Fit for A Doll

Dusty · Dusty Rose

Fit for A Doll

Dexter · Psychotic Snake

-When the sun was still an hour and a half from rising he could feel whatever fueled her body leaving in a rush that actually made his head tip back and look up at the ceiling as though he might be able to see this misty thing. Not much of a distraction though as he went back to his work. The vampire was laid out across one of the shops piercing chair as he sat in a stool beside her, manicure kit on one of the metal piercers trays. Boney fingers moved quickly filing the ends into a smooth rounded edge and cleaning out underneath the nails. Soon he would bathe her to remove the sand and stickiness from the salt water, but everything was in the details. Her hand lay in his as still as the dead and something about that made him smile. Sinister lips curling in an absentminded way. This one would be perfect.-

-The cap was screwed back on the top of a bottle of clear polish and he slid the cart away. Moving her hands so they were folded over her lap he settled her into his arms to carry her towards the bath room. There could have been others in the room, there quite frequently were these days. Lots of hormonal noise boxes flocking to his Queen. For the moment though he was so wrapped up in his own head that if they were around he didn't notice. The body was placed with care on the bed, leaving her to lay there while he went in and turned the water on, not bothering with any heat because she wouldn't be complaining, and the icy cold water would serve to lower her body temperature further which in his mind was not bad thing. Returning to the bedroom he lifted her up, hands working fastidiously at the buttons of her dress, careful not to damage the fabric because in his mind he still thought there might be a chance she would want it when she left. Not that any of the others had ever left. Pulling her out of her clothes he was careful to keep his eyes on her face, that lovely cherub like face that was part woman and still part child. It was hard to imagine that there could be anyone more beautiful in the world. Dual colored eyes never left that face as he carried her in and placed her in the tub, letting her head droop to the side until it rested on the edge of the bath. With a washcloth in one hand and a bar of Ogilvie Sisters Soap he kneeled beside the tub, the sleeves of his dress shirt rolled up to the elbows to keep them from getting wet. Bony hands worked with an eye for detail, scrubbing so hard at times that the skin beneath the cloth grew a bit red, which was an accomplishment since she hadn't fed any time recently. At the times where it was necessary to touch her some place more intimate he turned his head away, as though by not looking he was not really a part of what his hand was up to. Still everything had to be perfect, otherwise he would know, and if he knew then the pictures would never come out right.-

-The entire process was long. Nails to be done, bath to be taken, hair coiffed, clothed in the perfect costume, but when it was all finished and he had her laid out before him he couldn't have been more pleased. She was the perfect picture of a victorian doll. The truly masterful thing about a vampire was that he could walk away and leave her anytime during the daylight and she wouldn't move. It saved him from having to tie her up, a thing he abhorred doing because the ropes and bonds always left such unflattering marks on their lily white skin. Shane as always had everything already set up perfectly for him. The warehouse where the skate park was housed was part of a docking complex with many similar concrete blocked warehouses. One of these backed up to Shanes home, and she had bought it as well, bashing down part of the wall a metal door had been fitted and only Dexter and Shane possessed the keys to this magic kingdom. That was where his cage was, that was where he put his angel. Deep into a crypt of manmade stone, where screams could go unheard until the throat grew raw and bloodied from trying.-

-When she awoke and began to speak he flipped a switch and suddenly the room flooded with electric light, highlights and lowlights angled to perfectly compliment her features. Yes he quietened her with a motion from the comfortable arm chair he was sitting in with his sketch book, then he set down pad and pencil and stood. Reaching for something he moved towards the bars of the cage revealing what seemed to be just a normal coffee mug with a straw in it. Then the scent would hit her. Blood. Blessed coppery life filled that glass, his own as a matter of fact, drained from a slash up his thigh made by a silver scalpel.-

"Be a good girl, and I'll feed you. Just stand over there and hold the bars."

-The mug was set on the floor outside the bars so she could see it but not grab it. Waiting for her to give in to fate and do as he asked he moved back to his chair and sat, one leg curled beneath him with the pad resting on his knee. Patiently he stared at her, enjoying each pore, each line, each shade of her composition. When it had all soaked into him he began to sketch and draw. Bringing her to life in his DarkWorld. The latest edition of his comic book coming to life beneath his skilled hands.-

(more coming soon)

-- Edited by Dexter at 16:46, 2008-02-25

Dusty · Dusty Rose

-The room filled with light instantly. Butterfly blinks of her long lashes, to adjust clear blue eyes to the lights. She let her eyes follow his moments as he walked about. When he came closer, the metallic sweetness of blood hit her nose. It made the inner struggle harder to control. Glass blue eyes turned up to his features, before looking away. It was not that she found him unattractive or even attractive. She did not want to look his way.

"Be a good girl, and I'll feed you. Just stand over there and hold the bars."

Amazing blue hues turned in his direction again, catching site of the duo colored eyes. One so black, that Dusty could only think of the onyx stone, the other so white like fresh fallen snow.

It was only a moment, but she looked away instantly. Listening to his directions, she moved silently. Her little feet in those powder blue shoes, that completed her look of being forever between a woman and a child. Her body wasn't that of a full figured woman, and yet she had the beginning signs of one. Her face with smooth cheeks and the complexion so perfectly free of blemishes or any freckles. Small hands, with long fingers, made to play an interment, curled around the bars. She pressed her back to those silver bars as she bowed her head, the curls of her hair hitting her cheeks. Dusty could feel her fangs, feel them wanting to pierce into flesh to gain what she needed to survive.

The nod of her head was late to his demand. The hunger rode high, seeing the mug filled with what she needed. Eyes of blue fixed solely on that ceramic mug with the straw there taunting her. He had placed it out of reach and still she could see it, smell it. Fingers grew tighter on the silver bars. Lashes crunching to block the vision of blood, fresh just sitting there out of her reach. The smell, the knowledge of what it would taste like.

Fear was there as well. Dusty did not know what to do. What would he do to her? He had her in a cage, dressed like a doll. What worse could he do? Had he done while she slept? The smell of the soap had not hit her till now. He had bathed her. She remembered falling in the water. There was no scent of salt on her. What would he have done before taking her a bath? What could he have done after? During?

Blond head tilted upwards as she gave him her eyes. Lips parted as if she would ask him what he did, why was he doing this, what was he going to do with her. Nothing left her lips, no voice, no sound. One pink tear rolled from her right eye to leave a trail down her rounded little cheek.-

Dexter · Psychotic Snake

-Dexter liked to think of himself as an artist first and foremost. Above the glory of death was the miracle of creation, and what he did here was an act of perfect spiritual creation. A nirvana that he felt was his sacred right. A blessing given to him by some god who saw him for what he truly was. His angel was before him as he took those preliminary sketches, drawing her from that one angle as she stood carefully not looking at him. It made his heart race a little faster when a bloody tear tracked down her cheek. Something inside leapt at the glorious sight. It made his body feel light with heady need. Not a need for the dirty debaucheries of man, but a heavenly need for that innocence that came along with the tear. Bony fingers held the charcoal and quickly worked to capture that moment. To make sure that he didn't miss it.-

-The comic book was a bestseller all over the globe, especially in Japan. The darkness of it, the raw sensuality to the characters drew people to it. At the center of the world he had created was Dexter Dom, the selfsame name that he had given himself. This Dexter however was a hero, saving the dark kingdom by destroying the creatures of light who were determined to destroy it. He saw it as an ongoing manifesto. A realistic look into the world around him as he envisioned it. The consumerism driven by fear in society, corruption in the government, senseless greed leading to the death of freedom. This was a darkworld itself. All he did was add animation to it.-

-The drawings were finished and he stood once again, a tall man who had the face of a devil. Deformities hidden beneath layers of heavy make up meant to disguise and confuse those who might stare. Ironic that he hid from their judgemental eyes by making himself that much more odd. At least this way they were staring because of the make up and not because of him. Boney black dyed fingers moved up to loosen the knot of the black silk tie he was wearing. Dexter was dressed like a rich mortuary worker. All in black, tie, shirt, vest, and slacks. Each piece perfectly clean and pressed out of respect for his guest. To him that was what she was, a guest in his home. Fingers pinched the fabric of the slacks, pulling them up an inch as he crouched down to take hold of the mug and slide it across the floor to the bars where she could reach it. Standing again he stayed close to the bars to watch her drink. He had given her just enough to sustain her without actually giving her much strength.-

"I know you must be very honored, being immortalized in my work. I hope you won't make me regret my choice."

-His voice was soft, very nearly a whisper that people had to listen close to hear. It had never been his desire to bring focus on himself, so as a child he had learned to speak softly and keep to himself. Habits that had been the foundation of what he had become as an adult. Eyes of black and white watched his angel through her bars, thinking about how he would draw her next. Dexter had always wanted to have a vampire to play with. Their bodies were amazingly responsive, their healing powers more fine tuned than shifters. One bony hand reached out, through the bars. His skin was pale as marble, but those cold fingers had been dyed black from tip to knuckle. This what what he touched her with, brushing lightly over a spill of blood that had dribbled down her chin.-

"Careful. You'll mess up the dress I bought for you."

-Everything he said sounded rational. Polite even. If it weren't for the cage, and the way he looked at her with eyes that spoke of dark deeds then it might seem exactly like she was a visiting friend. Waiting for her to finish drinking he reached out to take the cup. It never occured to him that she might try to hurt him, not this angel born from the ocean and given to him like a covenant. She wasn't like the others, surely she wouldn't begin to make noise and cause him headaches. That was always the problem. They always screamed eventually, and he didn't understand it. Why would they scream when he was trying to honor them? -

-Taking the mug he moved calmly to a sink built into one wall. Water was turned on and he washed the mug carefully, making sure none of the red sticky fluid was stuck to it. A perfect white handtowel hung from the rack and with careful patience and an eye for detail he made sure the mug was dried before setting it aside on the drying rack.Once again the towel was hung up. Each movement made with a calm deliberateness. Turning to face her he gave a smile with those crimson painted lips, that deformed jaw splitting slightly with the smile, something he rarely let people see. It couldn't be helped though, she was so heavenly and such an inspirational muse.-

"If you're good I'll bring you something more filling next time. I hope you don't mind that it's human. I really prefer not to bring other lycanthropes around. They're quite dangerous and beastial you know. Not at all safe. I wouldn't want one of them to hurt you."

-Soft as a childs as he spoke and moved towards the door. Oblivious to how ridiculous it sounded for him to be concerned about her food hurting her when he was going to be exploiting her himself. In his mind what he did was spiritual and therefore not the same as what others might do. Looking back just one more time he watched her before fingers flipped off the lights, leaving the room in such total blackness that it could have been a universal abyss.-

"Sweet dreams angel."

Dusty · Dusty Rose

-The smell of the blood was taunting her. Dusty's mind filled with so many thoughts. So many things he could have done, would have done. They whirled in her skull, till she wanted to fall on her knees and weep. How had something like this happened to her? She attracted so many people. Why? Questions that held no answers.

"I know you must be very honored, being immortalized in my work. I hope you won't make me regret my choice."

His choice? His work? Dusty wanted to scream at him. Wanted to call out and tell him he never gave her a choice. He was crazy! Crazy to keep her in this cage to dress her up in such an outfit! He should be punished for this! Nothing parted her lips then. The blood was pushed to the edge of the cage.

Her movement was so quick. Dusty nearly tumbled to get to the white mug with the blood within it. Her hands trembled grabbing hold of it. She did not use the straw. Tipping the mug back to drink down the vitae. It didn't taste like that of a human's. It had another kick to it. Something stronger. Her heart jump started, kicking into a beating that was frantic as she felt.

Drops escaped her lips. When his dyed fingers came to touch her, she nearly recoiled.

"Careful. You'll mess up the dress I bought for you."

Her face stared at his own, with the amount innocent hate that Dusty could muster. Hate that turned to fear in an instant. He could reach through the bars and kill her if he wanted to. Her lower lip did tremble. Empty cup was removed from her fingers, and she sat on her rear staring at him. Legs were pulled up, arms wrapping around them as she bowed her head.

The lights were gone. The room fell into darkness. Dusty trembled not out of cold, but in fear. How was she going to get out of here? She didn't have someone she could call. Her powers weren't mature enough to use them. She was trapped, completely trapped.

"Just let me go. I don't want to be part of your work"

Dusty whispered. She didn't think he would hear.-

Dexter · Psychotic Snake

-He never touched her while she slept. Not like that. Not in the way that women often feared. Dexter did not have, had never had an interest in such things. It was all so messy and dirty that it didn't appeal to him. Also the deformities of his birth made it a difficult proposition with most women, and he found the crying, the noise to be something distracting and unattractive. So long ago he had given up things of that nature prefering to find his pleasure in the still cold bodies of death. It was the only time he felt peace, when surrounded by those dolls of death as he waited for the one. The one who would be his perfect angel. Up until now the options had eventually turned out to be disappointments. Never once did he lose hope. Instead he went upon his lifes work, his art, and waited for her to appear. Until then though he felt that he was safe, a gentleman who treated ladies in the manner that they deserved to be treated. So as Dusty died for the day he didn't sneak into her cage to do liscivious things to her, though he did from time to time draw her as she was cold. That however was for a divine purpose, not mere entertainment. -

-The comic was coming along, and he just knew this was to be one of his best ever. A graphic novel that would stun his critics and bring pleasure to his fans. The drawing things that would put James O'Barr to shame. That day he had worked furiously to be ready for when she awoke. His heart beat within his breast a hundred miles a minute as his excitement bubbled up. This was to be a glorious night. Together he and his angel would climb the stairs to the palace of excess together. Dexter hoped to look inside her, to see what she was made of, and know her better for it. Everyone wanted to be known, truly known by another human being. Tonight he could give her that, could unravel the tapestry of her existence and see.-

-The wheels on the contraption were a bit rusty, and made small squeaking sounds as he rolled it across the cold floor, one of them swiveled back and forth a bit like a busted grocery cart. It's aluminum tray top gleamed in the light, all the materials lovingly placed in proper order on top. Each of his pieces in perfect order, not one of them set at an angle, each and everyone was laid parallel in order from largest to smallest. The contraption was rolled up to the stand he had set up, and he crouched down to remove the largest of his tools from underneath the tray. It's metal jaws were closed, hooked together and waiting to be opened. When he stood his bony fingers worked the back latches of the device and watched as the jaws sprung open. The sound it made gave him pause to give a slow maniacal smile. His little angel would be so surprised at all the trouble he had gone through for her.-

-Taking hold of the drop cloth that was slung over the largest item in the room he pulled it down to reveal an oversized cross. The tall panel as thick as a human body. Shackles were built into the sides, and at the bottom where the feet belonged, all polished to a fine sheen. The stand was balanced by a steel rod in the back that was fitted into a hole in the concrete floor, every precaution taken to make sure that it would not fall down. That could be disastrous and might harm the dear girl. From within the black tool box he pulled a screwdriver and began the work of putting the open jaws onto the back of the cross where they could be clamped closed around a persons middle. From the breast pocket of his smoking jacket he pulled a simple silk hankerchief, rubbing lightly at the polished metal to make sure nothing dirty would touch her. Stepping back he surveyed his work and saw that it was good.-

-Inside the cage she slept, seemingly peaceful in her repose and it made him happy to know that she was so happy here in his care. Dexter had dressed comfortably for their session that night. Pants were black silk, loose and moving against his long legs almost like a skirt. The smoking jacket was a dark blood red velvet with black lapels and a black cravat. On it's own the outfit might have been a little Hugh Heffner for most tastes, but somehow he managed to make it dark and sinister. What kind of man wears bedroom clothes to do such business? Metal keys jangled as he pulled them off the walls ring where they hung, then again when he pushed the proper one into the lock and unlocked the door. He would go to her, would lift her into his arms carefully, gently, like she was the most precious thing in all the world. Moving slowly like he was in a sacred procession he carried her towards the cross, all the while bent down to coo in her ear. Soft comforting words like a father with his child. In his mind he was just such a protector. Liftng her out of the dull monotony of her life and giving her something worthwhile. Something special. Whether she appreciated it or not was another matter.-

-With great care he moved her until she was slung over his narrow shoulder so that he could crouch down and get her feet clasped in the shackles. In this position her feet would be a few inches from the floor, her body weight would press her ankles down into the shackles. Of course this would hurt her, possibly cut into the skin and make her bleed, but it was a necessary evil and he hoped that she would understand. For art to be great there had to be great sacrifice. LIfting her body up he balanced her with a hand on her stomach so that he could set first one and then the other wrist into the circles of the shackles. Stepping back he could see her there, her body hanging against the cross. Any moment she would wake, her heart would beat, and she would breath again. With anticipation he waited for that moment. So very eager to see her pleasure at this new game of theirs. No one could ever say that he was a bad host who left his guests unentertained.-

-- Edited by Dexter at 21:02, 2008-03-27

Dusty · Dusty Rose

Still and lifeless she slept in the cage she had been in almost three days, or was that four? A week? Hours? She had lost count, did not even know what day it was, or month for that matter. When he came into her cage, she did not know, did not feel. Death was true in this form of sleep. No animation of her body at all. This is when he had removed her from her cage. This is when he propped her against the contraption of his creation.

Head lolled to her left arm, resting there as if she planned it. In death she looked peaceful, a beautiful girl; forever 17. Slowly life returned. From where ever the soul went, or whatever gave her life again, came. The first breath came, in a gasp. Lashes fluttered to stare down at the man before her. From this height she could see her cage, the chart he had wheeled in. This seemed completely wrong. Hunger beat in Dusty's breast. Harsh demands of her body. The blood he had given her had not been enough. Head rolled from her arm to stare up that arm, up where her wrist was shackled to the pole. Shock did not come in yet. Oh no. She stared at her shackled wrist, fingers moving. A small smirk rolled across her lips. She turned her head from her left to her right and saw that her other arm was in the same position. A little sound came from her throat then. Something that sounded like a giggle or a cry.

Ankles started to ache. She would wiggle her right hands fingers. They worked. Why was she shackled? Looking down her body to her feet she saw them shackled as well. Hung like Jesus on the cross. She frowned lightly.

"Why am I like this?"

Calm the question was. So calm. Hunger rocked her body. Head ached. Dusty closed her eyes as she sighed. There wasn't a need to breathe. She hung there, head resting against the pole. It hit her then. She was strung up like Jesus on a cross. The thought made her giggle at first. Soft little child like giggles bubbled from her lips. The giggling soon turned to crying, tears tinted in red streaming down her cheeks. A cross between Jesus and the weeping Mother Mary.

The hunger, the hunger made her mad. She started to see. See things behind her eyes. Figures. Figures of dolls danced behind her eyes in a macabre fashion. So pretty. So bloody. So dead. Dead. Dead. Dead. The crying continued. Tears streaming like rivers of pink down her face.

"Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name. Thy Kingdom come, thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven. Give us this day our daily bread. And forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us. And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil. For the kingdom, the power and the glory are yours. Now and for ever. Amen."

The Lord's prayer fell from Dusty's lips in a whisper. Every word like a plea for help. She should have stayed with the church that night instead of looking at the ocean.

"Forgive me father for I have sinned. Forgive me for my faults, I am not as pure of heart as you, lord Father above...."

-- Edited by Dusty at 17:59, 2008-04-05

Dexter · Psychotic Snake

-That awakening made lips painted a deep messy crimson curl in a cheshire cat grin. Jaw parting slightly where the deformities pulled his mouth from smile to nightmare. Slowly he saw her change from lifeless body to living being, and it was a great thing to study. The R.E.M. of her glassy orbs beneath thin crepe paper lids. Fluttering of eyelashes and the raising of her chest in a breath that he knew was unnecessary for her kind. Still it was charming, watching that almost pre-pubescent chest rise and fall. A bony hand reached for the rusted cart and pulled it a few inches towards him, the wheels making a sick squeeling sound in the large open space. It echoed and bore down like a scream. Fingers long and white with the tips dyed black hovered over the items on the tray, moving from one instrument to the next and waiting for the right one to call to him, to feel the pull to it. Everything had to be done in the perfect way. Each job had it's own perfect tool.-

-Finally a small tingle went through his hand as it came to rest over a pair of steel surgical scissors, fingers curled around them. The heavy weight of the instrument comfortable in his hand. Steps were soft against the concrete floor as he moved towards her. Just under his breath he was humming softly. Hard to make out at first, but if the ear concentrated it could be heard to be Let's Get It On by Marvin Gaye to be sure. An odd choice. Hand rose slowly and he watched her try to squirm away, though she wouldn't get far. Her small body writhing against the hard metal back of the cross she was mounted on. No where to go. Fingers pinched the fabric at the neck of her dress in a careful almost soft way, lifting the fabric carefully away from her skin so as not to accidentally slip and cut her creamy white skin. It wouldn't do for her to get hurt on accident. Slowly he wedged the arm of the scissors into the neck of the dress and worked the levers so that they closed and the crisp sound of fabric being cut was heard even over the sudden religious torrent being spewed from her lips.-

"Shhh. It's alright. God is watching."

-Head nodded, making the light glint off the sleekness of dyed black hair, blue showing in it slightly like the pure black of a ravens wing. What he said was to make her feel comforted. God was a part of all great art. The Cistine Chapel, the mona lisa, howl. All things of beauty had the divine in them. Bringing that peace to Dusty made him happy. Crisp sounds as the scissors made their way down the front of her dress, cold steel sheers touching her skin lightly all the way down leaving a long chilled line against her skin. The thick muslin fabric curled back from that opening, and revealed pale flesh. He watched with an eye more for the sleek way the metal carved through the fabric than for the skin beneath. Coming to the end of the fabric he slid the scissors along to the end, then moved up to clip along the seam of each lacy sleeve. This opened up the dress and he could take a handful of the fabric and pull it out from behind her. Leaving her in the fresh white pair of panties and bra that had been put on her just a night before.-

-Scissors were placed back on the cart with a soft rattle. Then that hand did it's hovering dance yet again until it came to rest above a fine edged scalpel. The shiny blade glinted as he lifted it off the tray, every inch of the instrument perfect and polished. Dyed black fingers held it with such deftness that it was almost an extension of himself. It was a blade made for incising the chest cavity, shaped for just such an operation. Coming forward again his free hand touched the ridge at the bone of her sternum and stroked that spot once before letting his fingers slowly sink down the line of her stomach to her belly button. Nothing sexual in the motion, certainly not. This was not about those base desires. That hand moved to rest against the left ribcage as his right hand came up and he placed the point of the scalpel to that ridge of her sternum. Just at the last moment he looked into her eyes with his own dual colored orbs. In them was a delight like a child about to open his first Christmas gift.-

"You're going to look so beautiful when I've finished with you. You'll thank me when this is over."

-Leaning in he kissed her cheek with lips rough from the makeup that was caked on them. Leaving behind a red stain of lipstick that mingled with her own bloody tears. Then he pressed the tip of the scalpel into her flesh and felt it give way softly beneath him. Metal slid into smooth skin and there was a moment, as there always is, where nothing seems changed. Almost like he had pressed the knife into water. Then in the next second the skin pulls back from the metal on its own and bright red blood rose up to the surface. Tongue flickered at the air so that he could taste that essence being released. It tasted like himself, for he was the last one to feed her. His own taste mingled with hers and was a heady thing. Slowly he dragged the point of the scalpel down over the bulge of her ribs and then dug in deeper when he reached her stomach. Skin split apart like a cornucopia giving up it's bounty and blood splashed the concrete of the floor. Washing it's drab grey in perfect red bliss.-

-The hand on her ribs moved and one finger touched the beginning of that incision, trailing down along its wet slippery edges like some men might finger a womans pussy. Time was imperitive here though. She would heal quicker than most. He had to remember that. With the drag of the knife completeing a circuit to just a few inches above her bellybutton he stopped. It was low enough to give him the extra stretch that he wanted but not so low that her guts would begin to spill out before he wanted them to. So much to think about, so many little details. That was why most people didn't go to such lengths for their art, or so he believed. Pure laziness. Scalpel was set down beside the scissors, now dirtied by her, but he could forgive that for the joy of seeing her like this. With a quickness he took hold of the jaws that were attached to the cross. Using the gears on the side he began to close them by twisting a lever. It creaked and screached as it moved to close around her until it hugged her ribcage perfectly snug, like a comfortable sweater.-

-Hands moved from the crank gear and over to the lever at the back. Slowly so as not to go too far he began pulling the lever down notch by notch and as he did so the jaws tips pulled into that opening running from sternum to waist. Claws there were hooked just at the ribs. A perfect fit. Metal scraped bone with a strange sound that wasn't quite like anything else he had ever heard. It was like a symphony to him, yet still he hummed along to Marvin Gaye. Coming back around to the front his hands softly traced the lines of metal and flesh. Between each claw of the retractor touching the cool white skin beneath. Fingers moving like wriggling fish into her opening to make sure those claws were hooked securely over the spread of her ribs. Seeing that all was well he moved back to the gear crank and slowly began to twist it, this time in a counter clockwise direction. Minutely the jaws began to open once again and with each twist of the crank they scraped and tugged against the crest of her ribs. Bones held tight as they were pulled and seperated. For a split second he cranked and seemingly nothing happened then the air was split with a sound like a thunder clap as her ribcage cracked open and suddenly her chest cavity was revealed in all its glory. Punctuated by a thick wash of new blood that splashed down the front of him, marking the pale made up face of his with a spray of juice.-

-Stepping back he retreived a white hankercheif from the pocket of that smoking jacket and dabbed at that blood on his face. Cleaning himself up because it wouldn't do to look such a mess in front of this stunning creature. As an afterthought he leaned forward and dabbed at the blood that had splattered her face as well. Keeping both of them clean. That hankercheif was tossed onto the tray with his used tools. It was no longer useful to him now. The chair he had set out was a few mere feet from where she was set up and he took a seat with as calm a contenance as if he'd just poured out tea. Softly he spoke in the voice of a shy host.-

"I know you're hungry dear. I'm very sorry but I am sure you can see just what a waste feeding you would be at this point." -a hand motioned to the obvious waste of blood on the floor.- "So I'm afraid you'll simply have to endure until we finish."

-Bony fingers brushed at the silk of those pants as he crossed one leg over the other in an almost feminine way. Sketch pad was lifted and balanced on the length of his thigh as he pulled charcoals out and began with great care and reverance to sketch the beautiful demon hung up before him.-

Dusty · Dusty Rose

-With eyes closed, Dusty could not see. She did not see him pinch at the fabric of the dress she wore, nor did she see him cutting away the dress in a manner that would have told Dusty he had done this before. Each single lift and fall of the sissor the fabric underneath giving way with a sound like meat being cut into. So slowly so carefully. Eyes closed, the other senses took flight, soaring and allowing Dusty to hear, feel and smell what was happening to her.

If she could not see, she knew it wasn't happening. Behind her lids she was seeing other things, figures floating around in the abyss of her mind. The swirling lights one got from shutting their eyes to hard and too long. The smell of his flesh, sickly sweet. She could smell his skin, the soap he used, and above all underneath that white suface of make-up and dye he used, was the blood. Blood that could make this all stop. Yes, if she could only.

Lips parted to show her fangs, sharp and ready to break skin. The hand moved away. Her skin exposed and she felt the cooler air on her flesh.

"Shhh. It's alright. God is watching."

God was watching? Did he laugh? Did he cry? Did he smile down in glee? Dusty did believe God was watching. The fabric slipping away. Eyes parted, the room spun with the fading lights and glimmer. Down on his crown she could see his hair. Dark, a raven's wing with a shimmer catching the light. So pretty wasn't it? Yes, Dusty agreed it was pretty. Every little hair in a place and a place for every little hair.

"You're going to look so beautiful when I've finished with you. You'll thank me when this is over."

Thank him? Dusty's mouth was dry, but she would slowly nod her head. The words were stuck in her throat the moment his lips pressed to her smooth china doll cheek.

"Thank you."

Whispered words, nothing more. Until he started. She didn't scream, she didn't fight. Her eyes rolled back in her head, stealing a sharp gasp as she went tense. He was being so kind, wasn't he? So careful. Yes, yes he was. He was so sweet being so careful in his work.

Blood poured out of her, and she still made no cry. No, no more tears no sound. Her mind was blank. He was speaking wasn't he? She was moving, and all the world had turned dark. She fainted. Sweet Dreams.-

Dexter · Psychotic Snake

As she slept for the day he could see that now she was open. That through him she had been brought into the light of the Dark World, his world. Now she was free, it was her time of awakening. Sad really because now there was nothing for him to do but send her on to a place where her spiritual conception could become her spiritual reality. If he did not then his work would never be done. The Dark World was the only place where this would happen, but still he would miss her.

Pulling a starched white handkerchief from his pocket he dabbed at the bloody tears that had run in tracks down the paleness of her cheeks. Stains marred the pristine whiteness of the cloth and so he folded it and set it aside. Black dyed fingers reached for the lever again to disconnect the jaws that spread her ribs wide. With careful patience he tended to the angel in his care.

Bony fingers began an exploration of her chest cavity and the visceral emotions steeped by this activity were enough to make him sigh in pleasure. Such warmth inside as he pushed through the sticky mass of tissue. Muscles slid across the pads of his fingers as a symphony of sloppy wet sound sang out like a symphony in his mind. Dexters fingers touched the soft slickness of her heart, curling lovingly around that muscle until he gripped it entirely. For a moment as he held her heart in his hand he paused to lean forward and kiss her with dry cold lips.

Grip tightened and with a forceful pull he tore through muscles and ligaments that held that precious instrument in place. Ripping, tearing and when the heart was evicted from her body it came with a cascade of blood and tissue that fell to the floor with a splattering chorus. The sacred item was set aside on the very handkerchief he had put on the cart earlier. That piece would be a tithe to his Goddess. His Kadra. The Queen of his heart. Dustys physical vessel he would keep awhile for his own pleasure, but in the end Shane would have it all. That was only right.

Pressing icy hands to either side of her chest he pushed and heard bones grinding together as those ribs rejoined. Next he worked the silver shackles holding her in place until she fell limply into his arms. Her body so perfect that it cried out to be loved.

Vampires were such wondrous creatures. Within a mere hour he knew her body would stiffen and become as cold as his aching heart. Guided by that knowledge he used the time to his advantage. Cleaning the metal cross and his tools with an eye for detail. When he had finished all would be left immaculate. Not a drop of blood or glob of flesh would be left behind. Dexter was a creature of habit and this holy ritual had been performed for many tired souls. To cleanse them and help them on their journey to a better place while giving them immortality in his books. In the beginning when he had been young there had been close calls and mistakes, but he had learned his lessons and perfected his routine. A strong smell of bleach permeated the air and only the most keen of lycan senses would be able to tell what had come to pass in this shrine of redemption.

Work completed he felt justified in taking time to enjoy the fruits of his labor. There she lay within her cage just as he had left her. Hair spread across the pillow like a golden halo above her childlike face. Standing at the foot of the bed he looked down at her cold dead body and an erotic shiver ran through him. The sash of his smoking jacket was untied so that the thick velvet fabric could slide from his deathly pale frame and lie in a puddle at his bare feet. Thumbs hooked into the elastic waistband of those black silk pants and slid them down long legs. His body had already reacted to the sight of her and his shaft stood at attention rising from his in pale perfection. This he saw as another deformation just like his split jaws and scaled cheeks, things that kept him from being able to hide what he was the way the others could if they chose. His tool of desire was of monstrous proportions that had made sex with the living a near impossibility. He had tried once but there had been screaming. So much screaming.

Bony fingers reached out as he crawled onto the bed and hands like ice slid up the length of her thighs. Cupping them he delicately spread her stiff legs until he could see her hairless cunt. Fingers softly slid over that mound until he found her opening and they ran across pretty pink lips. Feeling that inner sanctuary. With her opened to him he pressed the thick head of himself against her. There was an initial moment of resistance as he began to probe inside her. Muscles stiff from rigor squeezed his oversized tip, but he continued. A surprise was in store as he gave a rough thrust. The feel of tissue breaking and blood from the puncturing of her hymen. She had truly been an angel saving herself for him.

Dexter took his pleasure from that sweet corpse and when he spilled his seed inside her he saw it as a blessing. It would be only the first of many such blessings over the next few days. Only when the body began to rot, turning soft and warm once again would he send her away. Cut into pieces, boneless, and skinless. He would let her be meat for the nest. In that way she would truly be one with him.

At the moment though he pressed his body to hers before withdrawing from that comforting tightness. Taller than her he was able to lay beside her with his chin resting on her head, arms holding her hard unmoving body against him as a lover should do. Girls liked to cuddle. Through that day and into the night he would sleep against her. It was peaceful. Only in the company of the dead did he find true rest. A way to make the nightmares go away and the screams subside.