Confessions of a Blood Slave

I ache when I'm not with you. No, it's not just an ache. It's a burn, a hunger, a distinct sense of loss, all rolled up in one excruciating package. I lie in bed, and just the sensation of sheets on my naked skin is too much to handle. I roll onto my stomach, and I smell you on the sheets, and a groan escapes my lips.

Restless, I toss and turn in the dark, unable to sleep. Rolling onto my back again, the light sheet rubs against the tightening points of my nipples, and a hiss in a breath as I imagine it's the graze of your teeth. My hand roams, and I pretend it's you. Sliding between my flushed, damp skin and the silk of the sheets, my fingertips find all the places you love to lick and bite and kiss.

I cup my breast in one hand, and the other wanders to the inside of my thigh. Soft fingertips probe the tender, faintly bruised marks there. I scrape a fingernail along the healed over punctures, and I am immediately, cruelly wet. My thighs scissor unconsciously over my hand, trapping it in the now damp juncture between my legs. The fingers fondling my nipple grow spiteful, pinching the sensitive nub until the line between pain and bliss wavers and throbs down through my body and directly to my crotch.

Fingertips rub along bare lips where my hand is trapped, and waves a slow, lazy pleasure pulsate through my body, crashing with the sharp, intense sensations shooting through my breast.

Suddenly I can feel your hands on me, and the weight on the bed shifts.

"You just couldn't wait for me?" You voice rumbles through my ear, your breath hot on my ear. I shiver with absolute joy, and feel your long fingers stroking over my stomach, up to where I am clasping my own breast. Your naked weight against my back melts away all the painful hunger in the pit of my stomach.

I start to pull my hands away from my self, but you murmur a sound of negation.

"No, no." You place urging fingers over my trapped hand, and as if pulled my puppeteer strings my fingers start stroking again slowly. You growl against my neck, a purely sexual sound of approval. I soar through the waves of arousal so quickly; I'm already at the peak of orgasm. Suddenly, you pull my wrist away gently, keeping me at the crest.

You pull my legs apart with a stroke of palm over the bite marks on my inner thigh, and I shiver again, a shimmering, electric pulse of anticipation running up my spine. I feel your skin slide against mine as you place yourself between my legs.

I arch uncontrollably as your skilled mouth meets my hot, wet core. I come almost immediately as your tongue rasps across the most sensitive part of me, and you continue to lap me up as the orgasm crashes through me, my muscles clenching and unclenching desperately.

As the ecstasy starts you fade, your lips curl back to reveal the wickedly sharp canines, a blur of white in the darkness as you sink them into a vein pulsing through my inner thigh. My nerves are brutalized with sensation as I come again, riding hard and fast on the tail end of the first orgasm.

I am panting, my skin dewy with sweat, and you flip me over like a rag doll. My palms lay flat on the bed as you set me down on all fours. You are quiet and still for a moment, and then I feel your hand run along my cheek.

I part my lips without having to be asked, and you thrust into my mouth. Soon, you're fully hard and filling my mouth. I create just a teasing amount of suction, my tongue rubbing lightly over your sensitive flesh.

"Good girl," You croon, thrusting even harder, fucking my mouth. When you are on the verge of coming—I can tell when your breath grows short—I turn around, presenting myself to you.

You thrust into my slick dampness, and I breathe your name. You fuck me relentlessly, leaning over, propping yourself on one hand, your breath on my neck. The heaviness of your body on me is exquisite, and I tighten around you as I orgasm. You whisper in a language I don't know, but the meaning is clear.

As your fangs sink into my neck, you stop driving into me, and we hit the peak in unison, my blood pumping into your mouth as you pump your cum into me. We collapse on the bed.

I always feel slightly self-conscious as I lay there, panting, while you simply ease air slowly in and out of your lungs like silk. Then, you ease over to me, stroking your tongue lovingly over the wound at my neck, then slide down my body to do the same at my thigh. As my eyes grow heavy, my lips curve sleepily.

You return to lie at my side, turning me so that you might tuck me in the crook of your arm. You hold me tenderly, like a fragile, precious possession, one hand stroking along the curve of my hip.

After a few moments, I fall asleep in your arms.