by Lyssa Dering
I kiss him on the lips. “No, no.” I kiss him again, this time slipping him tongue, and Fiend’s tongue answers, bringing a hint of sweetness—from the juice he had at the restaurant? It turns out a boner does hurt in these jeans, but I just wrap my legs more tightly around Fiend, clenching my fingers in his t-shirt. “Make it better. Touch me. Make me feel good. Please, baby.”
Fiend lifts me off the counter. I hold onto his neck and close my eyes, and it’s like being on a very gentle version of one of those in-the-dark roller coasters. I know there’s going to be a drop at some point if Fiend plans to take me to his bedroom under the bed. I expect to feel him lower me to the floor first. Or at least, we should come up against some carpet. But there’s the drop—a sinking feeling, my stomach in my throat—and then we’re bouncing on his mattress.
I open my eyes to more darkness, so thick I can’t see a thing. Fiend is already between my legs, and he grinds against me, but I barely feel it. Too many layers.
I push up his shirt. He sits back, and fabric rustles as he pulls it over his head.
“Undress me,” I whisper.
Fiend strips me of my shirt, baring my skin to the air. He slides a hand down my denim-covered calf, eventually reaching my shoe. As he undresses my feet, even the brush of his fingers over them is erotic when I’ve never been interested in having anyone touch that place on my body sexually before. I curl my toes.
The jeans are bit more work. I hate them right up until the pressure against my hard cock is finally gone. The next thing I’ll convince Fiend to do is buy me some clothes of my own that are a lot easier to take off and a lot nicer to my dick.
“Is choking you making it better?” Fiend asks. “Do you still want that?”
I nearly whine at the idea. “Yes, please.” I don’t care if my neck is a dark shade of purple tomorrow.
I’m naked now, but Fiend still has clothes on his bottom half. I can’t see anything, but I can feel the denim against my bare thighs. I stretch my arms up and squirm wantonly, giving myself to him.
The sounds of Fiend removing his belt—the clink of the buckle, the zip of friction as he pulls it from its loops—get me harder than anything. If anticipation had a sound, those would be it. When I don’t hear the belt hit the floor, my heart goes from bass drum to jackhammer. What exactly is Fiend going to do with it?
He loops the leather around my neck and pulls it snug. Oh. It’s just the ghost of a real choke hold, but I melt, whimpering.
Fiend taps my hand with the belt’s loose end. “Hold this.”
I grip the leather and fight the urge to cut off my own air. Fiend gets off the bed, jostling the mattress, and I hear him kick off his shoes and shove his jeans down. The mattress rocks again, and Fiend settles once more between my legs. He’s all skin, and I moan. He grinds his hips into mine, rubbing our cocks and balls together.
“Yes.” My voice is wrecked already. I use my free hand to cup Fiend’s smooth, tight ass and push him harder against me. “Hump me. Frot me. Yes.”
Fiend takes the end of the belt from me. “Tell me what else you like.”
It’s like my brain has lost too much blood to come up with an answer. “I don’t know. I’m—I’m already in heaven.” I just want him closer. I grope at his shoulder blades, pulling him down.
Fiend presses our foreheads together and rubs his hips into mine, picking up a messy rhythm. “Good,” he breathes.
I give everything I get, rocking against him as I slide my hands over his strong back. Wherever his cock brushes me, it’s as hot as the ceramic of a fresh coffee mug, and I can’t get enough of it. His body is perfect. His ass is all muscle. I could rub my cock on any part of him and get off.
Slowly, Fiend tightens the belt around my throat, until it’s firm enough to announce itself but not enough to give me what I need. My whole body grows tense with desire, and I wiggle and writhe.
“Tighter,” I say. “Choke—”
Fiend puts his hand over my mouth, shocking me into stillness. With a tug, he chokes me hard, making everything feel swollen and cutting off my breath.
I arch into him, rubbing my cock against his hip bone. I drop my head back as much as I can with the belt holding me.
Fiend keeps humping me. He’s so quiet, and I can’t see his eyes in the dark. In this moment, this isn’t intimate; Fiend could be any assailant choking me out, and a twisted combination of fear and arousal builds at the base of my spine.
Fiend loosens the belt. I breathe hard through my nose, unable to gasp with his palm still clamped over my lips. He presses even harder against my mouth until I’m too aware of my own teeth.
Fiend tightens the belt again before I’m ready. I thrash, but I’m so hard. My cock wets itself as I rub it against Fiend’s taut, muscled body. I’m going to come. I’m going to—
Fiend loosens the belt and takes his hand off my mouth. I gasp and cough. “I’m so—close—”
Fiend cradles the back of my head and licks between my lips. At first, it feels like a kiss, but this is different. He grips my hair and holds my head still while he explores every crevice of my mouth: my teeth, the roof, underneath my tongue.
Things slow down. The frottage stops. Fiend licks and sucks on each of my lips until they are swollen, spit-soaked, and raw.
He still doesn’t talk to me, doesn’t show any sign that he’s more than an animal tasting its prey. I get intimate with the flat of his hot, wet tongue and I don’t say “elephant.”
Do I want this to stop? Shouldn’t I be fighting, disgusted? But Fiend is so clean. He’s always so clean. He rarely smells or tastes like anything except sometimes, faintly, the saltiness of sweat.
This is slower than the last time Fiend flicked his tongue all over my face, or it just feels different because I’m sober. He licks my ears, inside and out. He sucks them, whole, into his mouth. I whimper each time at the intense and painful sensation of having my entire ear in a space it isn’t supposed to go, but I submit. I submit to the attention. Because as uncomfortable as it is, it feels as natural as it does strange. It feels right.
It seems Fiend is planning to taste every inch of me. He loosens the belt while he’s mouthing my neck, but he doesn’t remove the belt completely. He licks my shoulders, outer arms, under arms, the inside of my elbows, my hands. He licks in between my fingers and sucks each one of them into his mouth. All the while, my untouched cock throbs and twitches. My stomach turns. I’m not just submitting anymore—I’m enjoying this. I’m enjoying his saliva all over me like he’s an insect and I’m paralyzed by his venom. He’s coating me in it, and I want him to devour me, use me, but it’s not urgent. I’ve never felt this way before. It’s like I trust him to take care of me. I’ll let him do everything on his own time.
I start to get sleepy. Maybe sleepy isn’t the right word, because I know I won’t drift away completely; my arousal is too big for that. It’s languid and heavy, like a balloon full of hot water bouncing in slow motion. I want to come. But I’m perpetually right on the edge, even as I float in this half-asleep heaven. I am there even when Fiend puts his mouth on my cock, when he pushes his tongue into every fold, over every vein, and into my sensitive slit. I buck as he takes me inside his mouth, all the way to the root, but the delicious heat and pressure only holds me for a moment. Then Fiend licks each of my balls, his tongue scraping over the curly hair there. He holds each ball in his mouth.
I thrust into the ministrations. Fiend grips both my hips and pushes me down. Then he licks at the sensitive spot where my thigh meets my groin before starting down my leg. I would never have expected a tongue to feel so good probing the crease behind my knee, but it makes me squirm with desire. When he gets to my foot, I try to pull away. It’s too much to be licked there! It’s too sensitive. But Fiend forces my foot where he wants it, and when he gets to the next one, I don’t fight him at all.
Once I’m sticky with drying saliva from forehead to toe, Fiend flips me over. I expect him to start licking my back.
I’m looking forward to feeling his mouth on my ass cheeks, his tongue probing my hole. Instead, it’s his cock I get sliding between my cheeks, the head catching on my hole before the shaft glides across it.
Fiend grips the belt and tightens it again. I breathe shallowly against the pressure as Fiend humps me in a new rhythm, teasing and teasing with his cock but never breaching me. It’s exquisite torture. I hump the mattress, and Fiend pulls on the belt. I can’t breathe for five, maybe ten seconds. Then he loosens it, but only just enough.
I twist my hands in the blankets beneath me as Fiend continues to hump my ass, sliding his cock past my hole again and again. I clench needily; I’m too empty even though I told him this was what I wanted. And I want to scream at him: Fuck me, fuck me! But I can’t find my voice.
I try to get off on the blankets beneath me. They tease my nipples and rub against my cock, but it’s torture, too. The sweat-damp fabric feels good, but it isn’t enough. I hug the pillow under my head and whine into its softness, shamelessly needy.
Suddenly Fiend brings his face close to mine. He still doesn’t say a word, but he licks me behind the ear. The belt goes completely loose, and Fiend hooks his arms under mine, gripping me around the shoulders. He grunts near my ear as his humping gets faster and slicker with our sweat.
I don’t know how long he keeps it up. I get sleepy again, floating as the water balloon of my arousal swells and swells. I’m here, but I’m not here. It’s like Love, but I feel no real anguish. I don’t remember anything, and I don’t see the future. Fiend and I are one with the energy of the Universe. We are two creatures, suspended in pleasure, and I forget about coming. I could live in this torture forever, I’m pretty sure.
At some point, though, I come back to reality—it’s like falling under the bed again. I become aware of the sheets bunched in my fingers, hot skin against mine, and cum hitting my back. Fiend’s not holding my shoulders anymore, but he’s still humping me—humping, humping, slowing, stopping.
Fiend rolls me onto my back. A hand on my cock—yes! Thank the Universe! But then it’s gone again, and I hear movement—what is Fiend doing?
I groan. My need to come is back, and it’s stronger than before. But the connection between my conscious brain and my mouth has been severed; I don’t know how to tell Fiend what I need. I could use my hands to make myself come, but I don’t think Fiend would like that, and then he might not touch me.
I barely make out the sound of a jar lid turning. Lube?
Even so, the darkness is starting to get to me. I sit up, reaching for Fiend, but he pushes me back down with a hot palm on my sternum. The lid on the jar scrapes again. Fiend puts his hand back on my cock.
Relief floods through me; I surrender to the pleasure. Fiend strokes me in a slow rhythm, his hand warm and slick. It doesn’t take long for the pressure to build even higher, and when Fiend pushes the tip of his finger to my asshole, I moan. He only gets about a centimeter into me before I come. My moans get louder as my cock shoots. The pleasure is crippling—more intense than anything I’ve felt before. My cock spurts once, twice while I make fists that bite my palms.
Fiend retracts his touch; I’m gasping. My cock gives one last twitch, and the final drop of cum slides down my shaft. I turn onto my side in some instinct to protect my raw parts, shivering and sensitive everywhere. I still can’t find my voice, can barely move. I’ve never had sex like this; I feel like I’ve been running for my life. I’m broken, tender. New.
As the oversensitivity subsides, afterglow washes over me. It’s like sun kissing my skin, and I can’t keep my eyes open any longer. My mind murmurs Fiend, Fiend. I want him to hold me, but I’ve run out of energy to do anything about it.
I fall deeper into the darkness, and then I disappear.
8
Fiend
Seraphim. Seraphim. Where is my specimen? As the terrifyingly familiar highs of lust and control leave my body, panic takes their place. Have I hurt my prey? Did I eat him? Is his precious brain intact?
Groping into the darkness, I land on Seraphim’s warm, soft skin. His arms, his shoulders, my loose belt. When I reach his head, I examine the whole cranium, looking for signs of injury. But his scalp is whole and unmarred. I sniff and detect only sweat and musk—no blood.
“Stop.” Seraphim groans and shoves weakly at me.
I sit up and turn on the lamp.
“Ugh!” Seraphim squints and shields his eyes. “Turn that off. I was sleeping.” He is once more the agitated child, but he is safe. Whole. Not like the prey I took when I first came to Wish City. That was the last time I felt such a high, and when I came out of it, that prey was torn apart, missing a brain, and covered in blood. Which was perfectly fine then, but this is not my plan for Seraphim!
I switch off the light. “Forgive me.” My voice comes out rough like I haven’t spoken in ages. Maybe I just need some blue juice, but I can’t bear to leave Seraphim alone. My precious, my strong, little thing. We went to the edge of the Universe together, and he is still here, present and lively.
I snuggle up to his back, which is sticky with drying sweat. I take my leather belt from around his neck and throw it toward the foot of the bed.
Seraphim wiggles, apparently getting more comfortable in my embrace. “You were so quiet during that. Where did you go?”
Fear grips my belly. I should be tired, but it is as if I’ve gone without sleep for a very long time and have just hit a frantic second wind. “I am so sorry, my darling. Did I frighten you?”
“A little. But you didn’t do anything I didn’t like.”
My whole body gets lighter as relief washes over me. “I was worried I’d…lost control.” Seraphim’s words from earlier in the day come back to me. “I want to get lost. Go away, disappear.” Is this what he meant?
Seraphim turns over in my arms. “You were very in control,” he says suggestively. I can’t see his eyes, but I can feel them on me. He slides a hand onto my neck and squeezes my nape lightly. “I had a great time. Even when you were licking me from head to toe, surprisingly.”
I press my hand to his spine, pulling him closer against my chest and abdomen. This time he didn’t tell me to taste him, but he didn’t say “elephant,” either. Could he have really enjoyed my tongue on him? In all Wish’s myriad of sexual encounters, no one ever licked each other. But they also didn’t choke each other with belts (I got that idea from a vintage magazine hidden amongst the ones about makeup and exercise routines in the bathroom).
“I only have one complaint,” says Seraphim.
I freeze, gulping. What did I do wrong?
“Why didn’t you lick my ass?” Seraphim asks.
I exhale and shrug. I had intended to lick every part of him, but feeling his skin on my tongue for that long had me so tightly coiled inside I couldn’t continue. My need to chase pleasure finally obscured my need to satisfy my underlying hunger; for once, it covered my hunger completely!
I blink at the darkness. Does this mean keeping my yearning for Seraphim’s brain at bay indefinitely is a possibility? But I’ve eaten three brains in the past two weeks… What would happen if I went without for too long in Seraphim’s presence?
“Fiend,” Seraphim whispers.
I forgot Seraphim wouldn’t be able to see me shrug. “Sorry. I wanted you too much, that’s all. I will taste you there next time.” I slide my hand down his bare hip and across one round, soft buttock. “I liked the frot.”
Seraphim giggles, the sound starting small and crescendoing. I’m not sure what he finds so funny.
“How did you know about that if you’re so inexperienced?” he asks. “But wait… No, I don’t want to know.”
I give him another half-truth, not wanting to make him think of Wish like he told me he hates. “Videos!”
“Oh. Okay. Well, it’s called frottage or frotting. Not ‘the frot.’” He giggles again, and though I know he’s laughing at my expense, it’s wonderful to hear him do so without bitterness.
/>
I find his face with my palm and kiss him on the forehead.
“Mmm, yes.” He snuggles even closer to me.
But then he tenses.
I tense, too. “What’s wrong, my sweet?”
“I forgot about the pizza!” Seraphim flicks on the lamp, and now I’m the one squinting and covering my eyes.
“Leave it. I’ll get you more,” I say.
“We shouldn’t waste it.” Seraphim’s eyes dart around the room. “How do I get out of here?”
“Picture yourself in the other bedroom, and you will be there.” At least, I think he will. This afternoon, I pictured myself and Seraphim there, and we traveled up seamlessly, together. When I wanted to yank Seraphim down into my hideout, I pictured my arms sliding out of the darkness to grab him, and they did.
Seraphim narrows his eyes, tilting his head disbelievingly. “Are you telling me I can teleport now?”
“It only works for this room, I assume because it doesn’t have any doors. I took you up with me last time. Don’t you remember?” He had just woken up, so maybe he doesn’t.
Seraphim stares at me for another few seconds before closing his eyes. His lips thin in apparent concentration, and then he’s gone, quick as car lights skimming over trees.
I want to follow him up and make sure he doesn’t try and leave. But I’ve listened to his worries about being trapped. A little freedom might make him happier. Still, I retrieve my phone from my jeans and open the app that controls the house (and select features of other buildings in Wish City). From here, I can dim lights and turn locks, individually or all at once. I change the security setting on the front door to “Open Only For Fiend.” So he can’t leave even if he tries to.
If he does try, the app will tell me. And it will break my heart.
