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Fallen Goddess

I awake as I have for hundreds of years with the kiss of the night's breeze on the lids of my closed eyes. The light of the rising full moon caressing my still form as a returned lover may arouse a sleeping mate. As the moonlight bathes me I feel my granite shell begin to give way to the softer self beneath. My protective casing cracking, crumbling and falling about my feet in a talcum ring. I clench and extend my fingers, stiff from disuse and immobilization, then gripping the edge of my pedestal I push up and away dislodging larger pieces of my encasement until I am free to stand. I twist sinuously from my waist side to side then arch my back disheveling the very last fragments of my onetime imprisonment. I feel my long hair fall against my face and bare shoulders, feather light, a welcome sensation after the pressing weight of the stone that I bear each month. Taking a moment to enjoy my freedom perched atop the church piling I am eternally bound to, I send mental tentacles out into the night to taste the flavor of the throbbing, creeping, city life below. I stand erect and still as I draw the sweet nights air in to fill my lungs, expanding them to near bursting, holding in until I can hear the surge of blood in my ears then slowly exhaling until I am reeling from the mere experience of taking a breath. I move fluidly down from my platform, a shadow of shadows, taking note of my physical self as I do so. I move my hands over my skin and find to my ever delight that I have not aged all these hundreds of years my skin is yet satin smooth, my breasts firm and up tilt, nipples responsive and hard to the lightest stimulations stomach flat and my buttock rounded and tight. My wings are as they ever are at the beginning of my awakenings, small and shriveled, clinging to my back so much as they might be two moribund bats hanging from my shoulder blades unfit to lift my form even one inch above ground to save my soul.

My soul....

My soul, what right do I have to mention such a foul thing. A greedy goddess bound eternally to earth, all over the refusal to follow the others into an omnipresent oblivion. Yes, I alone chose to remain behind and at what price? To be enslaved and bound to a singular place and to be cursed to prey upon those who once sought sanctuary from me in their times of need. I am a fallen angel indeed. And now I take their servitude in a pound of flesh, in pints of blood and only from their most innocent- for that is how I survive month to month, year to year, decade to decade. Even now the twisting hunger in my gut is turning my mind away from any philosophies I may harbor about the state in which I must exist, the smell of fresh prey lofting up from the streets below distracting me from any regrets or hesitations against the heinous act I am about to commit.

My mind turns in upon itself as I cross the rooftop dais to fetch my clothes from their stony hiding place. I move the embedded floor stone as if it were a woven reed floor mat though it would take two strong men to accomplish such a feet. My clothing choices have been reduced to leather and rubber, as I have found they above all else have the staying power I require for garments. As I robe I find my self growling in a low pitch as my hunger mounts a more intense attack against my innards. Soon, very soon , the hunger will be all there is and I will have no power to resist the incessant urge to fill myself, sate this carnal rage that permeates my entire being. I move quickly down the church stairs my high heels clicking a resounding tattoo on the ancient metal and out a side corridor until I am standing in a darkened alley way. I stand quietly letting the sounds of passersby quicken my senses. I walk though the crowds, breathing their exhaled air scenting the throng for a suitable prospect. There are so few that I can use for if I choose poorly or to hastily tainted blood will make me ill and cause me to be slow in awakening at the next moon cycle. My time is limited to one night a cycle and as prey becomes more and more scarce my time becomes more precious than I could have ever imagined. My prey must be inexperience in sex play but very much in want of it and it is always sweeter if they come willingly to me. So it is you may find me lurking about strip joints and bars catering to college undergrads, visible only to those I wish to see me. To see me is to see a Venus gone wrong, all the desire and beauty, all the sex abandon and wantonness any man could ever want, but with a fatal twist. So it is in a poorly lit bar I find him sitting alone. I had scented him as he exited a cab a half a block from where he now sat. I followed him silently through the pressing crowd, his scent leaving an easy trail for me to follow lest I loose sight of him. I approach silently, his head bent forward over his drink unaware he is being watched. I stand inches from his back, I could touch him if I took a deep enough breath. I part my lips and breathless from the need to sate my hunger I order a drink from the bartender. At the sound of my voice, the prey turns his head resulting in a direct view of my ample breasts' cleavage. My action is rewarded by the moisture exhaled on my skin from the quick respiration of breath in such close proximity. I lean close in to retrieve my drink and ask if I may use the stool next to him. He obliges gratefully and shifts in his chair to make casual glancing more convenient. So we talk into the night . What we talked about is insignificant for me, it all about satisfying a need and I will say anything to endear my self to the chosen's interests and desires and dreams. It matters not as I know the outcome of each scenario. Sometimes I allow the prey to take me home, sometimes I take them in a park or alleyway. Tonight it will be the alleyway right outside the very bar in which we sit as my hunger this eve is verging on unbearable. As we step out into the night I make a quick movement and envelope his mouth in a deep kiss pushing him up against the brick building wall and in doing so, scraping my hands, making them bleed. The tinge of iron in the air only manages to excite me more as bloodlust evaporates the last vestiges of compassion from my mind. He is quick to match my eagerness pushing his manhood hard against my thigh, muttering sweet nothings unto uncaring ears, desperately pulling at my clothing as he seeks to unveil his Goddess and plunge his pillar of devotion into her. I rend his clothing from him slicing at it with my long sharp nails until they lay in tatters about our feet. I lay him down on the hard asphalt of the alleyway and in the dirt and filth mount his engorged cock, I rock atop him taking all of him within a few thrusts and begin to bring him to finish. He is moaning his eternal love for me, his dedication and sacrifices he will offer. In the near throws of orgasm when his manhood is most engorged I bear down on him with such force that the tiny rows of teeth that line the walls of my vagina are forced to erection and as he attempts to pull away for a final thrust the hundreds of teeth bite into his flesh, impaling him there. He screams in pleasure and pain as he meets his orgasms and pending death. I orgasm and as my strong muscles contract draw both upon the life force and bloodletting of my poor victim. With each pump of arterial blood my wings begin to surge and fill until unfurled in their glory, I am finally able to lift not only myself but my flawless, in death, lover to my high perch above the city to consume the rest of my meal. The dawn begins to creep above the horizon and I sit upon my pedestal. Garments tucked away. My skin begins to harden, the blood drying upon the marble of my imprisonment.

"Oh, no,no, when one dominates them with such energy, it is impossible to belong to the same race."
........."Yes, she is right, WE ARE GODS." excerpt from De Sade's "Juliette"

Story by Sabriel Barclay

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