Feature Writer: Margin Walker
Feature Title: LOVELUST
Published: 25.04.2004
Story Codes: Erotic Horror
Synopsis: Power of lust and love may not save him
Lovelust
Lust.
I can smell it, heavy perfume and sweat, so thick in the air that I can barely breathe. The music pounds in my head, their bodies move, grinding to the beat throbbing through the club’s speakers, heavy on the bass. Each song blends into the next and there is no distinction, repetitive, just a beat blending with the rhythm of their blood until they’re lost in the movement of their bodies, and there is no music, no club, just the heat and the rhythm. Hands clutch at glistening stomachs, legs bend and jerk, heads whip from side to side, hair flung through the air, hips pressed together in a gross simulation of sex.
It’s desperation.
I inhale deeply, tilting my head back, my eyes closed, and I smell them all. I drag my fingernails down my bare chest, my shirt opened wide, my nipples hard, touching the hair barely visible at the top of my tight, leather pants. My body shudders and I drop my head back, my eyes glaring into the throbbing crowd.
I step forward, my boots light on the dance floor, and move through them, my eyes darting from face to face, seeing lips parted, cheeks flushed, and eyes hazy with lust. Bodies press against me and I moan, my lips tremble. I long to pull their bodies against me, feel them all as they move, feel them rubbing against me, their sweat soaking my clothes, their heat scalding my skin.
My gaze falls across their eyes and I turn away quickly, not wanting to capture one yet, not wanting to break their trance. I feel the pull as I stare at each of them, feel that connection like a rope between us, joining us, and know that I could have any of them, each of them wanting, for just that instant that our eyes meet, wanting me to hold that gaze, bring them towards me, show them the love they are truly searching for.
Love.
I chuckle to myself and drop my eyes to the floor, wanting no one to see my face when I laugh, knowing that I would capture whoever would see me. I can feel it in their bodies, in their heads, as they push forward, straining, thrusting, so open and free, searching for love in a sea of lust. And they’ll never find it, never find it here. They’ll think they have, for an instant they’ll be convinced they’ve found it, and for that instant be happy, feel fulfilled, that longing satisfied, coupling with their equally empty mate, bodies joined, and they’ll cry out in joy. Later the illusion will be shattered and they’ll be back, searching, pulsing, melting into the crowd to find their next love.
I slide my hand across my face and feel the laughter die away. I move through the crowd again, my eyes looking low at their crotches, pressed together tightly, moist and hard. My hand slides along a thrusting hip and I can feel the desire. I steal it and I move on, wanting to touch each of them, wanting to lie down in the middle of the dance floor, all of them lying on top of me, and absorb them all.
I lift my head as I step from the dance floor and allow my eyes to move slower, moving from face to face among those who wait on the sides as they watch the dancers, wishing they were among them.
I hesitate on a face that is familiar and drop my guard for a second, trying to remember her, trying to remember her body, her scent, the feel of her, and it comes back in a slow, warm memory. I smile as I remember, my tongue sliding between my lips, tasting her again.
Then she’s moving towards me, pushing through the crowd, ecstatic in her haste, and I grit my teeth together, having lost control yet once again. I tempt myself too much. I push myself. But then that is how I’ve always been.
I lean casually against the railing around the dance floor and watch her as she approaches, waiting for her, knowing that I have to deal with her before I can continue my hunt.
She stops in front of me, breathing heavily, her chest heaving, strands of hair fallen out of place, her clothes formed tightly to her curvaceous figure, her eyes sparkling as she stares at me.
“Hi…,” she says, moving closer, her body brushing against me, and I can feel her desire, feel it strong and thick.
“Hello, Jasmine,” I say, letting my voice come out low and deep so that only she can hear me, only she will feel it, and she presses her lower lip between her teeth lightly.
“I… haven’t seen you since…,” she mumbles, her mind reeling, searching for words in a mist of lust and alcohol. She glances down shyly and then looks back up, trying to collect her thoughts. “I’ve been looking for you…”
“My beautiful Jasmine,” I say and touch her cheek, her skin smooth and warm.
She closes her eyes and leans into my touch. I rub my thumb across her cheek softly.
“I miss you,” she says dreamily.
“And I miss you, my love,” I whisper.
I pull my hand from her cheek and she opens her eyes slowly like she’s waking from a dream, her pupils shrinking as she focuses on me, that need driving to the surface. She moves forward, pressing her body against me, her breasts pushing against my chest, her hands grasping my sides. She stares up into my face, her lips full and red. I moan, tasting her so close, feeling her so warm, so ready, opening herself to me entirely.
“I need you,” she says, standing on her toes, the length of her body against me, her lips close to my lips. “I can’t stand to be without you. I need you now.”
I wrap my arms around her body and pull her against me. She slides her hands up my arms, pushing her hands under my short sleeves.
“You need me?” I ask her, my lips brushing her lips, my hands sliding over her back.
“Yes,” she whispers, her body trembling. “I love you.”
I press my lips to hers and she relaxes in my arms, falling into the kiss. I open my mouth and taste her, taste her lips, her tongue, her saliva, and I hold her tighter, her warm, supple body so inviting, so open, and I know that she’ll do anything I ask, anything I want from her is mine for the taking.
I fold her mind and she moans in my mouth, her body shudders, her arms fall limp.
I break the kiss and pull her against me, lifting her feet off of the floor. I slide my hand up her back and caress her neck. Her head falls onto my shoulder. I can feel her breath, humid and sweet on my neck, feel her body trembling against me, the heat concentrating in her body between her legs. I press my long, sharp thumbnail to her neck, and break the skin. I feel her pain, sharp and intense in her mind, dissolving into a bitter pleasure as the blood flows from the small wound.
I open my mouth and press it to her neck. I suck at the cut, drawing the blood from her. Her body stiffens as she writhes against me, her arms and legs sliding along my body in euphoric caresses, touching me, pulling at me, clutching me, her head pushing into my shoulder tightly. Her blood is sweet, but heady with the alcohol. It flows lightly from her, filling my mouth, trickling down my throat.
I close my eyes and I feel her. I feel her life, her trembling first lusts, her first crush as a young girl, her teenage awkwardness, fumbling in the back of cars, the thrill of seeing the lust she inflicted on the boys, her desire to feel the same, to become consumed in another, becoming nothing.
Her body stiffens and I feel the flood between her legs, an orgasm that pushes her blood into my mouth, makes her whine against my neck, her tongue pressed to my skin. I pull away from her and lick the wound, sending shivers through her body with each lick, each wave flowing from her orgasm. I lick it closed, my tongue probing it, feeling it heal until the skin has mended and I lick the last of the blood from her neck.
I pull away and she falls limply in my arms. I touch her hair, brushing it back from her face and neck, seeing that the small red mark from the cut is barely noticeable. I took just a bit from her, just a taste, just enough to take the edge off, to regain my control, and to satisfy her longing.
“I love you, my precious angel,” I whisper into her ear. “But you must forget me.”
She struggles for a second, her hands pushing at my chest, but my touch on her cheek relaxes her again.
“You must return to your table, happy and fulfilled. And when you dream, dream of me.”
I kiss her ear and she sighs softly.
I slowly pull my arms from her body, setting her down on the floor. I hold her as she opens her eyes, blinks, runs a hand through her hair, and then regains her strength. She sighs again, content, feeling the tingling dampness between her legs. I touch her shoulders and turn her away from me, leading her back to her table. She walks away, walking faster and steadier with each step.
I watch her leave, admiring her form, her curves, as she moves, and I feel it in my chest, that tightness, that desire to own her, to make her mine, to satisfy my desires with her. But I won’t give into it. I’ve resolved to never allow myself to control them. I know what it’s like to be controlled by one of us, to lose myself, to feel that aching love that tears at my will. I could never cause that pain to one of them. Never. Their emotions are so fragile, so misguided, their pitiful search for love culminating in the roughness of lust. I can only pity them for it.
I turn away from her and back to the dance floor, not seeing the dancers, just feeling her blood flowing through my body. My cock is growing warm with her blood and I can feel the other desires that need to be satisfied. I feel her lust, her needs, her wants, coursing through my body in the molecules of her blood. My body soaks it in.
I sigh and feel a small shiver pass through me, the small orgasm, the quickening of the pulse, the tingling along my skin, the blossoming in my mind.
I force my focus back to the club and the dancers on the floor. The music has become heavy, seeming to beat down upon them, forcing their bodies to gyrate and thrust. In their eyes is the look of despair, a craven desire driving them to be filled.
I grasp the railing tightly and stand up to my full height, feeling my power rise as her blood is broken down and used by my body. I inhale deeply, watching their desperate bodies, my eyes moving from one to the other, no longer afraid of mesmerizing one by accident now that my control has returned with my strength.
I turn from the dance floor and glide through the standing crowds, drinks in their hands, flirting, hoping, lusting, and pull their thoughts and emotions around me, feeling each of them. Their desires course through my brain in whispers and sighs. Eyes follow me as I pass, feeling my touch, trying to identify it, searching for promised comfort, and then turning back in embarrassment.
I stop before the men’s room door. I can feel sex, a twisted sex, dirty and profane, feel the heat of it, baking through the door. I push the door open and step into the men’s room. Immediately, I hear a man’s moan, feel his pleasure, a dark, vapid lust. A grunt comes from one of the stalls, the shuffling of feet.
“Come on. Faster. Fuckin’ bitch,” a deep, male voice urges.
I open the stall door and his eyes slowly move up from the woman’s head, bobbing up and down in his lap, to me. His eyes are tiny, violent slits, glowing with a rage, demanding to be served, feared, and pleasured. He’s everything I despise, everything I hate, the need to dominate and control, taking pleasure in humiliation and pain. It pours from him in a rancid surge. I want to destroy him.
“What the…,” he starts before I lash out at him, my power smashing into him and driving his head back into the tiled wall. Tiles shatter. Pain explodes and blows through me. I lash out at him again and open long scratches across his face that instantly pool and overflow with blood.
The woman turns slowly, his cock sliding out of her mouth and she falls clumsily between the toilet and the wall. The man slumps down on the toilet with his pants around his ankles, his cock pointing out hard and red. I resist slicing it off at the root and leave him unconscious with his concussion and scratches.
I reach my hand down to her and she lies there staring at me, her eyes foggy from drugs.
“Take my hand. I won’t hurt you,” I say, my voice warm and soft.
She responds immediately and grabs my hand. I pull her to her feet gently. She sways on her feet and I grip her arms to hold her up. I look into her eyes, trying to peer through the haze, through the drugs and alcohol, through the layers of medication meant to soothe and annihilate, to see deep inside of her. She stares back at me, her breath slowing as she calms, her eyes narrowing, focusing down on me. Her hands touch my chest, not pushing me away, just touching me, and she sighs as my power rolls over her in a soft swell. She moans and in that moan the fog separates and I see her. I see the loneliness and fear, self-debasement and loathing, the unwanted caresses of a father, the forced kisses in a school hallway, the stares pounding across her body that forced her further into herself; I see her beauty, her strength, her love, curled within her, forgotten, repressed, beaten down.
I feel pity and contempt for her in equal proportions, pity for the young woman who has been subjected to a life that her nature cannot endure and contempt for her for allowing it to suppress that which makes her human and truly beautiful.
I lean towards her and caress her cheek, pushing her hair from her face. She stares back at me, unmoving, expectant, waiting for my next touch, and I see in her eyes that she waits for me to take her, waits for me to push her against the wall, waits for me to pull her skirt to her waist, waits for me to impale her, waits for me to leave her further debased and wasted on the sticky floor of the bathroom stall.
I press my body between her legs, press her against the wall, and stare into her eyes, my hands holding her face, looking into her eyes, and deep inside of me I want to give her that which she expects, I want to take her, treat her like the meat that she is, use her, abuse her, take her roughly, full of contempt and scorn.
I pass my thumb over her lips and feel her breath. I feel her pulse under my palm. I feel her body warm and alive. My power flows over us and she sighs, her back arching, her legs rubbing against my legs, her hands sliding down my chest and stomach.
I lower my head to her neck. My incisors slide from my jaws, lengthening to their horrible extent. The desire to tear into her neck, to rip her flesh, to drink her blood, is powerful. The pulse in her neck throbs and my own heart matches her rhythm. She holds her breath, tilts her head to the side, waiting, waiting for me to strike. I can smell her desire, her desire to feel my teeth piercing her neck, pulling muscle from bone. She is my natural prey, so willing to give her life.
My organ is hard and I writhe between her spread legs. I taste her flesh on my tongue. My lips press to her skin. My hands slide down to her hips, pulling her legs around my waist and she sighs as she wraps herself around me, giving herself to me. I breathe against her neck. My teeth graze her skin. I lick up her neck, tasting her flesh, so sweet and warm, my tongue sliding behind her ear, my hand pulling her hair to the side. She moans and I press myself against her, rubbing myself between her legs.
I breathe deeply, breathe her in, and close my eyes, seeing her life, her wants, her fears, unrolling in my mind in quick, jerky, blood-washed images, and I fall against her, pushing her to the wall, my head pressed to her shoulder, overcome by frustration and depression.
I can’t take her life. I won’t. I am that beast no longer. I have taken my last life. There will be no more death. I’ve conquered that beast.
Yet still it beats inside of me, waiting and hungry.
I grab her face in my hands and look into her eyes, seeing her humanity, and in that instant could love her for her faults and weaknesses, love her for being so utterly human. I kiss her. I press my lips to her tightly and she kisses me back. I pull away from her, look into her eyes, see the pain and need, and then kiss her again, wanting to taste her wet lips, feel her tongue, delve inside her again. I slide a hand between us and her body stiffens as I touch her, my finger moving over her clitoris, slowly, lovingly, and she cries out as the orgasm breaks through her and she cuts her tongue on my teeth.
I press my mouth to her, sucking her tongue into my mouth, pulling her blood into me as my finger strokes her climax to exhaustion. Her moans are muffled in my mouth. Her body is tight, her legs locked around me, her hands clasping my shirt. I drink from her, feeling her submissiveness, so subservient to the whims of men, and for a moment the beast awakens, wanting to pull every last drop of that willing blood into me, but I suppress it and lick the wound shut, caressing her tongue with my own.
I break the kiss and her body falls slack against the wall as I pull my hand from between us. I caress her face, her neck, admiring her lovely skin, now gleaming with perspiration. I can smell her, smell her ecstasy, thick and heavy. I lick her neck and taste it. She shivers, her back arching as my tongue flicks her ear.
I pull away from her and gently lower her to her feet. I wrap my arms around her and hold her up. I caress her cheek. She stares through me, her eyes dreamy.
“Awake, my love,” I whisper to her.
She blinks and focuses on my face. I smile, letting the magic flow through my face, and she smiles back at me contentedly.
“You are stronger than you think, Renee,” I say to her. “You are a woman. In that you have much power. Power over the scum that you accede to so willingly.”
Her smile fades, her eyes question.
“You are my beautiful angel,” I whisper. I brush the hair from her face, seeing her so beautiful. “Remember how beautiful you are. And never let them take that which makes you so very human.”
I kiss her once more, a short, chaste kiss. I release her and she leans back against the wall. I turn and leave the stall, looking back quickly at the man still unconscious on the toilet, his penis now flaccid, pitiful, and to her as she stares back at me, her body glowing, her face radiant. As I leave the restroom I hear her walking from the stall, her heels clicking on the tiled floor confidently.
I leave the restroom and women are standing idly in the hallway, waiting, and once I walk past they file inside.
I turn from the main dance floor and proceed up the dark metal steps leading to the loft that hangs over the club. Two men brush past me, one’s hand folded in the other’s, shining brightly in the glow of lust. They both moan together as I leach just a taste from them, making the one stumble against the other. They both chuckle, regain their balance, and continue down the stairs as I reach the top.
A long, wide hallway leads down the length of the long building. A few rooms, offices and storage lead from the hallway. The lights are dull, shrouded with many colored cloths. The walls are lined with several couches and chairs, setup in small conversation circles. But there is very little conversation, just moans, the smack of deep kisses, the grinding of the furniture’s fabric. People sit, stand, or crouch touching, kissing, grasping, sucking, thrusting. The air is humid with their lust. I inhale them all, their scents each distinct in the heavily perfumed air. The club’s music throbs through the floor, the chairs and couches vibrate under their lusting occupants. When the heat, the lust, the fire’s raging inside them have become too much on the dance floor, the dancers come here, where they can either quench that desire or bring it to new heights before scurrying off to their lonely apartments and homes to slake it in a flash of frantic climaxes.
I take a step forward and then suddenly stop. I stand frozen in place, feeling the magic of another writhing through the air. My hands clenched into tight fists, my heart stopping then pounding hard in a frantic rhythm. I peer into the shadows of the hallway, my eyes moving from one writhing body to the next, the fresh blood coursing through my body, my skin starting to crawl. I feel her presence, the one whom I escaped so long ago, the one whom I thought I once loved, and I look deeper down the hallway until they stop on the source of my agitation.
She’s sitting on a large couch, staring back at me, her long blonde hair flowing down her shoulders, her skin perfectly tanned and smooth, her eyes glowing blue even in the darkness, and her body seems to radiate her beauty, reflecting my own longing back at me, making my heart ache, my breath stop; she’s gorgeous, the stunning beauty I’ve always remembered. Our eyes lock and I can feel her pull, feel the depth of those eyes, and I see myself swimming inside of them, absorbed by her.
My teeth break the skin of my lower lip and I flinch back to awareness. I drop my eyes to the floor quickly, pull myself to my full height, take a breath, deep and cold, and fill myself with my new strength, more than enough to conquer her now, if only I can will it to be so.
I lift my head and begin walking towards her, trying to shrug off my momentary defeat. Her smile is as lovely as ever with her lips stained red from blood. She watches me as I approach her, her arm wrapped around the shoulders of a woman whose leg is draped between her legs. The woman’s short dress has been pushed up high on her thighs, her skin is very pale and I can barely see her chest rising. She has been drained, almost to the point of death.
“Hello, Daniel,” she says as I come to a stop in front of her. She holds her free hand out to me, palm down, her wrist limp.
“Genevieve. You look as beautiful as ever,” I say as I take her hand. The touch of my lips to her hand is a warm comfort and memories threaten to invade my mind. I push them to the side and let my kiss linger, feeling her heat rising at my touch, but chilling my own. She pulls her hand from me and I stand, forcing the smile from my face.
She stares at me, her mouth opens to say something, but she hesitates, her eyes becoming the murky blue of deep seawater, before she closes her mouth, draws herself up, her bountiful breasts threatening to spill out of the shirt that is nothing more than a brassiere, and stares back at me, her eyes coming alive again.
“This is Angela,” she says, pulling the woman closer to her. “I would introduce you, but she is feeling a bit weak right now.”
“Understandable,” I say.
Genevieve’s hand moves between the woman’s thighs. Her hand disappears inside the darkness of the skirt, but the soft, almost noiseless moan from the woman leaves no mistake with what the hand is doing. Genevieve moves her other hand around the woman’s shoulder and pulls the dress down, exposing firm, petite breasts, the nipples hard and faintly blue.
“I fear the night had been too much for my sweet Angela,” Genevieve whispers, her face hidden inside the woman’s chestnut colored hair. Angela moans a bit louder and her eyelids flutter, her back arches slightly. “But I think there’s still some life left in her,” Genevieve says and laughs, deceptively sweet.
“Perhaps you should leave her alone before your attentions become… overwhelming,” I say.
I watch as Genevieve’s hand plays between the woman’s thigh, as her other hand massages the woman’s breast, and I can feel my own lust, not just the lust of sex, not just the lust for the woman’s skin and cunt, but the lust of the kill, of the slow drain, pulling the life from her in slow, orgasmic spurts, caressing her cooling skin, until the last of her life flows through me.
“Oh, I think it’s too late for that,” she says.
Genevieve pulls the woman’s hair to the side so I can see her lips parted, her teeth pressing close to the woman’s already bruised and bleeding neck. She licks her neck slowly, her eyes watching me. I sway on my feet, overcome by the powerful urges, and I clench my teeth together.
“This just won’t do, Eve,” I say.
Genevieve’s eyes flare a blazing, harsh blue and her lips pull back in an ugly sneer.
“Don’t call me that,” she hisses and pulls herself from the woman’s body.
“I’m sorry, Genevieve. It’s been a while. I am very forgetful,” I say, letting the smile linger. I know she hates that name, hates the connotations, hates it because of who used to call her by that name. It’s one of the few ways I know to truly hurt her.
“You are very cruel, Daniel,” she pouts, her lips turned down, childish, her arms folded over her chest.
I drop to my knee in front of her, lay my hand on her bare knee, and lean against the couch. I stare up into her eyes, offering her the smile she can’t resist, letting my face soften.
“I would never intentionally hurt you, Genevieve,” I say, letting my hand slide up her bare thigh, high enough to slip under the skirt.
“You do nothing but hurt me, Daniel,” she says, trying to not meet my gaze.
“I owe you so much, my love,” I say, trying to not cringe at the old endearment.
Her thigh is as smooth and tight as I remember it. My fingers linger close to her sex, close enough to know she is not wearing panties, not that she ever has.
She uncrosses her arms and touches my cheek, her eyes meeting mine. I lean into her touch, remembering her loving touches and her stinging slaps. Ours had always been a tumultuous love, born of desire and pain, draining and satisfying, and ultimately too destructive for either of us; I was just the one with the sense to know it.
“I’ve missed you, Daniel,” she says, her fingers running through my long hair, playing with it as she always used to.
She slouches down in the couch and for an instant the tips of my fingers touch the trimmed hair of her sex and I pull my hand back to her knee.
“Don’t you still want me?” she asks, her eyes glowing with want, but still with that fire to possess.
“I’ll never stop wanting you, Genevieve,” I say truthfully.
Her hand moves down my face to my neck, her fingers lightly touching the hairs.
“We could have been something great. Together. We could have made all of them ours,” she says.
“That has always been your dream. Not mine,” I say and turn to the side to kiss her hand quickly.
“It is the dream of all of us. You just deny it and thus deny what you are,” she says, her voice never losing the seductiveness, but tinged with that ruthlessness that always made her so dangerous.
“I deny nothing, Genevieve,” I whisper into her hand as she touches my face. “I have always been myself, and never pretended to be anything more.”
She sighs, a deep sigh filled with longing and contempt in equal parts. She is the only one I’ve met who could love and hate at the same time, feel pity and disdain simultaneously. Though must assuredly ruthless, she could love deeper than any being I’ve met. She has always been an enigma.
Her fingers linger on my lips before she breaks the touch and sits up straight, having pushed her emotions down again. I slide my hand up her thigh before standing; to not have taken the liberty to take advantage of an extra touch would have been an offense to her.
“Then I suppose you want me to leave my date alone now, then,” she says, her eyes staring through me as she moves closer to Angela, whose chest rises and falls in slow, short breaths, holding on to the last bit of life left in her.
“Yes, I would,” I say and move closer to her, staring down at her, wanting to break through the ice she has put up, let her see the eyes she could never resist.
“Such a romantic, Daniel,” she says, her hand sliding down the front of Angela’s body, over the woman’s nipples, pushing the top of the tight dress down to her stomach. “Such a beautiful woman, isn’t she?” she asks. “Don’t you feel the desire to possess her, to take her, to have your pleasure of her?” I press my teeth together as she speaks, knowing she’s trying to get a reaction out of me, trying to pull the beast from me, but I must show her I am stronger than that. “You could give her such pleasure as she dies, Daniel. Pleasure that she would give her life for.” She pulls her legs under her and curls her body around the woman. “We could both love her, Daniel.” Her hands are sliding over the woman’s body, sliding over her own body, thin layers of cloth are peeling away, and my mind is raging so that I can barely see her movements, so that all I see is the baring of flesh, and I hunger. “We could love her as we once did so many others.” I move towards them, my knees touching the couch, feeling her magic writhing through the air, and I do remember, I remember those that came to us so willingly, they were always so willing, their minds open, their hearts aching, just wanting to be filled by us, to feel that ecstatic pleasure as they parted this world. I remember such pleasure. “Just this once, Daniel. Just one more time. Lets be together again.” She leans towards me, her head hovering at my waist, her eyes searching my eyes, one hand pulling my shirt from my pants, the other moving between Angela’s legs. My resistance is sliding away so easily, so quickly, awash in memories and yearning, and I can hear the woman’s slow breaths, so heavy, so lustful. “She’s about to slip away, Daniel. We can make her last moments pleasurable or we can leave her to her agony. You can’t save her.” Her hand is sliding along the skin of my stomach, her fingers pressing into the muscles.
For a moment I try to fight it. I try to remember my new strength, remember my resolve, remember that I have changed, that I am no longer this beast, no longer Genevieve’s loving killer. For a moment. But when I hear the woman sigh, when I see Genevieve’s finger sliding between the folds of the woman’s sex, when I hear her want, her need, when I feel Genevieve’s hand sliding up to my chest, I can no longer fight it. I give in.
Genevieve yelps in surprise as I push her back onto the couch and sit on her thighs, moving quicker than she can remember. But when our lips touch, after too many years of being apart, too many years of dreaming of that touch, we both dissolve into it, lips melded together, tongues touching, hands clasping, pushing, straining, wanting to pull her into me, push myself into her, and her fevered breath, her warm skin, her wet lips, all as I remember, and yet so much more; for her power has grown as well and I feel it pushing against me as I push back against her.
She breaks the kiss, her lips peeling away from mine, and her hands clutch my head, as she peers into my eyes.
“Daniel, how you have grown. You have become what I always knew you would,” she sighs and in her eyes I see not just the love, the strength, the greed, the passion of her gaze, but I see admiration, even respect.
I say nothing. I let the gaze linger, let her feel me inside of her, my power slowing rolling through her, and a smile spreads across her face and her eyes become hazy. I can feel her body warming, feel the moisture between her legs, see her chest heaving, the exposed skin of her breasts glistening. Her hands slide down to my chest and in one violent motion she rips the shirt from my body.
For a moment her eyes focus on my bare chest and then my power sinks lower into her chest down to her groin and her back arches, her eyes flutter shut, and I feel that I have her, as the last of her magic is overwhelmed by my own, as her body is overcome, as I ignite every nerve in her body, I know my beast.
I grab her shoulders and push her down onto the couch, her head lying in the woman’s lap. I press my lips to hers and delve into her mouth as my hands explore her body, caressing her flesh, pulling her warmth and letting it flow back into her. Her hands push at my shoulders, my chest, my arms, her fingers dig into my flesh, her nails scrape across my skin. She gasps for air as I release the kiss and then her back arches underneath me as I such at her neck, my kisses sliding down to her shoulder, her skin always so smooth, so soft, so sweet.
“I want you, Daniel,” she moans, her lips pressed to my ear. “I want you now. I want to feel you inside me.”
Her hands clutch at my pants trying to pull them down. I move my kisses down from her shoulder, down her chest, and pull her nipple between my lips, letting it scrape across my teeth as I pull away from her and kneel over her between her legs. I open my pants, my eyes devouring her body, watching her chest rise and fall with her frantic breaths, her face glistening with sweat, her hair tossed into Angela’s lap. Her eyes gaze at my hands as I pull my pants down to my thighs and my cock stands out over her, as hard as my body, but much more pale, and I remember how she used to caress it, kiss it, stroke it, whispering how it was made from granite, so smooth and pale and hard, but warm like flesh.
She spreads her legs apart, beckoning me to her, and I lie between her lovely thighs as she wraps them around me. I slide my cock over her wet pussy and we both moan.
And like a bolt of lightning I feel her again, her power rolling through me. I arch my back as I slide into her, riding her magic down into her, pushing deep inside of her, swallowed by her, and she rises to meet me, her hands clasping my hips, her body surrounding me, and deep in the recesses of my mind I know I was wrong, I know I didn’t have her, her power was there, just inside of her, waiting to be touched by me.
Then instinct takes over and I slide in and out of her in long, deep strokes, holding my body over her as she writhes below me, my feet pushing against the arm of the couch as I drive into her, twisting into her, and we groan together, her nails dragging down my chest.
“We were meant for each other, Daniel,” she moans below me.
I look down into her eyes, flickering with her fire, and I believe her, as I move inside of her, her cunt perfectly formed to my cock, her power matching my own, I believe her, and I know that I love her.
Her hands caress my cheeks and she raises herself to me, her eyes watching me, her lips parted, and our lips meet. I fall onto her, pushing her to the couch, falling into her kiss, as she moves below me, pulling me into her, her legs wrapped around me.
I feel myself pulled towards her, my power pulled into her, draining through my cock and my mouth, thrashing along my spine, crackling across my skin, and I push into her deeper, holding myself inside of her, twisting into her, wanting to penetrate her entirely, fill her, give myself over to her.
“I love you, Daniel,” she moans against my mouth, her voice deep and husky, broken by my thrusts.
“I love you, Genevieve” I mumble back, words I hadn’t spoken in so long, words I would never speak, pouring out of me as my magic flows from me.
“Come inside me, Daniel,” she whispers, her eyes hovering unfocused in front of me. “Pour it into me. Give it all to me.”
And I want to. I thrust into her hard, making the couch squeal in protest beneath us, bringing a shriek of pleasure from her throat, and I want to give her everything, push all of it inside of her in a final climactic release.
Then, a moan, cold and barren, ripples through my mind, daring to push the lust aside, breaking through my mad reverie. Genevieve’s eyes flicker, for an instant, her head tilts, looking to the side and then back at me quickly, but in that instant the link is broken.
I move my gaze over Genevieve’s head cradled in the woman’s lap to her hand that is between the woman’s thighs, her fingers working deftly over the woman’s soaked pussy. The woman’s body has become deathly pale, almost drained, and it was her last, death moan that saved me from my own foolishness.
Genevieve’s touch on my cheek brings my gaze back to her.
“Look into my eyes and love me as you did,” she moans, her lips red and wet, her face beautiful, her cheeks flushed with lust.
I feel her inside my head now, pulling me into her, using the woman’s life to pull my power from me, to overwhelm me, to drain me. Her eyes squint, a flicker of the knowledge that I feel her now, and then she pulls herself from me, the light dying in her eyes, her hips sinking into the couch, but it’s too late; I know.
I grab her thighs, pull her around me, and sink onto her. My lips pull back into a sneer as I wrap my lips around her neck and thrust into her deeply, pushing my power into her with a brutal force, and her body arks below me, a high scream of punished ecstasy erupts from her strained throat. I thrust into her hard and fast, my hips bashing into her, unleashing the ferocity of my beast as I never have before, and she’s overwhelmed, her power is pushed to the furthest depths of her being as she’s filled by me. My hands slide to her buttocks and hold her still below me as I pound into her, sliding the length of my cock in and out of her, letting her feel the full extent of me inside of her, to feel the emptiness without me, and then the relief as I slide into her, filling her, until bursting, until it’s too much, and then withdrawaling again, repeating in a frenzied cycle that leaves her gasping for release below me.
I thrust into her hard, lifting my body over her, pushing into her deepest depths, and an orgasm rips through her, constricting every muscle, a shriek tearing through her clenched teeth, the couch torn in her clawed hands, and I push into her rapidly, pulling her orgasm out, pulling from her, sucking her power from her body, and I reach towards the woman, Angela. “Angela,” I whisper, and I pull her towards me, her face pale, dead, but so beautiful, so human, and I press my lips to her mouth, forcing her blue lips apart, and Genevieve screams below me, writhes under me, as I stroke inside of her, her cum flowing around my cock, her power flowing into me, out of me and into Angela, pouring into her mouth, over her skin, and I push deep inside of her, down into her, finding the last of her vitality glowing hot and bright, flaring alive, and her tongue touches mine, her moan is soft and warm, and then I feel her past, feel her pleasure, feel her every emotion, and I feel Genevieve’s fingers twitch over Angela’s clit and her body erupts, lashing back against me, and I thrust into Genevieve uncontrollably, and explode inside of her, the cum bursting from my cock in a torrent that makes my body clench stiffly over her, every muscle concentrating on pouring into her, my lips still pressed to Angela’s as the orgasm brings the flush of life to her body, becoming warm again, her mouth open in a deep groan, and Genevieve pulls me to her, wanting to be filled by me, until the last dying spurt and I break the kiss and fall on top of her.
I lay on her, feeling my cock still hard and long at rest inside of her, breathing heavily, her body still below me as she gasps for breath.
“That was a bastardly thing to do,” she whispers between impassioned breaths.
We both laugh, and it feels good to be with her again, inside of her. But I remember her attempt to take me over, to drain me, to disguise her thievery as love, to make me feel the same for her, and I stop laughing abruptly. I rise over her and look down into her eyes, shiny and alive with the laughter and the sex.
“That’s because I am a bastard,” I say coldly. “But a bastard that will never love you.”
The laughter in her eyes fades quickly and her lips turn into a sneer.
“I almost had you,” she says, her hand sliding along Angela’s bare thigh, seductive even in defeat.
“But I remember too easily. And your lust and greed will never be mistaken as love.”
I pull myself from her and see the despair in her eyes as she feels herself empty again, and I know she wants me, in her own twisted way she loves me. She turns away from me as she pulls herself up and straightens her skirt.
“Well, Daniel, you do still cum as much as ever,” she says, trying to hide her sadness behind gutter humor. “I feel about ten pounds heavier.” She laughs and her eyes glide past me to look over my shoulder, as I stand up to dress. “Oh,” she says, her eyes getting wider, her lips turning into a sneer. “Looks like our show had quite an effect.”
I turn around as I fasten my pants and wonder why I hadn’t noticed already, noticed the people in couples and groups, thrusting, moaning, sucking, groaning, overcome by heady lust. The couches, chairs, tables, floor, walls, are covered with people entwined around each other in a confused orgy of limbs and flesh, overcome by the power that leaked from our violent coupling.
“It’s a horrible waste of power,” I sigh and straighten my clothes.
“You haven’t learned control yet, Daniel. But then as much as you’ve tried you’ve never been able to control yourself.”
I turn around to see her as lovely as she was before we fucked, her clothes and hair fixed, her arm around Angela’s shoulders. Angela stares at the orgy around her, confused, but sinking into Genevieve’s embrace.
“I may not be the master of my emotions that you may be, Genevieve,” I say, my hand running over my clothes, trying to look as well-placed as she, “but neither am I the monster that you most definitely are.”
“You are a monster, Daniel. Like me. Like all of us. Deny it, but your beast is there. And very powerful,” she purrs with the expected smile across her lips.
“I won’t deny my beast. It just doesn’t have the same tastes as yours,” I say. I extend my hand to Angela. “I will take the lady home now. She’s had a long night.”
“That’s all right. I brought her here and I will take her home,” she says, pulling her closer to her. “I promise I will not hurt her. I just want the company as I watch our little… bacchanal.”
I stare into Genevieve’s eyes and nod, knowing she will keep her promise. She smiles back and leans forward. I bend down and kiss her cheek. Her hand touches the back of my head lightly and she whispers, “You know where to find me when you want me again.”
I pull away, much slower than I want to. I offer her one last look and turn away.
I walk through the crowd of grunting bodies, brushing past them, feeling their lust, unable to stop myself from leeching from them, but unable to enjoy it. I look away from their faces, contorted with ecstasy, and make my way to the stairs, also covered with half-naked lovers. I step through them lightly, trying to pass by them untouched, untouched by their lust, by their haste for release, but deep down I feel them all.
I hastily walk from the club and stop on the sidewalk outside, wrapping the cool night around me, letting my body relax. I can hear the heavy thud of the club’s music pounding through the walls. The feel of the people fucking inside and the memory of Genevieve leave me feeling horribly alone, a feeling that I usually treasure, but now feels like such a burden, threatening to plunge me into a deep depression. I pull my clothes around me and hunch my shoulder to push my way through the night.
The doors from the club swish open and I turn to see the woman Angela approaching me, the flush of life in her cheeks, looking renewed and energetic. She stops in front me and stares into my eyes.
“She said I should come home with you tonight. She said that you could use the company,” she says.
I stare at her and smile. Genevieve always knew me too well, so much that at times it was frighteningly comfortable.
“She’s right,” I say.
I offer her my arm. She takes it and I lead her down the sidewalk and to my home, wanting to lie in bed and wrap myself in her warmth and life, and at least until the sun breaks the horizon, forget that which I’ve already forsaken.