Darkness Falling

A second more, just another, and he would spend.

The rush of her mouth racing over his length was a delicious vacuum of sensation, until her mouth popped free, trailing delicate strands of saliva. The air kissed his fevered flesh. His cock slapped against his stomach, no longer contained by her throat.

"NO!" he roared. Pleasure thwarted arced in angry lines down the sinews of his straining muscles. He bared his teeth in anger, snarling. "Finish me, damn you!"

Her eyes twinkled wickedly, loving his frustration, relishing it. The torrid blush in her cheeks blazed anew. She was aroused. Her nipples peaked between the strands of her black hair. One of them burned a dark red, a bruised and bitten fruit. His mouth had done that. He had managed to mark her, despite the bonds.

Crawling atop him, her hair fell in a curtain around his heaving chest, across his shoulders and his head. Her eyes were closer to him now, dark and sparkling. They contained the mystery of her identity, unknown to him despite these many nights as her prisoner. Her breath rushed in hot puffs against his cheeks and she shifted above him. The smell of crushed roses burned in his nostrils as she lowered herself, and the smooth head of his shaft kissed the delicate flesh at the juncture of her thighs. Another glorious probe and she sank down on him. He could only groan as her pulsing sheath swallowed every last inch.

An arm reached over and her hand snaked around his neck, angling it. "Look," she told him softly. The petals of her sex spread tight around his shaft, stretched and glistening. The pale pink had darkened to an antique rose blush. The bead of her clitoris angled proud and erect from the darkened lips, a small smooth node that pulsed as she ground it against the base of his cock.

The muscles in her stomach fluttered as she lifted herself slowly, then gradually sunk down. Her breasts swayed above him, nipples dancing in counterpoint to her luxurious thrusts. His own desire, barely checked, wanted to jump out of his body with every pulse of his cock. His hips began their dance as his body raced after its pleasure.

Her other hand clutched the cushion of his chest, felt his nipple like a piece of stone scrape against her palm. She rolled her hips in a tight swivel, felt her bud skid over the root of his shaft. A jab of fierce pleasure pierced her as he thrust from below with barely contained strength. He wanted his pleasure, fought for the opportunity to spend. She loved the power in his body, the fury in his face. Closing her eyes in concentration she bore down, contracted her inner muscles to flutter around the rigid shaft, caress and cajole it. Lifting up she let her fluttering portal scrape over the smooth skin, suck the fluid from the blind eye. His shout told her she had but a moment.

She bore down with a grunt, impaling herself in one long thrust, collapsing so fully she felt he must have breached her womb. She leaned forward, and began to shimmy her hips in a movement designed solely for his pleasure. If his hands were free he might clutch at the round spheres of her buttocks, pull the flesh apart to stretch her further. His fingers might trace the groove between, find the puckered star of her anus and rub it. Or he might be concerned only with his release. He would clutch her hips and work them against his body, run her sheath up and down his cock with growing urgency. He would make the friction of her delicate skin against his own burn like fire in their loins. She shuddered to imagine it. Even without his hands, she knew her sex stretched lewdly around his thick penis, it hung out of her glistening with her juices on every retreat, only to be swallowed anew and with increasing urgency as she sought to bring him to his peak.

The sinews of his neck stuck out like metal chords as his head shot back and his teeth ground together in a grimace. His own hips beneath hers ground his penis into her body with the strength and precision of a mechanical piston. He jack-hammered her flesh, desperate to spend.

Abruptly she sat up, arching her back and rolling her hips into the final moments before his release. Reaching behind, her fingers sought her chemise where is lay inches from their sweating bodies. The pin tangled in its folds was not hard to disengage. With a deep breath to brace herself, she drew the sharpened steel across her wrist, drawing blood. Beneath her, the man stilled, then redoubled his efforts, eyes blazing with desire and hunger. Blood welled against her skin, slipping from the cut to bead like rain against a window. Lowering the wrist, she pressed it against his mouth, felt the scrape of his teeth and the lash of his tongue. Something dark tugged inside her, trying to escape. It thrummed along her veins, pulled down her arm by the suction from his mouth. She felt the blood leaving her body, sensed how his shaft grew thicker, stronger, his muscles filling, the vitality infusing his every atom.

She wanted to reach down to the pearl angrily poking from her folds. She wanted to slick her cream over its heat, rub it frantically with her fingers, mash it against her pubic bone. But not yet, not yet.

She lifted her wrist and the welling blood splattered at the corer of his mouth. He laughed, a little madly, peaked incisors pearly white against the red stain of her blood on his tongue. When he looked at her, his eyes burned a blue so intense they almost scalded her. With a grunt and a heave, he launched himself into her body, strained against the dark heart of her, and spent with a roar of completion. Inside her, she felt his powerful jerks, the scalding splash of his climax, and exploded with him in a rush of empathy. His pleasure filled her up, burned its way through every bone and muscle. Her skin felt bloated from it, like she must be glowing. She ate of him until she could contain no more. Until the release overcame her and she collapsed on his body, hips thrashing mindlessly, his cock a pulsing reminder of what had just occurred, even as it softened inside her and gently slipped out. Even flaccid it was a weighty presence, thick and drenched with their mingled juices, pressed wetly against her thigh.

She slipped off his body to the bed, pressed tightly to his heaving sides, head on his shoulder. The glimmer of sweat touched every inch of her skin. When she angled her head, she saw dots of perspiration trailing at his temples. The drop of her blood at his mouth had smeared, most likely from the brush of her hair. She reached up to wipe it away, but he turned his head, rejecting her touch.

She sighed and sat up, gathering the chemise to her as she slipped from the bed. She remembered now why she had not wanted to visit him that evening. She slipped the chemise over her head, retrieved its decorative pin from the coverlet and reattached it. She thought of the clothing on the floor, her seductive unveiling, and the cold reality of picking it all up in front of his resentful eyes. This was the hard part.

With a half-hearted wave, the candle flames guttered and went out. She traveled around the bed, unaware that her shadowy form was outlined in moonlight. As she picked up the corset, he spoke to her from the bed.

"What are you, a demon witch?" She paused.

"You are hardly one to cast stones, vampire."

"Why keep me here?"

"Do not talk. I forbid it." She continued at her task, skin crawling under his gaze, even though the room drowned in darkness.

"Do not address me as though I am a child!" His angry snarl did not make her turn around. "Your master is a fool if he thinks he has enslaved me. I, too, am a master of the night. Do not forget it!"

"Then free yourself!"

"In my own time," he assured her. A moment of silence passed. "You pick up your own clothing. You must make your own bed. Do you cook his meals? Do you empty his chamber pot? Do you spread your legs for him when your master needs a warm bed and a warm wench?"

She remained silent, but she had stopped moving. In the half light of the waxing moon, her head was curiously bowed. As though reaching a decision, she straightened.

Approaching the bed, her eyes were pools of darkness in her pale face. She reached out and placed her hand against his cheek. His vampire eyes glittered up at her, challenging.

"Even a whore gets paid, vampire." Her head dipped towards him and she placed her mouth at the corner of his lips. Her tongue extended to lick the smear of blood. She finished with a soft kiss, a brush of lips, where the crease of his lips ended. Then she stepped back, and with a yank, pulled the chord at his wrist until it slackened, no longer knotted. Turning, she left the room, and her clothing. It lay in a discarded heap by the door.

He quickly untied the rest of his bonds after yanking his hand free. His muscles screamed when he used them, but his recuperative powers would save him any true discomfort. He used the coverlet on the bed to wipe all evidence of his torrid encounter from his member. The sheen of rose-scented oil was not so easy to banish. He chafed the cloth over his skin until it glowed. Finally, he rifled through her clothing, hoping to find something of use, any inkling of his location or the identity of his captor.

The tiny reticule sewn into the pocket of her dress was empty, save a single jade ring large enough to fit on his smallest finger. He slipped it on. Inside the cloak he discovered a slip of paper. On it, written in ornate letters: "Do not make the mistake of denying what you are. G."

He knew what she was. Her blood told him so.

Succubus.

He drew her cloak about his shoulders, and headed for the door, determined. He would not stay another night in this mansion. No matter the rose scented seductress whose body overcame every promise he made to himself in the darkest hours of early morning. He would not succumb again.

The hallway was dark, but the glow of moonlight from the bedroom's open door was sufficient to lead him to the staircase, and to the front door.

Out in the open he could sense the dawn still hours from the horizon. Nearby, the forest trees provided enough cover for him to flee the house. Stepping between the trunks and braches, he turned to memorize the site of his captivity, and new she watched him from the roof top. Next to her, a figure darker than the sky loomed over her small frame.

The crack echoed across the nighttime landscape. When she fell down, he knew the dark figure had hit her. This was her choice, he told himself. This was the lot she had drawn. But even as he convinced himself not to care what happened to the wretch once he was gone, he made plans to visit her the coming night.