Helena's Turning

Helena's Turning

Part 1

Helena Woodcotte was always careful when she went out for a night on the town, always making sure she had a good crowd of friends with her in the more dangerous parts of town. She carried a rape alarm and a small stick that could be used against an attacker in her handbag. She made sure that she knew exactly what she was drinking, and she never went home with strange men.

So how had she come to be here, in a strange man's home, completely within his power, and without a moment's thought or hesitation? Why had she so completely dropped her guard and let herself be brought out of the reach of safety and support?

She knew that she had done everything wrong in coming here. She hadn't even told her friends where she was going or with whom as she left the nightclub with the young man. Yet, although it made her nervous, she wasn't afraid. Some part of her wanted to be here, like this. A part, it seemed, that was now in control.

Helena was slim, with long dark hair, pale skin and she liked to wear black. Although she wasn't a Goth, at least not in any ideological sense, she fit the image and, in her hometown, that meant she stood out. Her friends had made a lifestyle choice out of it, so Helena didn't really fit in there either. Still, going with them to nightclubs was a way to be a part of a social group. They didn't take it too seriously, thankfully, and really only listened to the toned-down version that got into the charts every now and again.

She was waiting in a small room, sitting on the edge of a long sofa, gazing at the door, wondering when the man who had lured her here was going to come back. She never heard or saw how he did it, but suddenly she felt his hands on her shoulders, and easing the straps of her dress down her arms. Apart from the jump that the unexpected contact gave her, she felt no alarm, although she knew that this was an extremely dangerous situation. Instead, she felt a strange acceptance that, here she was, on the verge of something momentous in her life.

As the dress fell around her waist, Helena still sitting upright in her seat, the man gently kissed her shoulder and neck. She sighed with pleasure at that, and the part of her that explained how all this was a very bad situation, simply shut itself off. Then he deftly removed her bra, but what he did with it, she didn't see.

She tried to turn her head, but he took hold of her and made sure that she faced in front. Then, gently, he lifted her onto her feet. Her upper body was now completely naked, as he guided her around the settee, making sure that she was always facing away from her. His hands were firm and commanding on her waist as he directed her movements, but delicate too. She had no will to resist, but felt that it would have been impossible anyway. Walking just where he wanted, without a word, she was taken through the secret doorway behind the settee that had allowed him to creep up on her from behind.

Through the door was a luxurious room, the centrepiece of which was a large four-poster bed. At the foot of the bed, the man allowed Helena to turn and face him. There was no mistaking the gesture he made. He wanted Helena to strip completely.

She knows where this is leading. She knows that this is foolishness in the extreme, but she wants it. It is as if a barrier has been released, and the shame and cautions that surround this act mean nothing any more, it is just something that she wants to do. Slowly, not deliberately seductive, but simply taking the time to do it smoothly, she lowers the dress to the floor and leaves it about her feet. No flutter of the heart as she takes the big step and bares her all in front of a man she only met an hour or so before, sliding her knickers down her smooth legs. Her shoes, she left at the door when she was brought here, and she had been daring enough to leave her legs bare on a warm summer's night. She stands with every square inch of her skin exposed to the air.

He gestures again and Helena hoists herself up onto the bed and sits, dangling her feet over the edge. The man moves around and she feels his weight cause the mattress to sag as he climbs up behind her. Again, he takes her shoulders, and runs his hands down her arms, persuading them to come out to her sides slightly. When he reaches her wrists, everything changes. She is captive as he seizes them tightly and brings them over her head. The spell breaks, and that warning voice is back, but it's too late. She struggles but it is useless, she simply wriggles below his incredibly strong grip. She is aware that she is held only by one hand now, her own body-size being so small, his hand is well able to encompass both wrists. She feels it as soft silk encircles her wrists, and he ties it tight. Smooth it may be, but there is no escape from the silk bonds.

He pulls her by her arms until she is sprawled across the bed. She makes little screams as she struggles but saves her breath. She knows intuitively that this place will be out of earshot from anyone who would care. Very soon, she is attached to something above her head that will not give.

She wants to kick, but there is no point. That urge is too strong to ignore though, when he slips a noose of silk around her ankle. The act is so quick that it is only once she is already ensnared that she is able to buck and pull and flail to try to break free. It is too late, for he is well able to control her captured leg, and that weakens her other leg so that the kicks are ineffectual. There is nothing to anchor her twists and thrusts against. This changes when he ties the silk scarf around the corner post of the bed, but by then of course there is nothing she can do to stop him taking hold of her other ankle, and she is no match for his grip. Far more easily than her right, her left leg is tied wide. She is laid back and her legs obscenely spread, every detail of her body on intimate display.

Helena is convinced that she has been stupid and deserves the gruesome fate that surely awaits her. More than anything she feels shame at her actions, not her nakedness. She closes her eyes and waits for the end, her breath shaking and making her exposed body quiver.

The tenderness of his touch surprises her. He kisses her lips so softly that she barely notices the physical contact but deep inside her something responds. Her fear vanishes and she realises that this is what she wants with this man. She is aware that he has some power over her that has induced her acquiescence, but at the same time she believes that she wants to be under his power. She begins to return the kiss.

He straddles her, and she opens her eyes to see the magnificence of his penis. No mere prick this, but a Manhood that could spread wide the bodies and hearts of women across the world. Her heart. Her body. She wanted to be spread wide.

His chest came to her chest, his lips to her cheek, and finally his pelvis to hers.

And so as his Manhood to her virgin Womanhood, his teeth to her virgin neck. Her vocal chords to her mouth, silent and wide in pain and pleasure and fear and ecstasy. Her eyes wide but not seeing, her body aflame but made of ice.

The vampire deep in her neck, her womb, her soul.

And her body responds. Although it hurts, her pelvis thrusts back, her imprisoned arms urging her on, her captive legs urging her on.

Her throat, although it hurts, willingly giving more and more to this lover.

And each new pinnacle of pain is more exhilarating and joyful, each new level of agony brings greater knowledge of rapture.

It follows so naturally. So as orgasm overtakes her, so he ejaculates his seed into her deepest warmth, so her blood runs out and so she dies.

She believed. She welcomed. So as she dies, so she gives all she was to him, so she rises again and so is what she always knew she would be.