Seduction at a Goth Club

I wear black. All black. Black leather boots. Black leather pants, Black leather jacket. Black gloves. I have black hair. Long in front but shaved tight in the back. I wear black on the outside because black is how I feel on the inside. Not scared black not depressed black, not the black of warm living dirt. I am dark black, dangerous black, dominant black. Black of the blade, black of the blood. By contrast I am pale. I am ashen. I am the colour of death. I wear several silver earrings and around my neck is a silver fetish skull. I arrive on a black motorcycle. It is shiny and fast. It is dangerous and powerful, like me. I enter the room. It is dim and smoky but there are flashes of brightness. The overhead lights swirl in different colours as the music plays. The music is dark and bass. The singer chants in a guttural voice. 'The bats have left the belltower'. The rhythm is palpable. It is the rhythm of blood. 'The victims have been bled red velvet'. I know what I want. I am there for a purpose. The dancers swirl about me. The lesser people move in rhythm of the music. They try to make their lives important. They primp and preen in order to attract. I have no need for that. I am direct power. I am the only object that matters.

I make my choice for the evening. She stands before me. She has short straight black hair. Worn in a bob. One of her locks cover one eye. Her eyes are painted. Long lashes stare out. Red red lips contrast with the pallid tone of her skin. She wears a black shirt with a large white star on her chest. Her shirt is tight. It shows her breasts well. They are not large but they are wide. the shirt ends high and her stomach is visible. It is thin and tight. A silver ring rests in her belly button. She wears a short skirt. It is like her shirt, tight and black. I know there is nothing underneath.

Her black stockings end above her knee. They allow a view of her thighs. White and thin. Her shoes are tall. They make her look bigger than she is. They are black velvet, like her skirt. Her hands are long and thin. Well trimmed, long, black fingernails. She holds a drink in a tall glass. The cool of the drink contrasts the heat of her body and the glass sweats with the contradiction. The water drips down her hands and arm. She is not upset at this. On the contrary she watches as the drops roll down her wrist and fall to the floor. She shivers instinctively. She lights a cigarette. The drops fall in slow motion. I move closer. Drip drip drip. I come up behind her. 'The virginal brides file past his tomb'. I take my gloved hand and brush across the back of her white neck. 'Strewn with times dead flowers'. I can feel the fragile bones pushing through her delicate skin. 'Bereaved in death they bloom. She turns slowly, pulling the glass from her lips. The wetness glistens on her lips. A drop leaves her lips and slides down her cheek. Her large round eyes look up at me. My hand moves across her cheek to her lips. She opens her mouth. My finger rubs against her lower lips which quivers. Her tongue leaves her mouth and touches my finger. Her tongue is pierced and she rubs the ball against my hand. She feels my power. She takes my finger and puts it into her mouth. She can taste the leather. It is bitter. I pull my hand back and her body follows. Closer and closer to mine. I pull her mouth towards mine. She releases my finger as our lips meet. Her mouth is sweet. Her tongue is wet and rough. I feel it slide across my own. I put my hand on the back of her head and caress her hair. She begins

to pull back, to pull away but I won't let her. I grab her hair harder and harder, forcing her face into mine. My tongue violates her mouth deeper and deeper. She wants release. Her hand goes up. I grab her wrist and push her against the bar. The wet glass slips from her hand. I squeeze her wrist harder. It is falling. Her hand is clenched, tight and hard. Crash, the glass hits the floor. Her hand opens. Her arm falls. She is mine. She is tame. She knows what I am she knows she cannot stop. The urge is too great.

Without saying a word or slacking my grasp on her wrist I move toward the door. She follows head down. We leave and walk to my bike. She smiles when she sees it. She loves the danger. She can feel the excitement. The bike roars to life. It is loud. It is rhythm. The rhythm of blood. She mounts the bike like mounting a lover. Her skirt hikes up showing more of her leg. She can feel the cool seat directly on her hot skin and she becomes wet with the contradiction. We begin to move. She feels the wind on her face, on her arms, on her thigh. She feels the vibration of the bike. The rhythm of blood. Her hands are on my chest. She holds on. The bike moves faster and faster. She can feel the acceleration. She can feel herself being pulled back. Pulled away from me. She holds tighter. She can feel my chest. Fell my heart, The rhythm is the rhythm of blood. Her hand moves lower. Her hands reach my stomach. It is tight and hard. Her hands move lower. They feel the cold metal of my belt. They feel the hot leather of my thighs. her hands begin to sweat with the contrast. Her hands are wet. They slide across the leather. She can feel me vibrate with the bike. Her head swims in excitement.

We arrive. The bike stops. All is quiet. She can feel the rhythm of her heart in her temples. Beat beat beat, the rhythm of her blood. Her heart beats faster in excitement. We enter. We move in rhythm. I push her against the counter. Her arms encircle me. She feels the slickness of my back. Draped in leather, draped in death. Our lips meet. My tongue again violates her mouth. I feel the knob of her tongue against mine. I feel her roughness lick against the insides of my mouth. I lift her slightly. She sits on the counter. Her legs part instinctively and he skirt rises with the stress. I push closer. I put my hands against the small of her back and pull her towards me. Her hands progress around my sides and undo my belt. She unzips me. I move closer to her. I feel my manhood press against her thigh. Her legs part further. She is wet she is smooth she is tight she is shaved. I enter her slowly. A slight but audible gasp leaves her lips as I push forward into her. As I violate her I penetrate her. She tightens in reaction. She wants to regain control. She wants control of her own body but I won't give her up. I move back and forth, forcing myself in deeper and deeper. She cannot stop me. Her pleasure builds and builds. She wants control. She wants to control her own pleasure. It is being thrust upon her. She shutters instinctively. My hands are around her. I hold her about the waist. I push her into me. She begins to release control to me. Drops of her wetness begin to drip down her thigh. Her white thigh. She gives me control. drip. drip. drip. She is on fire. The act of giving control gives her as much pleasure as the physical act. She is helpless to stop me. Her clitoris grows harder and stiffer. Her nipples push though the thin fabric of her shirt. She orgasms involuntarily. I do not stop. She begs for release she wants to catch her breath but I do not relent. I push into her again and again. He nails scratch against my cheek. Another involuntary orgasm. Her hands move across my face drawing blood. Another involuntary orgasm. She shutters instinctively. The blood drips down my cheek. I continue thrusting and thrusting. The blood falls to the floor. Falls in slow motion. I am harder and harder and deeper and deeper. drip.drip.drip. I build and build, thrusting faster and faster. I am intent. The first drops of blood splatter against the floor. I explode inside of her, filling her with my seed. Her wetness drips to the floor and mingles with my blood. drip drip drip.

I pull back. I pull out. She comes forward, she must be with me, on me, in me. She moves her hand around to the back of my head and presses her lips against mine. I pull away but she hold me tight. Her tongue penetrates me. She violates me, her tongue delves deep into my mouth. drip. drip. drip. Her mouth moves across my face. He tongue pushes out and she begins to lick my cheek. Lick the blood. I pull her away and look at her face. Her eyes have the blank stare of orgasmic bliss. A trickle of blood drips from her lips. It slides down her cheek. I put my hand on her shoulder and push her to the floor. She kneels. Her head moves to the ground. Her ass is high in the air. She begins to lick the floor around my feet. She wants the blood, she wants her wetness. The tile is cold, her tongue is hot. She sweats in the contrast. She moves forward, putting her mouth on my leg. She licks the leather. She caresses my leg with her hand. She moves higher and higher in anticipation. She must taste me. I allow her to place my manhood in her mouth. She licks up and down and placed the head between her lips. I am hard. She can taste herself on it. Taste herself like she could on the floor. She moves up and down the shaft. She wants release. She wants to force pleasure on me like I forced on her.

I grow harder and harder. I can feel the warmth of her mouth. I can feel the roughness of her tongue. She can feel herself wet. Her hand moves between her legs. She feels her smoothness. She feels her wetness, she feels her softness. A finger enters. She feels the slickness of her

insides. Her heel moves toward her stiff clitoris. She rubs back and forth on her shoe. Her shoe becomes wet. Her mouth moves faster and faster. She begins to drool slightly and the saliva slides down her face. The drops slide down her shoe, they drip down her face. I am harder and harder. I must release. I cannot allow her to control the release. I pull out and move my hand faster and faster over the shaft. She opens her mouth wide and closes her eyes. She must taste me. Her hand moves faster and faster between her legs. Her tongue comes out and lies waiting. I reach my climax. I begin to shoot my semen over her face. It lands on her tongue. It lands on her lips. It lands on her cheek. Her stiff clitoris vibrates. She can taste the salt. Her orgasm builds. She can taste the bitter. Her orgasm builds. Her shoe becomes wetter and wetter. My seed drips down her chin. The room begins to spin. Her pleasure mounts. She can feel my seed leaving her chin and dripping to the floor in slow motion. Her mind is alive with colour. drip drip drip. She feels herself falling. My seed splatters to the ground. She tries to hold herself up but she has no power. She falls. The orgasm rips through her body. She falls. She hits the ground and she is asleep. She cannot take more. She lies on the floor in a fetal position. I can see her. My seed drips from her mouth. My seed drips from her womanhood. She is covered in sweat and blood and semen. I clean myself on her velvet skirt and I leave her on the floor.