“Should I be a man who picked you up someplace plain? Like the grocery store? You and I, standing in different isles with a pile of apples between us, and we both look up. Something electric happens then, a charge carried by our eyes, something physical or chemical. You know that I want you, and worse yet, that you want me. You try to ignore it, but you can’t. You look away, but you still see me in your mind. When you look up, I’m gone, but that night you touch yourself, imagining me – knowing, hoping, that somewhere out there I’m stroking myself to my memory of you.”
I had more than enough blood on board to whammy her, but apart from the fact I wouldn’t have -- I didn’t have to. I could tell she was falling under the spell of the rhythm of my words, see her breathing change to match the pacing of my story.
“Or do we meet at a cocktail party? Maybe one your husband’s also at? It’s very fancy, a celebration, everyone’s in tuxes or satin. I’m not invited of course – I’m working, anonymously. But I brush past you, bringing out more champagne, and for a moment I touch your hip, just to warn you that I’m there. You gasp, surprised, and whirl, but I’m already serving other guests – except that I look back at you. The place I touched you somehow burns – the same way my gaze rolling over you makes you feel all over. You’re conscious of my place in the room and everyone else in it, and know that your husband’s not there, he’s off talking some sort of drab business with a friend. And so you crook your finger at me, and like a good servant I follow.”
She was breathing harder now, imagining herself. I felt her flush more than saw it, read the patterns of heat of her rising blood.
“We go into the first empty room we find. It’s a child’s room –“
She gasps like I hoped she would. “I would never do that.”
“How can you be so sure?” I say, with utter confidence and a wicked smile. “Is there nothing you’ve ever wanted in your life so badly that you had to have it now?”
She doesn’t answer me, she just rocks back and forth a little – but the heat of her blood doesn’t fade.
“You push me to the ground,” I go on. “I know what you want and I’m willing to give it, and you stand over me with your shiny short skirt and kneel down, reaching between your legs to set me into you as I take your shoulders with both hands and thrust up. The shadows of everything lit by only a night light are strangely beautiful across your body and my face. You ride me wildly, ferociously, knowing that somewhere out there your husband is milling, possibly even now searching for you, asking if anyone knows where you went. You know you have only moments to keep feeling this alive – and you’re smart enough to not even kiss me, because that would mess your make-up up. You just want now, and this, and this, and this.”
Her mouth opened a little as her jaw dropped.
“Or perhaps I could be some other-other man? Did you go with him on a business trip? And then walk down the wrong alley? Have I spotted you, like some kind of prey? What if I grab you there and make you feel me? Have I kidnapped you and now all my mercy depends on how well you suck my cock?”
At this, her breath caught. I still hadn’t moved, I was still waiting for her – and then trembling hands went to the top of her sweater. That was my signal. I stood up and came over to her and picked her up, throwing her onto the bed, following her instantly. Our clothed bodies pressed together as my mouth met hers and I kissed her hard. She stiffened in surprise – but then began to kiss me back. Hands that were still trembling began to touch me, searching up under my shirt and on top the denim of my jeans. I reared up to throw my jacket off, and then set to work on the tiny pearl buttons, snapping the threads of as many as I managed to open, and then helped her shuck the camisole underneath off.
Her bra was a lacy thing, no wires, no cups – I pushed it up and took her small breasts into my mouth, one by one, almost whole, like I was eating them. She moaned at this, running her hands through my hair – and then sending them down my back to claw my t-shirt up. I rose again to pull it off, and she gasped again at seeing me.
Sometimes I forgot that my skin’s somewhat of a spectacle.
I watched her reach out a tentative hand to touch the dragon that ran across my chest, down my stomach, and lower. Somehow, I doubted that her husband looked like me, and who knew the last time she’d touched another man. I waited and when her hand was already low, I took it lower, planting it on the outside of my jeans against my cock.
Did he, whoever he was, ever want her like this? He did in a theoretical sense, seeing as he was watching on. But was that his whole thing? Did he close his eyes when he fucked her, imagining watching someone else doing the deed, him peeking through the slats of a closet door?
I looked down at her, half-naked, sheets of the bed already wrinkling. I knew what I wanted her to do with her hand next, but first I reached down and touched her ring-finger with its oversized diamond.
“On, or off?”
She swallowed, as if this one thing made it all real.
“Off,” she said, taking it off, setting it safely in a pocket. Then I took her hand back and slid it into my pants and her fingers obligingly wrapped around my cock.
I wanted her to feel me before she saw me. I started back in on her chest, my hands working the buckle for her thin tan belt, freeing it, and then unlatching the trousers so I could also reach inside. Hands were good – hands were safe – and this might be as far as we got before he called it off – I wanted to give him a long good ride, but with plenty of exits, if either of them didn’t feel right. I was just a bit player, but they had to manage to look at each other in the morning.
I slowly pushed my hand in through untamed fur – a confident 70’s bush – and let my fingers curl, finding soft folds of skin. Her breath hitched in surprise – and then mine did, as she started to tentatively stroke me. She looked up at this, realizing she also had power – that this erection, my erection, was here for her to use. And at that, I swirled my hand gently, rubbing her clit softly once, twice, before pushing a finger in.
Her pussy was as wet as I knew it’d be, once I’d parted her labia’s folds. I used that wetness, stroking up, to lubricate my fingers on her clit, listening to her moan. I leaned down, nuzzling her breasts again, stroking her as she stroked me, thrusting gently into her hand. I couldn’t help myself. I wanted more.
She turned the tables and brought her hand up to take my precum and swirl it over the head of me, making me moan into her. And then she pulled her hand out and set it on my belt buckle.
“Yeah?” I asked her quietly.
“Yes,” she whispered back.
I rose up over her to my full height and leaned back to open the drawer of the nightstand, finding an assortment of condoms, lube, and toys. I pulled out three condoms and brought them back.
She’d wriggled out of the top of her slacks and underwear like a teenager in the back of a car – I got off the bed, and helped her finish the job, tugging both off of her, then divested my own with slightly more dignity. She crawled up the bed while watching me with eagle eyes, and I could see the patterns of her blood inside her, almost like a dark arrow pointing down her hips. I took one of the condoms, opened it up, pulled it on – in full view of several cameras – and then mounted the bed.
Her knees came up, and I set my hands on them, waiting for permission to push them wide and enter her, to the hilt, my cock already throbbing with need.
Her heart fluttered and her eyes shone. “Can – can you be very gentle?” she asked me.
I sat back a little. “Of course.”
At my agreement, she nodded, and opened her legs slowly, revealing everything inside. I moved over her body with my own, my arms on either side of her chest, letting my cock swing between us, rubbing it against her pussy without going in.
“You can tell me anything. Faster, slower, harder, softer, all right?” I told her, and she nodded. With that, I pulled back my hips enough to guide my head into her soft heat.
“Oh –“ she said, a
s I pushed in. Just an inch, just the tip of me. She was wet, but she was tight – no matter her children, I got the feeling no one had ever been here before, like she was virginally waiting for me. I pulled back, and then pushed in again, playing my head against the tightness of her, waiting for her to loosen.
“A little deeper,” she breathed.
I followed instructions, arching my hips forward incrementally. Still so damn tight. It made me want to push my entire cock inside her, to make her tight pussy hold me – but instead of losing control I moaned.
Her hips started moving now, and I realized she was experimenting. I went still, letting her play me, eyes closed as she felt her own power, sliding up and down.
My hands curled in the sheets by her head. “Has anyone ever told you how tight you are?”
“Is that good?” she asked, like a one-man woman.
“Very,” I growled, as she slid herself off of me – and then right back on. Her hands reached up and pulled my hips lower and I waited as she writhed below me, pushing on and off, taking a little more of my cock in each time. I went down to my elbows on top of her, kissing her throat and neck, my chest against hers, our hips slowly matching until we were joined, and all of my cock was wrapped by her pussy.
She moaned then, just like me, and we pulsed there, neither one of us wanting the other to go – me, conquering, her conquered, or maybe it was the other way around. Silent, our bodies rocked in time until she whispered, “More.”
At that, I rose up, and began to thrust. We moved opposite now, apart-then-together, slow at first, then more quickly. Then her long legs wrapped around me, giving her pussy fully over.
What was her husband thinking, watching this show? I imagined him beating off beside a pump dispenser of lube into a fistful of tissues, although Fran being Fran it was probably classier than that. Still – as her eyes closed and her chin lifted, exposing her throat to me, as she began to moan more urgently – suddenly I wanted her. Just for me.
I leaned in and whispered into her ear. “Tell me what you want. Tell me what he’s never done for you.”
Her eyes opened and she stared. My hips didn’t miss a beat, and I saw confusion pass over her face like a cloud – and then resolve. She pulled her hands up my back into my hair and brought my ear to her mouth.
“The wall. Take me on the wall.”
The wall was a classic move in porn, because most female porn stars were the size of elves. But even though she was tall – I was strong. More than strong enough. I let my cock take my fill of her three more times, before pulling out and grabbing her, bodily.
I probably should’ve said something porny, like ‘You’re cumming with me now’ or ‘Are those handcuffs officer?’ But instead I made her stand, and together we stumbled over to the nearest wall, where I could practically feel the camera lenses pointed at my tat-covered back.
I took one of her hands, and planted it over her head, and then the other, pinning her there, as I kissed her again – and as she kissed me back, just as hard, her tongue searching me. Then I reached down and grabbed one of her thighs, pulled it up, and then lowered my hips so I could slide back inside her.
She fought me, not to get away, but to participate, so I set her hands free – they touched every part of me, like she was worried I’d escape – and then I grabbed her ass with both hands.
“I’ve got you,” I warned, and pulled her up.
She shouted in surprise, then her legs wound about me again, and we were how we’d been on the bed, only now here with me standing as she clung to me. She was solely at my mercy for each stroke, the depth and speed of penetration utterly controlled by my hands, wrapped around her ass the same way her pussy wrapped around my cock.
Her hands were over my shoulders and her mouth was near her neck where she kissed me until she started moaning. I pressed her into the wall, forcing her to feel all of me, grinding myself up against her as my hands pulled her down. Her moans had an urgent tone and were interspersed with words. “Yes – please – yes – more – yes –“ but I didn’t need to hear them, I could read her body, feeling her ass clench and throb as she tried to thrust, feeling her pussy pull tighter still as it got ready to –
She shouted in my ear and her whole body spasmed, rocking on and off of me in wild accord. Her hips, trapped between me and the wall, bucked, and I groaned low, feeling the intensity of the life radiating off of her, feeding on the dark energy it gave me. “Yes,” I growled, in perfect agreement, and thrust deep and hard two more times, making the waves of her orgasm milk my cock until I came, deep inside her.
I leaned against her then, felt and heard her heartbeat trembling in her breast. One of her hands fell limp and pounded the wall behind her, as if she were tapping out, and behind my back her feet untwisted. She set one down, as I slid out of her, then the other, and stood there, balanced by the wall, trembling like a leaf.
I nuzzled my head against hers, knowing soon the contact would be unwelcome, she would go back to her life, and I would go back to mine. “Do you think you made him happy?”
And I watched her face light up in the radiant way of one participating in true love. “Definitely,” with a beaming smile, then kissed me.
* * *
After that, I lay down naked on the bed, and watched her put her clothes on, humming cheerfully to herself. She didn’t appear to feel used or degraded, not that I’d wanted those things, but I’d fully been expecting that – for her to have a freak out the second things were done. Instead, she was as cool as a mint green cucumber. Did she and her husband travel from town to town, accruing cuckold experiences? Maybe I was the degraded one.
“Thank you,” she addressed me, once she was clothed, as primly as a mother at a PTA meeting. “That was fantastic.”
“You’re welcome, and I’m glad,” I said, bemusedly.
She gave me an awkward low wave and then walked for the door, fishing her ring out of her pocket to put back on. I rocked back in the bed, awash in blood and sex. If only I could stay here tonight – but I couldn’t, plus Sugar needed feeding.
I rocked out of bed and reached for borrowed jeans as Fran came in, crystal decanter in one hand and two matching glasses in the other.
“So?” I asked, as I tugged my jeans up.
“Quite impressive.” She held the bottle up. “Whiskey?”
“Please.” I pulled the t-shirt on and sat on the edge of the bed. “Did, uh, everyone go home happy?”
“Oh yes. The wall thing was inspired.”
“I can’t take credit for it – she asked.”
“Dirty girl,” Fran clucked with a grin. She poured me a glass, handed it over, then sat down in the chair to pour herself one. “I was a little unsure at first, him being a para and all –“
“What?”
“He’s a C5 para. We talked about it some beforehand. They’ve had all their children via IVF. Stop looking so horrified – I’m nothing if not accommodating, as you well know.”
“I just –“ I stammered.
“Don’t worry, you didn’t wreck anything. I have a sixth sense for these sorts of arrangements. Plus, they tipped you. People who don’t leave happy don’t tip.”
There was no place on Fran’s current outfit for her to hold cash or make change. She inspected a glamorous fingernail to ignore the look I was giving her and clucked. “I’m keeping it, because I’m charging you freezer rent. Also, if this happens again, I suspect they’re going to want you to wear some sort of suit, and God knows you don’t own one.”
I gave up and laughed. “Whatever you say, Fran.”
Her eyes flicked over and appraised me under fake lashes. “If only you meant that, Jack. But – a promise is a promise. You wanna tell me why you showed up half-dead on my doorstep?” She reached up into her hair, where I heard the faint sound of clips giving away, then she took off her wig and set it on the decanter. “Because I’m all ears now.”
I polished off the rest of the whiskey in my glass and st
arted talking.
* * *
Fran listened attentively. Good dommes were all about communication, and as Fran was one of the best, I felt truly listened to, a rarity in this town or any other.
“I just don’t know what happened. I should’ve been able to slaughter him. No contest at all.” My hand went for my ribs again. Danger was omnipresent, but pain? Only one other person had been able to hurt me since I’d become a vampire – my Mistress -- and I didn’t like the reminder.“It’s pretty obvious to me,” Fran said, leaning back and recrossing her legs. “You already know you’re not the only thing that goes bump in the night.”
“Shit,” I cursed. Fran was right. It was the obvious answer. I was just in denial.
“Sorry, Jack. I know how you feel about her.” Fran said, and stood up with only a slight groan to give away how much her heels hurt – but when she looked down she was wincing on my behalf.
Because she knew the only other vampire I could ask for information was the one I hated and feared most -- my Mistress, Rosalie.
“I’ll keep the freezer running for you.”
“Thanks,” I said. I polished off the whiskey in my glass, setting it down. “And I’m keeping this jacket.”
* * *
Thanks for reading the third episode of Dark Ink!
If you’re interested in more, read on – there’s a teaser from episode four – or you can go ahead and buy it here.
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Dark Ink Tattoo: Ep 3 Page 5
