A Night of Hunger
 

There was a slight chill in the air as the Countess got out of the back seat of her black stretch limousine and walked across O’Farrell Street to the long alleyway that led down to the entrance of the Red Lantern. The heels of her leather boots could be heard clicking loudly on the sidewalk in the quietness of the night. Her giant chauffeur, Dimitri, followed a few steps behind, his deep-set eyes sweeping the street for anything unusual that could pose a threat to his lovely mistress.

Since it was Halloween night, the Countess was decked out in tight black leather that had cost her a small fortune at a boutique in North Beach. She looked like every submissive man’s fantasy, wearing a long fur-lined leather coat that reached down to the top of her laced-up, knee-high boots. Underneath the coat was a skin-tight dress that accented the shapely curves of her voluptuous body and beneath the dress was nothing but a pair of thigh-high sheer black nylons with seams down the back. Even her elegant hands were sheathed in the most expensive black leather gloves that money could buy. In her left hand, she carried a rolled up, handcrafted bull whip that had cost over five hundred dollars to have made and had caressed many a slave’s back during her long years as a professional Dominatrix.

Heading down the poorly lit alleyway as if it were the Red Carpet on Oscar night, she watched the heavy metal door to the Red Lantern open for her. She was treated like royalty at the Red Lantern. In fact, the owner of the S&M lounge was one of her personal slaves and allowed her a certain number of liberties that she took full advantage of with each visit. As the Countess entered the dark interior, she nodded at the doorman as she and her chauffeur made their way through the crowd of eager perverts who’d gathered at the lounge tonight to witness her unique skills with a bull whip. She was a legend in the city’s underground S&M community, and almost every submissive man who laid eyes upon her wanted to be one of her slaves. In fact, that was the main reason she was at the Red Lantern tonight. She was hoping to find someone to take home with her after the demonstration was over.

The lounge itself was a large square-shaped building with a raised stage on one side, three-dozen round tables in the center, and an antique, L-shaped mahogany bar on the opposite side. Whenever the Countess appeared at the lounge, it was always jam-packed with true sadists and masochists from around the San Francisco Bay area. Tonight all the tables in the room, except for one, were occupied with three-to-four drinking customers, and the bar was filled to capacity with no standing room. Everyone was here to watch the Countess do her stuff. The male slave who was unfortunate enough to volunteer for her demonstration would usually end up having the flesh literally ripped from his back and buttocks, while the audience cheered her on.

Taking off her coat and giving it to Dimitri, the Countess watched him walk over to the one empty table in the far corner of the room and then take up a guarded position in the darkness. She then made her way between the tightly packed tables and stepped up to the stage to a round of loud applause from the audience.

“Happy Halloween,” she said, smiling wickedly at the familiar faces below her and in the far back. “As most of you already know, this evening is extremely special. It’s the one night of the year when women truly rule and men subjugate themselves to the feminine spirit. I intend to give you a show that won’t easily be forgotten in the weeks to come.”

Another round of clapping erupted and went on for almost a full minute.

“What masochist among you would like to volunteer for my demonstration tonight?” she said. “Who has the courage to suffer under the harsh touch of my whip?”

“You mean crazy, don’t you?” someone at the bar shouted.

Everyone laughed at the comment because a man did indeed have to be crazy to let the Countess whip him, unless he got off on severe pain and mutilation. She never pulled any punches when torturing a slave, nor did she allow the slave to have a safe word. Once a man was helplessly bound in front of her, she usually ended up marking him both physically and emotionally for the rest of his life. Still, a dozen hands went up into the air from men in the audience who seemed more than willing to suffer for her own personal pleasure. She eyed the eager sycophants and picked a young, handsome, muscled man, who was wearing a black leather vest, a codpiece, chaps, and work boots.

“What’s your name?” the Countess asked as the submissive came up onto the stage and stood nervously beside her.

“Stephen,” he said.

“You understand that this is to be a serious whipping, don’t you?” she said. “I won’t be holding back, and I won’t stop until I’ve accomplished my desired goal. Are you prepared for that?”

“Uh, what’s the intended goal?”

“To make you bleed, Stephen.”

He gave her an awkward smile and then nodded his head.

“Do you have medical insurance?”

“Yes,” he said, nodding his head. “Will I need to use it after your demonstration is over?”

“Yes, you will,” the Countess stated. She gazed into the audience with a raised eyebrow. “Is there anyone here who’ll be able to take him to the hospital after I’ve finished the whipping?”

“I’ll take him,” a man said from Stephen’s own table.

The Countess smiled with satisfaction and then turned back to Stephen and ordered him to strip. She then watched, as did the crowd, as he removed what few clothes he had on. When he took off the codpiece, the audience cheered in approval at the size of his cock.

It was huge.

“Would you like to get together afterwards?” he whispered to the Countess. “I promise you won’t be disappointed.”

“I intend on getting off while whipping you, Stephen. Besides, you won’t be having sex with anyone for a few weeks. Your backside will be in too much pain. Fucking will be the last thing on your mind.”

“Really?”

The Countess ignored the silly question and turned to the audience.

“I need two people to help prepare this foolish young man for my demonstration,” she said. “I promise you’ll be safe while on the stage with me.”

Everyone laughed at her little joke because it was known that she occasionally took aim at the assistants with her whip just for the fun of watching them jump.

Two men down in the front got up from their tables and climbed up onto the stage. The Countess directed them to lower the electric wrench on the left side and to fasten Stephen’s ankles to it with the thick leather ankle cuffs lying in the corner. She then told them to put the wrist cuffs around his hands and to lock them to the collapsible eye bolt in the stage flooring.

She wanted Stephen to be completely at her mercy. Of course, there would be no mercy shown to the young man with the huge penis and cocky attitude. In a short amount of time, he’d be crying uncontrollably and begging for someone to save him from her sadistic desires. He’d be screaming out in unbelievable pain, but no one would be paying the slightest bit of attention to him. In fact, the crowd of bloodthirsty people would be urging her on to whip him harder and faster, until the stage was covered with his bright red blood.

Once Stephen was hanging in the air by his ankles and his hands were locked in place to the swivel eye bolt in the floor, the Countess walked around him and ran her gloved hand teasingly up and down his naked body. His cock began to expand in length and width, causing a large number of people to gasp out loud in amazement. His erection was a sight to behold, but the Countess wasn’t impressed. She was more interested in the amount of blood filling it. Her hunger for nourishment began as she grabbed his cock by its head and held the monstrosity up for all to see.

“Should I suck it?” the Countess asked.

The unified response was a loud YEEESSSSSS!

Nodding her head at the answer, she sank her teeth into the pulsating vein that ran along the bottom of the large cock and began to drink greedily from it.

“Ahhhhh!” Stephen cried out.

He began to struggle wildly at the cuffs around his wrists, trying to get free as his penis was sucked in a manner never experienced before. He instinctively knew that something was wrong and it scared him.

“Somebody stop her!” he shouted.

As the Countess sucked his cock, the blood began to ooze out from the sides of her mouth and drip to the floor. The sight of it drove the roomful of people to a fever pitch of sexual excitement.

“SUCK IT!” they chanted like a mob gone crazy.

Loud, hungry, sucking sounds could be heard from the stage as the Countess drank from the slave’s sex organ. The strange thing is that Stephen’s cock remained fully erect during the entire feasting. When the Countess reached the point to where she was momentarily satisfied, she removed her incisors from his flesh and stepped back, smacking her lips like a happy child who’s just had an ice cream cone. She wiped her mouth with the back of her arm and watched as her saliva helped to seal the two puncture wounds on the young man’s erection.

“That was tasty,” she said, releasing his hard-on and watching as it stood out by itself, pointing wickedly at the audience.

“I want some!” a man yelled from the bar.

“Get your own cock,” the Countess said. She uncoiled her bull whip and flicked the end flap into the air with blinding speed, creating a loud snapping sound that caused several people to jump in their seats. “I’m not finished with this one by a long shot. The night is still young.”

“Whip him!” another person shouted from back in the corner where the restrooms were located. “I want to see some real blood!”

“Perhaps you’d like to take Stephen’s place?”

The audience roared with laughter when the guy didn’t respond.

“That’s what I thought,” the Countess said with a smirk on her face. She snapped her bull whip into the air again. “Show time.”

The Countess turned Stephen’s body around so that his backside was now facing the crowd of ecstatic spectators, making a circling motion with her hand that encompassed his buttocks and back. She then stepped several feet to the side of him and looked at the audience.

“How many strokes before he starts begging for mercy?” she asked.

“Three!” a man near the front said.

“Five!” someone yelled.

The Countess thought about the answers and then shook her head. “I think Stephen will last a lot longer than five,” she said.

“No way!” a dominant transvestite shouted from the bar.

A young, handsome man with soft brown eyes smiled up at her from the front row. He was wearing jeans, running shoes, a white T-shirt, and a black leather jacket. His hair was cut short, and he couldn’t have been more than twenty-one years of age, if that old. He had military written all over him.

“Ten,” he said.

Stepping close to the edge of the stage, the Countess looked down at him with acute interest, thinking that he looked like a real heart breaker.

“What’s your name,” she asked.

“Jeffrey.”

“Are you a soldier?”

“Yes, ma-am,” he said.

“I like a man with manners.”

“It’s the southern way.”

“Would you like to make a bet, Jeffrey?”

“What do I get if I win?” he asked.

“You get to have fun with me tonight.”

“What happens if I lose?”

“You have to be my personal slave for the entire evening,” she said. “I’ll expect you to do whatever I say.”

“Sounds like a win-win situation to me.”

“It is,” she lied.

“Then you’re on.”

“I don’t think Stephen will beg for mercy till after twelve lashes,” the Countess said, walking back over to her hanging victim. “Who wants to keep count?”

A local dominatrix sitting in the second row raised her hand.

The Countess moved around so that she could look at Stephen’s face. She squatted down beside him and said softly, “If you beg for mercy before the count of twelve, you won’t live to see the morning. Do you understand?”

“Uh, yes…Countess,” he said hesitantly, wondering what he'd gotten himself into.

“I thought you would.”

Standing back up, she stepped away from Stephen and stretched out her whip along the wooden floor. The first stroke was so fast that hardly anyone saw it. There was simply the flick of her wrist and then a sharp cracking sound of leather against flesh, followed by the slave’s agonizing scream.

The lady down in the front counted aloud One!

The second and third and fourth strokes came in quick succession, the whip flying through the air like an angry black mamba striking at its prey. Blood began to fall from Stephen’s body as long strips of flesh magically appeared, hanging from his tortured bottom and muscular back. Members of the audience began to count loudly with the lady in the second row, while others urged the Countess to stop playing around and to show them what a real whipping was like. She struck his buttocks three more times, then directed the end of the whip to his back again, really tearing into him and wanting him to feel the pain to very core of his being.

Stephen continued to scream out in agony, but he didn’t beg for mercy. The crowd of onlookers was certainly impressed with the young man’s endurance as the whip tore his back apart with five well-placed strokes.

When the lady in the front shouted out the number twelve to everyone, the Countess stopped the whipping and stared down at Jeffrey like a cat who has a mouse cornered.

“It looks like you belong to me tonight,” she said.

“Yes, it does,” he agreed, offering her smile of delight.

The Countess went back to whipping Stephen. She moved the instrument of torture up and down his backside, drawing blood with each carefully placed stroke. The slave immediately began to beg for mercy, but no one paid the slightest bit of attention to his whining. Everyone was more interested in seeing what the Countess could do to his body with her fear-inducing bull whip.

They weren’t disappointed, either.

Many of the people in the audience were sexually aroused and close to having a mental orgasm from the excitement of the whipping. It was therefore understandable when a number of them emitted a sigh of frustration as the Countess ended the demonstration and motioned for Jeffrey to follow her to the rear of the lounge. As the two volunteers lowered the unconscious slave to the stage, she stepped down to the main floor and took a meandering course between the tables, leading her “slave for the night” to the Women’s Restroom. It seemed that either people were staring blatantly at her in outright awe, or averting their eyes out some unconscious fear that was ingrained within their DNA for survival. The Countess moved past the empty table where her chauffeur was standing with the leather coat draped over his thick arm, making a slight hand gesture to him that meant he was to guard the restroom door while she and her slave were inside.

“Are we heading into the restroom?” Jeffrey said.

“Hush,” the Countess said, taking hold of his hand as she pushed open the door to the small dank room that smelled of dry urine and floor cleaner.

The Countess and Jeffrey entered the restroom and immediately saw a tall dominant leather-clad transvestite leaning against the dirty sink with his short skirt hiked up to his waist and his black pantyhose down around his ankles. A male submissive was kneeling before him, sucking the head of his erect penis like it was a cherry Popsicle. The transvestite was moaning with pleasure as the slave’s head bobbed up and down with a steady rhythm. As the Countess started to tell them to get out, the transvestite began to ejaculate inside the slave’s mouth, sending copious amounts of semen down his throat. The submissive swallowed diligently, wanting every drop of cum that was given to him.

“Get out!” the Countess suddenly said.

The transvestite jumped at the sound of the unexpected voice and shifted his attention to the entrance to the restroom. When he saw the Countess standing beside the door, he quickly pulled his cock out of the slave’s mouth, accidentally shooting a long stream of cum across the submissive man’s unshaven face. Then, pulling his pantyhose back up, the transvestite grabbed his cohort by the arm and led him out of the restroom like a fire alarm had just sounded.

The Countess saw Dimitri take a position by the door as the departing couple rushed out into the lounge area. She wasted no time in shoving Jeffrey across the room and into the tiny toilet stall. Leaving the stall door open, she ordered him to get down on his knees in front of the toilet and to place his head back on the lowered lid.

“Your wish is my command,” he said excitedly.

"We'll see," she said.

The Countess watched as he turned around so that his back was now facing the toilet. He then got down on his knees and leaned back, laying his head upon the plastic lid. She then lifted her dress up and straddled his face. Bracing her hands against the side walls of the toilet stall, she lowered her already wet pussy down to his grinning mouth and commanded him to eat it. Jeffrey couldn’t believe how hard his own cock was as he stuck the tip of his tongue up between the lose foils of flesh that covered the opening of her musky womanhood.

“Lick it good,” she ordered.

Jeffrey felt the weight of her body crushing his face as he stimulated her clitoris with the flickering motions of his tongue. She began to gradually move her bottom back and forth, moaning softly to herself like the transvestite had been doing. As the waves of ecstasy grew in intensity, the sound from her voice grew louder and the speed of her hips increased. Jeffrey could barely breathe as he kept his focus on satisfying her. When the orgasm finally arrived, the Countess cried out in a fit of mind-numbing pleasure, grinding the vortex of her shaking body against his still-moving tongue. The orgasm was long and arduous, and Jeffrey came close to suffocating more than once as she rode his face to completion satisfaction, leaving it soaking wet with the juices from her body. In time the sensations slowly subsided and the Countess was able to pull herself back together. Lifting her cunt off of Jeffrey’s red face, she stared down at him with an evil smile upon her face.

“That was wonderful,” she said. “Are you thirsty?”

The poor boy was too busy breathing in air through his nose and mouth to realize the true meaning of her question. Since his mouth was dry, he thought she was talking about getting him a bottle of water.

“Yes, I am,” he said.

“Then open your mouth nice and wide."

Jeffrey did as instructed and waited, wondering what she was up to. He found out a few seconds later as a heavy stream of urine gushed out of her and into his gaping mouth. The force of the flow was so strong that Jeffrey choked in a futile effort to swallow everything that entered his mouth. The Countess then shifted the direction of her piss and hit him squarely in the face, laughing at his bewildered expression.

“I’m going to have so much fun with you tonight,” she said.

When the last few drops of her urine hit his nose, she got off of him and stood there staring down at his handsome face. Jeffrey then blinked his eyes in rapid succession as she suddenly reached down and picked him up like a small child, lifting him high and slamming him hard against the back wall. He tried to struggle, but her grip was like a vise. She slammed Jeffrey against the wall a second time and third time, stunning him enough so that he stopped fighting. That was when she lowered him and then sank her incisors into the side of his neck. He let out a weak cry and then gave in to the attack, feeling the life force swiftly draining from his battered body.

The Countess drank her fill of Jeffrey’s blood. When she was finally satiated, she dropped him to the floor and went to the restroom door. She opened it a crack and whispered for Dimitri to come inside.

“Take my little toy out the back door,” she said. “Put him in the trunk of the car. I’ll be out in a minute.”

She bent over and pulled out the wallet in Jeffrey’s back pocket. While Dimitri picked the man up like a sack of fertilizer and threw him over his shoulder, the Countess went through the wallet out of sheer curiosity. She found his military ID card and saw that his name was Jeffrey Pasco and that he was stationed at the Presidio. Searching through the inside pockets of the wallet, she discovered a picture of him with a somewhat older gentleman. They both favored each other, so she thought the man was probably his brother. What really caught her attention, however, were the cold black eyes of the older man in the picture.

They were the eyes of a killer.

She couldn’t help but wonder if the older man would be as easy to subdue as Jeffrey had been. Her instincts told her that he’d probably be a challenge. That was something the Countess always enjoyed. She decided to keep the picture, but tossed the wallet into the tall trash can, thinking that she’d like to meet the older brother.

It was always a possibility.

Stranger things had happened in her long life.

Exiting the lounge through the back door that was located beside the restroom, she stepped into the alley that ran out to O’Farrell Street. Her chauffeur was almost to the car with Jeffrey hanging over his shoulder. Once Dimitri got them home, she would have her fun and games with the soldier, then her chauffeur would dispose of the body in either the Bay, or at the city's land fill. She would be on the lookout for the older man if by some chance he should come looking for his younger brother.

Yes, she’d definitely like to meet him.