Bitten and Written

The lights tremble just for a moment as if they were in some gothic Victorian room lit by gaslight. She blinks. He's propped up on his elbow; she's lying beneath him. Even almost prostate he still towers abover her.

"Turn your head," he orders.

She turns her neck to the side. She can feel her veins throbbing, the skin stretched tight over them, almost quivering as he draws near. His lips are full, but as he bares his teeth she imagines his canines filed into points, heading towards one of the most vulneralble spots on her body.

He leans in.

"What do you desire, my submissive?" he whispers.

Part of her wants to grab the words before they fall out. How can she think such a thing, it's ridiculous? But a deeper part of her feels the words.

"I want to be your submissive forever," she whispers.

She can feel his breath on her face, on her lips, and then it moves down her neck. A slight arousing touch of his tongue and then his teeth are in her. He has penetrated her yet again, this time perhaps more powerfully than ever before.

As he drains her of lifeblood she can feel her eyelids fluttering, she can feel herself slipping into a deep drowsiness that has a drugged Keats' like quality about it. He asks her how much of a trance she is in. She feels him touch her wrist, feel her pulse, check her eyes.

Yes, this is roleplay, she thinks, but it goes so far beyond putting on a costume; she almost believes it is true.

And then he sits up running his fingernails down his wrist. Usually they look bitten and raw, but tonight his nails seem talon-like, sharp, deadly. She watches as the blood starts to drip down his wrist; slowly at first, but as it gathers momentum he draws her head in and greedily she sucks and sucks.

It tastes rusty, coppery; earthy. As it slips down her throat she suddenly feels on fire.

She's greedy. She wants to suck him dry, to drain him as he has drained her. To take everything as she has given everything to him. But he doesn't let that happen. He'll never let that happen. He pulls away, telling her his blood will make her feel different. She'll be different.

They pull themselves together and eat. As usual, time has moved into another dimension and it's later than they thought.

Over dinner, she's cheeky. He tells her it's his blood. She chooses a medium steak. Nothing unusual with that. She orgasms in front of fellow diners, not caring if they see. But tonight there's something a little different about her.

He watches as she eats a piece of steak. Is that blood ooozing out of the side of her mouth? As she licks her lips he catchs a glance of sharp tipped teeth. Surely, they weren't there before?

And, then, horrified, he watches as she digs a fat chip through rich garlic sauce. Doesn't she realise the horror garlic holds for him and his kind. His stomach knots as she greedily devours mouthful after mouthful of the stuff. Blood mixed with garlic....what kind of half-breed monster has he created?

And, then as she licks the last remenant of garlic sauce off her finger, he wonders how on earth he is going to be able to take her back to the hotel and kiss her?