Deathless Whispers on the Wind

And then he knew it was over. She lowered her mouth to his penis again, biting it cruelly and sucking it with insatiable lust. His consciousness seemed to be draining from him, flowing down into her relentless mouth as though she crave his thoughts as well as his soul. The suddenness with which he lost control vaguely surprised him. His body fell slowly to the deck, crashing into the railing, awkwardly hanging there for a few moments until his weight shifted again and he fell finally down to the cold deck. Still she drank, hungrily she devoured him; her body had been light and eager atop his own as he had collapsed. His head settled to the side. His eyes were open, staring, as if fascinated by the lost promise of his now-cold seed that lay beyond him in the night. He was aware of her relentless mouth still, of the rhythmic sucking, of his fleeting awareness of the bittersweet pain, and then—nothing.

Away in the distant woods, an animal cried out a mournful, melancholy sound. She rose then, now wholly naked. Her silvered body was streaked with red, but lithe and graceful, sensuous. The moon shone on her lips, bright with blood-lust. The cry came again on the wind, and this time she moved, gliding soundlessly away from the porch into the beckoning night to heed the summons of her new, ancient master.