saw him, knew Barnabas wouldn't participate in the type of barbarism that he had witnessed and wallowed in all day long. What? What? What?
He could feel the visions starting again, he could smell lilac, and he knew he had been close to an answer, but he was being consumed by the lust-filled vision, they were tinged with red, and he steeled himself and concentrated on Roxanne, not blinking, even afraid to breathe, he saw what he had been seeing all along, but had not recognized, he saw Barnabas in Roxanne. Barnabas' face was mingled with Roxanne! He was her sire! The vision disappeared, the Portrait had done its work, replenishing Quentin's loss of blood with new blood, ridding his body of any aberrant material, such as any foreign matter or enzymes saliva or blood from the vampire, he no longer desired Roxanne. He was disgusted at his behavior today, now what to do about Roxanne. Tell Barnabas, surely not. He wasn't sure he wanted to see Barnabas right now, but, yes, he did, he had to tell Barnabas about Daphne.
Quentin grabbed his jacket, and went out the back way to avoid the rest of the family. The smell of lilacs was with him, and he stopped, caught up again in the magical spell Daphne had woven over him. Waiting for her appearance, he was anxious, he wanted to hold her in his arms again. What had he been thinking earlier wanting to never see her again. "Daphne, show yourself," Quentin said softly, and the smell of lilacs got stronger. Daphne appeared holding her arms open, waiting for Quentin's embrace. Quentin heard the roar of the sea, could see Widow's Hill, and he heard the Widow's Wailing lowly as he walked towards Daphne, a look of pure bliss on his face as he approahed the waiting arms of his ghostly lover.
The sun set, Quentin heard the lonely howling of the dogs, and thought of Barnabas, and his mind darted to Roxanne, and he wanted that exquisite pleasure again, just once. He glanced at Daphne, turned around and headed to the Old House.
To be continued....