Tales of Female Depravity

Apocalypse-1

Apocalypse

Excerpt from the novel Meltdown ©1998

‘Sweet’ Melyssa was highly pissed off. Angered in the extreme. That was the only reason she needed, at first. The bizarre scene that followed, full of strange intimations and future connotations, would be better understood later. But for the time being she was just overwhelmed with anger. Pure, unadulterated anger.

Of course, there was a volatile stew of other emotions also churning inside her: a veritable witch’s brew of dark, primitive impulses surging forth from her ancient reptile brain. These were scary, exciting, and enraging all by turns, and she couldn’t have sorted them out right now, separated them one from another if she’d wanted to. And she definitely didn’t want to. None of them really mattered except the anger. Anger was her defense in this adversity, her protection and motivation all in one. It buried her despair, swamped her fear and anguish, masked her lesser-understood emotions and fuelled the desperation of her sudden violent struggles. Their nameless European captor had just left, taking their irreplaceable daughter with her, and now she and Kurt lay here alone, awaiting whatever summary cruelty their executioners had planned.

Melyssa had no doubt that death awaited them all, and her white-hot rage at Kurt for stupidly giving in and forcing their submission when they’d still had a fighting chance for life helped her now in this darkest hour. She had an almost pathological hatred of being bound – a residue of the horrible teen-age experience that had cost her her little sister. Now, empowered by more than just her anger at Kurt and that renewed if decades-old specter of torture and death, she began wrestling furiously with her bonds.

Unlike her husband, who’d apparently lost his ability to think, she’d cleverly crossed her wrists in an x, rather than placing her hands palm to palm. That stratagem had given her both a sloppier tape job and a precious extra inch with which to work. As soon as the door to the utility room swung shut, and the sound of the chair being wedged under it confirmed their utter captivity – and privacy – Melyssa began stretching and scrunching and struggling to bring her taped hands under her butt, over her legs and around to the front of her body.

Thanks to her lucky lack of underwear, step one didn’t take long at all. Her soft cotton, elastic waist-banded sweat-shorts aided the process considerably, reducing skin friction by catching on her bound wrists and then slipping easily down her naked hips as she wriggled her also luckily slender butt through. By the time she’d withdrawn her feet from the now empty, front-bound loop of her arms, the sweat-shorts had joined the tape wound around her ankles, leaving her bare-bottomed but considerably freer for the fact. Quickly Melyssa used her taped-up hands to rip away the gag, easing her ragged breathing. Then she immediately sat up and went to work on her legs.

The tape was wide and tough, wrapped redundantly and well, but intentionally or not Lady Kira had left an edge peeled up around the back. ‘Lyssa only needed a thumbnail to get it started, then she was ripping it free, loop after loop after loop. Finally her feet were loose, and in a final spasm of revulsion she kicked off the shorts restraining her ankles as well, flinging them across the room rather than pulling them back up. Now why the hell did she do that?

As if she didn’t know.

‘Lyssa went right back to work on her x-crossed hands, letting her gaze return to her currently deep-in-the-dog-house husband. Disgustingly, meekly submissive before, Kurt had taken her example and begun struggling with his bonds.

Despite the fact that they were both almost certain to die in here regardless of any frantic, last-ditch efforts to escape, he was finally attempting to free himself – still determined to do his part even though his weakness had already cost them everything. Unfortunately for him though, Melyssa had done an excellent job securing him, and all the twisting and writhing in the world wasn’t loosening his bonds in the least.

‘Lyssa felt an odd surge of pride at the sight, an absurd, vengeful satisfaction that was totally at odds with the practical needs of the situation.

That was strange. After all, didn’t she want her husband to escape? Weren’t they on the same side here? Nevertheless the clarity of this feeling was undeniable, combining with the lucidity of great danger to key at last an insight into those deeper needs and desires – and a devilishly dark intention – that she’d so far been shying away from.

She hadn’t been able to accept it yet, but now, looking at her pathetically struggling husband, as bizarre and even unsettling as it was, Melyssa was finally forced admit the strange truth surging from her glands.

Anger, fear, and desperation weren’t the only things driving her mad rush to escape.

Despite their dire straits, despite (or maybe because of?) their capture, bondage, and the cruel theft of their only offspring, something about the current situation was also making her incredibly, uncontrollably, unbelievably horny. Weird, inappropriate, even scary as it was, she was suddenly squirming with s****l arousal, and her forebrain was starting to recognize an outrageous idea that might have been lurking back in her primitive past from the very beginning.

An exciting, insane, and totally perverse idea. How could she even be considering such a thing? It was a total mystery. Yet even before, sweating and terrified, desperate under the murdering b***h’s handgun, fearing for brave Lady Kira and indeed for all of their lives, the act of taping up and pushing over Kurt had given ‘Sweet’ Melyssa an electric inner twinge.

Perhaps connected to their risqué banter on the boat, their talk about the Queen’s dungeons (and the surpassingly extreme pleasures of sadomasochistic s*x therein), putting her erring husband in well-deserved bondage had sent a hot surge of aggressively dominant physical arousal racing through her. The most recent of many since this whole adventure had begun, this had been the most potent by far – at least until now.

As before, circumstances had forced Melyssa to smother this inappropriate (if strangely compelling) s****l urge, and concentrating on their jeopardy she’d completed Kurt’s incapacitation in silent bitterness. But some fires doused only pretend to go out, smoldering in secret while they await the right moment to once again blaze forth. Now, liberated by anger and extremity and reliving that inner burning a billion-fold, Melyssa suddenly saw her previous discomfort with the admittedly savage urges recurring as puritan foolishness.

Really, how can any feeling be inappropriate, if the brain and body produce it? We feel what we feel – do we not? – for reasons we can’t possibly alter or stem.

Nor should we even try. Sometimes the body does what it does for its own reasons, obeying commands encoded into every single cell. Understand it or not, the hormonal storm flooding through her was a thing of power, an ancient genetic force that if accepted and embraced could reward her immeasurably.

The cool air of the room and the coarse, gritty floor on her naked lower body, the adrenaline immediacy of a life-threatening moment…the wild, frenetic Latin music, muffled by the walls but still soaring and crashing throughout the house, intricate melodies so passionate and fluid, power building in crescendo after endlessly climbing crescendo… the almost tangible aftermath of battle, even the elusive privacy they’d sought so long in vain and now had thrust upon them, all of these factors, combined with watching her foolish ‘King” Kurtis struggle frantically, helplessly to escape the implacable bonds she’d placed upon him were now stoking Angry Queen Melyssa’s much-too-long-repressed, no-longer-forbidden inner fire to a level as unprecedented as it was unreasonable.

Yet who needed reason, when action was so successful?

Her blessed little Princess-Knight Kira either hadn’t been able to or hadn’t wanted to tape her wrists very tightly, and now Queen Melyssa was making fast progress with her hands. Twisting her x-crossed arms rapidly back and forth and back and forth, she began ripping savaging at the loosening tape with her teeth.

This frenzied, rewarding exertion imbued her with an overwhelming sense of power, a primal thrill of impending triumph, and at last she pulled and twisted and ripped and tore and wrenched the tattered tape away from her sticky wrists. Her sudden freedom was intoxicating, invigorating, and in exultation at her escape something self-affirming and almost predatory leaped up inside her. Overcome by all the powerful feelings she’d just embraced, captured now not by bonds but by the demanding momentum of her still inexplicable emotional and hormonal transport, she spat the tape righteously to the floor and turned upon her struggling husband.

He still wriggled weakly on, looking vulnerable, pathetic; guilty. She needed no more encouragement than that. Rather than releasing Kurt from the imprisoning tape, and joining in a systematic yet ultimately fruitless attempt to batter down the door or walls, she instead brazenly ignored his mutely begging eyes and muffled, pleading voice. Driven by an insane need she could barely comprehend, she instead dove across their small cell to take ruthless s****l advantage of his bondage.

All of the relentlessly building carnal tension of their trip (the remarks, the jokes, the growing need forever denied), the dire global jeopardy everyone else instinctively felt (the almost cellular imperative that said ‘mate before death, mate before death, mate before death’), maybe even something else she wasn’t quite willing to face yet, ‘Sweet’ Melyssa felt them all flooding her to the brim. An eager growl escaped her, and at last the seething cauldron of her emotions was overturned. And as in the containment, so in the release: her anger carrying the banner, perched on the crest of the wave within and leading the deluge that swept her from her senses.

Goddamn that stupid shithead Kurt, he deserved whatever he got for getting them into this predicament, f**k him anyway! Literally. Hopelessly locked in, with dead bodies outside the door and murderous enemies undoubtedly on the way, freed of the tape or not, they surely didn’t have long to live. She might as well make the most of the piddling remaining span of their marriage.

She pounced, landing astride Kurt’s bound legs, and without a word of explanation literally ripped his pants apart, sending the buttons flying and blessing his stylish lack of a zipper. Unmindful of this betrayal of adrenaline-aided strength, she plunged her hand through the fly of his boxers and yanked him already swelling out into the cool, dim air of the utility closet.

She caught his protesting, helplessly shaking head peripherally, and in response enclosed him tightly in her fist.

Having a hold of this piece of meat she’d long ago declared solely her own made Queen Melyssa instantly possessive, and she squeezed it brutally hard, tugging and pulling briskly as she did so. Kurt’s familiar healthy response belied his shaking head, and feeling him pulse and thicken and harden more rapidly than ever in her manipulating fist made the vengeful ruling monarch suddenly, uncontrollably savage. She began yanking on him viciously, as though trying to use her hormonally accentuated strength to unman him at the root. In seconds, despite Kurt’s rhythmic, bleating whines, she’d jerked him to the greatest state of tumescence she’d ever seen him achieve.

His head had stopped shaking by now, and ‘Lyssa at last tore her gaze away from the one-eyed object of her hunger to gauge the rest her captive man’s response. She smiled (a bit cruelly) at what she saw.

Kurt’s bearded cheeks were blushed a bright red, and his shy brown eyes were so glazed over he didn’t even seem to see her. Apparently, for all intents and purposes, he’d disappeared entirely down some deep inner abyss of helpless, compulsory arousal.

After all of her experience with developing school children, and several years of the most intimate marriage, ‘Lyssa understood her husband intuitively. She couldn’t actually get inside his head, of course, but in a time of heightened awareness like this she could perceive his inner state almost perfectly. This little retreat of his was a response to a confusion so fundamental that Kurtis couldn’t deal with it. Her attack – and his sheer helplessness before it – targeted some of the most formative levels of the fragile boy-male psyche, both sexually exalting and deeply humiliating him simultaneously.

In short, his modern adult upper attic brain couldn’t handle the raw force of the driving needs raging up out of its primitive, childhood cellar.

Typical conflicted American male. Well, Kurt’s neurotic cortex could try to shirk awareness of those primal, emasculating lusts, but he had no control whatsoever over what his stubborn glands and gonads chose to do. His incredibly swollen size and angry red color belied his brain’s foolish resistance, and at last Melyssa could await her fulfillment no longer. She dropped Kurt long enough to tear off the shirt she still wore (watching him throb and bob in eager yearning at his abandonment), then she scooched her way up his supine body until her hands found his shoulders and her s*x had met its match. Ignoring her husband’s still brain-vacated state, relishing the delicious combination of his red-hot hardness and utter bound humility, she immediately mounted him for what proved to be the quickest, roughest, most inconvenient but surpassingly transcendent s****l experience of her life.

At last she had a conduit for carrying away those negative emotions! Temporarily possessed by her raging libido, Melyssa Strauss quickly channeled all of her considerable inner darkness – her fear, tension, anger, frustration, and all of the desperate, she-bear outrage she felt at losing her cub – into a violent, almost vicious copulation. Looming over her bound husband in the close, dark, utility room, pinning him down on the corner pile of clothing, she proceeded to use her hapless man in thoughtless, brutal fashion. Digging her fingernails deep into his shoulders, bearing down with all her weight and force, she began maniacally riding his firmly restrained and supported body like it was her own personal f**k-object, a possibly animate but otherwise utterly inconsequential erotic exercise machine.

And holy s**t, what a workout.

Not overly large, Melyssa’s breasts were exceptionally pointy, with a curvy, side-slung and up-thrusting horny jut to them that Kurt (and she herself, it was true) always found exciting as hell to watch in action. Firm and yet springy, they were capped off by fat, angular red n*****s almost arrogant in their huge, conical aureole and in the stiff, peggy length of their abruptly tapering tips. Now, bouncing and jouncing wildly about with every beat of Melyssa’s accelerating rhythm, these erogenous monsters generated intense erotic energy.

Soon that unbearable electricity was concentrating in their tingling peaks, turning those always shapely points into hard, fleshy weapons that felt as sharp and deadly as arrowheads. Seeking to expend some of that surplus force, ‘Lyssa leaned forward and rubbed her burning t**s in Kurt’s face, the stiff epitome and surrounding firm resilience of her highly aroused flesh roughly grinding itself into his taped jaws, bearded cheeks, and flushed, stunned, uncomprehending features. Then, because her uncontrollable need told her to, she drew back suddenly and slapped his deserving face hard, again and again, stoking the fire of their runaway mutual passion.

Perverse or not, that strange arousal was unbelievable, climbing level by level, transforming them in ways they couldn’t predict or control by its mere existence. Unfortunately (for some), once gripped by such transcendent passions it’s impossible to ever forget them. Some individuals gladly squander the rest of their lives in vain, ever more arcane s****l pursuits, always seeking to recapture that once-in-a-lifetime brush with the sublime. And inevitably, always failing. Too much of any kind of ecstasy is undoubtedly dangerous to human beings.

Oh well. Neither Kurt nor Melyssa had particularly addictive personalities, and in any case it was too late now. The t**s and slaps had brought Kurt’s eyes back – shocked, overwhelmed, and utterly blown away, but finally accepting this outrageously intense instance of intercourse.

Gasping explosively through his nose, keening constantly into the tight tape gag, those quiet brown eyes now bulged with a mad mix of both fear and desire, and he’d finally stopped struggling with his bonds. Instead he now concentrated on arching his back, using his bound arms to lift the lowly pedestal of his hips up higher and higher, a throne for his exalted queen to deign to lower herself upon. And of course at the pinnacle of that pedestal, piercing her to the core was poor Kurt’s redemption, swelling and straining and pounding ever harder within her, as his laboring heart and over-stimulated glands forced more and more fluid into it.

Satisfied that they were at last on the same page, reluctantly releasing her anger for something more powerful and yet pure, Melyssa finally closed her eyes and let herself completely go. Humping and pumping away with a mindless, pneumatic vigor she rode on, her pace constantly accelerating, all coherent thought gone, unaware that she was now loosing a mounting series of terrifying, rhythmic grunting shrieks.

Worse than Monica Seles at the end of a three-setter, each panting inhalation sawed across her vocal cords, drawing a savage bark of escalating effort and need that sounded like the over-driven lust of some maddened, predatory animal, an insanely estrus swamp cat, perhaps. In any case, Melyssa was blissfully ignorant of this unladylike excess, even when those blind cries scaled up to ear-piercing, air-shivering, utterly exquisite orgasmic screams.

Totally lost in herself, ‘Lyssa was ecstatically climbing climax after climax like some kind of crazed mountaineer, leaping nimbly up some inner Himalayas from peak to peak to peak towards Everest. Then – true to her instinct – just as she was about to shatter the sky with this mind-defying ascension, Kurt’s own fiery contribution spurted wetly up into her, launching her on her way through the stratosphere.

Melyssa was so high above it all that this delicious lick of extra fuel, this ultimate proof of Kurt’s complicity, seemed to totally slag her drives even as it rocketed her off into outer space. Her soaring transport went supernova, bursting in an unbearable flare of ecstasy, an electro-chemical conflagration that blazed like a billion birthing stars and only gradually sparkled and sputtered and fizzled out into a slow, fuzzy buzzing of stunned nerve endings. Then, like an overwhelmed Queen in a storybook swoon, gravity and love abruptly reclaimed her, and she plummeted back down into herself in a fit of wrenching, orgiastic shudders.

Ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah. Both her own body and the ultimately beloved one she straddled were now quivering in glorious aftermath, as if their tremendous simultaneous climax had been potent enough to move the earth itself. But then reality rudely intruded, and suddenly, with a blink of shocked comprehension, they both realized that – holy s**t – the earth actually was moving.

Blind to the orgasmic excesses of two simple bipeds, the continent they were on was suddenly shaking wildly, as if a capricious god had reached down and grabbed the rock like a rug, tugging on it for the amusement of watching the furniture topple.

Earthquakes were rarer than roast beef on the East Coast, rarer still in Florida, but the fact of this one was immediately undeniable. As Kurt and Melyssa clung to each other (or she to him, who was still lying bound and gagged beneath her) the rumbling and shaking all around them escalated, toppling items from shelves and beginning a crashing and breaking of glass from several other places in the house.

Shocked suddenly back to her senses, ‘Lyssa straddled her man and looked up, expecting the roof to cave in and kill them both even as Kurt wilted inside her and their hot, mingled fluids trickled down to wherever gravity intended to take them.

Fortunately Al’s cabin was solidly constructed, built to move with the tree and tides while remaining firmly together and rooted in the bedrock. The penultimate crash, when it came at the height of the hundred-and-seventy-second disturbance, was terrifying indeed but far less deadly than their fellow man had proved to be.

A giant, splintering crack climbed to a crashing, smashing cacophony from above. ‘Lyssa screamed aloud as sound, dust, ceiling tiles, scraps of insulation and other, more substantial debris came raining down. Instinctively she leaned over her helpless husband, shielding him with her naked body, and waited for a heavy piece of timber to either break her back or skewer them both.

When neither happened, and the shaking rumble of the earth had at last subsided, Melyssa cautiously raised her head and looked around.

The small, windowless utility room was getting both air and light now, and she could immediately see why. One of the large, precarious dead limbs she’d pointed out to Kira had been shaken free of the tree, falling onto the roof of the house and caving in a portion of it. Through a snarl of limbs, shingles and rafters, ‘Lyssa could see the mighty canopy, and even a rare finger or two of sunlight peaking in.

Holy s**t, they were saved. Unbe-f*****g-lievable. For a long minute the wonder of this reprieve held her, and her heart swelled with unexpected hope and joy. Then the scale of the disaster just passed finally sunk in, and other worries quickly penetrated.

They may have just been saved, but how many other people had suddenly died?

Kira, perhaps? Her mysterious European captor? Hundreds of thousands of more people trapped up north? Right now there was no way of knowing.

No way of knowing either what the hell that latest calamity actually was. Not until they got to a radio at least. Looking back down into her husband’s eyes, Melyssa saw the same question mirrored there.

What the f**k could that have been? That damn nuke plant again? Explosion? Armageddon? Doom?

They’d never find out just sitting here…