FIC: The Fall of Angels (Torsten Barring/Laura Erika Barring, NC-17), part 11/15
Title: The Fall of Angels (part 11/15, completed fic)
Author: snowgrouse
Fandom: A Woman's Face (1941), original fiction
Pairing: Torsten Barring/Laura Erika Barring, Torsten/Laura/OCs
Rating: NC-17
Genre: Erotica, darkfic, horror
Warnings: Incest, underage, hard BDSM, noncon, watersports, fisting, scat, abuse, graphic violence (see Ao3 for full list of tags)
Length: ~97 000 words
Summary: Once Torsten and Laura know their song is coming to an end, their lust and their rage are unstoppable. Together, they set out to avenge themselves against a society that had sought to suffocate their desires--and to enjoy each last one of the world's pleasures to the fullest.
A/N: The third and final part of Devilry. Torsten and Laura go down in flames. Darker, kinkier and more violent than the previous two parts combined; please heed the warnings.
(In the chiaroscuro of the afternoon light, I adored Torsten, his long fingers steady upon the steering wheel, the way the sun reflected off the chrome of the car and threw its scattered lights through his irises. He turned to look at me now and then, he himself coiled tight from excitement, so full of life now that he knew we were to sup upon another's. My father the vampire, his very profile that of a dark prince with its refined, straight nose and cruel eyes, and underneath the sharp, thin lines of his moustache, his mouth a gleaming stripe of blood. I stroked his thigh and it was trembling underneath my touch; I skimmed my fingertips past his groin and he was half-erect, murmuring happily and spreading his legs in invitation.
"Keep your eyes on the road," I said, smiling, pulling my hand off his thigh. I reached into my handbag, past all the little instruments of death I had gathered up for the night, avoiding their sharp edges to take out my lipstick and my mirror. It wouldn't do to arrive at the hospital looking pale: I was to enter a whore, just as Torsten had decided to enter a faggot. He'd worn his lightest, most tightly cut suit, a pink tie and a pink buttonhole, had drenched himself in his sweetest, most floral of perfumes. I smelled of musk, of vanilla, of pussy, having daubed my own wetness on my pulse points after we had been playing with the plugs. I pulled my skirt up so that the tops of my stockings would show when I moved, pulled my neckline down low enough for a little cleavage to show. This way, I looked more indecent than a prostitute: on a sudden whim, I ruffled my hair a little, smudged my eyeliner a little, painted my lips over the edges a little so that I would look freshly fucked.
There. Now we were the paragons of everything Segert hated, his anathemata, his bêtes noires: the homosexual and the nymphomaniac, the deviant and the whore, about to show him exactly how powerful human desire was despite his attempts to annihilate it. We were lust, libido, greed, hatred made flesh, the psychiatrist's nightmare, all that swirled dark and black and sticky in the cesspits of the human subconscious. Don't the psychiatrists say that the harder you try to repress something, the more power it gains over you, eventually swallowing you? Because that's what we were going to do. We were Nature, about to abort this child who had thought he could fight it, who had thought to rebel against his mother, to spay her, rape her.
I closed my eyes and snapped my handbag shut; I shuddered as I could still feel the stink of Segert's pubic hair in my nostrils, his sweat in my eyes, his purple, fat lips pressed against my cheek as he grunted on top of me.
"Drive faster," I sighed, swallowing the poison in my throat, concentrating my hate, sharpening it like a knife.
"We're nearly there," Torsten said, throwing his cigarette out of the window. )
Author: snowgrouse
Fandom: A Woman's Face (1941), original fiction
Pairing: Torsten Barring/Laura Erika Barring, Torsten/Laura/OCs
Rating: NC-17
Genre: Erotica, darkfic, horror
Warnings: Incest, underage, hard BDSM, noncon, watersports, fisting, scat, abuse, graphic violence (see Ao3 for full list of tags)
Length: ~97 000 words
Summary: Once Torsten and Laura know their song is coming to an end, their lust and their rage are unstoppable. Together, they set out to avenge themselves against a society that had sought to suffocate their desires--and to enjoy each last one of the world's pleasures to the fullest.
A/N: The third and final part of Devilry. Torsten and Laura go down in flames. Darker, kinkier and more violent than the previous two parts combined; please heed the warnings.
(In the chiaroscuro of the afternoon light, I adored Torsten, his long fingers steady upon the steering wheel, the way the sun reflected off the chrome of the car and threw its scattered lights through his irises. He turned to look at me now and then, he himself coiled tight from excitement, so full of life now that he knew we were to sup upon another's. My father the vampire, his very profile that of a dark prince with its refined, straight nose and cruel eyes, and underneath the sharp, thin lines of his moustache, his mouth a gleaming stripe of blood. I stroked his thigh and it was trembling underneath my touch; I skimmed my fingertips past his groin and he was half-erect, murmuring happily and spreading his legs in invitation.
"Keep your eyes on the road," I said, smiling, pulling my hand off his thigh. I reached into my handbag, past all the little instruments of death I had gathered up for the night, avoiding their sharp edges to take out my lipstick and my mirror. It wouldn't do to arrive at the hospital looking pale: I was to enter a whore, just as Torsten had decided to enter a faggot. He'd worn his lightest, most tightly cut suit, a pink tie and a pink buttonhole, had drenched himself in his sweetest, most floral of perfumes. I smelled of musk, of vanilla, of pussy, having daubed my own wetness on my pulse points after we had been playing with the plugs. I pulled my skirt up so that the tops of my stockings would show when I moved, pulled my neckline down low enough for a little cleavage to show. This way, I looked more indecent than a prostitute: on a sudden whim, I ruffled my hair a little, smudged my eyeliner a little, painted my lips over the edges a little so that I would look freshly fucked.
There. Now we were the paragons of everything Segert hated, his anathemata, his bêtes noires: the homosexual and the nymphomaniac, the deviant and the whore, about to show him exactly how powerful human desire was despite his attempts to annihilate it. We were lust, libido, greed, hatred made flesh, the psychiatrist's nightmare, all that swirled dark and black and sticky in the cesspits of the human subconscious. Don't the psychiatrists say that the harder you try to repress something, the more power it gains over you, eventually swallowing you? Because that's what we were going to do. We were Nature, about to abort this child who had thought he could fight it, who had thought to rebel against his mother, to spay her, rape her.
I closed my eyes and snapped my handbag shut; I shuddered as I could still feel the stink of Segert's pubic hair in my nostrils, his sweat in my eyes, his purple, fat lips pressed against my cheek as he grunted on top of me.
"Drive faster," I sighed, swallowing the poison in my throat, concentrating my hate, sharpening it like a knife.
"We're nearly there," Torsten said, throwing his cigarette out of the window. )