Bound in the Afterglow

Jayne sped down the interstate with the long and winding road unraveling in the old BMW's rearview. Chilly night air crept in through the half-open window, pulling strands of crimson hair loose from her messy ponytail. She gnawed at her bottom lip until it bled, chewing through cheap drugstore lipstick that had dried hours ago.

As Jayne moved faster through the ink colored expanse, she couldn't help but notice that the night sky was as dark and empty as she felt inside - only cleaner. Eager hands gripped the wheel as the interstate faded away, and Jayne felt the once smooth road turn bumpy and rough. The rural back road spilled out ahead like a dirt-covered red carpet welcoming her home. Street lights turned into twisted oak trees and a sudden rush of familiarity caused a nostalgic pang in her gut. Jayne loved this place and she hated it, and when she left, she knew deep inside that she would someday be back.

That feeling stayed with her through the failed relationships and dead-end jobs that plagued her young adult life. She left New Salem to become something - whatever something meant - knowing damn well she didn't have any follow through. She left the small town an eager nineteen year old and it was no surprise she was returning a career nobody on the wrong side of thirty. But she never could shake that feeling of knowing. So when Jayne made the decision two weeks earlier to take her own life, she knew she had to make her final trip home.

With her size six pressed hard into the accelerator, eyes squeezed shut and breath suspended, Jayne steered the speeding BMW smack into a tree.


****

Jayne woke to sharp pain gnawing at her skull. Unconsciousness started to fade as she peered through coin-slot eyes into the dimly lit darkness that surrounded her. She tried to decipher the shadows that spilled down the walls, cast by unknown objects and candles that had been scattered about.

Am I dead? Jayne thought, mind still weary and bleak. Am I fucking trapped in purgatory?

The only thing she was sure of was that she was someplace unfamiliar and cold. The last thing she could remember was her suicide mission and crashing head-on into a tree before fading into glittering blackness.

Panic crept through Jayne's body like a disease as she reviled in the possibilities. The sleepy haze that had held her body hostage for hours, maybe days - she did not know for how long - turned into an urgency to know where she was -- to know whether she was dead or alive. Tiny bursts of regret, fear, confusion and relief consumer her, and she wanted to leap to her aching feet and run away to a place more familiar; a place without regret.

But Jayne could not move.

She was bound to a bed in the middle of the strange, dark room. To her surprise, this realization exhilarated her, but it also frightened her to the core. With senses now fully intact, Jayne tried to make sense of what was happening. She could feel the soft flesh of her wrists shift between hard leather cuffs. Her full figure lay stretched and helpless as she strained her neck to gaze down the landscape of her body, over the little mountains formed by her C-cup breasts and down her round, heaving stomach. She had been stripped nude and covered only by a sheath of black satin, which was draped over her breasts and torso. Her ankles had been crossed and bound with the same leather cuff - only a larger version - that bound her wrists. One meaty thigh crossed over the other, heavy and still and hiding her pink delta like a secret. Only a furrow of amber bush was exposed.

The moments slowly passed by and Jayne lay still in the bed. She did not struggle because it only made the pain of her outstretched limbs unbearable. She did not scream because she knew better, and did not want to summon whoever - or whatever - was holding her captive.

Suddenly, Jayne heard footsteps stir outside of a door that was hidden on the other side of the room. Until this noise echoed through the silence and broke the ringing in her ears caused by her fast-beating heart, she did not know the door was there. But now its presence was known, and the dastardly door filled the room and it felt as if it was right in front of her. Frightened by what was about to enter, Jayne closed her eyes and wished the noise away.

The door creaked as it slid open, and the sound of footsteps became louder as they drew closer to the bed. Although she was awake and trembling, she clenched shut her eyes like a child trying to fake-out its mother. In what felt like an instant, Jayne felt the mattress sink beside her. She listened to the deep steady breath of a man and her nostrils became filled with the aromas of cinnamon and musk.

"I know you're awake," whispered the man as he ran a delicate finger through Jayne's crimson hair, which had been brushed smooth.

"Open your eyes, there is no reason to be afraid," he said, gently.

But she was afraid. In fact, Jayne was terrified of who was waiting for her on the other side of her quivering eyelids. A hundred different thoughts raced through her mind as if she was about to come face-to-face with death, and the one that stung the most was that she wanted to live.

Jayne couldn't stomach the suspense and she knew there was no escape, so she opened her eyes to face reality. But the man beside her was not the ghoul she had envisioned. He did not look like the monster or villain or murderer that had transpired in her head only moments before. Overcome with relief, she involuntarily let go of the fear and regret that wrestled in her gut like a rabid animal. Maybe this is a dream, she thought as she lifted her head to speak. Before she could mutter a single word, the man touched a finger to her dry, parted lips.

"My name is Deacon Steed," he said, lulling Jayne's head back down to the warm pillow.

She was caught in a trance.

Deacon was striking, his flesh pallid and smooth. His steel gray eyes were so deep that they pierced through Jayne's lingering stare and made her hazel eyes look ordinary. Deacon's face was obscurely beautiful and he looked as if he had been carved from stone, every feature was carefully considered and pronounced. When he rose from the bed with his tall, slender physique on parade, his unbuttoned shirt drifted open to reveal a hairless chest and rosy nipples pierced with small gold hoops.

"Where am I? Why am I shackled?" Jayne asked fervently, breaking the silence.

Deacon kneeled beside the bed, confronting Jayne with his strange beauty.

"You wrapped your car around a tree not far from here last night."

"You saved me?"

"I heard a crash, and when I went to see what happened, I saw you trapped in the wreckage."

"You shouldn't have saved me," Jayne said, averting her eyes away from his. "Maybe I wanted to die."

Deacon took Jayne's face in his hands. His demeanor, which up until now had been emotionless and cold, turned wicked and intense. "You did die in the crash. Your past life is dead to you, consider it over. Now you belong to me."

Jayne became filled with an uncontrollable sense of desire. No one had ever wanted to possess her. No one ever cared so deeply. She felt the void within her being start to close as she mulled over Deacon's words: "Now you belong to me." Jayne suddenly felt complete.

"I am yours forever," she whispered.

Deacon said nothing in response. Jayne lay waiting and still, hanging eagerly on his silence. She was beautifully broken and listless, her outstretched body vulnerable and nude like a living doll waiting to be claimed.

Without saying a word, Deacon moved closer to Jayne. Casting gunmetal eyes upon her, he flashed a devious grin. Jayne watched as two sparkling white fangs reared their pointed existence in a row of otherwise normal teeth. Her clit pulsed feverishly as she lay bound and curious in the sultry darkness. She felt at ease in the face of immortality and she could taste death's sweet nectar seep into her saliva. Chills rushed off Deacon's body like the frigid night air that swept through New Salem, surging Jayne's sex like an electric pulse.

Deacon released her soar, stretched limbs. Then, with the prowess of a hungry feline, he drew in her stale, sweet scent as he fondled her heavy breasts. He sucked on her hard nipples, one after the other. Jayne threw back her head in a fit of pleasure, recklessly spilling her hair all over. Her eyes were wild -- his were hungry.

Deacon sucked a hard kiss from Jayne's lips then slashed at the delicate flesh until a trickle of blood rolled down her chin. Jayne felt his tongue lop up every bit of her salty fluid as it seeped from the fresh wounds.

Blood spilled down Jayne's chin and on to her heaving breasts. Deacon squeezed a handful of her soft buttocks as he drank. She surrendered herself completely, wishing she too had fangs to taste the forbidden insides of her lover. Never had she been in the throngs of desire like this.

Suddenly, she felt Deacon's fingers slip into her soaking-wet sex, then slide out and into her orifice again. Then he slid his moist fingers into her mouth, letting her taste her own bitter juices. Deacon filled Jayne with his burning erection.

"Tell me you love me," she moaned as blood trickled off her lips. "Tell me you'll always love me."

But Deacon went in for more, silent beside the sounds of pleasure. Jayne felt the sting of his pointy daggers tear into her neck. The pain disintegrated into the incandescence of their lust, and Jayne felt strangely at ease. The two were bonded by the balance of fulfillment and need -- of carnal give and take. Jayne started to fade into a bleary facsimile of herself, and the candle-lit darkness grew blacker. Blood flowed hot as Deacon thrust inside her, filling her with his juices. The last thing Jayne felt before unconsciousness claimed her was the withdrawal of Deacon's invading teeth.

Jayne woke to find herself once again bound by her wrists and ankles. This time, streams of light filtered into the room through places that went unnoticed in the dark. As the morning light cast a glow over Deacon's sleeping body, Jayne realized it had no affect on him. And she did not feel any different inside -- she still felt mortal.

Her neck throbbed and she could feel clotted blood crust around the small wounds. Her lips swelled, the tender flesh felt violated and raw. The scene looked different in the light and everything felt real. The dreaminess of feeling loved and desired and feeling like she was the only woman in existence had washed away. Fear and regret returned like familiar friends and as the physical pain took hold, Jayne realized she would soon face greater consequences.

Beyond Deacon's dead-still body, which did not have the same luster as it did the night before, Jayne saw something glimmering on the floor next to the bed. She curiously stretched her restrained limbs and wounded neck to get a peek. On a pile of crumpled clothes sat a row of prosthetic fangs that were covered in dried blood. Peeking out of the pocket of Deacon's pants was a dagger -- the blade was clean and waiting to be dirtied with blood. Jayne felt her heart leap into her throat. And as Deacon slept beside her, satisfied and full, the truth became clear in the harsh morning light: Jayne's fate had been sealed since the night she crashed -- the night she decided to die -- and she would never escape him.