Thank you for the positive response to the first chapter, ergo, as threatened, here's the second. Thank you to those who made suggestions and were actively involved in the creative - *snerk* creative? - process. You know who you are, UKOD, and there was even encouragement from the USA for which I am grateful. Right, before I get all emotional like a celeb at the Oscars I'm outta here. Enjoy, I hope.
*
As the weeks before Christmas passed, accelerating towards the feast of gluttony and excess with a fanfare of commercial enterprise that amazed me, Helen fell truly within my grasp. My mind held hers fast; she was my slave. On the occasions I allowed her to visit I resisted penetrating her; it was only when she was completely despoiled that I would take her. Despite her having sunk so far into the mire there were still unplumbed depths for my sweet Helen. Of course she protested at my refusal to fuck her, but I found the tears and the begging, so humiliating for her, all part of the fun.
What kind of man am I? You may ask that question and would probably label me a monster -- which wouldn't be far from the truth. For a man I am not. I choose to exist among you but I am a creature of the ether. I'm not alone in the universe; there are others, many others, of my kind. But among those of my ilk I'm rather special. For while those entities, those lesser demons, probe blindly through the upper air like earthworms in wet soil, I am in a higher place. I'm self-aware, reasoning, intelligent, but still forced to live according to my nature. I need sustenance just as you, but my food is suffering; suffering and evil.
You'll find my kind drifting amongst the onlookers at the scene of an accident. Ghoulish ravens, invisible to your eye amidst the mourners around an open grave, with more skulking in hospital wards, although I find hospitals are tainted with hope and love amidst the fear -- a terrible thing for me since hope and love weaken me. Wherever there's suffering one of us will be watching. If you sense us amongst the mayhem, I tell you now, turn and go and don't look back. For if that thing notices you -- even being incapable of reason -- the instinct is strong and it will latch onto you like the leech it so closely resembles. And then your life will be over.
We aren't Death I hasten to add, although we do engineer her visits -- oh yes, Death is female; she's exquisitely beautiful but completely heartless. As cold and unfeeling as the moon, hers is a duty, a calling, and no amount of pleading, tears, anger or rage will deter Death when she turns that face towards you. Age, sex, race, whether you've been good or bad -- according to your scale -- it's all the same to Death.
I'm sustained by suffering. If I don't feed every two years, perhaps three, my force would be so diminished I doubt I could recover. I find that perversion and its consequences add a piquant sauce to my dish. It's an unusual taste for one such as me -- I did mention I was special -- I appear to have developed a penchant for a certain quality of woman; attractive women, one whose slide into corruption nourishes my dark soul.
***
Helen arrived early; she was eager to see him. She braced herself and prepared to brave the cold. Dark for less than half an hour, the bitter conditions had laid a layer of rime on the cars surrounding hers. She took a deep breath, partly in anticipation of the chill, but also to calm her nerves. She knew what to expect; Matthew had been very clear on the events she was shortly to be party to.
"Two," he'd said. "There'll be two, plus me and the camera. I'm going to film you, Helen. I'm going to film you and then you're going to sit and watch the results. Right there in that room, immediately after you've been used. I want you stained and filthy while you watch, with their semen drying on your body; oozing from your cunt."
The scene he described melted Helen's sex. She felt the trickle between her thighs even as the phone fell silent in her hand. Matthew had given her the hotel address, the time and date; there was no question she'd take part.
What have I become? My God, he owns me. I'm his to control. Why do I crave him so much?
Bundled inside her coat and with her breath showing in little puffs as she walked, Helen hurried past the cars seemingly huddled together like some kind of prehistoric creatures sheltering against the cold under their veneer of frost.
"Good afternoon," the woman behind the desk smiled with professional courtesy and disinterested eyes. "Checking in?"
"My..." Helen paused. How could she describe him? The woman remained impassive as Helen felt the heat rise in her face. "My friend," she blurted. "He's already here; he should be in the bar."
"Certainly, madam," the receptionist acknowledged. "The bar is that way."
Helen followed the direction of the pointing finger, missing the smirk on the other woman's face. "Friend my arse," the woman muttered, shaking her head before dismissing what was to her an everyday occurrence in the hotel.
Helen paused before fully entering. From the door she could see the short side of an L-shaped room. Two girls were in harassed attendance behind the bar; serving drinks to a collection of van drivers, salesmen, transient construction workers, and other itinerant folk whose livelihood took them away from home. The bar was noisy with its predominantly male clientele and Helen expected to be examined and studied, an object of curiosity, too well-dressed for her surroundings.
Under normal circumstance Helen would have baulked at that point; in fact, this hotel was of a kind far beneath her usual tastes. Such was the power of Matthew's influence that Helen's previous attitudes no longer counted, for now she was about to embark on the most sordid adventure of her life. Early on, shortly after meeting Matthew, Helen had been ripped by feelings of guilt and shame over her betrayal of her husband, Bobby, however Matthew's power over her now meant that taking this step further into the mire invoked only feelings of excited anticipation; guilt was redundant emotion. Helen was so eager to please Matthew she would do anything for him, and that included fucking two strange men while being filmed, as well as being unconcerned by the hungry looks of the oafish gaggle.
Matthew turned in his seat to face Helen. She saw him turn and gasped, thinking:
How did he know I was here?
Shrugging off the thought walking into the hubbub she felt the slide of arousal at the sight of him, accompanied by a flutter of deep, warm anticipation and a sinking feeling in her guts, indistinguishable between excitement and dread.
Matthew walked casually to the bar and seemingly without effort, despite others waiting their turn to be served, drew the attention of the barmaid. Helen couldn't hear his words as she approached but simply waited behind Matthew while the drinks were poured.
Without speaking Matthew handed Helen a glass and then, returned to his table. It was simply expected that she'd follow.
"So," he said eventually, "are you ready?"
Helen sipped at her drink and grimaced. "Jesus, how strong is this?"
Matthew laughed and replied, "It's a double. Dutch courage -- not that you'll need it, Helen, I'm sure." He leaned in, "Are you ready?" he repeated. "Are you ready to be fucked?" Matthew was satisfied to see Helen swallow heavily.
"Oh, Matthew; I'm ready. I'll do it for you, anything for you."
