Falling Prey Ch. 02

***

Helen, realising she had displeased him reacted to Matthew's look by instantly breaking contact, redoubling her efforts against Clayton's pounding rhythm. Clayton, mistaking Helen's efforts at placating Matthew, took this as proof of his own prowess and concentrated his efforts by slamming harder against Helen's body, hammering at her mound with merciless vigour.

"You want me to tear your pussy up, huh, bitch? You want ol' Clayton to bang you rough?"

Deaf to his words Helen felt the surge of her climax build and rush through her body in an inescapable tide. She glanced at Matthew again and saw a pleased expression on his face. Relieved and reassured by the sight, Helen gave a cry of joy and allowed her mind to fall into the abyss. She groaned and sighed in ecstasy while the juice oozed from her in a steady trickle, coating Clayton's shaft and dribbling over his swinging balls while Clayton forced his way deeper and harder into her body. Finally, crying louder, Helen rode the crest of the orgasmic wave.

As Helen writhed and groaned, Clayton withdrew his length and its coating of mixed juices. François took up position with indecent, eager haste, hauling Helen with neither ceremony nor care onto her front. He then dragged her into position on all fours and then, with Helen's derriere raised, he probed at her until the tip of his penis found the place. With a groan from François and an accompanying sigh of pleasure from Helen, he finally slid into the woman's accommodating body.

"Another fat cock," Helen purred, falling forward her breasts squashing into the bed. "Fuck me as hard as he did," She implored, her voice muffled as a result of her face pressing into the bed. "Fuck me like that glorious bastard just did." Another glance at Matthew, this one rather awkward, for approbation was met with a silent smirk of approval. "I'm wet and I feel the need for fucking," she added, desperate for Matthew's continued good grace.

"Go on, Franky," Clayton urged. "You do the old bitch good." He took a handful of Helen's hair and lifted her level with his penis. Helen studied the shaft waggling near her face and noticed how slick and shiny it was.

"Is that me on your cock?" Helen's head began to jerk in time with the thrusting, grunting François as his tight belly slapped against her buttocks."Is that my come?"

"It sure is, baby; you wanna taste it? You wanna taste your cream on my cock?" Without waiting for a response Clayton forced himself between Helen's lips. The woman needed no urging and opened her mouth to accept the offering. "Damn but you're a slutty old bitch. Just lookit you licking my dick. It's been awhile since I've see'd one as nasty as you."

***

Poor Clayton has no way of knowing but Helen will be his last woman. In a few more minutes, as I instructed earlier, he will masturbate and spray his life's final ejaculate against Helen's breasts. Then, later, as he leaves a pub in Whitechapel, he will be the victim of an assault that will see him stabbed and bleeding in the road while late night revellers ignore his pleas for help. An ambulance will arrive in due course, but it'll be too late for the American; his life will have leaked away onto the cold ground of London, so far from his homeland.

Both men, both Clayton and François, have been sensed by others of my kind; the dull ones were alerted by my proximity. But just because my distant cousins are brainless, that doesn't make them any less dangerous, and I'm content to allow them this feed like hyenas at the Lion's kill. The one hovering near Clayton now -- and to me it's as visible as the man's ridiculous cock -- has its own plan for him; his fate is sealed, and Clayton will be kissing the cold, harsh lips of Death before tomorrow's sun dawns.

François? He's revelling in his rutting; he's fucking Helen like a man possessed, which in a few moments he will be. He too will never see another day. He's fated to be electrocuted on the Piccadilly line. An unfortunate accident of course, but the demon waiting for him will relish the gawping crowd that gathers to see his smouldering corpse. It will feed well on their shock and fear. Poor François, he doesn't know it but he's leaving Helen a little gift -- a nasty, virulent dose of gonorrhoea. A little twist of my own I think Bobby will appreciate.

***

"Ah... Merde... I'm going to come. I can't help..." François gripped Helen's hips and pushed into her as his filthy seed spurted deep.

"I can feel you doing it," Helen wailed, not knowing that the man's semen was tainted with infection. "I can feel the stuff pissing into me... I'm coming too. I'm coming again!"

François released Helen's hips and reached under her body to cup her heavy breasts in his palms. He continued to rut into the woman as he kneaded and mauled at her tits.

"So sexy," he sighed, "so fucking sexy. Such big tits, they excite me. And your cunt... It is made for fucking."

François eventually released Helen's breasts. The soft flesh was marked with red blotches where François had mauled at her body and there were similar signs of his grasping fingers on her hips. Helen fell forward on the bed in a panting heap while François wiped the perspiration from his brow. His penis remained semi-erect, with drops of polluted spunk dripping onto the rumpled quilt.

A few minutes later both men had departed, but not before they had both played to the camera and, as per Matthew's instructions, flung a sheaf of banknotes at a now bedraggled and soiled Helen.

"Thanks for the fuck," François had sneered.

"Yeah, baby, you're one juicy slut with a hungry pussy," Clayton added, eyeing Helen's impressive breasts for a final time. "If'n you want some more action you come find me. I'm sure I can get a few more fellahs together and really give you a good time."

The door closed and the pair walked towards their respective fates. In the room Matthew quickly organised the equipment so Helen, still naked, leaking come, and with Clayton's goo cooling and drying on her breasts, could relive the outrageous scene.

"Was I good enough, Matthew? Did I please you?" Helen's expression turned downcast. "I'm sorry about..."

"No matter, Helen," his tone was curt. "Don't ever challenge me again or I'll leave you."

The bluff was successful: "Oh no, Matthew, please! Don't say that. I couldn't bear it if you weren't in my life."

***

Helen really had no clue as to why her addiction to the destructive force of Matthew was so strong. She had no reason, for there was no rational explanation for his hold over her, to crave his presence so desperately. All Helen knew was her overwhelming desire was to have Matthew close by; his manipulative, destructive force only rarely impinged on the possessed woman's psyche, and on the infrequent occasions that a hint of Matthew's true nature slithered across her conscious thoughts he somehow sensed the danger and exerted his own peculiar brand of manipulation. Helen was a bee encased in amber; a prisoner, captive until Matthew had finally finished with her. Only then would her mind be free, but the question remained, what would that freedom bring?