A black velvet painting sprung to elegant life
Like a poignant Madonna perverted to night
And I have ridden from the westering light
To expend my lust
Verse from “Dusk and Her Embrace” from the album “Dusk…and Her Embrace” by Cradle of Filth
As the last light of day finally bleeds from the sky, Reign emerges tall and silent from beneath a weeping willow in the Church of St Mary Magdalene graveyard. He tightens his fist around the picture in his hand, feeling the crumpled canvas become wet from the cuts his sharp nails open the skin of his palm. His nose is pinched, his lips thinned, and his eyebrows are drawn together in his irritation. These mausoleum doors should be open. She should have made it so. She should understand what it is to make someone like him wait.
As if she had been waiting for the impatient breath he just forced from his nostrils, the door soundlessly inches open. Reign has it in him to stand right where he is and make her wait. In fact, he has it in him to turn around and leave. It matters not that he allowed himself to be hounded by the sun for thousands of miles to get here.
Gazing at the inky space behind the open door, he taps his cane against the cover stone beneath his feet. The sudden clicking startles a murder of crows to flight. They circle above the mausoleum, casting their terrible song into the falling night, but they don’t stray far from their master.
Opening his fist, Reign removes his thin-rimmed sunglasses and considers the image in his hand. His will works on more or less everything, except for the cock in his pants. Though he tries to make it remain dormant, it swells regardless. It keeps growing until he has to squeeze his buttocks and tighten his thighs to stop himself from grinding against nothing.
Damn this little harridan. If it weren’t for the ache she’d given him he’d have abandoned this mad pursuit. But ache he does and not even a thousand anonymous fucks could soothe him. Not even a thousand willing victims could quench his thirst.
Reign smooths the black velvet lapels of his frock coat, throws his sunglasses and the picture to the crows, then is quickly engulfed by the darkness inside the marble tomb. Just a few blinks later he can see everything. Three stone sarcophagi, each caked with melted wax, semen, and blood. An iron candelabra covered in gauzy spiderwebs. A pile of human skulls, eight bats, a snake, and an arched opening flanked by two unlit candles on inverted cross sconces.
Sweet girl. Isn’t she a parody.
Another blink and he’s at the bottom of the stairs. He can smell her. Immediately, knows her from the scent of her blood. A once gentle creature taught to embrace the darkness by the men who wanted to own her light. They made her bitter and lustful. A paradox. Hungry for domination while simultaneously consumed by the need to be loved by someone who is more than her.
Reign is more than her. He knows this. If she’s as clever as she believes she is, she knows it, too. He stares at the beauty in the black velvet dress. Cruel eyes, ebony locks, skin almost as pale as he himself. Her tits are full, her cunt, just visible through a slit in her skirts, shrouded by a tidy thatch of hair. Any minute now she’ll kneel.
But she doesn’t kneel. She just stands there, offering but not giving. Waiting for Reign to take. He won’t take a fucking thing from her. He. Is. More. She will kneel.
They stand and stare, neither willing to surrender. His cock gets harder and her cunt gets wetter, but still, they wait. She tilts her head and whispers one word. “Reign.”
Reign’s jaw twitches. Did she just say his name, or had she given him a command? He runs his tongue over his aching gums. Everything about her says fuck me. From the heaviness of her eyelids to the exaggerated rise and fall of her chest, her body is beckoning to him. Going to her would be submission. Giving in to this beautiful, wicked thing would be an act of weakness, he must wait until she comes to him.
So, he tilts his head, mirroring her stance, and whispers back, “Libertina.”
Oh, her smile! If Lilith herself ascended from Hell she would pale in insignificance in comparison, and to a woman who wasn’t even one of her own creations. How furious she would be.
Libertina’s smile fades, her features rearrange themselves into a look of uncertainty. Her eyes dart and she wets her lips. Reign visualises her tongue trailing down his abdomen, her hair on his thighs, her lips on his cock. For the first time since entering the mausoleum, he sucks in a deep breath. Someone like him shouldn’t feel the need to breathe more than once in any given day so that small action betrays him.
Libertina’s smile returns tenfold. Stroking her right hand over her hip, skimming her ribs, cupping her tit roughly in her hand, she sticks out her tongue. When she flicks the tip over her nipple, Reign feels it in his groin. His cock throbs at the sight of smudged red lipstick. But still, he doesn’t move.
What will she do now?
One finger reaches up to trace a crescent on the fleshiest part of her tit. Reign smells it before he sees it. The tang of fresh blood saturated with desire and promise. When he sees the red beads ooze from the cut she made with her fingernail he can’t stop himself. In less than a breath, he’s across the room, taking her face in his hands, biting down on her lip and drinking her kiss.
Libertina’s moans aren’t born of eroticism. Even as Reign dips his head to suck her nipples and lap at rivulets of blood, he knows. Even as he drops to his knees, hooks her leg over his shoulder and parts her folds, he understands. Her moans are born of triumph.
Here he is, an ancient one, a powerful one, submitting to a human woman. She buries her hands in his hair as his lips wrap around her clit. Holds his head steady so she can rub her juices all over his face. Reign wants to hate this, to hate her, but he can’t. He’s too busy devouring her cunt, working his fingers inside, sucking and eating until he rips the first orgasm from her body.
As she comes, he moves his face to her thigh and bites. Her knees fail, but Reign catches her, takes her to the floor, cries out when she suddenly regains her strength and pushes him onto his back.
His pants are around his ankles and Libertina has his cock in her hand. She licks the tip. Presses the length against his stomach and hovers her lips over his balls.
“You’re not the one,” she tells him. “I thought you would be strong enough, but you’re not. Just look at how you quickly you gave in to me.”
Reign wonders if it’s possible for him to die twice when she sucks one ball, then the other, into her mouth. She rolls them around her tongue, lets them pop out again one by one as soon as he starts to groan.
“What now?” he asks, accepting that he isn’t… that he never was in control.
Her mouth is so close to the head of his cock he can feel her breaths drying his precum. She looks down at it, smiles, rubs the bead in with her thumb, then meets Reign’s eyes. “You’ve fed from me,” she says. “So, now, I’m going to feed from you.”