GOLD

Return of Rakshasa: The Impaler II

Written by Mr. K

Guitars. No. One guitar. One guitar whining, first softly, then more persistantly, then demanding to be heard as it pushed back the dark curtains in Gold’s head. It was only as the fingers of music, ragged and staggered as they were, that the gorgeous blond realized that she had been out like a light. She had been drugged, and beaten like a dog. Her ass had been filled with his cock, over and over. For some reason, he concentrated oh anal sex with her this time. Somewhere, in the midst of all of it ... and she wasn’t sure when ... but, she lost consciousness.

Now there was the guitar greeting her as she drifted back to consciousness. One poorly-played guitar in the next room. She groaned, humoring herself that this might be the worst torture of all. When she realized that Roadmaster was trying his hand at a Piston Thorn song ... one that he wrote about her ... she had to punctuate that groan with a stiffled laugh.


Roadmaster was singing Golden Lady.


She remembered sitting naked beside the bed on which she was bound a year ago. Tied spread-eagle, and gagged, she watched as he composed a song about the “night of sweet, sweaty romance” they had enjoyed the night before. Thorne was another man who was hell-bent on claiming her. Owning her.

Now her numbness was ebbing. She could feel the tigtness and pain of her hair pulled, twisted, and bound. She could feel the pain of being hung by her hair. Next, came her body’s memories of being stabbed through by the Impaler.

Impaler. Her thoughts went back to the three deaths that she experienced. The three mind-splitting orgasms. She was defeating him the first time, she recalled, as the guitar whined. She was about to end things for Impaler, when he tossed some dust into her face. It was timed perfectly, she inhaled, and Gold tumbled into a deep well of sex.

That first time, her mind drifted back to one of the fuckings Thorne had given her. She tried desperately to fight Impaler, but all she could do was grab, and squeeze, and knead her own breasts. Nipples hard, breasts swollen, vulva wet and streaming juice down her thighs, she remembered sucking his cock with relish.

When it happened for real, she was beaten, angry, and plotting her next move. When she remembered it under the effects of Impaler’s dust, she thrilled at the feeling of the big organ in her mouth, and his vicious grip on her thick hair.

She trembled with delight as she went back to the feeling of his strength and force, the athletic pumping of his hips, the power fo his big hands, and his smell. She squeezed her breasts, pushed and pinched them, licked her lips and thought about how womanly and feminine she felt under his control. Any recollection of rage at being violated by her enemy became a wistful recollection under the influence of Impaler’s drug.

Only once or twice before had Tracy, Gold’s alter ego worked herself to orgasm with her breasts alone. Now Gold trembled and screamed on her knees as she dug her fingers into her enflamed breasts.

That was when he impaled her the first time.

Hours later, they battled on the bridge. Again, she was winning. Again, she breathed in his dust. This time, she went back to Halloween - a perfect, cold, Halloween. As kids giggled their way through the streets below, Succubus held Gold captive. Perched on a the roof of an old, abandoned church, among the gargoyles, the gorgeous, red-headed woman craddled Gold’s head against her breasts. She was a lean, radiant woman in skin-tight red leather and high-heeled boots. With only a few blows she had polished off Gold. Now she held her like lover, pulling her tightly against her body, stroking her washboard abs with one hand, and cupping her right breast with the other. She smelled Gold’s hair.


“I love this night. I love the idea of the meeting of the dead and the living. Which would you like to be tonight, Gold?”


This time, Impaler watched as she laid down on her stomach, head turned to one side, and masturbated for all she was worth. This time the spear went through her, and pierced the superstructure of the bridge. He fed on her.

The last time, in the department store, the bone-tired golden heroine reeled with delight over her memories of the villainess named Vixen eating her pussy. On that department store bed, waves of joy swept over her, as each detail of the tongue lashing came back. She was wrapped in chains when it happened, and her cumming was heightened by the spasms and tiny explosions in her body. She felt pure joy as the murderer fell on her for a thrid time.

Gold was so lost in her thoughts about being mind-fucked and impaled, that she barely noticed Roadmaster enter the room, still abusing his guitar.


“Hey, this song reminds me of you, bitch,” he laughed.


She only watched him as the blond in pantyhose entered the room. Her breasts were swollen, her nipples hard. Her face glistened with Golden Bat’s vagina juices, and her hair was slicked back with it. Her face was placid, maybe a bit drunk.


“Ain’t you been fuckin’ this bitch,” she asked.


“Fucked her up the ass. I just working on this tune. Ahhhhh. YOU .... BEEN ... EATING .... PUSSY! I see you!”


They shared a laugh and a brief shoving match.


“How does the Bat taste?”


Pantyhose threw back her head and laughed.


“Young sweet stuff. She’s ...”

Suspeded by her hair, unable to follow the woman’s gaze, Gold watched as the sex-drenced fem stiffened and blanched. Her eyes were fixed on something in the corner, and as Roadmaster swung around, Gold knew that Impaler had entered the room.