By Joannebarbarella

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Spiderman hit me again.....and again. Holding me upright against the wall with his left hand he open—handed me across my left cheek. The blow jarred loose one of my fangs and I spat it out together with some blood from where the inside of my cheek had collided with my teeth. His hand came back and when his knuckles hit my right cheekbone I felt something give way inside.

God, it hurt, and I started to cry, not that that made any difference. I felt a trickle of blood coming from one nostril. I knew I must look a sight by now, between bruises and blood. And I was scared, very, very scared.

Things like this weren’t supposed to happen. Halloween was meant to be MY night, when I could go out in fancy dress and have fun and nobody would know who or what I was. It was the one night of the year when I could get everything I wanted and needed. Tonight I had dressed as a vampire princess, very sexy short black dress with flowing sleeves and low cut neckline, and my breast forms cupped into deep cleavage by my maximiser bra; fishnet stockings and knee-high shiny black stiletto-heeled boots.

I had done my make-up really gothic with pale foundation, almost white , lots of eye-liner and shadow and dramatic crimson lipstick, fake fangs over my canine teeth; a long black wig down past my shoulders, which I had consciously modelled on Lily Munster, right down to the white streaks, totally vampy. My nails were lengthened to nearly an inch, the same crimson as my lippy, all the better to claw you with, my dear. I had giggled into the mirror as I admired the whole effect, just right for the night.

I thought I looked pretty hot when I left home at about 8.30, quite early really, and I was so looking forward to some action on my favourite night of the year. Perhaps some nice young buck would hit on me and we would have some fun, drinking, dancing and making out in public before I took him somewhere quiet for the climax to the evening.

What I had forgotten was that Halloween is also an occasion for the weirdos (Ha! Weirdos? Listen to me!) to take the opportunity to come out to play, secure in the anonymity of a costume. I knew it happened, but it had never happened to me before. I know....I know.....I should have been more careful.

I had been walking past the entrance to an alley on my way to my favourite bar and pick-up joint when I was accosted by a guy in a Spiderman outfit, who invited me to go to a party with him. There was something creepy about him, and I politely refused, saying I already had a date, not wanting to be rude or upset anyone on this particular night, but something in his manner made my skin crawl.

The entrance to the alley loomed though, and suddenly I was pulled into it by Spiderman, and definitely with no good intentions. In an abstract way I could almost admire his choice of costume. It’s a really great disguise. Everybody expects Spiderman to be a good guy, not some sadistic psychopath.

Plus it is a costume with full-face cover so it is an ideal identity concealer. I was slammed against the wall before I knew what was going on and abstract was soon just that as I tried to protect myself, largely in vain. I raked his face with my nails but didn’t know if I did any damage to it under his mask.

He was a big man and I was a slightly built woman, so as his blows hammered my face back and forth I steadily got weaker until I was sagging and only held up by the hand gripping me.

“Going to suck some blood tonight, were you darling? Have some fun vamping some poor unsuspecting victim? Well now things have changed. I’m the one who’s going to have fun.”

Dazed and bleeding, I was dragged stumbling along in my heels, struggling to stay on my feet, wondering if I was going to survive the night, quaking with fear, coughing blood and retching.

It couldn’t have been too long before we ended up in what seemed to be an abandoned warehouse or workshop, although I could have sworn it was an eternity. He flung me to the floor, where I lay snivelling and panting, feeling very sorry for myself.

Not for long.

Before I could recover he was back and he hit me round the face a couple of times, I think just for the pleasure of it.

He grabbed me again and tied my wrists to a pair of columns that splayed my arms apart and then kicked my legs to the same columns and tied my ankles too, so that I was in an X position and totally helpless. The bile rose in my throat and I heaved, making a mess of my dress with the thin greenish fluid running down between my breasts, the smell making me feel even worse.

“A bit scared now, are we darling? So you should be. I haven’t even started.” There was a contemptuous sneer in his voice.

He produced a knife and I feared the worst. There was no way I could protect myself at the moment.
“No! Please!” I begged him, shaking with real fear.

He walked in front of me and grasped the neckline of my dress and slit it all the way down the front , so that it flopped to my sides exposing my whole torso. Next he cut between the cups of my bra, so that it too flopped away from my breasts.

I was terrified that he would see that they were not real, but I had done a good job with the make-up in merging them into my skin and the light wasn’t great. He didn’t seem to notice but I knew that this was only postponing the inevitable.

He backed away a little and sniggered as he looked at me.

“Oh, I’m going to enjoy you tonight. You stuck-up bitch. Didn’t want to go to a party with me, eh? Had to go and meet your high-falutin’ friends. I’m going to show you what a real man can do. You’re going to beg me to stop before I’m done.”

“Please don’t kill me. I’ll do whatever you want.” Real tears ran down my cheeks. My stomach churned and I thought I would be sick again.

“Don’t worry. You’ll do whatever I want anyway, and then I’ll decide what to do with you.”

My big hope was that he wouldn’t take off his mask. As long as he thought I couldn’t identify him I might have a chance. But then I knew he would take it off. There was no way he wouldn’t want me to give him a blow job, one of those real acts of submission and proof of domination.

Then he put the knife in the waistband of my panties and cut downwards, and splayed as I was, my cock and balls fell free as the thin material parted.

He roared with laughter.

“Well, better and better!”

He lifted the tip of my cock up with the knife-blade and everything within me cringed, but then he lowered it again. He slashed the ropes holding me to the columns, ripped what was left of my clothes from me, except for my stockings, suspender belt and boots, and in no time had me spread-eagled face-down over a saw-horse and bound again before I could take any advantage of my temporary freedom. I just felt so weak and powerless.

“What do you call yourself, my little beauty? A faggot? A queer? Gay boy? Trannie?”

I’m transsexual” I sobbed. It was as near the truth as anything.

“I’ll have to see if that’s right. I think you’ll like it this way”.

I felt the cheeks of my backside pulled apart and next a terrible pain as he entered me, no attempt at any kind of lubrication. This was pure rape; the exercise of power. I screamed, feeling like I was being ripped apart, but of course he didn’t stop. That was part, if not all, of the enjoyment.

I struggled to hold on to my consciousness. I really don’t know why, except I was more scared of what he might do to me unconscious. After a while the pain lessened but the humiliation didn’t. At no point did it feel good, until finally he ejaculated and pulled himself out as callously as he had entered. I couldn’t see, but I thought I was bleeding.

I lay down there panting, sobbing and begging him to let me go. He’d had his fun and I wouldn’t tell and I couldn’t recognise him. Just let me go, please.

I knew he wouldn’t. He was having way too much fun. As far as he was concerned now, this could only end one way, with me dead, probably mutilated.

He walked around to where he could see my face again, wiping the shit off his dick with the remnants of my dress. He still had the facemask on, and then he took it off, confirming what I had already guessed. My survival hung in the balance. Funny thing, he looked so normal, almost nondescript.

He smiled the nastiest smile I have ever seen on a human (?) face.

“First you’re going to suck my cock and if you do a good job I might let you go. Otherwise I’m going to cut off your cock and balls and feed them to you so you can get some practice.”

I shook my head violently.

“Please! No! Don’t!”

He laughed again and grasped my hair to pull my head up. Naturally, it was the wig that he pulled on and it came off, causing him to laugh even more. Everything tonight was an enormous joke to him as he revelled in his power. He tossed the wig away and took hold of my real hair, which was still fairly long, yanking my head back until my mouth faced his dick.

He squeezed my cheeks together until my mouth formed an O, straddled the sawhorse and fed his member into my mouth. It still tasted awful. He hadn’t cleaned it very well.

“Suck, cocksucker! Suck for your life!”

So I started to suck, just for the couple of seconds that it took for me to extrude my fangs, my real fangs, and then I bit! Salvation! Mind you, that’s not the right word. I’m not for saving.

He screamed when I sank those needle- sharp fangs into him and his hand went back to try to stab me or hit me, but then the virus or whatever it is within my system acted as an anaesthetic and he slumped over me unconscious. I continued to suck for a few more seconds, because I needed the nourishment and his DNA inside me. It tasted vile and disgusting but needs must. On this night of all nights.

The strength that I can only gain on Halloween night flowed through me. I rested for a couple of minutes, feeling stronger as the time passed. Then I arched my back and heaved him off of me. I pulled at the ropes binding me and felt them give as strength returned. My body repaired itself. I could feel the broken and splintered bones in my face sort of click and slide back into place and the swellings of the bruises subside. My sphincter returned to normal size and the internal hurts vanished.

When I had regained my composure I surveyed my erstwhile attacker lying on the ground. He was now full of whatever I had coursing through my veins and I had his DNA in mine. I could determine his form and his intelligence and sexuality for the next year while his substance sustained me. I always liked these few hours immediately after I first took control.

It‘s such fun to watch them assume the shape you have decided for them. Normally I try to be merciful and make their last year enjoyable if I can. If my victim is a hunk I make him hunkier. If it’s a girl I make her as beautiful as I can, and I match myself to them, becoming a loving boyfriend or girlfriend as required and feed only when I really need to. That means that they don’t start to visibly fade until the last month and then I despatch them swiftly and cleanly. That’s the part I normally hate. I do this because I have to, not because I want to.

But as I looked at this creature lying at my feet, I mused at what I was going to do with him. This time I could really enjoy his degradation. If anyone had earned it this miserable specimen had. How many others had he raped and slaughtered? I was certain I was not the first.

It amused me that my disguise, hiding in plain sight as it were, had led him to assume that I was a victim instead of a predator. Maybe there was a moral to this story. In years to come I could hunt out such as him and rid the world of a few of these perverted killers. That thought made me feel almost virtuous, even though my kind are supposed to be without the more noble emotions and values.

I decided straight away that he was going to be female. There was no way I would allow him to revel in his perverted notions of masculinity from this moment on. The boot was going to be on the other foot. Let that male brain learn pain and humiliation and feel what it had inflicted on others. Let her mentally at least cringe away from men as they took not always gently what she apparently offered.

Watching through half-lidded eyes I pondered the course of the year to come and allowed myself to become fully female. Normally I would assume the opposite role to my lover, but this year there was no lover, only sustenance, and I did not feel bound by any ties. I actually preferred to be female anyway, much more fun.

I ripped off the Spiderman outfit, leaving him naked , so that I could watch every change I wrought. Laying my hands on him I watched his penis and testicles disappear and the body change shape at my urging. I made her pretty in a vapid, helpless, appealing way, the kind of pretty that would be attractive to the sort of man she had been, a girl who could be slapped around until she begged for mercy.

I left the maleness in her brain but inserted a submissive streak that would make it impossible for her to resist sexual advances. She would spend the next year on her knees or on her back, hating every minute of it but compelled to accept it. I wouldn’t let her be too badly used, because I needed her to provide me with food for the full twelve months.

Smiling...though if someone were looking they might not call it that...I finished moulding her and bit into her neck for a little extra something to build me up while I waited for her to wake up. Anticipation of her reactions when realisation hit her widened my “smile”.

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