Decadents

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: This was originally titled "The Woman in Red" but I've been working on an article about the 'Decadents' and their influence... : I thought I’d play with prose. : 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 : rache18us@yahoo.com