Posted by Kimnikki on October 29, 2001 at 21:07:33:
In Reply to: Well ... the short message is ... I'm back :-) posted by Kimnikki on October 29, 2001 at 21:04:36:
THE EMBRACE, PART TWO
That recital and M. Bouverie were several years in her past ... but that lesson, and the other lessons in pain she had been taught, applied as well now. But here, letting the world fade until she was one with her pain was more than just dangerous, but she had to move past the pain and become one with it. She took a deep breath, and letting Ross guide her, she began to embrace her own pain.
Her blood was warm against her chilled skin, feeling hot and sticky. It was comforting in a strange way ... and a remembrance of much later lessons with M. Bouverie. It had soaked the bandages around her stomach, and was now dripping slowly down her leg.
It was also now dripping very lightly down her cheek from the wound to her face ... she could taste it on her lips, feel it warming her skin and staining her lips like rouge.
The pain slid across her skin, sliding down and around her jaw, across her lip and down her throat, like a strange caress. The nerves from her destroyed eye sent strange colors and shapes bouncing across her mind, seeming to waltz and play with her pain in a throbbing rhythm that slowly began to change to a powerful and erotic dance.
She could feel the gash on her side throbbing and crying out to her though it was hardly more than a scratch. It was the deep penetration to her belly that sang to her most urgently, and which she pulled herself into as far as possible.
She could feel the sliver of metal embedded in her abdomen ... she knew it was metal ... she could feel it somehow, a piece of her dead fighter that had penetrated deep within her. She could feel it move with each step she made. It did not work deeper; it did not work itself out ... it simply moved with each step.
In ... out ... in ... out ... in ... out ... in ... out ... in ... out ... in ... out.
And with each step a fresh stab of pain accompanied the move. With each step small droplets of blood joined those before it, sliding down her belly, between her legs, and then down towards her feet.
It became a slow rhythm ... like a lover determined to extend her pleasure ... only this lover was determined to extended her pain. But the analogy was very accurate ... for the pain began to take its old familiar effect ... slowly, as if reluctant to release her, the pain began to fill her ... and to thrill her.
The cold sweat began to become a cool tingling of her skin. The blood became a hot and welcome warmth, dripping between her lips to her tongue, hot and salty ... and erotic. It spilled in tiny droplets between her legs, giving its warmth to her slowly awakening folds. Her heart, already pounding made a throbbing in her ears.
In her minds eye she saw M. Bouverie in the room she had taken Debra to only a few days after the recital. She remembered the hands that tied and bound her until she was unable to move ... the fingers that had pinched and stung ... the nails that had dragged and cut. She remembered the lips that had kissed and delighted ... the hot mix of pain and pleasure that had accompanied the first touches of her Mistress and loss of her virginity.
The metal shaft became her Mistresses finger ... stabbing and cutting with her razor sharp nails. The pain ceased to be an assault of violence and turned to the assault of a lover. The penetration of her bellybutton became the penetration of her hymen ... a sharp painful intrusion that was at the same time a welcome, wanted and needed touch.
Slowly the world at war around her faded ... her pain stopped being a hindrance ... her fear became her friend ... and the pain became her strength and her own dark pleasure.
Ross was in awe. He looked at the face of the woman who was slowly dying in his embrace. He could see she was in someway trying to overcome her pain and keep going ... and somehow she was succeeding.
Her steps had begun to falter, her breath hissing in and out between her teeth, her pace had begun to slow. But now, a few minutes later, she was moving steadily along. Her face was pale, yet oddly serene, and disturbingly beautiful. The crimson stained bandage wrapped around her head, her honey blond hair peeking out at odd angles looking like burnished gold against her white face. The blood seeping down her cheek slid beside her nose and dripped between her lips.
Ross fought off the erotic image that brought to his mind ... now was no time fantasize!
He looked down at the bandages that surrounded her stomach, feeling his heart drop at the amount of blood soaking through. He had to get her to the field hospital soon ... she was bleeding to death.
Ross was stunned at the stamina in this woman ... she had found a reserve of strength from somewhere deep inside that was far beyond the limits of most people.
Her breath, while still panting in and out, was no longer a ragged gasp of pain ... it was the smooth flow of someone under strain that they could handle. Her steps were now smooth and firm ... as if she had never been hurt at all. She was slow ... but she was steady.
A small smile slowly spread across Ross' face ... a smile of admiration and respect for a tough woman with surprising strength and courage.
He failed to notice that her nipples were pressing against the blanket her had wrapped around her, nor did he see the erotic smile on her blood stained lips.
They were nearly to the hills before Debra was finally shocked out of her erotic revere and trance of pain.
"Come out it!" Ross snapped at her, pinching her arm hard to try to snap her out of it.
Debra came back to the world, her skin slicked with blood and sweat, her body shaking. Ross mistook it, naturally enough, for shock and pain.
"I'm sorry Captain, but you have to come out of it ... we've got some company."
Debra looked around, dazed for a moment or two from being yanked from the warm, wet womb of her pain. She trembled in reaction to it ... but she also shook from weakness. She looked around in surprise, realizing that they must have been walking for more than an hour as they were now at the foot of the hills. She could now feel how weak her body was ... she had lost a lot of blood and the walk had pushed her far beyond her previous limits. She nearly fell to her knees but was supported by Ross.
"Easy now ... it's only a wee bit further ... don't give up now lovey," he said quietly into her ears.
He helped over to an area of thick brush and laid her down within it, heaping some dead leaves around her.
"I heard the Major and the boys pounding on our naughty friends a few minutes ago, so it can't be either of them up there," Ross said, pointing towards the tree line at the top of the hill. "I've no idea who they are, but I'd best sneak up there and see who they are. You stay put now, and don't fade off on me again ... it got you here, but you've got to be sharp now."
He pulled a small machine pistol out of his backpack, handing it to her.
"Don't hesitate if anybody but myself comes this way ... it can't be the Major or the lads ... so you let 'em have the lot Captain. It'll also tell me that you've found a spot of trouble and I'll be back double quick."
Laying down his pack and picking up his rifle, Ross put his face close to her own.
"You're just about the strongest women I've ever met lovey ... don't you go giving up on me now ... I'll be back before you can say 'knife'." He gave her a quick peck on her undamaged cheek, then moved up towards the hill, moving surprising quietly for the speed he was showing.
Debra waited, cursing softly under her breath. It had been good to let her pain slide over her and let her mind fade into her remembrances of Mistress Bouverie. Now she was cold, alone and in pain and danger that was far from the kind she enjoyed.
She reached down with one hand, feeling her bullet hard nipples and realizing that she was soaking between her legs. She started to chuckle, then hissed at the pain it caused her. It was so ridiculous ... she was slowly dying of her wounds in the middle of a battlefield, and she was suffering from frustration because she was horny.
Her horny frustration vanished instantly as a burst of rapid fire came from the top of the hill. Several different weapons barked out, not just Ross' rifle or AK's ... but several different types. The fight was intense for a few seconds, then calmed down. Then there was another flurry of short bursts ... a bit further away. Ross must be trying to lead whoever it was away from her. She slid a bit further down in the leaves, biting off her cry of pain.
Then she saw a pair of boots come running down the hill and dive into the brush, not 3 feet away from her. It was a pair of American combat boots, thought they were filthy and badly in need of repair. She could hear the crunch and crush of brush and debris off to her left as another body dived for cover into her bush.
From that second area she heard a voice in terribly accented English hiss at the figure right in front of her.
"American ... American ... did you see who it was?"
"No dammit ... now shut the fuck up ya fool, before ya get us killed," hissed back a voice with a thick Hillybilly accent.
Moving only her single eye, Debra let her eye move up from the worn boots, up a filthy set of US army camos to an equally filthy face. An American M-16 was held in hands that looked like they hadn't been cleaned in a year or more. She also noticed that all national emblems and rank insignia had been torn from the uniform.
"Oh God ... deserters," thought Debra, her spine turning to ice from fear. As bad as being found by the enemy would have been, deserters were far worse. They had no code, no ethics, no convention to follow ... they simply did what they wanted, and what kept them alive, no matter the cost to those around them.
She must have twitched, or moved too much, or made some sound ... because the deserter suddenly turned and looked straight at her. He moved slowly forward, his rifle pointed straight at her and used its barrel to move aside her covering of leaves. As her bloody, bandaged partially covered body was revealed, he gave her a vile smile with stained and broken teeth.
"Hey Ivan ... lookey what we got ourselves here," he said, slowly lowering the rifle. "Somebody musta been tryin' to lead us away from this sweet little girly here."
She heard someone move behind her, then a low whistle followed by a truly evil chuckle. "Hmmm ... and all the others have gone off to chase whoever her friend was ... is it not a shame Johnny? They will have to settle for sloppy seconds ... very sloppy from the look of things." The thick Russian accent made the word "sloppy" a wet and vile thing.
Debra held herself as still as possible, only her shivering and her blinking eye revealing that she was alive. The deserter in front of her smiled all the wider at her obvious fear.
"Johnny" got to his knees, laying the rifle beside him and pulling out a very large knife. "What's the matter ... Captain is it? What's wrong ... cat got your tongue? Well, me and Ivan here can help ya find it." He moved forward and held the knife over the bandages covering her face. "Now if ya'll give me the slightest trouble I'm gonna open up yur face like I'm filletin' a fish."
Then with a quick slash he ripped the blanket that covered her shoulders and breasts straight up the middle with the knife. It also exposed the blood soaked bandages around her stomach.
"Whew ... now that looks like it really hurts ... at least I sure hope so," he said with a truly wicked grin.
He sat back again, the knife away from her face, and he unbuckled his pants. When he pulled out his cock Debra nearly gagged at the sight and scent of it ... it was covered in filth and it smelled like a dead dog that had been left in the summer sun for a week.
But with the knife gone Debra saw what she knew was her one and only chance.
She brought up the machine pistol from under the leaves still piled in her lap and pointed it straight out as she squeezed the trigger. She had been trained to use a handgun, but never the deadly little thing in her hand ... but in this case it only made it worse for her would-be rapist.
She was aiming straight for his chest when she first started to squeeze, but her arms were too weak and it dipped down just as it began to fire. Two feet of flame spit from the muzzle in a blast that sounded more like a ripping snarl than gunfire.
The line of bullets started at "Johnny's" crotch, turning his soiled cock and balls into a mass of hamburger. The recoil carried the pistol up and the line of bullets ripped up his belly into his chest and then hammered his face apart. They were so close his clothes smoked and the bullets tore straight through him, exiting his body in massive bloody wounds and smashing apart his head like a rotten pumpkin. "Johnny" had a split second for his face to register shock and surprise and then he was torn apart and thrown back out of the bush in a wet pulpy mass.
Debra didn't waste precious time in being shocked or horrified ... she could have the luxury later ... if she survived. She let the recoil bring the gun up and round, trying to pivot and hit the Russian behind her ... but it was not to be.
Just as she managed to bring herself around, the pistol clicked on empty. "Ivan", who was far taller and much more strongly built than "Johnny" had been, reacted instantly and slapped the pistol from her hand, then back handed her across the torn and damaged part of her face beneath the bandages.
Debra didn't scream ... but only because she couldn't. Her mind filled with white smoke and pain far greater than anything she had ever known ripped through her skull. She didn't quite pass out, but the shock left her crippled and helpless.
She could hear fuzzy words ... words in a foreign language that she couldn't understand though the intent of the words was clear. "Ivan" was obviously swearing and shouting at her, probably calling her every word for "bitch" in Russian.
How long the shock lasted she didn't know ... but "Ivan" was crouched over her when she came out of it, "Johnny's" knife held in his left hand, gripping his crotch with the other. The pain was still like a fire in her face, the nerves of her devastated eye sending chaotic colors and sparks into her mind.
"Good," he rumbled in his heavy accent, "I was getting worried you might never wake up ... and I need for you to feel this." He held up the knife, his other hand squeezing his crotch hard.
Debra glared at him and then used her fear and her agony to fuel her rage as she brought up her leg and smashed "Ivans'" hand into crotch as hard as she could, her combat boot mashing his hand up against his pubic bone.
"Ivan" gave a scream that would have done a boiling cat credit and fell forward onto her. Debra screamed with him as his weight came down on her belly, but unlike him, she immediately began trying to get back up and scrabbling back.
She turned onto her stomach, crawling out from under him, a strangled gasp of agony escaping from between her teeth. She tried to get to her feet but her shaking and trembling legs just couldn't hold her up.
She crawled forward, her blood spilling from between the displaced bandages, only the last of her pain fueled adrenaline and her desperation making her move.
She got 10, perhaps 15 meters before Ivan was on her. Cursing in Russian, he stood over her, and yanked up to her knees by her hair.
Debra felt a strange impact against her lower back on her left side and all the air was driven from her lungs in a sharp grunt. A sharp yet soft pain slid from her back, through her body and stopped just to the left of her bellybutton, an inch or so from her wound. Compared to what she'd suffered earlier, it almost felt pleasant. She looked down and felt a strange shudder go through her as she saw 2 or 3 inches of "Johnny's" knife sticking out of her belly, covered in her own blood. It gave the blade an almost iridescent shimmer as it dripped off the tip.
Then she gave a soft sigh as she watched it withdraw back into her body and she felt it pass through her and pull out from her back. Her eyes bulged ... partly in shock ... but partly in pure surprise at the feel of the steel moving inside her. It hurt far less than she would have ever imagined, and she could actually feel it move.
And then Ivan rammed it through her once more, this time on her right side, a bit lower down than the first hit. She actually saw it come through this time ... her skin bulged outwards at first, then a thin red line appeared on her skin as vessels ruptured in the split second before the tip burst through once more. She looked down at it ... stunned at the sight of it. She moved her hands down to touch it, not quite believing it was real. But before her hands reached it, Ivan ripped it free once more.
Somewhere in her mind a small part of her noted that she must be in shock or some sort of denial, because while she could see the 3 wounds, 1 old and 2 new, she hardly felt any fear ... and it didn't hurt ... not really.
No.
No ... that wasn't quite right ... it hurt ... it hurt terribly ... but ... but it was like the times with Mistress Bouverie ... the pain and the blood were somehow ... somehow ...
Before her mind could finish the thought, Ivan struck again. This time the blade plunged through just over her navel, and she felt her entire body shake from the impact. The feel of the steel moving inside her was so strange ... hot and wet and painful ... she looked down once more, this time her hand closed over the blade sticking through her. Blood spurted from all the wounds now, soaking her legs and her mound, spilling down between her legs and dripping from her soaking crotch to the ground.
She gasped as it was pulled free again, feeling and seeing a splash of hot blood spill onto her hands and feeling her fingers sliced by the blade.
Again ... and again ... and again ... and again ... and again ... Ivan plunged the blade in and out of her. Debra simply looked down at her body, grunting with each thrust, sighing with each withdrawal. And the pain ... oh the pain ... it was mixed with the blood and the heat and the cold sliding all over her. She let herself be pulled down into it, let it embrace her totally ...
The pain faded as her blood rapidly covered her body and soaked the ground around her ... and all that remained was the feel of the knife plunging in and out ... in and out ...
Soon she was literally a mess ... her back and her stomach were cut in a dozen places, blood at first pumping all over her, now just spilling out. Her body had gone almost totally limp; she was only still upright by "Ivans'" hand in her hair. She gave several weak coughs, blood bubbling out between he lips.
"Ivan" was stilling yelling at her with each thrust of the knife, screaming at her in Russian, the knife thrusting harder and faster with each stroke. If she could have understood Russian, Debra would have been amused that he was yelling, "scream you whore!! scream God damn you!!"
"Ivan" slammed the knife home once again ... the point emerging just below her breastbone this time. But this time the knife stayed sticking through her as a burst of gunfire and a scream of rage ripped out of the tree line above the hill. "Ivans'" hand yanked back hard on her hair and then several strands ripped free and she heard "Ivan" hit the ground behind her. Unable to stay on her knees, Debra fell on her side, looking back down the hill at "Ivan."
He was on his back, his eyes bulging and legs kicking at the ground. He was clutching his throat, and blood was spilling from between his fingers and out his mouth and nose. Terrible strangling noises came from his mouth, though Debra thought he sounded a bit more pleasant now than he had a few seconds before.
Ross suddenly leapt over her and landed with his feet on either side of "Ivans'" kicking body. Screaming insanely, he put the barrel of his rifle in "Ivans'" mouth and emptied the magazine, turning "Ivan" into what best resembled a squashed apple.
She heard several more voices, one of them familiar, as Ross threw down his rifle and turned to her. A single look was he needed to know she was far beyond his, or anyone's skill to save her. Tears spilling down his face, he knelt beside her, one hand touching the good side her face gently.
At that moment Major Digby-Smith came running up with his remaining men, his face going pale at the sight of her.
One hand was clutched around the knife, the fingers of the other moving weakly in one of the wounds. The pain was so soft now ... a sliding shivery kind of pain that she knew so well. She could feel the blade through her, and her fingers touched the steel in wonder. Blood was filling her mouth, but since she didn't seem to feel the need to take a breath it didn't bother her ... in fact it felt good in some obscure way. An icy cold had got hold of her, but mixed with the hot blood on her skin it was quite pleasant.
She could hear the voices around her, trying to tell her something ... but that didn't really matter anymore. She felt warm and wet and comfortable ... she was in pain and she was cold and shivering ... and the mix was really very nice ... so nice ... sooooooooooooooo*
She let the sleepy exhaustion take her away as a warm shudder bubbled up between her legs and slid over her in a very gentle but wonderful orgasm.
She gave one last sigh, which came out as a bubbling flow of blood from her mouth and nose. She closed her eye and let the ever so pleasant feelings slide up over her. Her body gave a long delicate shudder, and then she went still.
The hardened Marines turned away, pain in their eyes at the failure to save the woman who had saved them. Digby-Smith, his voice shaky, gave his men a few sharp orders to secure the area and prepare to return to their firebase. He needed to keep them busy ... this had been a hard day on them all.
Ross looked up, unashamed at the tears in his eyes. His face was a mixture of puzzlement and pain as he gently lay Debra's blood soaked head back to the ground.
"Major," he asked, " ... am I going mad ... or did she ... did she ...?"
"Orgasm ... right before her death? Aye Ross ... that she did."
Ross looked shaken, both by her death and by her final moment as he covered her with his jacket.
"I've never seen anything like that Major," he said, his voice shaking.
"You're new to war lad ... there's a lot you've yet to see ... and a lot you've yet to learn."
Then the Major gave Ross a pat on the shoulder. "Buck up lad ... I saw what happened from the next ridge ... there was nothing you could have done. Move out now ... I'll watch over her ... go help the lads make sure none of your playmates sneak back up on us."
"Aye Sir," he replied, picking up his rifle and wiping his eyes at the same time.
The Major waited until Ross was gone then pulled back the jacket that covered Debra. His eyes turned dark at the blood that covered her and a bulge formed at his crotch. He bent down and gave her a long kiss, licking the cooling blood from her lips.
"Ah Milady ... if only I'd known you were the type ... and we had met under different circumstances ... we might have a great deal of enjoyment out of each other. At least for a little while." He kissed her once more.
"Pity", he said quietly, pulling the jacket back over her face.
FINI
kimnikki@hotmail.com