Disclaimer: This is an original and copyrighted work, and all legalities apply. Do not reproduce, archive, or excerpt without the author's permission.
Notes: Callie is mainly a Siren, but apparantly there's a little succubus in her bloodlines, too.
Warnings: Graphic revenge sex
by Fannie Feazell (Scribe)
Kirk carefully closed the door after himself and stood for a moment, getting used to the dark. He was in the hall, and there was only a faint moonlight filtering through curtains in the front room to his right, and the kitchen to his left. He made his way to the stairs and gazed up to the landing. He could just make out a glow on the right hand side--that had to be Callie's room. At first he wondered when she'd had the electricity turned back on, then realized that it must be a lamp. Old man Constance would never have paid to have the place wired. So much the better. A lamp would be great for starting an 'accidental' fire to cover up his crime. With any luck there'd be no evidence, and if there was... Hell, an abandoned place like this was a magnet for punk kids and lowlifes. There'd be plenty of suspects.
He folded the knife and put it back in his pocket. It would be there later if he wanted it, but first he wanted to get his hands on Callie--right on her, laying bruises. He eased up the stairs, going breathlessly slow. It seemed to take forever to reach the landing. Then he crept down to where the light glimmered faintly under a closed door. He laid his hand on the knob and hesitated. Surprise, or stealth? Surprise might be safer, but he wanted to savor the look on her face when she realized it was him. He eased the door open and stepped in.
The yellowish light was being thrown by an old, dusty hurricane lamp sitting on the dresser. There was an old rocking chair sitting beside the bed, and Callie was sitting in it, rocking slowly. She didn't even stop when she saw him, but said calmly, "Well, you took your time."
Kirk was astonished by her lack of reaction, but decided she hadn't yet grasped what deep trouble she was in. He shut the door after himself, then said, "You don't recognize me, do you?"
She waved a hand, dismissing his theory. "As if I wouldn't know you. I know you recognize me, Kirk Clarkson, and I'm a site more changed than you with this..." she touched her hair, "mop. You..." she cocked her head. "There's less of it, isn't there?"
"Shut up!" growled Kirk. "I'm not here to chat."
"No, I expect not. You never were one for talking, except to give orders or make fun. What will it be now? As if I didn't know."
"That's right. You're going to do exactly as I say, if you want to live."
Now her eyebrows lifted. "I'll admit that surprises me a little. I expected you'd want to spend some time gloating and tormenting before you moved up to out-and-out threats."
He took a step toward her. "Callie, I don't think you understand what's happening here."
"Oh, I do--probably better than you. Why do you think I came out here, all on my lonesome, when I knew you were still in town? Believe me, the townfolk have been eager enough to warn me about you We're both here for the same reason, Kirk--this has to end."
"Yes! One more time, to get your poison out of my system."
"And yours out of mine." She stood up, and he took a step back. "What's wrong, Kirk? Going shy now?"
He pulled out his knife, fumbling it open and holding it toward her. "Stand still."
"But why? Surely you don't believe I can hurt big, strong you? Not simple, weak, pathetic little Callie. No, I'm trying to make it easy for you." She came another step closer. Her scent hit him, and he found the knife wavering. She smelled of warmth, salt, and some sort of sweet musk. Her voice was low and sing-song. "Isn't this what you really wanted, way back then? You wanted me... to want you. You wanted me to offer myself freely, just once."
"Are you doing that now?"
"Yes. If you walk away you can spend the rest of your life wondering, and regretting. If you take me one last time--it's over. Really over, Kirk--for both of us. What do you want?" The scent was surging through him, lighting his blood, and her voice seemed to send a low electric charge through his body. He reached out and used the knife to cut two buttons off her dress, then moved the material aside with the blade and touched its tip to the pale skin at the base of her throat. "I see. So be it."
She stepped backward. The dimple where the knife had rested too a second to fade, but it didn't bleed. She turned and shished the sheet off the bed, dust flying, then sat on the edge of the mattress. Looking up at him she said flatly. "Do what you have to do, Kirk, and I'll do what I must."
He leapt on her with a snarl, slamming her shoulders back against the bed. He thrust the knife into the mattress a scant distance from her face and said, "Reach for that and I'll use it to gut you."
"I don't need a knife," she whispered.
"Damn straight. You'd need a gun or an army to get out of what you have coming, bitch." He straddled her legs, then jerked her dress up around her waist. "I knew you weren't wearing a girdle, slut. Hell, I'm surprised you wear panties. I'd have thought your stud would want you open and ready all the time."
Callie frowned. "I'd forgotten--you could always talk if it was to be crude or vulgar. Your grudge is with me, Kirk. Leave him out of it."
"Maybe." Kirk tore at her underwear. "Tell you what--you be real nice to me, and I'll consider leaving him alone."
"You WILL leave him a lone." He froze as she smiled slowly. "After this you'll be beyond wanting revenge."
He reached out and touched the knife. "Would you be willing to let me cut your face for that promise?"
"Yes, even though we both know you don't keep promises. You're wasting time. I told him I wouldn't be long."
"Bitch." He fumbled his pants open and fell on her, hand digging between there bodies to feel his way. He thought he heard her sigh, but it must have been a sob. Then he felt her hand guiding him. She really did believe that she could give him a free fuck and he'd forget everything. He decided he'd cut her good before he killed her. But that was for later. Right now...
Kirk groaned in satisfaction as he sank into her body. It had been so long. No woman had wanted anything to do with him after Callie. He'd had to buy his sex, and after old man Chauvan cut his balls off financially, there wasn't much money for that. He reveled in the familiar grip, and immediately began to pound into her with all his strength. If he was lucky he might manage a second time before he did away with her--or after. Kirk wasn't picky about that.
But he soon realized that this wasn't the familiar routine. Callie wasn't struggling, but she wasn't lying limp, trying to ignore him either. Those had been her two tactics. This time she wasn't exactly welcoming him, or participating. It was as if she were enduring something mildly unpleasant, but of great interest. He increased the force of his lunges to punish her.
She began moving up to meet him, and he had a moment of smug triumph. He'd known all along that this would happen some day. It was better like this, so much better. This was what he'd deserved all those other times. He was startled when he felt her hook her feet over his lower legs, but took it as a sign of encouragement and bent to kiss her. She turned her head away. Enraged at the fresh rejection he slapped her. Her head was jerked to the side by the blow, but when she looked back at him... she was smiling. There was blood on her mouth, and she smiled.
Suddenly she grabbed his shoulders, and her legs tightened--her body tightened. She twisted violently, and Kirk found himself beneath her, still embedded. Callie sat up, evading his grasp, reached down, and ripped his shirt open. For a moment he went still, bewildered. She wasn't supposed to be the aggressor. Her hands settled on his chest, and her short, sensible nails scratched at his nipples, which were suddenly rock hard. This would do fine. He grabbed her hips and thrust upward.
She started to ride him. He'd always wanted Lalique to do this for him, but she'd been embarrassed by the very idea. He reached up to rip Callie's dress again, intending to strip her to the waist, but she batted his hands aside briskly. She grabbed his wrists and forced his hands down on her hips, never stopping her rhythm. "You don't need that, and I can't afford to have a dress ruined if I can help it."
He aimed another slap for her face, figuring he was going to have to start the beating sooner than he'd intended. She jerked back, and he missed. She hadn't lost her seat, and suddenly... it changed. Her body clamped down on him like a vice, making him yelp with the slightly painful pleasure. While he was processing this, panting, she put her hands in her hair, jerking loose the pins. It flowed, and she shook her head. The hair fell across her face and she gazed at him through the shimmering curtain, green eyes blazing. Kirk gaped, and she said, "Don't give up now, Kirk."
She started to rise and fall again, and he couldn't help but follow. He was feverish now, and felt that he'd die if he didn't finish. Then to hell with a second time. He'd throttle her, or maybe stab her ten or twelve times, then set the place on fire and run till she was nothing but a bad memory. As it went on he decided to hell with finishing--he'd just kill her now. His head was throbbing with each pulse of blood, like it was going to explode, and he was having to struggle for breath. Her hands were at his chest again, and this time she gripped, like she was kneading dough. Two years ago she wouldn't have been able to get a hold, because his muscles had been solid, but he'd let himself get soft.
She threw her head back, and her hands, and her body squeezed. Kirk howled in pained surprised. It hurt. It felt like she was trying to pinch his cock off, and she was going to leave bruises on his chest. That wasn't the worst of it, though. It felt like some part of him was EMPTYING into her, being drained away. He felt suddenly weaker, his head buzzing. "Stop it. I'm through with you."
"But I'm not through with you." She leaned back, her body arching, but still kept her grip. There was another hideous emptying sensation, and Kirk's sight blurred for a moment.
He tried to strike at her weakly. "What are you doing? What are you?"
She laughed. "Just someone you did dirty. More than dirty--filthy. But you're right--I'm a what, not a who. When I went away I found out what I am. I'm a Siren. I could have sung you into cutting your own throat, but that wouldn't have satisfied me--much too quick. I figured out what I wanted to do about a year ago, when I learned the second part of my nature. I'm part succubus, too. I was so worried I'd hurt Dmitri, but it's a discretionary power. I have to WANT to hurt someone, and I want to hurt you, Kirk. You're going to die now."
"NO! For God's sake, Callie, no! You want me to beg, I'll beg." She only increased her pace, and he started whimpering and babbling. "I apologize. I was a shit, I admit it. I can make it up to you. Let me make it up to you. I'll get you money. I'll rob a bank, or I could kidnap Lalique and get her daddy to pay." Callie moved faster, and he wailed, "What do you want?"
"I want back my innocense. I want all the years you stole from me. I want to erase all the pain you caused, all the despare. There's only one way you can do that for me, Kirk. She grabbed his head firmly, tangling her fingers in his thinning hair, and screamed, "I want my life back, you son of a bitch! Give it to me!"
She lunged down and kissed him. Kirk kept struggling, but he was growing weaker by the second. He felt like he was shriveling, being drained of every scrap of vitality. She followed his every twitch, keeping her mouth jammed against his. Her eyes were open, glaring into his own, and Kirk wondered why he'd never seen the darkness in that bright green. He felt as if he were being drawn up ward, up and out.
Callie felt Kirk jerk hard, and tightened her grip. He shuddered once, twice, then went still. She held her position for a moment. At last she felt the last tiny flicker of life, the last spark of Kirk's damaged soul, wink out, and she sat back up, gazing down at him. She cocked her head, curious. She'd never used this power before, and she hadn't been entirely certain how it wouild work. The Chancers had assured her that it would come naturally, and it had.
She regarded her former tormentor. "Oh, Kirk," she whispered, "You are the worse for wear." Kirk was only approaching his late twenties, but he looked at least forty years older. What was left of his hair was already falling away from his naked scalp. His face was a canvas of deep wrinkles and blotchy age spots. He seemed to have shrunken, looking much smaller than the hearty young man who'd made girls swoon in high school. In fact, he looked fragile. His clothing bagged on a shrunken frame. He reminded Callie of the remains of a once fat fly in a spider web.
She climbed off him, noting absently that he was now flaccid. He hadn't been able to go soft during their intercourse, no matter how much he had wished it. She pulled off his shirt and unsed it to clean herself, then found the buttons he'd cut off her dress. She turned up her hem and unfastened a couple of safety pins, then used them to fix her dress. The hairpins weren't as easy to find, so she just finger combed her hair into some sort of order. Finally she took a last look at Kirk, considering shutting his eyes, or closing his pants. Instead she blew out the lamp and left him as he was.
She tried to decide if she should break a window to hint at a break in, but noticed that Kirk had jimmied the lock. So much the better. When someone came to clean the house they'd note that it had been unlocked, and when they found Kirk upstairs. That was the only part of this that gave her any guilt. She hoped it would be Sheriff Marshal who found him, checking up before sending someone in to clean. She hated to think about what finding such an object would do to a woman. Probably frighten her into fits.
The night was beautifully clear, and she took her time strolling home. The carnival was dark and silent when she arrived. She saw the glow of YaYa's pipe as she approached her wagon. The old woman said nothing, but gave Callie a questioning look. Callie went to her, putting a hand gently on her shoulder, and kissed her cheek. YaYa nodded, and hugged her. Then the gypsy stood up with a grunt and began to climb into her wagon.
Callie went on. She knew that there were probably eyes watching her from the shadows, but no one was going to intrude. They knew if she wanted to talk, she would. If she didn't want to... Everyone had secrets.
She came to her trailer, opened the door, and stepped in calling, "Dmitri! What have I told you about locking the door? I know you don't have to worry about the Chancers, but glory--there's all kinds of dangerous stuff out there, and now that we..."
He called from the back of the trailer. "Yeah, yeah, I know, Mama. I wasn't sure if you'd taken your key, and I knew I might not be able to get up to let you in without a lot of fuss."
Callie walked back, stopping in the door to their bedroom, and smiled. "Oh, I see. Playing mattress again?" He was sitting on the bed, back against the headboard. A dark haired baby girl was lying on his thighs, gazing up at him. When she heard Callie she turned her wobbly head and gave a wide, toothless grin. "Why isn't she in bed?"
"She's not sleepy. We've been keeping each other company."
"That child is going to rule you, Dmitri. Give her here." He lifted the baby to Callie, and she went eagerly. "Hello, sweetie. Mommy's not a soft touch, like Daddy, so you're going to bed now. Let's check to see if you need changing." Callie lifted up the back of the baby's gown and tucked an experimental finger in her diaper. The child wiggled, and the tiny black tail sticking out of the slit in her diaper flicked. "You seem to be..." There was a wet, blatting sound. Dmitri guffawed while Callie gasped, "Delia Amaranth Rose Kouros! You did that on purpose, didn't you, Dark?" Dark put a fist in her mouth and sucked on it, looking at Callie with wide, innocent green eyes. "Oh, you."
Dmitri followed Callie into the tiny spare room, and watched while she cleaned and changed Delia, then settled her in her crib. The baby started to fuss, but Callie sang to her softly. "Jesus loves the little children. All the children of the world. Red and yellow, black and white, they are precious in his sight. Jesus loves the little children of the world." The little girl's eyes flutter as she sang, then stayed shut, and her tiny chest rose and fell peacefully.
Callie stood staring down at the baby she'd made with Dmitri. She could take life, but she could give it, too. Dmitri moved up beside her, putting an arm around her waist and resting his chin on her shoulder. Not looking at her, but keeping his eyes fixed on the baby, he said, "It's over?"
"Yes," she said simply.
...but not entirely. I
hope to write more stories in the Last Chance Traveling Show world