He likes me to stand, waiting for him. In a dark room, usually.
Wearing something not too expensive, but definitely sexy... whatever was a
bargain at Frederick's of Hollywood. Sometimes I wear street
clothes I wouldn't be caught dead wearing on the streets, sometimes it's
lingerie, something lacy. Yesterday was typical.
I decided to be a little daring. I wore a black mini-dress, cotton,
with an oh-so-low cut that showed off my best features. And I didn't wear
any underwear; the dress would've made that pretty obvious up front if I didn't
wear my old friendly leather jacket over it. I've had it for three years, now,
and I guess, really, it's my best friend. My armor against the world,
especially if otherwise I'm dressed like a two-bit whore. In my gym bag I had
sensible clothes: bra and panties, boots and jeans and a t-shirt.
I took the bus down, ignoring the occasional looks I got from people.
My legs were showing, but they aren't that attractive... not bad, just okay.
The jacket stopped people from noticing me too much. When I got of the C-4
and walked the three blocks to his house, it was a different story. He lives
in a very nice neighborhood, and I looked a little cheap, I guess. Maybe more
than a little. Still, he's never told me to take the back entrance or
I strolled up to the gate, and let myself in with the key, the largest
one on my ring. It's one of those old fashioned kind, like way old-fashioned,
a big iron . It always gives me a little quake when I close the gate
behind me, 'cause it shrieks something awful, and it's no secret why. Lots of
rust. I should offer to do something about that, I guess, but when I arrive I
can't wait, and when I'm on my way out I don't feel like doing any work. I
could sneak by some day that we don't have an 'appointment', I guess.
The walkway to his house has one of those trellis like things, that
means the whole thing is kind of shadowed over with ivy. This is where I get
my most nervous, but the gate is shut behind me; there's no sense in me having
come this far if I wasn't going to go the whole way. I walked up to the door
of the house itself and it wasn't locked. It never is when I come, I think
he does that because he can't let me in himself. Or maybe it's just that he
won't. I slipped inside.
The foyer was dark but that's not where he likes to take me, it's
always the special room. I walked down the long hall, opened the second door
on the right, into a black black room. No windows at all. There was a little
light shed in from the hallway, and I shrugged out of my jacket, letting it
lie on the floor outside, the keys that I stored in the right pocket making a
clunking sound as the jacket hit the floor.. It wasn't lack of value that
stopped me from hanging it up properly, it was trust. That jacket would always
be around for me, it could take a little lying on the floor. And I wanted it
with me 'till the last possible moment. The gym bag joined it on the floor. I
walked into the room and shut the door behind me. I knew, from past
experience, that the room had no furniture, nothing for me to bump into while
my eyes adjusted to the the lack of light.
He likes me to stand, so I stood there in the middle, balancing on
three inch high spikes. I don't usually wear them, but he asked. It's
something I can do for him, so I do it. Still, it's hard. I didn't know how
long I was going to wait, sometimes it's been two minutes, sometimes an hour.
An hour can be a long time to stand and wait on heels. I wasn't wearing a
watch, and time doesn't mean a lot in a room in which nothing happens except
slowly feeling your joints start to stiffen and your ankles getting sore from
There was a side door to the room, that I never looked towards. The
first few times, I glanced over, but now, I just made a point of looking
towards one of the other three walls. Not that I could see much, anyway.
The door opened. I heard it, just a few instants before I felt him on
me, his claws on my shoulders, his weight pushing me down to the floor
instantly. His strength was overwhelming, the suddenness intoxicating.
I stumbled, hitting the floor hard, rolling a little to take the fall
on the flesh of my thigh rather than my knee or my hip. His claws bit into me,
just a little prick here and there, as he ripped my thirty dollar dress to
shreds. The air on my naked body was cool, but that wasn't all that was
making my nipples harden. It certainly had little to do with the wetness that
was growing between my legs. I tried to crawl away on my hands and knees, but
my moves were so very slow compared to his.
I felt his cock, hard, touching the lips of my sex and poised to enter
me. I knew I was supposed to be prey, let him chase me, but at that touch I
no longer felt the strength to pretend I could get away. Those instincts
failed me, and others took over, as I tried to settle on to him. But he was
having no settling, and came in hard and fast. A gasp was forced from my lips.
This was how he always took me, how I always dreamed about it
afterwards, satisfying his own passion first, using me. He fucked me hard,
forcing be down the the floor, and all the sensations flooded me, the ache in
my knees on the hard floor, my breasts squashed and cold, his claws on my back,
the hot wet feel of blood flowing from where they bit into me, and most of all
the cock inside me, rubbing against my walls. It wasn't that it was huge, or
long, or thick. It was that he was so god awful strong, his thrusting so
violent, that I felt I was going to be ripped in two. In a good way.
That was just the beginning, as his movements became faster, more
animal. I almost never came this way, but all the problems, all my thoughts
went away. My head was spinning and there was only the immediate present, all
of life was physical, all of it centered on my cunt and the inhumanly fast
thrusting and the balls bouncing against my clit. Each time he took me I was
provided with a memory that combined with my fingers later to provide enough
orgasms to satisfy anyone.
His sharp fingers held my ass cheeks apart, exposing my asshole to him.
The first time he did that, I was horrified, afraid that his claw would be
inside me and I would be torn apart from the inside... and later, that was the
stuff of fantasies. But he just held me open, exposing me at my most
vulnerable, and his cock started to shake like a high-powered vibrator. Soon,
hot seed was pouring into me, filling my pussy and dripping wetly down my leg
as he gave me a gentle push so that I came off him. A moan escaped my lips,
of frustration and need.
"Take what you need," came his voice, very low. It was all he said
anymore, all I needed to hear from him. I slowly gathered myself off the
floor, wet with my sweat and other juices too, and turned towards him, kneeling
even as he was kneeling. My cunt ached, claiming it's need to come, but I knew
better. That wasn't what I really needed.
I held myself from him for just a moment, waiting for him to do what
needed to be done, and then leaned forward, on my hands and knees again, moving
to kiss his neck. There, his claws had punctured his own skin, and hot dark
liquid was starting to flow from the fresh wound. There was no color in the
darkness, only shading, dark blood on pale skin, and my lips bent to taste of
My tongue touched the hot salty dampness, licking along the trail until
I reached the source. He tasted of steel and salt and fire, and this was all I
needed. I clamped my mouth around the wound and let it flow into me, let it
drip at its own pace onto my gum and tongue, swallowed as it welled up inside
my mouth. I nursed the hot blood from him, making it run down my throat, and
felt alive. He would not push me away from this pleasure. I gave him the
illusion of the hunt, and he gave me the life, the blood.
I drank until I had my fill, and he was weak on the floor, spent and
tired. The next month I would come back, drawn by the blood that meant that I
would never grow old. Drawn by the drug, and the memories. I kissed him,
gently, on the lips, with my bloody mouth, and he responded slightly.
I didn't like to see him this way, so weak. I always wanted to imagine
him strong and vital. I got to my feet, my body sore from the pounding it had
taken. "Love you," I said, and walked towards the door, the heels clicking on
the floor. There was no response. I didn't look back, it would cost me too
much when I was alone and remembering later. I opened the door as little as I
needed to, and slipped out naked and messy into the hall. It seemed almost
bright in the pale light there.
The bathroom was across the hall, and I washed up as quickly as I
could, splashing cold water on my face to get rid of the blood. I got dressed
in the hall. It felt good to be in sensible clothes again, it felt damn good
to toss those ridiculous spiked heels into the gym bag and slip my feet into
my nice well worn boots. Still, small price to pay for immortality. My jacket
on, I ran out into the light to catch the C-4 home. Next time... oh. There
was an aching between my thighs that still wanted to be satisfied. But I sure
didn't want to be around when he started moving again.
I hoped that I could find a secluded seat on the bus.
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