Bon Appétit

A noise, a soft rapping on wood, drew me from the darkness of sleep. My eyes slowly opened to gaze into the sun setting across the Hudson. I groaned with loathing as my consciousness returned. I was living in a luxury suite in one of the most expensive areas of New York City, with all my needs cared for, and yet every evening as I woke, I thought of nothing but escape. I lay unmoving as I stared through the window.

I was twenty-two, I hadn't left the penthouse even once in two years, and it was almost certain that I'd die here. My inability to leave wasn't because I was restrained, at least not physically. I was totally free to wander about the penthouse, and I supposed, I could open the door and walk away, if only I could force myself to do so.

Another quiet knock sounded on my door, drawing me from my thoughts. "Michael?" a voice said softly from the other side. "I have dinner."

"Yeah," I grunted as I shoved myself up in the bed and ran my hand through my hair, trying to wake up. "Come in."

Jonathan entered, carrying a tray loaded with iron rich foods, a thick steak that I knew was cooked to medium-rare perfection, a small side of garlic butter shrimp, spinach, a whole wheat roll, and a small bowl of cubed watermelon. Also on the tray was a hypodermic containing erythropoietin. The Bitch needed her meal, and I was the one providing it.

The Bitch was our private name for our captor. It was the name Jonathan's predecessor had used when Jonathan was in my place, and as Jonathan had told it to me, so had his predecessor told it to him, and so on, back through only God knew how many men.

Jonathan set the tray on the small table that shared space in my room. My bedroom was huge, easily as large as the three bedrooms combined in the apartment I once shared with two others. While the apartment had a dining room, and an expansive living room with fantastic views of the river, Jonathan and I never used them, preferring to dine together in my room.

Jonathan occupied the smallest of the apartment's three bedrooms, though it was larger than most bedrooms in New York. The Bitch had the largest bedroom, with twice the space of my own, that contained a massive bed that was at least ten feet square, and little else. The only items in the room, other than the massive bed squatting in the center of the floor, was a mirror mounted to the ceiling above the bed and a decorative floor lamp in the corner to provide enough illumination to use the mirror.

The room was where she slept, and fed, and it made the pecking order clear. When Jonathan was fully consumed and no longer useful, I'd be demoted to the bedroom nearest The Bitch's and begin doting on the man who replaced me, until I too died.

Jonathan said he was thirty-one, though he looked at least fifty, maybe older, and his flesh sagged on his once robust frame as he slowly withered. When I'd first arrived, Jonathan was in glowing health, well-muscled, and with a full head of rich blond hair. Now his thinning hair was dull and lifeless, just like his eyes. If only I'd met him before it was too late.

Based on how long Sean, the man Jonathan had replaced, lasted after being demoted from pet to servant, Jonathan estimated he had two, maybe three more years before The Bitch finished consuming him. I shoved the thought away. Jonathan was my sole friend, and the only living man in the world that could truly understand my predicament. Without his steadying influence, I was certain I'd have gone mad as The Bitch's hold over me perverted my will and prevented me from escaping through the door or by taking my own life.

Over the past two years we'd discussed many things as he mentored me in my current and future role, as Sean had instructed him, and as I would eventually do for the man who replaced me.

"Good," I murmured as I forked a bit of the steak into my mouth.

He smiled at me, ignoring my nakedness. I envied him for his clothes, despite the heat. The Bitch liked the apartment a warm eighty-seven degrees, winter and summer, and I'd complained bitterly about the heat. After the clothes I'd arrived in became worn and no longer fit, he'd encouraged me to simply stop wearing them. When I'd first arrived, to battle the oppressive heat, Jonathan often went naked until he had to leave the apartment, but as his health declined, he seemed to relish the warmth, and now he wore clothes. It hadn't escaped my notice in the last month or so, though he continued to wear a short-sleeved shirt, he'd replaced shorts with long pants.

"Glad you like it."

When I realized I was living in a gilded cage, I'd schemed to escape. Jonathan had encouraged me to try, though he hadn't assisted me. At the time, I hadn't understood why he wouldn't help me, especially when I'd offered to take him with me. I'd first wheedled, and then raged, his eyes sad as he steadfastly refused my pleas for help.

Now I understood. In the beginning, I could make it all the way to the door, and even put my hand on the latch, but try as I might, I couldn't force myself to twist the knob and pull the door open. Until the moment my hand touched the door, I'd desperately wanted to turn the knob, fling the door wide, and to run and never stop, but when it came time for me to open the door, my desire to leave faded. My yearning to run and never stop was replaced by an overwhelming need to remain and fuck The Bitch and never stop. No longer wishing to leave, I always released the knob and turned away, only to mercilessly berate myself minutes later for being weak and stupid.

She was like a drug, a potent elixir that stole my will. Early in my stay, each day, sometimes several times a day, I tried to leave, only to fail. I tried leaving before I fucked her and immediately after. I'd forced myself awake, to throw off the dregs of her spell from the previous night to stumble to the door in the middle of the afternoon, but no matter the time of day, I failed, my desire to leave disappearing before I could open the door.

Soon enough, I could approach the door, but I'd lost even the desire to grasp the knob. Later, I'd pause to stare at the door, wondering if I walked to it if I could open it, but I no longer approached it, and now I simply dreamed of escape. It was clear the longer I remained under The Bitch's influence, the weaker my resolve to escape became. As I slowly chewed the meat, I wondered if anyone had ever made it.

Jonathan had lost even the ability to plot to escape. He was free to leave the apartment, and did so frequently, to perform his duties of maintaining the apartment and keeping The Bitch's pet, me, in good health. He was allowed the privilege because The Bitch knew he'd never betray her and would always return to her lair.

Early on I'd once tried to follow him out of the apartment, thinking if the door were opened for me I could walk through it, but I'd slowed to a stop a less than a step from the door. Jonathan had paused, the door open in invitation, watching me as I stared longingly at the opening.

"Fight her!" he'd encouraged softly, his voice almost pleading. "You can do it! The door... it's open! All you have to do is walk through!"

I couldn't. I was unable to force myself to take another step. Even if I'd been able to step through, I suspected her influence didn't end at the door, and I wondered if there was anywhere in the world I could go to escape her control. After a long moment he looked away, his face sad as he pulled the door closed behind him.

While I saw The Bitch only at night, and only in her bedroom, Jonathan interacted with her during the day. When The Bitch and I were together, we fucked, but I sometimes as I tossed fitfully in the deep slumber that took me after our nightly fuckathons, I heard him speaking to her. She could understand us when we spoke to her, but she never responded.

The only sounds I'd heard from her were her screams as we fucked. Her cries of passion were unnerving, unhuman, and closer to a tortured animal's shriek, or perhaps the cry of a banshee or succubus, than they were to a woman's scream. Jonathan also claimed to have only heard her mating cries, and yet, somehow, we always knew what she wanted. What she wanted from me was simple. She wanted to fuck me, and to take my blood while doing so.

I'd tried to deny her, thinking that perhaps if I could somehow avoid fucking her, I could break her spell over me. I'd remained in my room, determined to resist her call, but like my attempts at escape, I'd never succeeded. As I fought to relieve the gnawing need to fuck, I'd jacked off repeatedly, coating my chest, bed, or floor with my seed. Despite my feverish masturbation, the harder I tried, the more I fought against my carnal desire, the more frenzied and violent our fucking was when I succumbed... and I always succumbed and went to her before the night was over.

I'd once tried to make myself unattractive to her and had stopped grooming myself. It hadn't seemed to faze her, and after a time I so disgusted myself that I'd given the tactic up.

Unable to resist my need to fuck, or to stop her from wanting to fuck me, I'd switched to trying to kill or injure her, if only long enough to escape, but that had also failed. My only weapons were kitchen knives, my fists, and my teeth, but she seemed to be impervious to any wound I could inflict. I'd watched horrible rends in her flesh heal in seconds, leaving behind no mark to indicate they'd ever been.

No matter how callously I fucked her, no matter how brutally I tried to kill her, no matter how tenaciously I fought against her spell, I couldn't break free of her control. Jonathan also hadn't been able to free himself, and before him, Sean had also failed. We were nothing but playthings in her deadly game.

The Bitch had to be a vampire, or something similar. Two years ago, I didn't believe in monsters, but I did now. Each night she fed from me, and as she did, she consumed a bit more of poor Jonathan's soul. When Jonathan began to show signs of his declining health, I'd asked him about it. He'd explained that his decline was my future. When he was her pet, he was likewise well muscled and in good health, but with Sean's death, and his replacement by me, as I grew in health, he declined.

When The Bitch had first lured me to her, I was an overweight, nerdy, glasses wearing, twenty-year-old virgin working at a corner market. While I still needed glasses, I no longer wore them because there was nothing to see. In the past two years, I'd shed my excess weight, and now I was lean, well-muscled, and in the best shape of my life.

I often wondered why she'd selected me. Jonathan suspected it was something in our blood, or it could be the depth and strength of our life force, or maybe the size of our cocks. Perhaps it was something else. He didn't know. I didn't know my blood type, and Jonathan didn't know his either, so I'd asked about our cocks, the only tangible thing in his speculations. Other than Jonathan's cock, I'd never seen another man's penis, not in real life anyway, and I'd never been with a woman. Technically, I supposed I still hadn't.

Jonathan had been older, and more worldly and experienced than me when she'd selected him. He was noticeably larger than me when our cocks were flaccid, but he'd seen my cock when it was ready for carnal combat. Though he could no longer get his up, he assured me that when he could, he was better endowed that most men, and I was at the very least his equal.

Jonathan and I finished eating, talking softly about nothing. There was no television or internet in the apartment, and Jonathan had disposed of my cell phone while I'd been occupied that first night. When I'd learned of his treachery, I'd exploded with anger, but I no longer harbored any resentment toward him. As days and weeks passed, I'd felt my resolve to resist weaking. I knew it was only a matter of time before I'd no longer be able to defy her, and I now understood he'd had no choice but to obey her. Now, all my news of the outside world came through Jonathan, and I cherished the tidbits of information as if they were gold.

I glanced at the window, and Jonathan noticed. The sun had almost set. Soon, I would sense her call, and I'd go to her.

"It's time," he said as he rose and picked up the syringe. I extended my arm, and after he tied off my limb, he carefully inserted the needle into the vein. I bared my teeth as I looked away. I received two shots every day to boost my red blood cell count, one in the morning, after my battle, and a second one in the evening. I'd had the same two daily shots for the past two years, but I still hated the needles.

Fortified for my nightly battle, I picked up the expensive looking steak knife and carefully coated the blade in the remains of the garlic butter that once contained shrimp. He watched silently before looking at me, his eyes sad.

"I have to try," I murmured.

"I know," he whispered in reply, and I knew they weren't empty words.

He'd told me stories of how each night he'd battle fucked The Bitch, just as I was doing, and he had the scars to prove it. I still had the will to escape, but soon enough I'd begin to lose even that. As the last flickers of my will was crushed, she would begin searching for her next victim. Soon after, Jonathan would be dead, I'd be replaced as her pet, and I'd begin my slow slide into death.

I already knew a knife wouldn't kill her. She relished any display of defiance, treating my attempts to injure her or escape as a game. Likewise, becoming passive and malleable was also impossible as her bite enflamed my passion so that the need for prolonged, violent fucking consumed me. She was incredibly strong, much stronger than I was, and I knew she could kill me if she wanted to, but despite our long nights of brutish fucking, she'd never severely damaged me.

"I know garlic, and holy water, and a cross, that none of that shit works, but maybe if I get the garlic inside her, like a garlic covered blade maybe? Have you tried that?"

He slowly shook his head. "No." He'd warned me none of the legendary methods to repel or kill vampires worked, but I'd had to try them for myself, just as he had.

"But you don't think it'll work?" I asked, my tone making it a statement.

"No," he murmured again.

I considered leaving the blade on the tray, but then set I it aside. I had nothing to lose by trying, and he nodded slowly in understanding as he gathered the remains of our meal.

"Something has to work!" I insisted. "If nothing kills them, what prevents them from taking over the earth?"

"Sunlight?" he suggested.

"Yeah... but..." I mumbled before grinding to a stop.

We didn't know if sunlight was any more fatal to her than any of the other traditional vampire killing methods we'd tried. All we knew was she kept lightproof drapes closed during the day and avoided any beams that leaked past. Jonathan, during his tenure as her pet, had once carried her into the living room while fucking her, intending to fuck her there as the morning sun flooded the room. He'd failed. As the sun broke the horizon, she'd overpowered him, and they'd returned to her bedroom to finish in a frenzy of fucking. He'd also turned the UV sunlamp we used to help maintain our health on her, but that had done nothing other than cause her to smile in that way she had when her pet especially pleased her, and then she'd proceeded to spend the night fucking him even more brutally than normal.

She seemed to draw power from the night, and the drapes were always open when we fucked, so I'd resolved to fuck her in the sun myself, and to succeed where Jonathan had failed. Normally, as the sky began to brighten, she finished with me and allowed me to return to my room to sleep and recover my strength, but that morning I'd refused to stop fucking her. As the haze of her lust began to lift, rather than slinking away as I normally did, I picked her up and slammed her against the wall where I calculated the first beams of light would enter her room. I then began power fucking The Bitch for all I was worth.

Like always, my resistance and violence excited her, and she began fucking me in return. I'd managed to hold my orgasm until beams of sunlight began to enter the room, trying to distract her with the promise of a feeding until it was too late. I hadn't been able to hold my ratpure as long as I'd wanted to and had roared my orgasm before the beams were as close as I'd planned. She was feeding on me as the orange rays of the sun peeking through the New York skyline crept closer.

Using the power of her bite, I kept her pinned against the wall, fucking her brutally hard as the glittering steams crept to where I was crying out my effort and pleasure in a frenzy of lust. She finished her feeding and I was trying desperately to distract her by continuing my hard fucking until the streamers of light reached her. As the rays approached us, she realized what I was attempting, and with her inhuman shriek, her pussy had clamped down on my cock like a vice as she came.

The glittering shafts of light were nearly touching her. Thinking I'd succeeded, combined with my hard fucking and the sudden incredible tightness of her pussy, caused me to explode into rapture with a scream of my own.

Strength surged through me with her orgasm, her rapture infusing me with power and energy, but it wasn't enough for me to hold her in place. As we were coming, she bit deep into my flesh to feed while gripping me in a crushing embrace and shoving us from the wall. We landed in a rolling tumble on the floor with my cock still buried inside her. With our mutual orgasms and her bite, our fucking became even more violent. Roaring with pleasure and effort, I'd tried to manhandle her into the sun as we fucked, but I lacked the strength to overpower her. As our orgasms faded, she'd pulled my cock from inside her, picked me up, and threw me to the bed. I'd barely come to a rolling stop before she'd launched herself at me and rammed my cock deep into her wetness.

The morning sun never approached the bed, and after hour or so of the most barbaric and brutal fucking we'd ever engaged in, she came again, her shriek of completion as loud, and the grip of her pussy as tight, as any I'd experienced. She'd kept fucking me until I'd again succumbed to my rapture, and she'd fed from me for the fifth time that night. After she'd recovered from her feeding, she released her hold on me for the second time, gracing me with one of her rare smiles and nods that signaled her pleasure with my performance.

His lifting of the tray pulled me from my memories. Holding the tray, he glanced at the knife on the table. "Good luck," he whispered.

"Thanks," I murmured in reply.

With no other words, he turned and left the room. I showered to wash away the previous night's battle, and then sat, staring at the gathering darkness, until I felt the first tendrils of desire and my cock began to harden. I rose, picking up the knife as I did.

My room was opposite the apartment from The Bitch and Jonathan's rooms. I walked across the living room, holding the knife at my side by its dark, wooden handle, my bare feet making no noise on finely polished wood floor. I barely glanced at the city beyond the glass, Jonathan having already flung the light blocking drapes wide to reveal the night beyond. My need was roaring, my cock steel hard and pointing defiantly skyward. I needed to fuck. I needed to fuck The Bitch until she shrieked her inhuman wail, and then I needed to keep fucking her without mercy until my come flowed from her pussy like a waterfall.

I entered her room without slowing, not bothering to try to hide the knife. When I'd first tried stabbing her, I'd hid the knife behind my back and slid it under a pillow as I joined her on the bed. As she rode me hard and fast, I'd pulled the knife from under the pillow and driven into her chest. Her only reaction was to scream her pleasure to the room and jerk the knifed from between her breasts as her pussy clamped down on my rigid cock. She'd hadn't even bled as she carelessly tossed the knife across the room. I'd stabbed her several times since, in the stomach, in the back, and once in her pussy... all to no effect other than to apparently increase her pleasure.