The Decrepit Mansion Before Me

The decrepit mansion stood before me, menacingly, an ancient remnant of the not-so-very-near past. It towered above me, the pale azure moonlight spilling a soft smoldering glow onto the grass I was standing on. Something eerie about this gradually decaying house had me spellbound, pulled me into its inner sanctum.

The wind howled around my head, reminiscent of fall and shadows crept towards me, daring me to move too soon. I must admit, I was scared. But I was enamored in blatant awe, a bizarre sense of trepidation filling my heart that strangely urged me go into the crumbling mansion. Something deep within the antiquated house floated between my numb ears, called my name tenderly: Rico Rico Rico.

Then, more urgently, almost begging me to come inside and uncover its myriad pleasures or terrors: RICO RICO RICO! Even the ground beneath me grew more grass suddenly dutifully forcing me to meander into the shaky, rotting house. I was not one to disoblige. And so I went. I did as I was most demandingly told. I pushed open the colorless, dull door, with a large creaking, squeaking sound, stepping into a small musty foyer inundated with stale air.

My nostrils burned from the stark aroma, the odor causing me to almost vomit. The oxygen level was supremely low, and I struggled to breath, which was an arduous task, what fresh air surreptitiously crept past my nose. Not much entered my system and I felt faint. I held out my unsteady, trembling hand closely in front of me.

My wide eyes were still adjusting to the tint of the room and I could not see my ashen nutmeg brown skin in the dark. I decide to move on to other rooms; I didn't have much time and soon my caring mother would be looking for me.

As far she was concerned, she still thought I was lounging, in a depressed state, on the porch. She knew, through that maternal instinct, to give me my space and let me breath , for I was a 18 year old black troubled male "adjusting " to the new neighborhood, one full of Caucasian phonies and middle-aged socialites.

Leaving the inner-city projects and relocating into the spacious crime-free, suburbs had not been easy, friends wrongly believing I was turning on them, betraying them, become one of what my friend were not. I had wanted to stay but my mother had a sweeping, illuminating vision for our lives, one that excluded all the things metropolitan New York City worshipped and made Gods of.

I understood this dream; this image of life that dwelled in her head for it was a positive one. But leaving the Bronx meant leaving Santonio, prince charming, my angle, my king and my friend and moving to New Orleans. He was my lover, my one. He belonged to every vessel and vein in my heart; he was what kept me alive. And now I had indirectly discarded and deserted him, leaving him in the Bronx and moving to Louisiana.

Now, without my goals for him, he was only a beautiful street pharmacist headed for nothing but sex, lies and ultimately, eventually, finally Death. This thought temporarily paralyzed me, embedding itself deeper into my soul, force-feeding me a gigantic inedible dose of pure reality I defiantly ejected the thought of him and his coral-colored succulent lips on mine and continued to walk, unsteadily and precariously into the living room, as something inside me beat for him.

It was a sexual urge repressed from not seeing touching or kissing him or caressing him or embracing him in a month and a half. It was killing me inside. I unrelentingly paced down the grand hall, its wide walls overlooking me, allowing me to delve deeper into the fold of this magnificently frail abode. The smell of the next room, the main room, greeted me before I could see its structure. It made me nauseous. The smell protruded it finger and inserted its finger down my fiery throat, causing my body to induce gastric queasiness and my eyes to water oceans, trails of sickness down my face.

I needed desperately to know what was causing this smell. I said one word, my name, and my named echoed off the walls, created a song, a rhythm on the house. By the reverberation and the ricocheting of my nomenclature on the walls, I knew this room was mammoth-like, titanic within itself, answering only to its own precepts of gravity and time. This room knew nothing of me and so I shook within its space, this vacuum of sour, powerfully tart air.

I turned around ready to leave, peering down the hall, forgetting from which direction I came, when I saw a seething radiance coming from room at the very end of the hall. I walked slowly looking into the vague, arbitrary darkness of each sprawling room as I passed it, not knowing what the shadows would summon to bring me to my early adolescent death.

Not knowing what the obscurity would call forth to end my life. I reached the room I was walking to. In the very centre of the room, there lay a ruby-red colored primordial candle, piping hot wax cascading down its own sides, drying to make fine linear points and bubbly bumps where smooth wax used to lie. Nothing was under the candle, and the wax had formed a puddle of cherry tinged, peeling wax. Then something inside me overflowed with sheer panic.

An idea manifested itself in my brain, although unwanted, the furthest thing from what I wanted to think: This burning candle meant someone was or had been here recently. Maybe they were still lingering in the darkness, hauntingly, the shadows creating a cape for them to surreptitiously and furtively creep into my safe space; my comfortable presence full of stealth and do God knows what to my existence.

I still wanted to see what was bringing forth and creating the boiling, rancid smell I had encountered in the main room. I carefully grabbed the dripping candle, waiting a minute to make sure I disturbed nothing, and then I walked little by little, almost leisurely, back into main room. What greeted me was beyond my wildest extravagant dreams, something I had only seen at the cinema. The room was a circular space with peeling walls of turquoise and burgundy sepia.

There was only one piece of furnishing; an ebony desk covered with glazing patina that looked like aged acrylic. This desk was obviously dated from centuries long gone. It proudly touted a small handbook. I walked over and read some of the words which were irascibly scrawled in middle French:

Partir maintenant! Votre vie est ici risquee. Votre sang sera bu de votre corps et votre chair pendra sur le mur comme une coupe a jamais.

I tried to decipher what this might mean but the smell permeated my nostril-lining and prevented me from concentrating on anything other than fresh, unsoiled, unsullied oxygen. I then looked at the walls again and realized blood was splattered here and there, dotting the walls like decoration, and then I saw a crimson handprint. My stomach jumped uneasily, fearing the worst of the worst.

I then saw below the varnish of blood, twelve hooks that were severely implanted into the decomposing walls, each hook linked to rusted iron chains, each corroded chain attached to an oxidized manacle, each shackle clasping two wrists; two cut wrists which belonged to dead bodies.

Twelve of them in all. The bodies were severely and sadistically twisted, warped into positions of pain. Each body has deep scarifications on its skin. Each body had deep bruises and broken bloodied necks. Each body had open bowels and innards, intestines lay open, exposed to the eyes, maggots feasting and festering inside body after body, corpse after corpse. Some bodies had sockets abnormally crunched out, lying beneath there bodies.

Each carcass possessed only deep, sunken valleys where eyeballs should have been, where noses should have been found. Each dead body advertised its own milk-white bones as roaches and ants crawled in and out up and down their flesh. Under each cadaver lay desiccated, arid puddles of year old, decade old, maybe even century old, boldly red, scarlet colored blood, the essence of life and the evidence of Death's company and dark charisma and murky ambition. The perversions of bodies somehow started to move, unshackling their confines and crawling excruciatingly painfully towards me in erratic movements, their voices preceding them.

"JOIN US JOIN US JOIN US", they howled. In absolute utter fright I accidentally dropped the candle and it tumbled, though floating peacefully almost, to the ground. It caught the pages of the miniature handbook and the tangerine and methane gas colored fire started as a diminutive spark but as a comprehensive blaze started to grow, I knew this mansion was to fall to its knees tonight. I ran, fear surging adrenaline rushing to my muscles causing spasm after spasm.

Contractions, I thought, but kept running and then... Something scalding hot exploded on my cheek. Something brushed swiftly past my head, something black and almost liquid like but solid enough to actually leave its mark on my face. Where the thing had swept speedily past me inflicting a sizzling contusion, my face stung as if a thousand wasps had assailed and inveighed me.

I turned back around, expecting to see the ominous face of the awful God-forbidden thing that had touched me, almost molested me with apprehension but there were no flames and no dimness anymore. The dead bodies were gone. Had I only dreamed that they were there before? The room was light by a diamond chandelier.

Then, my eyes were only met with the face of man who was obviously Creole or mulatto. His skin was the color of vast fields of wheat, light brown, cinnamon and nutmeg. He had sparkling mocha freckles that sprinkled his nose and cheeks lightly and made for an attractive visage. He owned sweet pink lips and he had a faultless skin complexion, smoothness and flawless cheekbones to match. He had emerald green eyes the color or gems, which glistened all the same.

He had russet colored, curly, coiled hair that was displayed well in perfect dreadlocks. His body was very muscular. He was extremely well chiseled. He looked like a statuette made by God of bronze, his chest promoting muscles that suggested power. His shirt was off and I saw the golden abs, exquisitely flat stomach, and the nice sloping waistline. Below that he had on baggy jeans and no shoes, no socks. He gave the impression of being a God.

He had to be 19 or 20 years of age. Then I saw the sexier man next to him, deeply profoundly chocolate in skin color. He had brown lips and smoky onyx colored eyes. He was just as superb and marvelous as the mixed man standing to his immediate right. His chest muscles advertised supremacy and beauty also. His neck, arms and chest were tattooed, the marks of life and love.

He had neatly, but intricately braided cornrows that hung to the end of his collar. He had on a clean, bleach-white, wife beater that clung tight to his strapping, well-built, tall body. He was probably about 22 or 23 years of age. And just when I thought my knees were too weak to stand he spoke in a rich sultry baritone and said, "You can stay for a while or you can go."

His voice echoed as a whisper after his lips had long been closed and he looked at me in consideration and amused appraisal. And then he and his friend almost glided like slender African gazelles up the spiraling stairs. The lights immediately and abruptly went out. I thought of the dead bodies and how perverse they looked in the incandescent chandelier luminosity.

I breathed in the air and now there was no foul malodorous smell. Maybe everything had been figment of my imagination, a fabrication of my brain, an untruth told by me to myself in defiance of my courage t come into the house in the first place. Then I thought even if the bodies had been real they were somewhat of an aphrodisiac, an esoteric, erotic stimulant that pulsed deep inside me.

I impulsively decided to scurry along and follow the two men, not knowing that at home my mother was scared out of her wits thinking I had run away. I, not knowing what dangers lay beyond the threshold of the stairway. I scrambled up the stairs, afraid of the intimidating shadows surrounding me, enveloping me.

I passed three levels of rooms and on the fourth I stopped and looked down a silhouetted hallway and saw black rose petals leading to a room, in which zesty sapphire color flushed beamingly out of. The perfume of vanilla bean stirred my nose, carefully picking me up and carrying me like precious cargo into the room. There they were, kissing, violently, passionately, fully nude of course. It as if they didn't know I was in the room at all; they were focusing on the tasks at hand.

Their lips and long tongues intertwining like colors on a canvas or palate, fabric on a template. Their chests touched affectionately as the vanilla candles flickered light on the walls. The dark skinned God whose name was Zae sat back and let Carmello, the light skinned God stroke and touch and slurp and suck on his manhood while Zae gently forced Carmello's head further down onto his semi-erect masculinity.

Zae probed Carmello's orifices such as his open mouth and gaping yawning anus wildly with his fingers. Digital love, like he was searching for something inside of Carmello's absolutely gorgeous round feminine backside. This act of lust was almost routinely done, I could tell.

It had been played out many times before, rehearsed with a strict unrelenting inflexible script. Top was always dominant top and submitting bottom was always submitting bottom. There was no area of confusion of roles between them and there was no gray region for them to be vainly mystified about. Suddenly to my surprise, Zae slipped his whole first into Carmello's ass, telling him to take it like the bitch he was.

Carmello let out a restricted moan, fully aware that Zae didn't want him to be loud at all. Zae then moved his arm in and out to Carmello, almost punching him from the inside out. Carmello could no longer hold in the raw bliss, the painful pleasure that was caressing his longing prostate and let out a low deep whine that sounded somewhat more feline than anything else.

His ejaculate shot up like a brimming geyser into the vanilla scented air, landing back on his rigid chest and stiff abs. I then became fully stiff, erect as a skyscraper touching the heavens above. Zae was obviously pleased by this ejection of lust, for a smiled curled his luscious lips at the corners. Then Zae turned to me. His smile disappeared without delay. He looked at me with utter disgust on his face, contempt and disapproval of me shown with every muscle he had. Then he said the unthinkable.

"You're beautiful" he said to me.

"Thank you", I cooed like a shy quiet Catholic schoolgirl.

"You're very welcome. You're even more beautiful than we thought you would be. We didn't know when you'd arrive but we knew you would come to us, eventually. We've been waiting a long time for you, you know?"

"What do you mean?"

"Just what I said... Rico" he responded. He knew my name. How? "I know everything about you Rico. I know your birthday, about Santonio, about you moving here to `Nawlins. I know your worst fears, what makes you cry, what makes you smile. All that shit is up here Rico. Most of all...I know you want me", he said as he pointed to his head. I couldn't speak. I was outright speechless. I was petrified and anxious to death and inaudible.

"You think you came here by yourself?" he asked with a low growl I remained silent "Answer me nigga!" He shouted at me. I came back to reality, dropping back to Earth with the velocity of a speeding bullet.

"I thought I came here on my own" I countered.

"We summoned you here. You see that wall over there. Go to it. Now!" he screamed, his voice now distorted, demons interlacing around each other on the far wall, souls in despair and lives gone. On that wall there was a hook and chain and clasp like the ones downstairs.

"So you killed those people downstairs?" I asked.

"I only help fulfill their choice, their fantasy be killed. They should've been obedient and receptive to my needs. And they chose to do thing their way and be defiant. They chose to be tortured instead of taking the easy way out, MY WAY! Yeah, I'm definitely gonna tie your cute ass up and do some things to you but you WILL like it and you WONT be killed if you obey me, completely. I don't like my bitches to be disrespectful to the chain of command." he said.

"Bitch...?" I asked, insulted "That's what I said...BITCH! Go over to the fucking wall Rico. Carmello, go get me my whip." he yelled like a madman. I didn't move fast enough so he viciously and cruelly yanked my arm, drug me across the polished but bloodstained oak and maple hardwood floor. I then, knew it was over. He smacked brutally and stomped my chest then stood on it like a proud conqueror or captor, fire in his mocha eyes, restricting my breathing pattern. I can't breathe. I'm gonna die of suffocation, I thought.

"You're NOT gonna die." And he let the weighted pressure of his foot on my chest up. I blacked out, fainting like the victim I was. I woke up. Some of the candles in the room had burned out. A sour stale taste was in my mouth. I looked down and I was naked, unclothed and exposed. My arm was tightly and firmly held by the controlling clasp connecting to the hook in the wall.

I looked down and my feet were securely and snugly clinched to the ground by two hooks there. My ass was facing the door to the room and my face was opposite the wall that I was hooked to. I couldn't see what was going on behind me but I could smell the raunchy, bawdy, dirty sex in the thick air and I could hear the groans and growls of pain. The slapping, clapping sound of the activity going on behind me increased and then came to a climax.

I could somehow, in my mind see Zae pumping Carmello rowdily. I could somehow, in my mind see Carmello pleading for more of Zae's manhood with his eyes. I could somehow, with my eyes closed as forcefully as possible, see me becoming Carmello, submitting, being used and abused for Zae's delight...forever. Then I realized that Zae was standing before me, his colossal masculinity dangerously close to my yearning mouth. It was coated with his sperm and Carmello' s juices and fluids. I could smell the musky tang of the hair around his testicles and his penis as wafts of his perspiring, moist large genitals invaded my nose.

"Suck it" he said. I conjecture that didn't do it hastily enough because he struck my face with the palm of his hand roughly three times. He then repeated his sexual command. This time, I wasted no time. I took his manhood into my mouth tasting Carmello with my tongue. I continued to probe his ejaculate hole.

He grabbed my head powerfully vigorously forcing his masculinity down my throat, choking me somewhat, gagging me making me feel like I had no control over myself or my own actions. I am his bitch, I thought. He continued to impel and pump himself into my overstretched sore mouth faster, faster, faster, faster, until he stopped and a sweltering hot wad of sperm busted into my mouth. I swallowed it because I knew that's what Zae would want, of course.

He drew gently out of my stinging throat and masturbated crazily above my face until he ejaculated on my face and hair, slapping my face madly and intensely with his fat, thick piece of manhood. He then said, "You need to be punished you silly insolent bitch!" He then went somewhere behind me. Unpredictably, I heard slurping and swallowing behind me and I knew that Carmello was giving Zae oral sex.

I then felt a sharp crack fill my ass with pain. Zae had hit me with the punishing whip that Carmello had retrieved for him. He beat my ass again, this time I was more aware of the pain as it stung me, making me tingle with agony and excitement invariably. I wished I could see behind me so that I could expect the next blow and no when it was going to come banging into my flesh.

So that I could calculate the time it going to make contact and be prepared. He took his hand and smacked the back of my head and punched me in my back as hard as he could. He then took the whip and thrashed me as hard a he could leaving bloodied, gory welts on my back.

Then, he hit Carmello a couple of times. I could vividly hear and almost see again, Carmello asking for more, telling Zae how much he loved to be hit, how much he loved to be Zae's bitch. Zae then came up behind me, pushed me down, forcing me to lie on my stomach. He took a candle and put as close to my skin as he could without actually burning the swollen frayed flesh on my back.

He then poured the roasting, torrid hot wax on my wounds. I screamed in pain, but I liked it somewhere deep inside me. He told me to shut the fuck up or I would only get beat more. He told me to take my punishment silently, noiselessly, wordlessly, in total, complete acquiescence, submission and humiliation like the filthy slut I was. I didn't make a sound.

He then smacked my head once. He lay on my face, his salty sweat dripping into my lesions and cuts, his perspiration, callous and stinging to them. They cried out in pain and I heard Carmello laugh as I cried out in pain. I somewhat liked this evil treatment though. My senses and ability to tell the difference between pleasure and pain were now irreversibly blurred, hazy, and unclear. He then put his manhood up to my tender passive asshole and rubbed it around.

My nerves turned to liquid and I melted under his touch. He kissed each wound on my back with his mocha colored lips gently and licked each one with his tongue, savoring the taste of open flesh. He did this to my anus too for what seemed to be hours and hours on end. He then pressed into me, the pain wracking through my whole lower body. He forcefully thrust touching undiscovered places, playing in my Shangri La, my Xanadu, my paradise, harvesting emotions not felt for at least a month and a half of uninvited celibacy.

He pumped into my guts, boned me raw and hard, nasty and raunchy, violent and rough. He drove into my boy pussy with the force of a small truck. His testicles smacked against my thighs with hard pulses and drove me insane. He had no mercy, no thought or care for what I was feeling. He only cared about the orgasm he would eventually receive. He banged me like a lunatic, a madman.

He tore though my sphincter time and time again, no compassion, and no love in each manstroke he punished me with. I heard something sharp retract and then felt him bite down into my soft brown skinned neck with his striking white fangs. Blood began coursing out it and he sucked it up, lapping at the two holes in my neck and he still fucked me harder and harder.

He fucked me, obviously, harder than Santonio had ever done. I then felt Carmello's presence on my left side and he flashed his fangs for me in flamboyant display of his monstrosity. In a quick swift movement his fangs were imbedded in my neck also. These holes were two more openings of bloodsucking ardor and pleasure.

"Who are you?" I asked Zae, a little scared.

"I am Satan incarnate" he answered and a blaze flickered in his eyes. That made me cum all over myself. I reached a place of solace, a place of worship, a place of vampirism, a place of immortality that night. I always return to Zae and Carmello. Zae always treats me like the bitch that I am.

written by srensren

CATEGORIES sf-fantasy

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