Mizrah's Ladder Ch. 04

Later that night

You recall in detail the taste of raw, bloody, screaming monster; each bit carried its own unique bouquet of flavor...and for some reason, those things were practically on the tip of your tongue through the night you spent with him.

Round Five...your first time having sex in this new, incredible body of yours - the differences are notable. Every sense tuned like a wire, your passions inflamed by his caress; you taste the Felid's blood-thick, rich liver in your throat, smell its fragrance in his embrace. Your coupling is urgent and fierce; as poetic and artistic in bed as you are in your writing and illustration, this first time you need him inside of you. There is little pretense:

You don't even fully undress each other in the dingy light of the same cheap motel room; it is suffused with your scent, even if others have slept in here since. You'd expect a great, bloody meal to leave you languid but you were soaked and wanting, and you eagerly take his head in your arms as he presses his face between your breasts, taking deeply of your scent. You have already wrapped your legs around his waist, practically climbing upon his dusky form as your strong, sinewed back arches against his kiss on your collarbone, your throat. The red-hot iron bar of his manhood finds your blooming, juicy sex and a throaty moan of need escapes your lips as you feel him frot his piercings against your clitoris. Yusuf doesn't bother with the bed yet; the wallpaper against your back is cool as he holds you against it, and you feel your pussy clench, resisting with the effort of taking him; when his pierced helm is finally within, you sigh aloud with satisfaction and relief, and taste blood-thick, rich liver. The cheap China lining the shelves rattles with each thrust against the wall, drawing forth an obscene line of requests; "harder, deeper, faster, cum in me ohhhhh god cum in me..." and each pump of his seed fills you with deep, gratifying warmth...

Round Six.

In a way...it felt like the 'you' that had been buried down inside of 'you' all along, underneath all the weight and monotony of this dark reality had been released. The world is clearer. There's an aqueous sheen to reality that reminds you of the feline monster's eye, popping between your teeth like a candied jewel.

You take charge...he enjoys the ride:

You're still acting on instinct, but your brain gladly plays along. You push this dark man back to recline back in the motel room loveseat, wearing only your ivory-white blouse unbuttoned chaotically around your shoulders, and your ruby red stockings. Your inhuman lover breathes deep with anticipation, gladly reveling in his brawny nudity underneath your predator's gaze. You feel every sinewy movement of muscle in your thighs as your knees come down on either side of his legs, relishing this angle.

Your kiss is light and electric against the stubbled, strong edge of his jaw, and he responds with a sound of gentle longing when your thumb runs lightly down the bridge of his aquiline nose. His hands come up, running over the smooth convex of your ass and you -love- it but you delicately seize his wrists, both of you grinning wolf grins at the other as you playfully pin them back behind his head. There they remain as you luxuriate in the clarity of your senses; like the vitreous humour of the Prey, this is a pure and clean visual and tactile experience in ultra high definition. Your fingers trace the map of his torso; you recognize the result of months beneath a barbell, of deadly struggles in the night; your hungry mouth follows, and he isn't shy, giving a low growl of pleasure when you start to bite those defined ridges, all the way down to his hip bone.

Of course, it's a succulent appetizer preceding the main course; from this angle the details of his glinting, long penis loom before you, and you find yourself smiling widely as you stroke your fingers along its girth. Your tongue travels up the unique, studded beads, tracing wetly atop veins and clefts; your lips pucker in a hot kiss at the underside of his glans, and he lets out a low, masculine sound of satisfaction. You marvel at the cut, flared thickness of his crown, feather-light squeeze of your fingers around it prompting a roll of his hips that makes your heat clench with excitement; but you resist the siren-call to mount him, and with an act of will you instead wrap your lips around his manhood...pulling back and releasing with a light sucking sound that draws forth an 'ohhh fuck yes'. That ring through the tip, the one that drives that extra bit of grinding pleasure deep inside of you, grows slick with a hot, white bead of his sperm, gathering thick and shiny before trickling alluringly down the curved underside of his penis.

You please yourself by pleasing him, and oh is he pleased as your tempo increases, fellating that prominent cock. It's almost as good as the actual sex because he's vocal and lets you know he's loving every second.

"Mmmm yes, ahhh god I love that thing you're doing with your hand, yes, ahhh yes that - "

" - best I've ever, ohhhh nnnnNNNNNhhhh hold it there if you don't want me to cum - ohhh a chaLLENGE...?!"

Until finally: "Fuck me. Fuck me now, please."

You oblige; you climb atop him and you're quivering wet with lust, and when the rush of his climax comes yours follows shortly thereafter. The second time his volume is nearly as great as the first; your hand grips his shoulder, riding him like a warhorse and fucking him into euphoria...gazing at him through salty, luscious Tiger Eyes.

The two of you take a break between rounds six and seven.

The act of dismounting that studded cock is in itself an eye-rollingly pleasurable experience for all the right reasons, and you watch, mesmerized, as the movement of your hips causes his manhood to fall back, shining and drooling its payload across his muscular stomach. You collapse on your side next to him, smiling and shivering and laughing as aftershocks run through you; the sound of your velvety, muscular walls clenching is accompanied by a wet squish as his seed flows hot and thick on your thigh, onto the sheets.

You watch your lover quietly, lying on his back, eyes closed, smiling in the glow of male post-coital satisfaction. His coal-black gaze falls upon you and he smiles that warm, magnetic smile; an arm comes out to loop around your shoulders, pulling your slight form against his bigger one. He pushes the curtain of your dark, wavy hair back from your face to have a clear view.

"You got me pretty damn good back there, you know...you're either a natural killer, or have some guerilla training...which wouldn't surprise me."

Now that you think back on it, you feel guilty for ambushing him like that and can't really explain the state of mind you were in before. In the situation, at the time, it seemed like the perfectly rational thing to do.

"I'm sorry...hitting guys with wrenches and then taking them to bed, not my usual modus operandi, Yusuf."

"I had it comin' Isabel," he states simply, and his fingers stroke gently across your arm, down your back...it feels amazing, such a simple touch, and again it evokes the image of him playing some long, regal instrument. "I didn't exactly ask permission when I bombed your date and, y'know."

"Took me to a cheap motel and fucked me four times?"

"Heh, yeah..."

"I'm not complaining, you know. It was hot. Really, you're quite good, I've never been with a man with...these." Your finger traces along those little metal studs, still wet and sticky with your lovemaking.

He doesn't say anything but you know he's basking in your praise...any man likes to hear they're good in bed, of course, and he probably knows it; almost like a parody of male fantasy he seemed most comfortable on stage, in a fight, and making you moan...oh but is that a ruddy little blush coming to his cheeks? It makes your wry lips curve upward and your lips trace his shoulder, his cheek, then meet his...it's surprisingly sweet. It makes you hot again, but...you're getting awfully thirsty.

"I need water...you?"

"I'll get it."

Soon the two of you are sitting against the headboard, wrapped in the cheap blanket that is now thoroughly embedded with your smell, sharing one of the refrigerated water bottles that came complimentary with the room; lukewarm at best though. The air conditioner's throaty hum blocked out much of the River District's musical, traffic-heavy din. You lean back against him, and he nuzzles the side of your head gently, kissing your hair and cheek lightly; guys who look and act like this, you don't expect this kind of affection. It's as if he actually likes you.

"I know you're eventually gonna ask me why I Turned you, so I thought now might be as good a time as any to just talk about it." Oh, well this is interesting.

"You weren't the only one who wanted to, were you. That red haired girl, the one whose friend we..." Killed and ate - still hard to actually say it. "She called me a Prospect. Said she could smell you in me."

"It has to do with where we come from, and we were competing for you." He takes a sip from the bottle and hands it back to you. "Your neck's tense, by the way. Let me just..." Mizrah shifts positions so that he's behind you, and his fingers squeeze lightly on either side of your spine...more relief, more release at this man's hands.

"You're...so...distracting..."

"I know baby," he whispers, his lips light behind your ear; it makes you feel giddy, like you're a teenage girl all over again but it feels nice...if he wanted to hurt you, he could have many times before, besides. "Most of the time, if we bite someone, they'll get real sick with a fever and die. Sometimes, they'll turn into a Wretched, and...that's a mistake you have to clean up, more on that later. If we want to make more of our kind, they have to survive The Bite when we're Frenzied, or they have to be a Prospect like you. Prospects only need a simple bite and or...exchange of body fluids, and when the Full Moon rises you become like us."

He's moved to your shoulders, and you have to wonder if he's being this nice to you because he's guilty; your experience with men indicates that these sorts of displays are usually accompanied by shame, guilt or some desire.

"So what you're saying, is that I was going to get bitten at some point anyway...if not you, then her. Pretty bold of you to assume I didn't want to be like her, don't you think? Or maybe that I didn't simply wish to be left to my life in the system?"

"Maybe," he concedes, pausing thoughtfully.

"I didn't say stop..."

He resumes working the knots from your shoulders with a smirk, and you accept his ministrations as recompense (not that you needed any reason...you're drawn to him, even lucid as you are). "We both know that isn't true though, you hated that life. I read your stuff, I saw what you were saying between the lines...Bleak Happenings was great by the way, I had no idea English isn't your first language. I loved how you subverted the setting to rip on capitalism, but I know that was only part of it."

This is sounding awfully familiar...nobody you knew was aware of your online writings, how did he connect the dots? You begin to connect them yourself.

"You're that guy who kept commenting on my story, aren't you. What was that ridiculous screen name..."

"Kreplachistanarchy_777. Yep. I'm your biggest fan."

"I'm not sure whether I should be creeped out because you're a stalker, or flattered because you like my writing this much."

At least he's hot, and at least he's...well, what's "nice" anymore? He's treating you well, and god that thing he's doing with his knuckles down your back feels really good, especially since you sit in that damn computer chair all day. Then again, he hunted you down, seduced you to his bed and turned you into a monster...you feel pretty okay with it, oddly enough; perhaps you just don't know enough yet, or haven't really considered the other implications.

"What was the other part?"

"Of what?"

"You said you liked that I critique the free market, but there was more to it."

"Oh, yeah, well...I could see what was going on in the romance between the main characters, you were superimposing yourself there. What you wanted." You tense up; this is a different kind of vulnerability, since he's digging beneath the surface, getting to the heart of things. His right hand leaves your back, finding your fingers and interlacing with them. "I know you're lonely Isabel."

You don't expect his next words: "I am too."

This...bastard, fucking monster making you into something else, but also...is he kind? How do these two things reconcile with each other? You pull his arm around you, your other hand stroking over his forearm, up his bicep.

"You could have just asked me out. You didn't have to like, make me into your monster girlfriend or whatever."

"I know," he admits. "I'm sorry...but you were Cursed. If one of us doesn't step in, Prospects meet a bad end before living through their five hundred and fifty fifth full moon." You do some quick calculations in your head...12 full moons in a year, five hundred and fifty five divided by twelve...

"That's not even twenty eight years." You'd have met a 'bad end' in less than eleven months. "So you two were going to 'save' me then, is that it, Mizrah?"

"Makes it look better if you put it like that."

This sounds awfully convenient...you feel the stirrings of mistrust - five hundred and fifty fifth full moon? The alliteration alone makes it seem uncanny. Nonetheless you allow your weight to pull him down on the mattress with you, to lie against your back, and enjoy this closeness. That, at the least, was something you could believe, that your body enjoyed contact with his, and you mold yourself against him, still holding his arm across you.

This close you notice more scars...a lot of them look like they came from big wild animals, faint marks that suggest a long history of violence. "Hmm, why bother though? Why give a fuck about me? I saw that hot girl you were with, you can probably have any one of those women you wanted but you ditched your date and took your chance. Not that I'm not grateful, assuming you're telling me the truth."

You notice him tense slightly, can smell the defensiveness coming...maybe you were too blunt, it was a habit you'd been working to curb. "Hey, come on. Don't get mad." You turn your head to look at his face in your peripheral vision, reaching to stroke his cheek gently. "I barely know you, I just want to change that. That's not unreasonable, is it?" You give him a smoky little smile, playfully kissing his jaw.

He's smiling back...you don't feel threat, Mizrah's rolling his eyes at his own reaction. "I'm cool, who's mad? I'll tell you what you wanna know...assuming you believe me."

"Cheeky man. Go ahead, spill the tea."

You turn in his embrace to face him, your hands coming down to explore his chest; it made you think of one of those bronze breastplates worn by Greek heroes, and you feel the baritone of his voice through your fingertips. "A'right a'right, well...That girl, Rita, she's a friend of Delilah's, she's...I dunno, it's messy."

"Oh and, I'm so not a mess. Come on, why did you ditch her? So he needs a little digging to tell his story, hmm?"

"...Rita is fun for a laugh and can be cool, but she's kinda like clockwork." You put your forehead against his chest...it's been a while since you've been close to someone like this. Not like sex, but booty calls didn't usually stick around to cuddle. "She goes out, she chatters, she gets drunk, she gets horny and wants to fuck and then passes out after cumming." It sounds suspiciously like what most people do when they go out...right? "I'm not dishing on her or anything, she's a good person and I guarantee you was able to find someone else to mate her, didn't give me a second thought. It's how she is." Something makes you think that woman has a tendency to drift between the men of whatever group he belongs to.

"So she bores you."

"I didn't say that...but she doesn't have the bit of danger you and I like."

"And what about when I'm not...dangerous to you anymore? This just a sorta, wham-bam-Change-you-ma'am deal?" You can't help it. There's always been this voice whispering reasons that people leave, or drift away, or pass between your fingers.

"We're always dangerous," he answers smoothly, but you feel his fingers stroke your dark hair back to make you look into his lignite gaze. "But I'm not gonna just let you fend for yourself. Even if you didn't want to sleep with me, you're still very threatening. An intriguing, perilous puzzle of a woman, yes."

Don't make fun. You can't help smiling at his teasing. It's...a pretty sweet thing to say, you get what he means: he'd still be interested in you even if you weren't having sex. That can't be true of course, but it's definitely the right thing to say.

"You don't seem fazed by much of this Isabel...either you're a cool customer, or..."

"Or maybe you were right, and there isn't much that I'm leaving behind."

Mizrah doesn't press you, even though you can tell he's curious. This close, you can see the wheels working behind his gaze...'should I ask her about it? Should I leave it be?' and to your surprise, he takes the tactful option and melts you with his kiss. You were already pretty relaxed after his fingers worked on the knots in your back, but your body seems to lose cohesion when his lips meet yours.

You'd kissed him before...plenty times; this is somehow different. Is he using some...monster trick on you, or does it really get this good? You run your fingers through the bristly, dark hair on the back of his head, clinging to his body, and it lasts.

When you finally break your kiss with him, you're still molded against him, he's on his back with an arm circled around your shoulders. This is nice...when was the last time you actually cuddled with someone after sex - well, with him, actually. Mizrah breaks the quiet. "So...I guess we can like, y'know. Hang out and stuff, if you're down?" He's grinning confidently but you can tell he's a little sheepish, almost like he's asking you out but...in this context, like he's inviting you to Hunt again.

"Hah..." you can't help but giggle into his chest; you don't usually laugh like this, you're usually a quite serious woman in fact but it's easy to be absorbed in his performance. You lustfully, perversely run your tongue over the ridged definition of his deltoid.

"Sure. We can hang out. I'm, down to clown, as you say."

You can tell he likes it when you lick him like that...he's excited again, his arousal already seeking the hungry warmth between your thighs; you respond in kind, a sultry smile up at him as you slink onto your back, pulling between your legs. The low, baritone thrum of his animal growl lingers as he asks with a smile:

"Are you down to fuck again?"

So bold. "Yes..."

Round Seven.

The desperate need to rut, followed by the desire to exert power of your own, gave way to a slower but no less wonderful experience...was it normal for him, or for you even, to have this much sex in one sitting? Was this the life you had to look forward to - one of unrestrained passion and a panoply of delicious horrors? How easily had you taken the Felid's heart, torn by Mizrah's black talons from his broken ribcage, and bitten down into the stringy, flavorful meat?

You can hear, can taste the pulse in his neck when you nibble his jugular...his wrists...and of course, in the base of his cock.