Archive-name: Violent/lauralex.txt Archive-author: Charles Franklin 12/92 Archive-title: Laura & Aleksandr part 1 This is the first two chapters of a story I am trying to write. It contains some way sacreligious (esp. to catholics) material, some sex, and some violence. If these things bother you, please hit 'n' now. Please email comments, since I don't read all the groups I posted to regularly. All comments, questions, and especially suggestions are welcome. Do anything you want with this as long as my name stays on it. More to come, probably after Xmas. Thank you. +--------------------------------------------------------------+ Chapter One. "Amen." Laura stepped out of the confessional, into the dimly lit chapel. Sunlight showed weakly through the high stained glass windows, adding its illumination to that of the candles. She was a tall woman, able to look over the heads of many of the men she knew. Not that she really knew many men. She thought of herself as ugly, gawky, too pale, too skinny, and many other things. About the only thing she liked about herself was her faith in God. In truth she was anything but ugly. She had the statuesque beauty of a goddess, but it was well hidden. She didn't style her hair in any flattering fashion, she wore no make up, and she dressed in only the drabbest of outfits. Long, shapeless dresses, never slacks, never decorated in any way, covered her thin but alluring frame. She feared she would look indecent, like a whore. Her mother called her that, even in her more lucid moments. If she combed her hair differently, to help her look pretty, if she wore a little perfume, her mother began to scream things like "You filthy girl! Do you want to rouse men's desire? Do you want them pawing at you, grabbing you? People will think you do! They'll know what a slut you really are!" Sometimes it was to much. Around her neck was a simple silver cross, a gift from her father, before he left. She had been twelve then, and the chain had reached down to her belly. Now, as tall as she had become, it rested between her breasts. She often caught men staring at it, hanging there between the vague outlines on her blouse. Her breasts were not large, but they did fit her slender build. She felt that they were too noticeable, no matter how plain her outfits were. She sometimes thought about getting a shorter chain, or wearing it on the inside of her clothing, but she never had. She told herself it was to remember her father by. Her ears were not pierced, and she wore only a plain barrette to keep her shoulder length blonde hair out of her eyes. It had a little bit of a curl to it, and in the right light it would show faint red highlights. This was a pleasant compliment to her eyes, which were a pale green, like mint. She never saw this beauty herself. She was painfully clean, for she scrubbed herself in the bath every day, hard enough to wash away feel of the city she lived in. She didn't want to feel like the people she saw on the streets, evil and corrupt, in their malfeasance and vice. She sat in the row of pews closest to the alter. After pausing a moment, she leaned forward to rest on the thinly padded wood that passed for a kneeler. She didn't have many sins to confess, she never did, so her penance was short. A few rosaries, which came automatically to her lips. Part of her wished that the priest had been more stern with her, asking for more of a repentance, more of a punishment. But she put that aside, knowing that it was somehow bad. She had only her mother waiting for her at home, her mother whom she could never ever do right by, no matter how much she prayed, no matter how reverent she was, nor how much of her life she gave up to care for an old and deranged woman. The words "slut" and "harlot" were like punctuation marks in the few sentences they exchanged these days. There had been a time when things were different, but that was a distant memory. She sighed as she started her next series of supplications. As her fingers moved over the glass beads, her mind wandered, for the prayers themselves didn't take much concentration. She raised her eyes to the alter, where she had so many times seen the fatherly old man recite the ancient words, words that at times seemed so empty. She regretted those times, for she wanted more than anything to give herself over to God completely, to be rid wholly of her own will. It was a dream that she never thought would be realized. Farther up, hanging high above the sanctuary, was the reason she attended mass at this small chapel, rather than at one closer to her own neighborhood. The Crucifix. When she gazed upon the unclothed flesh of her Savior, she saw more than polished wood and paint. She could feel the heat of His body, smelled the musky sweat as He writhed in blessed agony. The taste of His blood, the coppery sweetness as it poured from the wound at His side, where the cold metal of a centurion's lance had pierced the Holy flesh, sending waves of pain through His brutally beaten body. The crown of thorns, sitting upon matted hair, placed there by rough hands which had stripped Him of His simple robes, and had beaten Him with the flats of swords. The pain of the nails being driven through His palms seemed real to her, shattering barriers of rational thought, blinding her senses. A real pain in her hand forced her back to earth. A hasty look at her hand told her that she had been squeezing the crucifix at the end of the rosary so hard that the sharp metal corners had broken the skin. It wasn't bleeding much, but it hurt more than it should have. What she felt next scared her more than anything had before. At first she thought that the wetness between her legs was her curse coming early. She dismissed this thought quickly, since it wasn't accompanied by the usual cramps. Realizing what had happened, she quickly rose, almost forgetting to cross herself, while fighting back tears of shame. She wasn't able to face her Lord's image as she quickly fled from the building, after almost falling when she genuflected to the Host, averting her tear filled eyes from the statue on the wall. Laura stumbled out into the fading daylight, sure that the old woman sitting in the back of the church could smell her wickedness. As she ran down the filthy street toward her home, eyes burning and tears falling from her chin, she hardly noticed that she had placed her palm against her mouth, licking the sticky fluid from her cuts, coating her lips with blood. Chapter Two The warm air of the city night, heavy and putrid from the excesses of civilization, flowed around the sharp angles of his face. The need was upon him. He perched on the ledge, as motionless as stone the work around him, looking down at his city. His it was, for he was the most powerful. He was king and ruler, but not leader. His kind followed none, only their own needs and desires. Lavishing in the sensation of inhuman want that filled his being, he waited. Far below him moved the unknowing herd. By machine and by foot they travelled endlessly along their meaningless mortal way, unceasing in their instinctive banality. They knew nothing of their future, and comprehended nothing of their present. They knew not that they existed only for and by his pleasure. Spotting a couple walking into an alley, he began to move, still part of the night, as silent as the air and as quick as the wind. His herd became upset when one of their number was taken where all could see, so he always hunted in stealth, never letting one know when he would come, and never letting others see him kill. His name was Aleksandr, and he had ruled this city for a hundred years. He reveled in the sickness of his herd, for the farther they grew from self comprehension, from self preservation, the easier they fell to his power, and the more pleasing their deaths became. Young girls waiting on street corners for him to take them away, packs of children roaming the night, fighting with each other, not knowing what the night was, and not knowing from where they were watched. Hungry eyes followed them everywhere, from the parks where they turned to mindless zombies with chemicals, to the battle field streets where they left their number bleeding and mangled to be picked over by other worldly scavengers. The two he watched now from his high vantage embraced to begin their mating. This action never ceased to intrigue him, with its spectrum of customs and methods, a bodily function with so much significance for his cattle. One of his prey was there for gratification, the other was there simply for survival. The pleasure in Lex's eyes at observing this act of simple, unfruitful procreation made it obvious that his own hunger would wait until theirs was sated. The man looked at the hooker with mixed lust and contempt. She was street trash, a piece of garbage to be used and thrown away, like all the other ones he had fucked. He couldn't afford to do this often, but it was the only way to get off these days. She was a sick looking thing, her eyes were hollow and her lips chapped, her gartered thighs were pale and flabby, perhaps well muscled long ago. To her he was just another trick. If she let him fuck her, she could get more smack. She'd forget everything, his bad breath and his shitty smelling clothes, as soon as she got a fix. If she could get another trick tonight, maybe she could even eat something. His hands hurt her the way he grabbed her arms, calling her names and trying to get a rise out of her. She was distant and didn't care; he wasn't as bad as some guys. She started to say things back to him, automatic lines that she had learned long ago to get him to hurry up. The sooner he started, the sooner he'd be done. He pushed her against the wall, lifting up her short skirt to see what he was paying for. She didn't have on under pants, they would just have gotten in the way. She was wet enough from the trick she had turned less than an hour ago, but the hair and skin around her cunt was sticky from his load. He didn't care about this, he had always gotten sloppy seconds. He undid his pants and pulled out his cock, squeezing his balls, trying to get hard. He brought his hand down hard against her cheek. That helped some. Lex climbed down the building's wall, pausing to watch the man hit the woman. His blood lust rose on a painful crest. He could smell the flecks of blood that came away on the back of the man's hand. His eyes burned with his own passions when the man's engorged dick slammed into her box. Silently, he dropped down behind the pair. The girl was staring off into space, occasionally saying something to urge the man on. The thin line of blood running down her chin went unnoticed, except by Lex. Moving closer, as part of the shadows, he waited for the man to come. His own need for blood was rising beyond anything a human could ever feel, more intense than any sexual buildup. Suddenly the man let out a low moan. His shoulders tensed slightly and his head snapped back. The woman took this as a sign that she could leave now. Lex struck. Like a thrown knife he was on them. The woman's head was pushed back against the dirty brick wall, blood appearing magically like a halo around her skull. Fingers, talon like, gripped the man's throat, instantly crushing his wind pipe. His stiffened body was lifted effortlessly from the ground, its member still sticking out like some obscene snake striking. Before all of the life was gone from the body, Lex's free hand pulled the head to the side, sweaty flesh parting at the neck. He brought the wound to his mouth, its overpowering scent filling his nostrils and clouding his senses. Again, it was as the first time. Intense heat surged through his veins, opening his vessels and igniting his heart. As his own heart beat harder and faster, the one in the empty husk before him ceased its action. The last powerful force shot the sanguine, salty liquid into the air, splattering his clothes, covering his face and arms. His own manhood, as always, had come to life, pressing against his leg. He no longer felt like a creature of the grave, but once again as Master of his world. Nothing was beyond his will. He dropped the body and leapt into the air. Now for some fun. --