Last night was different. I don’t feel well. That is to say that physically I feel fine, better than ever, but I’m disgusted and sick in my heart and mind. It’s like I said before, when he’s here and with me it all makes sense, but when he’s gone I’m left wondering what I was thinking. Even as I sit here writing this, I can feel him inside of me, and the doubt starts to dwindle. He’s not coming tonight. He’s in town, and he’s laughing at something. The more of him I feel inside me, the less of me there is left.
I’m fighting this. I know it’s a lost cause; the moment his attention turns my way I won’t want to resist, but for now I have to try. I have to get it all down so that when these words are the only thing I have left of myself, I’ll remember who I was.
I’m getting ahead of myself. I will take up where I left off and tie the two ends of this tale together. After I woke up alone, a few days passed where I had the manor to myself. There was the one who brought me food, whose footsteps I could hear in corridors, but I never saw him. I spent my time exploring the house or reading in the library. I found what must’ve been an old ballroom on the second floor, with an expansive balcony from which I could see a garden below. The massive room stood empty, and there was a sense of sadness, as if the loneliness of this old place was magnified there. It should’ve been full of life, full of music and dancers. I tried to dance once, twirling across the empty floor like a child spinning circles to make himself dizzy. It was fun until I laughed, and the hollow echo of that sound brought home to me just how abandoned this place was.
It might strike one as odd that I didn’t try to escape, but try to understand that I had never been surrounded by such opulence, and all of my needs were provided. The same couldn’t be said of life on 13th Street, peddling my body for spare cash. I had ample food, cigarettes, and clothing. Whenever I awoke there was something clean to wear draped over my desk, and whatever I’d worn the day before had been taken away. I kept telling myself I would make a break for it tomorrow. Always tomorrow. Today, I would indulge in just a little more comfort and security. I would finish the book I was reading, and then I would go – but when I’d finish a book, I would always find another that appealed to me.
Sometimes, during the day, I’d take my book up to the balcony and read where I had a view of the garden. I never saw the gardener who so carefully tended those flowers and hedgerows. Like the servant who brought my food, he was a ghost, substantial only in what he left in his passing. At night, if Zeph didn’t come, I would read in the library. Sometimes there was a fire already burning in the fireplace when I got there. Sometimes there was a smoking jacket draped over a couch, or a cup of cocoa on an end table. I would read until I couldn’t keep my eyes open, then I would retire to my room and sleep until the sun pouring in through the window woke me up.
Then there were the times he would come. The first time, it was a complete surprise. I was in the middle of a bath, and he simply let himself into the bathroom. He laughed as I gaped at him, and he bodily dragged me out of the tub to meet my ‘new friend’ for the night. I was so startled, and so enamored of those captivating eyes, that it didn’t occur to me to protest. He took me to an empty room lit by candles in silver sconces. The floor was bare, and in its center, a stood a man. He looked about thirty, with the strong build and calloused hands of one accustomed to labor. He just stood there, naked at the day he was born, tall and dark, hairy and big. Significantly big. He was already hard, and I couldn’t help staring at his sizeable tool. It was long and thick, jutting straight up so that it almost lay flat against his taut stomach. It was repulsively fascinating, the way it twitched eagerly like a thing alive.
As Zeph and I stood on the threshold, the man looked at me, only at me, as if Zeph didn’t exist. It was unsettling the way his eyes seized upon me, like he would tear me apart with only his gaze. His breath quickened, and his hands jerked at his sides as if pressing against some unseen restraint. I started to back out of the doorway, but I bumped into Zeph, who blocked my escape. He smiled at me kindly, kissing my cheek before murmuring, “Have fun.” He didn’t bother with introductions. He merely gave me a shove that sent me stumbling, dripping and shivering, right into the panting beast.
As if my touch had triggered some invisible mechanism, the man’s arms came around me, and his hands clutched and groped roughly. I wasn’t a stranger to being pawed at like a piece of meat, but something was seriously off here. He was like a man possessed, and I don’t mean that metaphorically. Usually the kinky stuff was accompanied by some kind of talk. Gonna fuck you, boy, gonna make you squeal like a little girl. Yeah, I’d heard it all before. This guy wasn’t doing that. He was mindless, thrusting his hips against mine like he was responding blindly to animal instinct. He didn’t seem capable of realizing he was hurting me, let alone caring.
I tried to pull away, but he grabbed my hair and forced my lips to his. I bit him, and my hands clawed at his chest, but I might as well have been trying to move a mountain. The harder I resisted, the closer he held me, which made me want to resist all the more. Somewhere in the midst of the struggle, he grabbed my battering hands, and his mouth softened against mine in a kiss so eerily familiar that the fight in me drained away. “Shh,” the stranger whispered against my lips softly, “It’s okay, Eric. I won’t hurt you.”
I looked up to see his dark eyes alight with excitement and wicked amusement. I tried to pull away, looking quickly to Zeph, who leaned slack against the doorway, his eyes staring at us but not quite focusing. His head was tilted at an odd angle that reminded me of a marionette with the strings cut. I glanced back at the stranger, and he winked, grinning as though he was imparting some terribly clever joke.
There is nothing quite like the sensation of relief and terror melding into one within you. It feels like the floor has been torn away from beneath your feet, and you could swear you’re falling, but you’re not going anywhere. There is a brief moment, before the denial and rationalization kicks in, in which you know what’s happening, and it shatters whatever preconceptions you might have had of a normal world. That moment only lasts the span of a few heartbeats, but it seems like an eternity, and all you can do is stand there and stare. Then all you can do is shake your head as your mind starts constructing sane explanations. This man was a friend of Zeph’s, and they were playing a trick. Nicely choreographed and perfectly possible. I could believe that, and so I tried to desperately.
I’m not sure what sensation is supposed to happen next in this instance, because before it could come to me, his lips were on mine again, and his calloused hands explored my body. I let go of my hesitation. If this guy could pretend to be the object of my desire, then I could pretend to believe the ruse. That’s how badly I wanted Zeph. I would abandon all reason just for the illusion.
We made out like desperate teenagers, tumbling to the floor, fumbling and pawing at each other, panting and gasping. There was no finesse to our lovemaking. I wouldn’t even call it that. Animal rutting hits closer to the mark. In our clumsy grappling, I got him on his back, and immediately stuffed my mouth full of his cock, whipping my tongue along its length and sucking the purplish head. He groaned beneath me, running his fingers through my hair and shivering as he whispered, “I haven’t felt this in so long. Don’t bring me off yet, baby. I want to fuck you.”
With that monster? I sat up, trying to catch my breath as I looked at him dubiously. He almost laughed, but it came out more like a needy groan, and he stretched out an arm, feeling along the floor in the shadows. “You think I don’t take care of you?” he chided, then he sucked his breath in through his teeth as I ducked my head to give his shaft another tongue-bath. I can never get enough of that taste, the salty-sweetness of sweat mingled with precum. There was a bead of it welling up from his cockslit, and as I lapped it up greedily, I was rewarded with a low moan.
He pressed a small tube into one of my hands, and I reluctantly sat up again to look at it. Lube. I eyed him again and complained, “You’re still going to rip me to pieces with that thing.” Even so, I flipped open the cap and squeezed a bit of the gooey stuff into my hand, warming it up a bit before smearing it all over his dick. After I got him good and greased up, I worked the remnants of the lube clinging to my fingers into my ass, slicking up the passage a bit. It was sticky, messy business – exactly the kind of thing that gets me into the mood to fuck.
Tossing the tube aside, I swung a leg over his hips and situated myself to sit down on his cock. It was so hyper-erect he had to hold it out from his stomach so I could have a decent go at it. I admit I was trembling like a leaf. The damned thing was huge, and he was a strong guy. I couldn’t help but think back to that initial surge of animal lust. If his control slipped, he could’ve really done some damage.
“Just take it easy,” he whispered, trying to sound soothing, but his breath was ragged and there was an undertone of urgency in his voice.
“I’m fine,” I lied shakily as my fingers curled around his thick shaft to guide it into position. I was too tense as I lowered myself onto him, and when my tight ass stretched around the slick head of his cock, the ripple of searing pain that shot through my body made me whimper.
He shuddered delightedly as my ass squeezed around the invading flesh, milking it. He took hold of my hips so I couldn’t get off of him, and when the spasm passed, he pulled me down. It was slow torture. He would ease it in about an inch, then stop, giving me a chance to adjust. Then, just as I was getting used to what I had in me, he’d feed me more. Every time he did, I felt like I was being torn in two. Tears stung my eyes, and my gasps came out like sobs.
He gripped my hips more tightly and grunted, “Relax.” It was as if something inside of me unraveled, and the tension released, drained away. I easily slid down the last few inches until I was sitting fully impaled on his monstrous dick, my ass nestled against his balls.
The pain eased to a dull ache, but every little movement brought it back, sharp, tingling, and thrilling. It felt incredible, and I found myself rocking slowly, intentionally stirring up the sensation as it translated into pleasure. I wanted to tell him how good it felt, but my voice came out in a wordless, broken moan. He laughed softly, and the motion caused my breath to catch in my throat. Every nerve in my body was raw and alive.
“I think I’m going to come,” I whimpered ineloquently when I finally found my voice.
He drew me down upon him gently with trembling arms. “Of course you are,” he whispered, “you’re my little whore, and you love it.”
Usually that kind of talk does nothing for me, but coming from him, I melted. Even if he was just a friend of Zeph’s playing a trick, he had the nuances down. In my mind, I was fucking Zeph. Damn right I was his little whore. In that moment I would’ve been anything he wanted. The thick curls of hair on his chest twined around my fingers as I planted my hands there to push myself up. Another moan escaped my throat as his cock pulsed violently inside of me.
He lay beneath me, letting me work him however I wanted. I stared at his face, which wasn’t half as beautiful as Zeph’s, but the ungodly hunger in his eyes made him gorgeous. I teased us both, taking it nice and slow, raising myself up a bit, then easing down again. Every time his thick shaft slid in and out, it hit this one spot inside me that sent little jolts of electricity through every nerve. I knew I wasn’t going to last much longer, and when I felt like I was ready to explode, one of his hands slipped from my hips to give my cock a firm squeeze, holding me back.
“Not yet,” he taunted, though his cool tone was disrupted by his heavy breathing.
I wanted to come so badly that I really started to fuck in him in earnest, lifting myself about halfway up the length of his cock, then grinding on him. His amused expression turned serious as he pulled me to him hard on each down stroke. Beads of sweat glistened on his brow, and he licked his lips intently as his breath came in low grunts and gasps. “Take it,” he growled, “take it, you fucking slut, filthy whore.”
Maybe I should’ve been ashamed of the things he was calling me, but I was so fired up they just made me hotter. It was a good thing we were out in the middle of nowhere, because if we’d had neighbors, I’m sure my moans would’ve woken them. Yeah, I’m a screamer – not very convenient for hotel rooms, but here, where I could really let go, I did. Every time he pulled me down, stabbing into me, I cried out until my voice was raw. It seemed to excite him all the more, and before long, instead of squeezing my cock to hold me off, he started stroking, coaxing me over the edge.
I came harder than I ever had in my life. It blinded me, like a dizzyingly bright starburst had just exploded behind my eyes. I was delirious, aware only of the indescribable pleasure washing over me in violent waves. I dimly recall calling out Zeph’s name and babbling – I didn’t know what. I didn’t care. I could’ve been promising him my immortal soul, for all I knew, and at that moment I would’ve meant it.
The mindless haze gradually subsided, and I was reunited with reality by the sensation of being manhandled like a limp rag doll. He was fucking me mercilessly, his hands cupping my ass as he thrust into me, pulling me down to meet him. That spot inside me that had felt so good before now ached sharply each time he jabbed at it, and my babbling devolved into whimpering pleas. I don’t think he would’ve stopped because he was hurting me, but it only took a few more slamming strokes. Then he forced me down on him as hard as he could, uttering a low snarl as he went off. I could poignantly feel every pulse of hot jism spattering all over my insides. It was agonizing, but when it subsided, I wanted him to do it again. I never could’ve taken it, but I wanted it.
Wanting it or not, the show was over. He stretched out beneath me, sighing softly in satisfaction as his eyes drifted closed. There were a few gooey white globs clinging to the hair on his chest, and a little bit dribbling on his cheek, and I felt oddly proud of the mess I’d made. My attention was then drawn to the doorway by the sound of movement. Zeph approached, blinking vaguely, as though he were just waking from a dream. He leaned down to me, and I reached up to curl an arm around his neck. I kissed him deeply, still impaled on this stranger’s gradually softening prick.
Zeph laughed, a musical sound muffled against my lips, and lifted me off the man, drawing me to my feet. The guy’s cum leaked out of me, dribbling down my leg in a sticky stream. I was already starting to feel sore from the pounding I’d just taken. I knew I wouldn’t be able to walk much tomorrow, if at all.
“Go get yourself cleaned up,” Zeph murmured when he broke away from the kiss, “and get into bed. I’ll bring your wine.”
As he led me toward the door, I glanced back at the stranger passed out on the floor and asked awkwardly, “What about him?”
Zeph reassured, “Oh, he’ll be fine. He won’t even remember. I’ll leave him somewhere safe, away from the house.”
That didn’t quite make sense to me, but I was still a little dazed and didn’t bother to puzzle it out. Instead, I asked, “Are you going to clean him up first?”
Zeph shrugged and said lightly, “Nah, let him wonder.”
So it went. Zeph brought a glass of wine to my room later that night, and after I drank it, I fell asleep – only to wake up alone. Then a few days passed where he didn’t come around. When he did, he brought a young brown-haired guy who fucked me in the library while Zeph watched. Afterwards, I was given another glass of wine. This pattern has repeated itself with only minor variations for however long I’ve been here. Usually the men are strong and rough. Sometimes it’s like I’m with Zeph and he’s borrowing their bodies. Other times he merely watches, but the guys still seem to be in some kind of trance. I often wonder if they even remember me. Sometimes afterwards, when the cock du noir has either left or passed out, Zeph asks me questions about myself and my past, but usually he just gives me the wine and tells me to sleep.
Over time, I noticed that I could tell when Zeph was coming. At first, it was just a strange feeling in the pit of my stomach, like vague hope mingling with anxiety. Then it became more distinct, and the anxiety and anticipation grew stronger. So did my lust. It’s a good thing I don’t have any pressing matters to attend to in this house, because I spend an ungodly amount of time jerking off. I think my record is eleven times in one day, and I still went to bed as hard as a rock but too damned sore to give it another go. I haven’t at all today, though. After last night, I’ve been too confused and disgusted to get in the mood.
Last night, when I knew he was coming, I went to the library, because that’s where I wanted to get it that night. I couldn’t wait to see what he’d brought me. A bodybuilder? An athlete? He seemed partial to watching me get drilled by bigger, stronger men. I had taken rather nicely to the idea, myself. I wanted this one to be brutal, I decided as I paced in the library, impatient for the evening’s festivities to commence. I wanted him to be a monster. I didn’t care what he looked like. In my mind, he always wore Zeph’s face.
Therefore I was surprised and a bit disgruntled when Zeph came into the library with Scott. Scott was a whore on 13th Street. He was a little guy, shorter and thinner than me despite being a few years older. He had shaggy red hair, a boyish freckled face, and guileless brown eyes that managed to maintain an air of youthful innocence despite how many times he’d been both fucked and fucked over. He was well liked among his regulars, and he often sported a few bruises under his shabby clothing because he was desperately submissive, and he’d do just about anything for a few bucks.
“What are you doing here?” I demanded as my old friend greeted me with a nervous smile. I was somewhat surprised by my own rudeness, but just put out enough that I refused to be sorry about it.
“Eric,” Zeph scolded, though the laughter in his voice gave his amusement away. “Is that any way to greet a guest?”
I darted a reproachful glance between them, then forced a smile as I said, “Hey, Scott. Long time no see.”
Scott shuffled a few steps further into the library, looking around with wide-eyed wonder, like he’d never seen such wealth before. Chances are he hadn’t. “Wow, do you live here now?” he asked.
I shrugged noncommittally and watched Zeph as he sprawled on one of the couches and arranged himself comfortably. I shot an irritated frown at him. This mousy boy was my playmate for the night? I couldn’t even imagine Scott fucking anyone, let alone getting rough with him.
“You’re going to fuck him,” Zeph corrected. I glowered at him for reading my thoughts, though my temper didn’t last long under his gaze. Especially when he laughed and added, “I will whenever I want.” I could feel those eyes latching on to my mind, an intimate invasion as he impressed upon me, “Now fuck him. I want to see.”
The words seemed to work their way into the core of me. I was already excited. It didn’t take much anymore, and with just a little coercion, I was ravenous. I glanced at Scott, and he stood in the center of the room looking small and out of place. Helpless. Something stirred within me at that notion. He was entirely powerless, stuck in the middle of nowhere in an abandoned house, and the only other person besides me was a predator even more dangerous. Would anyone miss him, I wondered as I stepped closer. What was left of my rapidly diminishing reasonable mind was horrified, but I wasn’t going to hurt him. I was just going to play. That’s all. Play.
“Come here, Scotty,” I crooned, crooking a finger at him. He just looked at me for a moment, like he didn’t quite resolve what was going on. I could see in his eyes that he was wholly himself. Zeph hadn’t done anything to him. Interesting. “Come on,” I coaxed, “it’ll be fun. Is he paying you?”
Scott ventured forward, nodding as he said uneasily, “Yeah, a hundred bucks.”
“Wow,” I replied indulgently. “That’s, what, four or five fucks for you?” I reached out and twisted the collar of his t-shirt in my fingers, drawing him closer. He nodded dumbly, and I smiled as I said, “Good, because that’s about what this is going to feel like.”
He tried to say something, but I wasn’t particularly interested in talking anymore. I pressed my mouth to his roughly, plunging my tongue between his lips to cut his voice off to a muffled, startled whimper. He tasted like cigarettes, but I suppose I did too, so it was all fair. I hadn’t noticed getting any stronger, but I tore his t-shirt away like it was made of tissue paper, flicking the strands of rent fabric to the floor before devouring his bared flesh with my hands. He trembled under my touch, and the taste of fear was intoxicating. My cock was straining uncomfortably against my jeans, though, so I let him go to impatiently unfasten them.
He backed away quickly and offered in a shaking voice, “I’ll just take care of the rest,” as he started to undress out of my reach.
“Yeah, you do that,” I snapped. I had never been this aggressive with a partner. Even when they paid me to be, it was a forced effort at best. I didn’t recognize myself at that moment. I thought maybe Zeph was influencing me, but if so I couldn’t sense anything of him in me. He lounged passively, merely observing us with a small smile playing upon his lips.
I stripped out of my clothes and tossed them aside, then stepped toward Scott just as he was fumbling his leg out of his jeans and kicking them away. He had the cutest cock. It wasn’t very big, but it was perfectly shaped, jutting out from his groin like a flagpole. Of course I wanted a taste, but I had other things on my mind, like violating his round little ass. He started to back away as I approached, but I reached out a hand to snag his arm, casually scooping up his jeans with the other. I knew Scott kept condoms with him, and since this was my show, I was going to do it my way. I don’t know if Zeph was inside my head to pick up on that, but he didn’t complain and I didn’t ask.
I threw Scott at the couch to free up my hands for sorting through his pockets. The poor guy stumbled and fell face first into the leather upholstery, then picked himself up to look at me with puppy-eyed adoration. He was just that way. The worse you treated him, the more he wanted you. “Lay on your stomach,” I muttered. I couldn’t look at those soulful eyes while I was fucking him. I plucked a condom from his jeans and tore the wrapper away with my teeth. Of course he’d done what I said, and when I stalked over to the couch, he was sprawled on his stomach, clutching one of the cushions in his arms, with his face tilted so he could watch Zeph watching us.
“You’ve got a spectacular little ‘fuck me’ ass,” I commented conversationally, sounding aloof and bored to my own ears as I got cozy, wedging my knee between his legs to spread them. “And you know what they say: ask and ye shall receive.” My dick was so hard it ached as I rolled the condom on, smearing its lube around the head liberally with my fingers. I liked Scott. I just didn’t trust him to be clean. The word ‘no’ didn’t exist in his vocabulary, not that I’d had any room to talk lately.
“Eric, please,” Scott whimpered as he squirmed on the couch beneath me.
I leaned over to plant kisses along his shoulder, leading a trail to his ear, where I whispered, “Scotty, baby. When spoken to.” He shivered and turned his face away, but that horrified act didn’t match up with the way he thrust his butt up and eased his legs a little further apart. Zeph didn’t say a word, but I could feel his amusement like a peal of laughter rippling across the surface of my mind.
It was that impression of laughter that put me over the edge. I knew I was entirely in my own mind, but in that moment, I wanted to be brutal. It amused my Zeph, so of course I wanted it. There was no romantic lead-in, no consideration. I grabbed Scott’s hips to put them where I wanted them. He jumped a little, stifling a yelp as I pierced his ass, burying a few inches into him.
A remnant of my conscience nagged at me, and I eased up a bit, but he started to squirm, pushing back against me like he was trying to take it all. Concern gave way rather quickly to sadistic glee, and I held myself still for a moment, resting a hand on the back of the couch for leverage while I watched this little slut writhe on my cock. The combination of the visual I was getting and the way he squeezed around me made it hard to keep myself from pushing him down and fucking him as hard as I could. It was worth it to watch him get so worked up.
“Am I ever this bad?” I asked Zeph as I calmly stroked Scott’s back, grazing my fingers lightly over his skin.
Zeph laughed, which always such a delightful sound. “Sometimes you’re worse.”
I started to laugh, but it sputtered into a low groan. Scott was working some serious magic with his coaxing, and I couldn’t hold out any longer. Gripping him at the base of his neck, I held him still and slid the rest of the way into him. I’m usually so careful, so afraid I might hurt someone, but just then I didn’t give it a second thought. Drawing back, I thrust home again, picking up a hard slow rhythm that gradually quickened. He gave a low guttural moan and tried to press back into me, but I pushed him down so the only thing he could do was lie there and take it.
What a beautiful sight. Poor, sweet, helpless Scott, sprawled on his stomach, whimpering and gasping as I drilled him. Each downstroke drove him forward, sliding his stiff little cock over the couch’s sleek leather surface. I could tell he was getting off on it, the way he’d tremble and whisper my name every time I pulled back, begging me to do it again. For the first night since I’d come to this place, I wasn’t even thinking about Zeph. I was wholly fixated on this whore, my friend, as if he were a buffet and I was starving man.
I wanted to devour him. I’m not sure what happened. I was starting to feel really good, electrified and a little out of control, the way I do when I’m building up to a mind-blowing orgasm. Somewhere in the midst of the grunting and heaving, I leaned forward to place a kiss against his shoulder, right where it joined with his neck. It’s just something I like to do sometimes, to taste the salt of sweat on skin. I didn’t mean to sink my teeth into him. It just happened, and once it did, I couldn’t stop. I wanted to see blood. I wanted to taste it.
Scott cried out sharply, and I could feel his body convulsing as he came violently all over himself and the couch. I didn’t manage to break the skin, but it wasn’t for a lack of trying. The effort woke up an animal in me, and I tore away from his shoulder with a snarl, grabbed hold of his hips, and fucked him. Furiously at first, then desperately as the sweet pressure kept building unbearably. When it finally broke, I collapsed on him, panting and shuddering, buried to the balls in his gripping ass. My pulse roared in my ears, and with each heartbeat I emptied a spurt of cum into the condom. It left me dazed, aware of very little aside from the bliss of release. I came back to my senses when I felt him squirming uncomfortably beneath me. His skin was slick with sweat, and cool. As my eyes drifted open, I spied the place where I’d bitten him not more than a few inches from my face. The angry red patch of ravaged flesh on his shoulder was already starting to darken into a nasty bruise.
I sat up, pulling out of him, and took off the condom without looking at it, instead staring at the injury I’d inflicted. Guilt mingled with disappointment, but I was too lethargic to care too much. Besides, it was just a stupid bruise. What did I have to feel bad about? Even so, I gently smoothed my fingertips over the mark, and when Scott winced, I leaned down to kiss him softly, expressing an apology I felt but couldn’t bring myself to voice.
Zeph got up then, and the whisper of his clothing as he moved reminded me he was there. I watched him approach – his lazy stride and the indulgent satisfaction in his expression eased away my remorse. Scott tried to sit up as Zeph stood over us, but he smiled down at the redheaded youth and said, “Sleep.”
Scott simply crumpled like a rag doll onto the couch, and if it wasn’t for the steady rise and fall of his chest, I would’ve thought him dead on the spot. It startled me, and I got up, moving away from them both. Was that how that worked? It didn’t seem so immediate and blatantly unnatural when it was happening to you personally.
Zeph tilted his head to track me with his gaze. I looked away pointedly, turning toward the sidebar. We didn’t speak a word aloud. This was the time when he was supposed to pour me wine. He picked up on my thought, and as he sidled up behind me, I had a sense that he had something else in mind. I think some part of me must have known what he was going to do, because I was suddenly scared, and I couldn’t bring myself to look at him. I would’ve moved away, but he had me neatly sandwiched between the sideboard and his body.
“You’re worried about him,” Zeph murmured against my hair, sending a shiver down my spine. “Don’t be. He’ll wake up in a hotel room with a hundred dollars in his pocket.” With a soft, low laugh, he added, “Probably madly in love with you.”
I cringed at the thought. Don’t get me wrong. Scott’s a great guy. I really hope that someday he finds someone nice to take care of him. I’m just poignantly aware of how much I’m not cut out to be that person. “I didn’t mean to do what I did to him,” I said awkwardly.
“Of course you did,” Zeph replied, casually slipping an arm around my waist and pressing his lips close to my ear to whisper, “You’re a predator, Eric. I could see it in you when we first met.”
Shaking my head, I asked, “How can you say that?” I don’t know what struck me as more horrifying: that he said the words or that they were spoken with such pleasure.
“You’ll see,” he murmured. Then his hand lifted away from the sideboard. His grip around my waist tightened as I tensed to bolt. “I think we’ll forego the wine tonight,” he said. His voice was somewhat muffled, and as I turned to see what he was doing, all I caught was a glimpse of his wrist moving away from his lips.
“What are you doing?” I asked, and as I watched, beads of deep rich crimson swelled from a small slash in the pale flesh.
“Giving you what you want,” he murmured as he brought his wrist to my mouth. I tried to pull away, but his arm moved from my waist to my hair in the blink of an eye, and he grabbed a handful tightly, forcing me to hold still. His voice was edged with cruelty as he coaxed, “Come on. You don’t seem to mind washing it down with a fine Merlot.”
I cried out in disgust, and when my lips parted, that’s when he pressed his wrist to them. He could’ve just made me do it, but he wanted my mind to be my own for this – mine alone to experience that split second of revulsion and horror, and then to feel the animal within awaken again as those first cool droplets touched my tongue, salty and vaguely metallic. I was perfectly in my own mind when I latched onto his wrist like a lamprey, sucking greedily. That isn’t to say my mind was even remotely sane, but it was my own.
This is what disgusts me so much about last night, now that I’m at the point of looking back and wondering what the hell I was thinking. At the time, all that mattered was the sense of strength flowing into me. It was like no drug you could imagine. I understand now why I have been so sexually charged. His blood awoke in me a terrible hunger. As it coursed through my body, it left in its wake a coldness that demanded the warmth of life and flesh. I could feel him inside of me, his thoughts and desires, the pleasure it gave him as I did this – it made lust seem like a feeble thing.
I would’ve drained him dry, but he pulled me away viciously, shuddering as he said, “That’s enough.” His voice was thick with gratification, and he had a dazed look about him. A crooked smile tugged at his lips as he murmured, “You’re a greedy thing. Go up to bed. I’ll take your friend to his hotel room.”
It wasn’t enough, though. I wanted more, and I tried to make a grab for him, but he pulled away nimbly and shook a finger at me as one might chastise a child. It made me angry, and when I couldn’t have him, I lashed out, snapping, “Is this how it is, then? Maybe I want to go home. Did you ever think of that?”
Zeph turned away, tilting his wrist to the light to inspect the wound. It was like a slit marring the surface of cream-colored satin. The blood had ceased to flow. This seemed to satisfy him. Unruffled by my outburst, he replied, “You are home, Eric. Go to bed.”
He could’ve forced his will. Maybe he wanted my acquiescence, but I wasn’t going to give it to him freely. Standing my ground before him was numbingly terrifying. My voice cracked as I said weakly, “I want to know what’s going to happen to me. Am I going to just grow old and die here?”
Zeph smiled faintly as he stepped closer. His eyes held mine, and I couldn’t have made another lunge at him if I’d tried. Cupping my cheek with a cool hand, he leaned in and murmured with a fondness far more frightening than menace, “Oh, Eric. You’re not going to grow old.”
I don’t remember anything after that except waking up in the morning, in bed, alone. I don’t even remember dreaming, except for a nagging sensation in my gut telling me that there had been nightmares. Something about the way the wind whispered through the trees surrounding the manor sent a shiver down my spine and seized my gut with cold terror, so much so that I wouldn’t try to go outside tonight even if I could. There are things in the woods far worse than the ghostly servants whose footsteps I can hear echoing in the hallway as I write this. I’m so scared I could cry, and he’s in town tonight laughing at something.
I miss him.
To be continued…