HOMO DESMODUS: a short story by Curt Farrier
He felt the frozen grass under his knee as he crouched beside the sepulcher, he wasn’t sure if it was the fine mist that surrounded him, or the sweat, that ran from his helmet and down his neck. His eyes squinted as he scanned the cemetery. Nothing looked out of place, he and Buckland, the stupid bastard should be off to his right somewhere, had begun their scouting mission at 2200 last night, their mission was simplicity itself, crawl forward until they ran up against the kraut lines, and report back. It was 0200 now and still he had nothing to report. He had lost touch with Buckland about a half hour ago when they ran up against the rusting iron fence that stretched as far as he could see in both directions. He had squirmed underneath and turned to check on Buckland just in time to watch him disappear into the mist as he followed the fence line north. There was nothing to do but try to get ahead of him again by cutting through, to come up behind a buddy, when he thought you were ahead of him, was asking for it.
Suddenly every nerve in his body was on edge, something was terribly wrong, he scanned the area ahead again and realized that tombstones that seconds ago were only shadows were beginning to become clear. He glanced up and watched as the dense overcast slowly parted to reveal an impossibly bright moon, then looked down to see every detail of his GI issue khakis become clear; his senses screamed at him to do something, anything, there, about 10 yards to his left was an ancient mausoleum, bone white in the moon light. The gates looked high enough off the ground that he could slide underneath and hide, hide until the clouds covered that spotlight in the sky again.
He willed his body to move in that direction, and he was floating, floating above the Wehrmacht sniper in the tree. He could see every detail of the 98kurz he held braced against the trunk, the ZF42 scope, slowly panning back and forth and then freezing, as the snipers body became tense. The image was coming closer and closer until he was looking through the eyepiece at the soldier kneeling beside the sepulcher; the cross-hairs coming to bear on his heart. Suddenly, the target turned to stare directly into the scope.
He had taken one-step toward the mausoleum when the 7.9mm slug tore into his chest, knocking him down. The pain exploded in his head as he heard the rifle shot, and then the blackness closed in. He came to in what could have been seconds, minutes, or hours, opening his eyes on a sky, once again, heavily overcast. His mind raced, would the German come to finish him off, or send a patrol, was he dieing, could he even move? He tested his body by rolling first onto his side and then continuing until he was face down in the frozen grass.
There ahead of him, now only a shadow in the darkness was the mausoleum, he began to crawl, painfully, toward the entrance. He didn’t know how long it took him to cover the distance, hours maybe, but finally he reached the wrought iron gate, inside, was darkness, pitch black, and a cold that made the chill night air seem warm by comparison. He could see steps leading down, only the first three visible in the shadow, but it had a feeling of depth.
He wriggled under the gate, and paused to catch his breath and evaluate his condition. The growing stain on his tunic let him know that while the flow had slowed, he was still bleeding; strangely, there was almost no pain, only a growing numbness that, when he thought about it, scared him even more than the blood did. He needed to sit up, to tend to the wound that was letting his life leak away by the minute. With a last glance through the gate, he began to pull himself down the stone stairway and into the blackness.
He knew he had passed out at least once before he reached the bottom, as he lay on the stone floor; he had the impression a large space around him, too large for the smallish building on the surface. He got the impression of age, and the dryness of the air surprised him, as did the feel of the clean marble beneath his fingertips. Knowing that he had rounded at least one curve on his tortuous trip down the stairway, he pulled his angle head from his belt and cautiously switched it on.
The space was large, as he suspected, at least twenty feet on a side. The ceiling, at least fifteen feet above him, confirmed the distance he had traveled down the stairs. One wall of the room, floor to ceiling, was partitioned for sarcophagi, this area, mostly filled by individual stone coffins, was to the left of the stairway he had just descended. The other two walls within his sight were plain dark marble, wrought iron Candelabras, filled with partially melted white candles were evenly spaced along the walls. Once again, he wondered about the lack of dust, of cobwebs, this place was old, maybe centuries old, yet someone was taking care of it on a regular basis.
The thought prodded him into action, he needed to tend to his wound, or the caretaker of this place would find an unwelcome addition the next time they visited. He forced himself onto his hands and knees and slowly crawled toward the opposite wall. Resting his back against the cold marble, he gingerly opened his fatigue jacket. His GI blouse was soaked with a seemingly impossible amount of his blood, when he looked inside the blouse, he saw the wound, closer to his shoulder than his heart, he thanked fate for whatever had caused the sniper’s aim to waver, one inch lower and his lung would have been hit. Still, the wound was slowly pumping his life out. He applied pressure with a battlefield dressing to the place and was gratified when he was able to considerably slow the flow of blood. He thought that if only he could keep the pressure on, it would soon clot, and he might not bleed to death, that is, if the cold didn’t get to him. He knew he mustn’t pass out again, it was a death sentence.
His mind crawled back to wakefulness with the realization that something had radically changed around him. As he began to regain consciousness, he looked to his chest, and realized that he was bleeding profusely again. He had lost so much, and he was so tired, so cold, the end could not be far off, he lacked the energy, and the will to try to fight the inevitable anymore. He looked at his left hand and registered the fact that it still held the flashlight, and it was pointed at the floor. The light, he thought, that is what is different. He looked around and realized that the candles were all lit.
He felt her presence even before he saw her standing at the bottom of the stairs. She was tall, at least six feet, and beautiful. She appeared to be in her early twenties, but something about her eyes gave the impression of someone much older. Her long straight brown hair, framed a face with dark eyes, high cheekbones, and a slightly pointed nose over a smallish mouth. She was dressed in a filmy black gown, held in place with a golden chain that wrapped around her waist and separated her breasts. The gown, reaching to the ground, moved slightly in the breeze that must have been coming from the doorway. She had a stern look on her face as she regarded him, but there was softness and concern in her eyes and around her mouth.
She warily moved toward him until she knelt beside him and examined him more closely. She grasped his hand and looked into his eyes. “You are dieing oh enemy of my enemy,” she said, he realized that although he understood her completely, no words had been spoken; the message reverberated in his brain. “You are an American,” she continued, “I have heard the Hun speak of your kind, they are afraid of you, and that is good.” A look of concern crossed his face as she mentioned the German, “You have nothing to fear” she said, “ The Hun do not come near this place, as for the one who has killed you, fear not, he died in a most unpleasant way.” She closed her eyes, and he saw the Wehrmacht sniper, still in his perch, turning wide-eyed, trying to swivel his rifle around, a hand reaching out, to grasp his arm and then ripping it from its socket. He saw the terror in the man’s eyes as his arm was shown to him his fingers still reflexively moving. The arm reaching out again, grabbing the sniper’s throat and slowly ripping the Jugular from the man, he could hear the gurgle, feel the hot blood run down the fingers that were his, and yet not his, as he stared into the terrified man's eyes, and watched the life fade from them.
Her eyes fluttered open, her pupils, the size of pinheads slowly expanding and a smile receding from her lips. “What is your name American?” she asked, “Thomas” he croaked, “Ah, the doubting one,” she responded, a wry smile forcing itself upon her lips, “Come, we must hurry, your life force ebbs as we speak.” She lifted him then, two hundred and twenty pounds as if he were a babe in arms, and turned toward the stairs. He wrapped his arms around her, and rested his head upon her shoulder as he looked up into her face. “This is the place of my ancestors; we will not disturb their rest with what we must do” she said.
They moved up the stairs, floating, for he could not feel her footsteps as they traveled upward, the gate swung outward as they reached it, and he felt the night air upon his face as they emerged. They moved, impossibly fast, through the ancient cemetery and out onto a leaf covered lane that stretched into the darkness. Moments later, they came upon a ruined villa, He could see that it had once been a beautiful place, but now it had the look of abandonment, and age. The darkened windows showing no sign of life, the veranda, one side leaning precariously, was covered with blown leaves and populated with broken furnishings bleached by decades of weather and disuse. The ornately carved front doors, swung inward as they approached and silently closed after they had entered.
Once inside, the atmosphere changed abruptly, there was no dust on the floor, the furnishings, which he could make out in the gloom, were well cared for, they quickly passed over ornate carpets and floated up a wonderfully wide staircase. “Ah yes Thomas, it is beautiful, my family has called the Alsace our home, and raised the grape for hundreds of years, alas, that is no more, the Hun has seen to that.” Down a long hallway, they quickly moved as a door swung open to the left. They entered a darkened room that was partially brought to light when a fire burst to life in the fireplace. A huge, canopied bed dominated the room, which was otherwise filled with ornately carved dark wood furnishings. She moved to the hearth and placed him upon his feet. The warmth of the fire revitalized him somewhat, as he stood shakily, facing into the fire and leaning against the hearth.
From behind him, her hands moved to his chest as she helped him remove his jacket, and then his shirt. When her hands reached for his belt he moved to stop her, but she easily pushed his hand aside and unbuckled his belt and then his trousers. She knelt behind him and untied the laces of his boots, removing them as well as his socks. Her hands grasped the waistband of his trousers as well as his underpants and gently pulled them down to his ankles. She helped him step out of both before standing up behind him. He could feel the softness of her gown, as well as the contact of her breasts on his butt and then his back as she stood and pulled him back to her. He could feel the warmth of the fire on his groin and the heat of her breath on his neck when she laid her head on his shoulder, her mouth inches from his ear. Her hands, first placed on his hips slowly moved upward to his belly and then toward his shoulders. He heard her breath quicken as one hand moved through the hair on his chest and the other was placed over his wound. Warmth spread outward from his shoulder.
He felt strength flow from her and into him. He groaned from the pleasure of it as he heard in his head “My name is Angevin, what I wish to give to you is not to be received lightly. What I wish to take from you must be given freely.” He nodded his understanding of these thoughts as she continued, “I will take from you the last flickers of your mortal life, but that has been taken by another, only postponed now, with my help. I will give to you eternity, but at a cost beyond the life that moves toward an ending even now, the price that you will pay will be a hunger that is never satisfied, and a lust that you will never be able to completely ignore.” He didn’t know how he understood her meaning, but he did, she was inside his head, painting a picture of all that she said. At any rate, he knew he had no choice. Once again, he nodded his understanding.
She slowly turned him to face her, and took a step backward. He looked into her eyes, glowing red in the firelight, and said, “Angevin, I freely give, and receive, all that you have promised”. She nodded her approval, as her eyes glowed brighter at these words, and her lips parted in a smile. “Come with me then Thomas; come feel the passion and desire that you have chosen to receive.” She grasped his hand, and gently pulled him to her. She bent slightly and lifted him into her arms, carrying him to the bed.
She placed him onto the middle of the mattress, the sheets cool beneath him, slowly he stretched himself, and spread his legs slightly as she stood. She unclasped the chain that held her gown, and pushed the cloth off one shoulder and then the other. It fell to the floor to reveal a near perfect body. His eyes, locked on hers, were released as she closed them and placed her arms behind her, resting them on each butt cheek. His gaze moved from her exquisitely shaped throat down to her firm breasts with their dark brown aureoles’ topped by huge erect nipples. His eyes followed her hands as they moved first to her hips and then to her flat belly covered with downy hair, and then slowly down into a wonderfully full bush that formed the triangle between her long straight legs. “You like what you see Thomas” she said with confidence as she nodded toward his quickly swelling dick, still only half erect but lengthening and becoming more firm with every moment. He groaned and tightened his belly muscles to make it twitch expectantly.
She crawled onto the bed beside him resting on her knees, that lovely bush brushing against his hip. Her hand moved to grasp his penis; she once again locked his eyes with hers as the picture of her thoughts, now tinted deeply with red, entered his consciousness. “This will fill me, I will feed upon you, and then you upon me, you will explode inside of me; as your juice mingles with mine, you will die, only to be reborn. After you awake, we will have eternity to pleasure each other and to explore each other’s souls. Do you still wish for this Thomas?” He nodded, nearly panting as warmth and strength spread from her hand into his groin. “I wish for this also,” she said.
He stared into her eyes, but was aware of her other hand moving between her legs, at the same time that he could feel her hand grasping his now stiffly erect penis, he felt her fingers move to her swollen clit and then slowly slide inside of her. Their feelings had become as one and they groaned simultaneously as her fingers began to gently move in and out of her quickly moistening pussy. “Taste Me,” she groaned in his head, bringing her slick nearly dripping fingers to his lips. He opened his mouth, and sucked her juices from her fingertips. “It is time,” she moaned. She quickly moved to straddle him, the hand holding his penis moving to cup his balls, and then close around them tightening to a point that was not painful, but still assured that he wouldn’t be able to come until she allowed him to.
Her eyes were ablaze as she slowly impaled herself upon him. Deeper and deeper until an entire eight inches was inside her, and their pubic hair ground together, then rising until only the head remained inside her, only to slam downward again and settle even deeper then before. He felt the muscles of her cunt tighten around his shaft, impossibly tight, as if she were going to suck his life out through his dick. She threw her head back, and opened her mouth wide releasing a guttural snarl, which he actually heard. He watched in detached fascination, as her canine teeth elongated and sharpened into inch long fangs. Her body bent as she moved to kiss him; their lips met and their mouths opened. He tasted her saliva, and felt her tongue push into his mouth, a long firm tongue that pushed deep into him, almost to his throat. He tried to gag, but she held his head anchored to the bed with the pressure of her kiss. She released him then, removing her mouth from his and kissing his throat. He felt her tongue rasping against the skin of his neck and smooth sharpness of her teeth as they almost punctured his shoulder. Her mouth moved down, down, to his chest and then to the hole that the snipers bullet had torn into him. He felt suction as her mouth closed over the bullet wound; felt the burning as her tongue probed inside the hole, reopening veins that had clotted. He felt the warmth of new blood spurt from him into her. His hand moved to the back of her head, feeling the softness of her hair and whispered, “Yes Angevin, take me”.
She drank then, so much that he was mere seconds from passing out from blood loss when she suddenly stopped and raised herself to look into his face. Through half closed lids of near unconsciousness, he saw her blood red eyes and the smile upon her lips as she stared into his face, a trickle of dark crimson running from the corner of her mouth.
Still staring into his eyes, she released his balls from her firm grasp, her hand moved to cup her left breast, with the index finger of her right hand, she stroked the nipple of the cupped breast, closing her eyes with pleasure as she did. Then with a fingernail suddenly longer and sharper then the rest, she traced a crescent in the areola above the nipple. Thick red blood welled up and moved to drip off the wonderfully erect nipple. “This is for you Thomas drink long and deep, this is the gift I give to you”. She bent to position her breast over his face; her hot wet pussy sliding up his shaft until, once again, only the tip remained inside of her. A drop of her blood, then two fell upon his lips. Her left hand moved to grasp his balls once again one fingernail pressing into the skin behind his testicles; with her right hand, she cupped his head, and raised him to her breast.
He licked, first the blood from his lips then, tentatively at first, her firm nipple. The blood was warm, sweet; he felt it renew him. His mouth closed around her, covering the entire areola as he began to drink; with each small swallow, he felt strength flow back into his body. Power such as he had never known, filled him, warmed him. He thrust his hips upward, trying to bury himself inside her again, but a warning jab of her fingernail between his legs relaxed him, and he lay still, concentrating on receiving her strength. He began to lick her nipple, gratified when he heard a throaty moan issue from her. “It is good Thomas” she panted, “Soon we will go to the place where lovers go together”. She released his head then, allowing him to fall back onto the mattress. She bent to kiss him, and licked her blood from his lips.
“Are you ready Thomas?” she asked, her lips inches from his ear, in response, he lifted his hips once again, pushing into her. She sat upright, pushing his dick deep inside of her, moved her hips, and settled on to him. She moved her hand to caress the side of his face, and then moved to grasp his hand, and intertwine their fingers. She locked his eyes on to hers and lifted herself nearly off his shaft, only to slide down again and gently grind their bodies together. He concentrated on fulfilling her and felt his penis grow even larger lengthening to push even deeper inside her, and expanding to stretch her opening even wider. He was rewarded by the expression on her face, the half-closed eyes, her hair spilling down on both sides, and her mouth forming an “O” as she moved closer to climax with every moment. They began a slow rhythmic dance, she lifted her pelvis to expose nine inches of his glistening pulsating shaft, and then lowered herself until their bodies met and their pubic hair mingled. Over, and over again this was repeated. She began to tremble; her hand gripped his in an iron grip. She nodded her head to him, incapable of speaking, to signal that it was time. He shook his head no. She gave his testicle a final firm squeeze as she released him and grabbed his free hand; suddenly, she threw her head back; he felt the muscles of her pussy tightening on his dick, pulsating, sucking, she began to grunt, and moan; she tremble even harder as an intense wave of pleasure passed through her. She shuddered and slowed her movements, rising up until the head of his dick was outside of her, but pressed to her labia.
He released her hands, and placed both his on her hips. Arching up, he drove his dick deep inside of her. He held her in place as he dropped, and then arched up again, slamming their bodies together. Soon she was moving with him; repeatedly their hips came together; both of them moving toward climax, panting, and moaning in unison. His fingers dug into her thighs, as he moaned, “I’m going to come”; She replied, “yes Thomas, together” He slammed his shaft into her once again, and dropped onto the sheets. She pushed down onto him, pushing his penis even farther inside of her; he felt the first hot jets of semen pump into her. He felt the muscles of her pussy contract and squeeze his shaft as she came again, and yet again.
She bent over him now, kissing his lip, and then moving down to his throat. He felt the jab of her teeth into his jugular, as he shivered with pleasure at their mutual release. His hips pushed upward, pumping the last few drops into her, as his vision dimmed behind a red cloud.
When she had drunk her fill, and felt his last shudder underneath her, she lifted off him and lay by his side. She held him as his body became cold, and fell asleep with him in her arms.
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