The Taste of His Surrender

4 min read

photo: The Life Erotic

The young man was blind and bound, arms and legs lashed to the stiff frame of a chair. He was naked but not cold, though a slight chill caressed his skin. He was blindfolded, but the chill in the air and the sense of darkness pressing down made him imagine he was captive in some dank hidden blackness, a cave, a dungeon. His naked cock twitched into hardness, and his skin flushed hot with shame.

He faintly registered the sound of water dripping, hollow and far-off, when what could only be clicking footsteps drew closer to him. He held his breath. The sound was too thin to be the cloven hooves of a demon. It was the insectile click of a woman’s high heels.

A stone-smooth, cold hand gripped his throat, raising his blind face to look upon nothing. The dagger tips of sharp fingernails dug into his skin.

“So eager and ready for me to play with,” the dark, rich voice purred, and it was a woman’s voice.

“Where am I?” he gasped.

“Don’t concern yourself with that. It’s the last room you will ever be in, though. Of that you can be certain.” Her throaty laugh curled around him. The hand left his throat and the claws dragged down his torso, catching a hard-pebbled nipple, stopping just short of his cock.

He shivered, heart pounding with fear and arousal, and despite his dread, or perhaps even because of it, he grew even harder.

“What a perfect little whore you are…the thought of death at my hands sending all that blood rushing into this.” The cold hand gripped his cock and he cried out, arching his back into the touch. The razor tips of her nails lightly tapped his erection, and he vibrated like a man electrocuted, leaping further towards an orgasm the intensity of which he was terrified to experience.

“Not quite so soon,” she laughed again, and let go of him, her hands sliding over his skin now in an invasive caress; inner thighs, over his ribcage, up to his throat, until her fingers caught his hair and pulled viciously. Warm breath brushed his ear. “You are food to me, sweet boy, but I’m going to take my time and enjoy my meal. And I intend to see you enjoy it, as well. I prefer to send my boys off to sleep in unbearable pleasure rather than screaming pain. But before that bittersweet end, I’m going to torment you, as is my pleasure, and you will not interrupt my pleasure with your own. Understand, pet?” She gripped his cock again, nails digging in, the pain sharp and shocking, softening his arousal…just a little.

“Yes,” he whispered, as if she didn’t know, and the smoky laugh licked at his ear as she released him.

Time lapsed into a dark sweet crawl as those cold hands stroked him, cheekbones to toes and everywhere in between, each caress followed by the rake of claws over his skin, sharp and deep enough to draw blood. She laughed as he mewled and writhed in his bondage, the dark music of her voice an intoxicant, making his head spin with languid bliss, darts of pleasure sparking the nerves in his cock, his asshole, his spine. He felt his cock twitch against his stomach, felt the precum leaking slowly down towards his inner thigh, and the moan unfurling from his throat was eternal.

The claws stabbed at his thigh. “What a delicious morsel you are,” she murmured, and he wondered if she was tasting him. “See for yourself.” The claws swiped his cock and then the cold fingers invaded his mouth, slick with his nectar. He sucked greedily, sliding his tongue forward and back, fellating her fingers.

She laughed at the cheated moan as she withdrew. After he’d swallowed his precum, the taste of her skin remained; it wasn’t the salt and heat he expected, but the taste of altars, the scent of ancient texts warmed by sunlight through stained glass.

“I hunger for you so,” she whispered against his face, and her voice was a shiver of need. “Perhaps I can keep you, I can try…try to not empty you completely.”

The boy shuddered, and she kissed him then, and he fancied she could suck his soul out through his mouth, and he cried out, writhing in his bonds as he felt the tips of her fangs against his lips. Blood was on his tongue, rich and coppery, and it was all over then, he was about to be swept under by this dark tide, overtaken by an unimaginable pleasure.

“Please,” he keened, though he was not sure what he begged for.

The teeth nipped his neck, and then struck deeper, her mouth sucking, biting, consuming him. He cried out, lightning fingers of pleasure snaking up his thighs, electrifying his cock, and she growled, releasing him. His neck felt wet with blood, but surely he wasn’t dying, not when he was about to come so hard. She feasted on his inner thighs, the precum that lingered there, and bit into him again, and his hips rocked up, one beat away from exploding, and then her cool lips slid down over his cock, and he shattered with a spiraling cry, thrusting into her kiss, her fangs pricking his cock, her wet warm mouth sucking the come and the blood and the life that pulsed from him in jets that matched the stuttering beat of his heart.

His softening cock vibrated as her satisfied growl enveloped him, and then she withdrew, and he was fading towards sleep, towards the warmth of oblivion, not caring if he ever saw the sun again.

The cold smooth hand pushed his blindfold up, and he saw her fully, his Goddess, and tears leaked from his sleepy eyes. Her flinty eyes, ringed in black, alight with her punishing greed for him. The blood red lips, parted to reveal the glint of her fangs.

“My delicious boy,” she murmured, smoothing back his pale, sweat-soaked hair. Her angel was a vision of debauched perfection: bitten-pink lips, tearstained cheeks, and those love-drunk baby blue eyes. His smooth white skin was scored red from her nails and teeth, but contrary to his senses, she’d drawn only drops of his blood.

“My Goddess,” he whispered, shivering as she unbuckled his cuffs from the chair. She pried the costume fangs from her teeth and slipped them into the pocket of her leathers, and produced the softest, fluffiest blanket — his favorite — warm and sweet smelling from the dryer.

“Let’s go upstairs,” she said, cocooning him in fleece, pulling him to stand upon shaky legs.

“Happy Halloween, my angel,” Goddess said, kissing him gently.

“Thank you, my Goddess,” Angel whispered, leaning against her, melting into her, as they ascended the basement stairs.

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