A Foray Into Madness
_ Why do people always feel sorry for those of us who are insane? Maybe they have never received the powerful bursts of insight, or the incredible flurries of creative wisdom. Maybe they feel sorry for us, because they feel sorry for themselves? I welcome you to my world, our world... the world of the "insane"._
He was what some would call a freak, or a monster. He was what others would call devilishly handsome, or vampirically entrancing. He never considered himself these things, he just liked the cape.... His name was nothing to suggest "madness," it was Peter, was Peter, is Orpheus, it meant "Darkness of night". He had it changed after his first time in the mental institution. He quite liked it, even though most people would find it unnerving.
Orpheus was a cheetah, or, at least, was feline. He looked like a cheetah. He acted somewhat like an LSD addicted war veteran who had flashbacks like mad. He probably was a cheetah... why would anyone try to alter themselves to look like something else? Why would someone attempt to change who they were? Surely he was a cheetah. In this assumption there was truth. He was exactly what he seemed.
This night was one that very well should have, in his opinion, extended on into eternity. He was at one of the local Goth/Raver/Punk/Indie club. One of the few havens for people like him. Of course, they don't call people like him "crazy" there, they call him "unique" or "Freethinking". He, by a stretch of even his own imagination, was unique and freethinking, but that was by no means why he went.
He went there to find all of the vampire and Goth girls who wanted to be taken by someone who didn't laugh when they asked for blood, he just asked for some in return. He went there to find all those Punk femmes and Indie chicks who thought his brain was so damn sexy. He went there to find a girl who would scream his name at the top of her lungs when he bit her and licked the blood from her wound. He found it.
"Pardon me, I seem to have lost my mind in your body, could I have it back?" He had purposely bumped into her, and had purposely acted helpless and submissive to pique her attention. If there's one thing he was good at, it was reading emotion. Hers was aroused and interested.
"Hey. Haven't I seen you around here before? You look so familiar." A skinny pantheress, leaned over the bar, wearing a black and purple leather corset, and a black leather skirt with thigh-high leather boots.
"There's many you've seen here before, whether or not you've seen this one, I can not say. Never have mine eyes lain themselves upon you before, for they would have sealed themselves shut to never see a greater beauty." OK, so maybe he was laying it on a bit thick, but she sure liked it. And really, when you're seeking companionship for a few weeks, all it takes is sweet words and sick similes. "How may I address you, Ebon Empress?"
"That works. But my name's Ella. So, what are you here for tonight, dancing, drinking, or nasty Goth bloody sex?"
"First the first, and second the second, but I now seek the last. May I ask for your time this night as dark as the fur and flesh I see before me, Empress of Ebony? Or does your hand and heat belong to another?" He adjusted his welding goggles and his heavy leather gloves, seemingly nervous as could be.
"I believe that I could spare at least a single night with you, you... you?"
"The King of Night, Orpheus, entranced and amazed by your beauty." He took her slim black paw and kissed up her arm. "And I find that you may be dreaming of the King of Nighttime, no?" He pulled her arm gently and got her to stand. He grabbed the small of her back, just above her tail, and locked her in a wild kiss. His tongue flicked against hers, with energy that could only be expected of chronic drug use and rodent-like natural hyperactivity. Something that Ella hadn't noticed earlier was a thin, needlelike piercing on the center of his tongue.
She broke the kiss, and looked him over for quite possibly the fifteenth time in as many minutes. He was wearing a black hazmat suit with purple biohazard symbols covering most of the fake leather. Thick welding glasses that could double as blind man's glasses, and triple as diving goggles, were strapped tightly to his head, dark red lenses altering the color of his green eyes to make you want to stare into them for hours. His leather gloves were thick and green, glowing radioactively in the black lights of the club. He was wearing what could be passed as combat boots and registered as lethal weapons, there were nails pierced through the front and sides at half-inch intervals, thumbtacks pushing through the top in a pentacle design, and a curved blade off of each of the heels. "I like your style, Orpheus."
"I like all I've seen of you. Perhaps more now?" The rest of his minds wanted to know what she looked like, so he gave a mental description. She was wearing a black leather corset, with tribal velvet prints swirling and undulating in a cutout form, leaving a beautiful contrast. He skirt was leather as well, coming to about six inches under her firm rump, which was shown off quite nicely as she leaned across the bar earlier. Her boots were much more feminine than his, mostly smooth and shaping, rather than dangerous to children and almost as uncomfortable to wear as they were to be kicked by. "Much more would I like, and an unmeasurable amount more I would love." She was skinny, not like she didn't eat, but more like she danced and fucked too hard to get fat.
"My thoughts exactly. Come on, King of Night, let's be off." Orpheus clutched on to her wrist and led her through the parking lot, led her through the streets, led her through the alleys and through the night to his home. It was a converted warehouse. Converted used in the loosest sense of the word. There were still industrial fans and electric boxes. Some heavy machinery still sprinkled the floor and walls of his home.
He figured that now would be a perfect time to let his more stereotypical and fun side break through to the surface. "So, Ebony Empress, how would you like your night consummated, a kiss, a hug, or would you like me?" As an unconscious afterthought he added, "A feast of blood for one of us maybe." He wasn't a vampire, and he surely didn't have any blood diseases that required others' to keep himself fully functional. He just liked to play in the crimson wine and adored how bizarre it all was.
"What was that? Did you say something about blood?" She sounded as far from put-off and nervous as a Goth girl was allowed to by principle.
"I did, pardon me, Empress, I must've neglected to mention my condition. I've been institutionalized multiple times. Not to say it wasn't fun, but some of the fairer sex find this to be disturbing and weird." He had long ago admitted this was his favorite part of the seduction process.
"So... what's 'wrong' with you?" She gave air quotes, that meant she liked. "Multiple Personality? Psychosis? Borderline? Schizophrenia? Or should I continue to grasp at straws?"
"None of the words your lips made cry for more were false. But I may add that I've four different beings inside of me. Imenand, Keme, Lochesh, and Githinji. They are the beasts of hidden things, secrets, whispers, and butchers, respectively." He sighed. "I just listen to what they have to say and then relinquish them back to the far reaches of my mind. Imenand tells me of things hidden, his intuition is unbeatable. Keme tells me the things secret and dark. Lochesh tells me things of whispers, all that I should not hear, I do. And Githinji... he is many... he is hate , wrath, vengeance, envy, rage and lies. Do not listen to him, or he may talk louder than he does now."
"You sound fun. Come here, King of Darkness, kiss me. You, Imenand, Keme, Lochesh, and even Githinji kiss me and take me with all that you've got. And, hell, take my blood if you want." She spread herself wide on a black and red leather couch, lifting her skirt to show a crimson thong. It, for all intensive purposes, didn't exist. It showed off everything, and it promised even more. It begged attention and promised at least tenfold what it asked. It was something that would make God cry. And they both knew that's why they loved it.
He was going to say something macabre and poetic, but he decided to not. He just walked over to her and kissed her again. He kissed differently this time, instead of what could only be described as EXPERT before, could now only be... IMPOSSIBLE! He was so much more forceful, he was so much more gentle. You could feel the other beings floating around, just under the surface, and you knew he felt them tell all he shouldn't know about her.
He would never ask how many men she'd had before, he already knew. Twenty-eight. He would never ask if she ever felt like she was more comfortable with girls, he already knew. Four of them, six months for the first two, three day flings for the other. He never would have to interrupt her pleasure to ask "Is this how you like it/where you want it/slower/faster/harder/softer?" He didn't know, exactly. He could feel how many she had been with, each one of them leaving a certain... energy on her. He could feel, almost to a level of empathy, what she was feeling. Right now she was aroused, just like in the bar, aroused and interested. There were just slightly more pheromones now.
Ella was now slightly more spread on the couch, one leg over the back, the other on the floor. Her arms were in the same position of the leg of the same side. Her head was off to the side, watching Orpheus from a skewed point of view. Her skirt was totally up, covering most of the purple on her corset Her crimson underwear was either off or disintegrated from the heat that was probably radiating from her sweet lips. "Or...phe...us..." She whispered, trying to sound much more desperate than she really was. And as she said his name, it was as if she had made love to each broken syllable.
After what could be considered a dream-come-truth, for Orpheus had wished this night to never end, he moved his hand down her chest, not that she could feel it through the heavy leather. He circled her treasure agonizingly slowly, and agonizingly closely. He kissed her lips and bit her throat, pressing that sharp little tongue stud into her neck and drinking the few drops of blood he could coax from her neck. She moaned hotly while his thin womanlike fingers and monsterlike claws played with her tight cunny lips. He scratched softly parts of her that should never have claws near them. He bit her neck harder than was probably healthy, and he whispered things from possibly different languages that she should have asked the meanings of. But she didn't, she loved the slight pain, the rough tongue on her fresh cuts. She loved the feel of his hands on her needy sex. He kept slowly torturing her, possibly working to make a statement that would make a girl who didn't love madness as much as she did slap him across the face a few times, but, those girls obviously didn't love madness as much as she did. In fact, at this point, Orpheus was using her love of it as more of a fetish than an unhealthy interest. That's what made her cry for it, his madness. Those insane hands that were so good it almost drove her insane.
"Why not get the hides of the dead from your oh-so living chest and hips, Ebony Empress?" He rubbed a hand roughly over her left breast, just hard enough so she could feel it. "I can't imagine the dead robbing my feelings without first offering something in return." He whispered as he flipped her over to find the purple silk cord that tied the corset to her chest. He took one of the large, ornate loops of purple, and pulled. It loosened quickly and she let out a sigh of relief. He pulled the leather clothing from her, flipped her over as he did, and gazed at her beautiful chest, with pert nipples and black fur matted with sweat from the unforgiving leather. He leaned down and bit her left nipple softly, pressing the sharp tongue piercing against her sensitive flesh.
"Oh, oh fuck, yes!" He bit down slightly harder, making her moans a bit louder. He slipped his middle finger into her, the first he had been inside of her for what could have been over an hour's worth of fondling. "Let's get that suit off of you, I'm not dangerous, but I do indeed bite." She grinned as slyly as she could while still completely under Orpheus's control. He nodded around her breast, and reached with his unused hand behind himself to pull at a very hard to see zipper. The back of the suit fell open, and with a shrug of his shoulders, was out of the top half of it. He kissed Ella as he stood up and unlaced his deadly boots. After kicking them off, he dropped the suit off of his legs, along with his boxers, and kicked them into a corner with his gloves and boots. Finally, he removed the goggles from his face to let his mad eyes look out at her with a new intensity. He kissed her again, and settled himself onto her again, his mouth locking onto her breast again, his hand moving back to her drooling slit.
"Does my Empress of the darkest Ebon want more? Does she want to feel all that my madness has to offer her?" He moved himself up her body more, kissing along until he reached her neck, where he bit down hard and drew more blood than any of the other bites and cuts combined. "Ready yourself," He whispered into her ear, lifting his bloody mouth so she could hear him. He aligned his throbbing pink member at her soaked sex, and slowly spread her around his girth. He kept pressing into her, hilting himself quickly, to the joy of Ella, who was absolutely relishing in the pain of his rough entrance.
After his hilting was complete, he backed out, starting the, what was to him, slightly repetitive process of lovemaking. His mind fell on last month's catch, the panda, then the one before, the wolf, before, the bunny, all little bloodsluts who let him do whatever he wanted to, just because he was insane. He lapped harder at Ella's neck, feeling the thick liquid roll down his throat to wrench at his stomach. He knew he probably shouldn't drink as much blood as he did, but it was his solitary vice, while most could drink or smoke, there was no better poison than a healthy young woman's blood.
He started to feel the exquisite pleasure that was to be expected from the "nasty Goth bloody sex" he was having with Ella. She was moaning his name and begging him to go faster and harder. Begging him to just do something, she was so close. So close that her walls were seizing up and fluttering around his shaft. She was moaning really loud now, too loud for him to think, so he focused on the pretty kitty in front of him, eyes rolled back, head lolled to the side, drool dripping from her muzzle. She really was beautiful, in the sort of way that Belladonna was beautiful, a deadly sort of way that made you want to touch it to see what happens. He found himself purring as loud as she was after her first climax. The familiar tingling in his shaft alerted him that he was near his orgasm.
He purred louder, and probably bit harder as well, he didn't care. He was about to finish, and that's all that mattered. He growled into her neck and pumped furiously for maybe five seconds before he started to spatter her walls with his thick kitty cum. She moaned his name again, maybe she climaxed again, or maybe she was just exclaiming the sheer volume of his seed filling her. There was more than there usually was when he filled a girl with his cream. It had been almost a full month since his last orgasm, so he was eager, to say the least, to find a sexy kitten like Ella to take home and ravage the hell out of.
He let go of her neck, feeling necessary that her warped little mind should get some air and blood as well. He pulled himself from her ravaged slit and kissed her forehead gently. He picked her up and carried her to his bed and set her down to sleep. He wasn't going to steal her tongue or right nipple while she slept, he probably wouldn't even hog all of the sheets. Just because you're labeled "insane" by the state, does not mean anything other than that one is labeled by the state. He kissed her forehead again and covered them both with the warm blankets. Tomorrow morning would be somewhat awkward, but he would just fondle her scabs and whisper the names of his schizophrenic voices and things would be just peachy.
Ella cuddled up to him, and Orpheus wanted to cringe, wanted to push her away. She would realize in the morning that she was just a hard fuck for him. She would know that the romantic whispers into her ears were just cheap ways of getting up her short skirt. In the morning she would cuddle up to him again and kiss him, trying to play off a single night of animalistic lust as undiscovered love. She would hang off of him all that morning while he told her the truth in somewhat roundabout and alluded ways. He sighed as he nestled his nose into her hair. Maybe it wasn't love, but it could certainly do for at least a few weeks. At least she liked to give him her blood.
=========================================================================
This is just a one-off, unless you guys ask for a series out of this. I just get sick of everyone around me calling me crazy, so I figure that I could get a good porn out of a bad stereotype. It's worked for me before. Why shouldn't it now? Anyway, as always, read and review, and for the LOVE OF GOD rate it by the content, don't just say, "awesome fap... 5|5 faved and watched!!" I need some criticism, except flames. No one needs flames. And I'm aware that I didn't show most any of his mental problems other than Borderline and some undertones of Multiple Personality Disorder. I am also aware that this is not necessarily how the mind of a crazy person works (not many are as aware of this as I am), but it was fun to write, and it should have been fun to read.