The Artist



I was gaining strength, becoming whole again. It seems as though I’ve been trapped for more than a millennium but more likely it’s been a century. Most think hell is full of fire, demons running amok with pitchforks, looking for an opportunity to stick you in the ass. It’s not. Hell is empty, dark and cold. It’s an isolation that would drive a living mind insane. Fortunately for me, I have spent most of my time here without a living mind…the soul does not possess a mind or thought…but it does feel, and mine had existed in pain and darkness for decades.
I do belong here. I wasn’t wrongly accused. The orphanage that I worked for in life gave me ample victims. Snot-nose little brats that no one gave a fuck about. Throw-aways. As far as I was concerned, I was doing the world a favour, getting rid of the dirty little bastards…fucking little burdens on society. Oh hell yeah, I took pleasure in the pain and torture I inflicted, but really, that was just icing for the cake. You know, fair compensation for having to put up with the sniveling little sons of bitches in the first place.
As it happened, some of the fine and upstanding townsmen did not appreciate my service to them. When it was discovered exactly how these “unfortunate innocents” (fucking garbage of society) were “brutally murdered” (deserved what they got), they formed a “posse” (drunk, angry, blood-thirsty mob) and hunted me down. There was no law, no trial, no jury – they were fueled by disgust and vengeance. After raping and sodomizing me, they beat me to death and buried my bloody, unrecognizable body in a shallow unmarked grave.

Lynch MobSoon after my last breath, I did see the light. It was more beautiful than anything that I had experienced in life. It radiated from a group of pure souls, golden and silver in their sheen and shining brightly. I could feel the warmth radiating from it. I reached out for it but the light was not there for me. Before I could get anywhere near it, the sharp and powerful claws of hell ripped into me, pulling me down into the darkness, away from the light, locking me tightly into the burning cold for all these years. My black soul feeding the dark side of humanity as much as my dead body fed the worms, beetles and everything else in the immediate area of my rotting corpse that fed on dead things.
Then I found him. He drew me to him and I soon came to realize he was the one who could free me. A tortured soul who expressed his darkness in art. I found him in his dreams and seduced and infected his creative mind. Now with every stroke of his artist’s paintbrush I gained strength. My thoughts and memories were returning as were my lusts for sex and yes, for blood as well.
Knowing that he would release me, bring me back to love, my taste for blood was growing stronger each day and he was seeing me through his art. He did not know it but he was a lost soul and the only way he could tunnel this was through the art. The more dark he got the stronger I became. He will be drawing of the most beauty of places and fill then with children being beheaded or rip opened and apart by some animal. This made me happy and my lust grew more. The feeling unwilled me and the fire burning deep in-between my legs was electric. I so longed for him to kiss and touch me there bringing me to lust and wetting my much need of blood also.
I could feel his need and was showing myself to him. With each art he would dream of me walking around naked or standing in front of him bending over opening the crack of my bum to show him my moist pussy as I slowly fingered myself wetting his appetite for me and to paint more. To have me all for himself.
The man was a tall man but with a mind of death and torture. It was true to say that he did not have much to do with the outside world. In fact he would spend all his time, well most of it in darkness. He had a friend. The only one that he would see. This friend was an asshole and was happy to take full advantage of him – but for reason that he only knew, he let him. This friend would come each week and take the art, bring him any food that he needed etc….the art he would take, display them in a shop and make out they were his, taking all the glory and credit for pure talent. The man knew of this, hated him for it and always said that he would get his own back. But for him, he did not want to go out, to be known. He knew the outside as it was and it was not for him.
He would sit for hours reading books on how to get the demons from dark below. That’s how he found me and now the master has given me the power to get out and fulfill my death and lustful desire.  This man has a great power and now I will show myself to him
One dark night the man as usual would fill his mind with rage and begin to paint. This rage fed me and gave me all to come out.
Each painting he did I was there deep in the back ground. He could see that there was some kind of figure. This empowered him more to paint, to see what was going on. He knew that there was fire and hell and darkness happening and he wanted it more and more. A pure picture of me was given to him over 10 of pieces of his art. The man was becoming more in control not only in bringing out the most fucking vile of images of torture but he saw the love that was building so deep inside his dreams of her. Seeing her in his art was too much and for him now he could no longer control his love. I was taking his mind to the level with that he would drop his pants and with the pure delight of lust he wanked and jetted his spunk all over the picture. He continue to rub his hard cock all over the picture using it as a paint brush but unknown to him this gave me all that I needed to be free. The feeling was unreal and hit me with such force and the taste was divine. This was my opening to get out.

insane artistThe night we became one, I came to him in his dreams. He wore an executioner mask and in his hands he held a leather whip. His mind had me chained to the wall. The shackles that held my wrists and ankles were heavy rusted iron, the chains bolted to the cold brick wall that I was facing.
I was naked except for the black lace thong panty and black stiletto heels I was wearing. He stood behind me, his eyes taking in my white alabaster skin in such stark contrast to the black panty and shoes. He ran the handle of the whip down my spine, its pressure pushing my torso against the rough stone wall, scratching my bared belly and tits. The feel of the cold rough stone against my nipples combined with the smooth leather wrapped spine of the whip sent erotic chills through my entire body.
He grabbed my hair, pulling my head further to the side to whisper in my ear. He pressed his body close to me, the whip still between us, applying its pressure to my back. His erection planted firmly between my ass cheeks, rubbing himself up and down.
“How many?” he asked, his lips pressed tightly against my ear, his breath hot.
“Twenty,” I whispered back without hesitation.
He let go of my hair, ripped my panty from my body and stepped back. I heard the whip slice the air as he circled it around his head before sending its tip to trace itself violently across my back. I felt the leather slice through my skin, dressing me in my own blood.
“One!” he bellowed as the whip retreated to the orbit of his head before coming down upon my back again. This time the tip found a fresh mark. The pain was delicious. It had been so long that I felt any kind of physical pain or pleasure and I relished each searing white hot strike as it tore into my skin. The warm blood flowing down my back along with the heat of every new strike was pushing away the icy cold I had felt for long. My physical form was awakening in every sense and I felt a burning low in my belly as my blood continued to run in rivulets between my ass cheeks, covering my anus and slipping between the lips of my pussy like the hot, hungry tongue of a lover.
As he neared 20 strokes, I could feel the pattern his whip had painted on my back. This was not a dream. We were here together and he had drawn the gate from which I could enter his world from my own in angry red slices on my back. With the stroke of 20 he dropped the whip and rushed up behind me again. This time, he didn’t bother with the foreplay of rubbing his erection against me but drove it forcibly deep into my slick waiting cunt. His sweat stung as it seeped into the wounds on my back while the force from his driving thrusts shredded the skin on the front of my torso on the rough stone wall I was chained to.
The pain of his torture upon me was my fuel. I screamed my orgasm as my spasming pussy clamped tightly around his throbbing cock and my juices covered him. He pulled away from me, pulling me backward away from the wall so his hands could grasp my tits. Squeezing tightly and biting my shoulder he entered me again. Only this time he had decided to use the backdoor for his grand entrance. The blood still pouring from my wounds lubricated his huge hard cock as it invaded my ass. His hips pounded against my cheeks hard and fast as his lips moved to my ear to cruelly whisper in my ear, “You’re a fucking dirty slut. You like that, don’t you bitch?”
His hips stopped in mid-stoke when I responded with a low throated chuckle. “Yes, my love, I do,” I laughed. My right arm yanked the chain holding it against the wall and the bolt broke, the head of it flying back and embedding itself in the stone of the opposite wall. He staggered back in shock as I repeated the action with my left hand and each of my feet and turned to face him. He stood frozen in place as I approached him, the chains dangling from the shackles on my wrists and dragging from the iron bands around my ankles like some new goth jewelry fad.

blood-pentagram“You brought me to the portal, you provided the gate,” I whispered feeling the pentagram burning on my back as I wrapped myself around him. My arms circled around his neck, the chains lightly tapping his back. “You are the chosen one.” I finished as my legs wrapped around his hips and I lowered myself onto his still erect cock. I covered his mouth with my own. With every breath he took, he breathed me in. I fucked him as he took more and more of my essence into him through his life breath. When he finally came, I had been completely absorbed and the chains clanked loudly empty to the floor as he shot his jism into thin air.
He awoke in his bed, covered in sweat. He shook his head, his eyes blinking in the bright sun that filled the room, the dream of her still vivid in his mind. He heart, already beating fast quickened it pace to frightening levels when he looked down and saw his body covered in blood and his own cum.
“It’s okay baby,” I whispered from inside his mind. “You are not alone anymore, darling. I’m here with you…yours forever.” I proved it by taking control of his hand and reached for his balls giving a gentle squeeze before moving up and stroking his cock. His breath hitched with excitement as his panic abated and his heart beat wildly with a whole other kind of excitement.

Our fun was interrupted by the loud buzzing of the doorbell. “It’s the asshole,” his mind told me.  I stand corrected. Our fun was just about to begin……


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