maybeElse

content warning: smut, blood

“Please, mistress,” she begs in a tiny trembling voice entirely unlike her usual confidence, “please give me a taste, a drop! I'm so hungry …”

She's so cute kneeling: perfectly still save for her pleading eyes and panting mouth, her fangs sliding in and out. Vampires get so cute and needy when they're not able to feed, and you've trained her so very well—she'd stay like this for weeks if you demanded it of her, and the frenzy at the end would be more than worth it …

“Really, pet? You hardly look it!”

“N-no, I am … it hurts …”

A drop of viscous venom—a potent opioid and entactogen, a drug you're well familiar with—hangs at the tip of one of her fangs; a delicious piece of evidence. She whimpers as you reach forward to wipe it off, the razor sharpness of her fang dragging against your skin.

You don't let her draw blood, of course. That would be too kind.

She squirms and pants as you lick the venom off your fingertip, as you close your eyes for a moment to enjoy the warm contentment settling over your body, to think about how good it would feel to let her feed—

She can't take her eyes off your neck, vast dilated pupils fixed on the hot blood pulsing just beneath your skin, venom dripping freely down her fully extended fangs. Little drops fall each time she pants, falling down to smear her thighs in sparkling poison.

It's all through her body, of course, seeping from her crotch and her pores, an aerosol haze brewing in her lungs. Vampires are nothing if not tools to create desire, though nowhere is it as potent as in her fangs.

She smells so fucking good …

You can't help but want to smell more, to be closer to her, so you beckon her forward, let her press against your leg, let her run her fangs along the thin scales that are all that keeps her from your veins. Her smell, her hunger, rises up to envelope you …

It always feels so good to be near her when she's like this, so good to feel her against you. It's not just the drugs; it's the chill of her skin against the heat rising through you, the way she presses herself against you, the way her eyes stare up into yours.

If you were any weaker, any less experienced, you'd already be lost.

You can feel her breath on your crotch as she begs, proximity to your blood stretching her almost to the breaking point, a nonsense stream of “please, mistress”es and “I need it”s and little mewling moans—

She knows exactly how to push your buttons.

And really, it would feel so nice to just grab her face and shove her into your crotch, to let her sink her fangs in and ride her venom to new heights of pleasure …

So you do.

Whatever restraint you once had dissolves on her tongue, melting into nothing against how fucking eager she is, against how much you need this, against the venom in her saliva and coating her tongue and slipping into your body through pinprick bites—

When you finally collapse back, when you finally let her up for air she doesn't need, her face is coated in a glossy shimmer streaked with blood; her eyes are wild, pupils blown out, burning with need.

“Mistress, please …”

Her words are half begging and half a threat.

Have you pushed her too far, this monster of yours? Has your control finally started to break?

She starts moving the instant you begin to say “yes”, and her fangs are buried deep in your thigh by the end of the word. The rest of the sentence is unnecessary, impossible—

Her fangs are dripping with so much venom, desperation driving her body into overproduction, and she pumps it all into you. You'd be light-headed just from the blood she's teasing out of your veins, just from the delirious pleasure of her lips, but this is so much more.

It's like the universe is hugging you, like she's all around you, every moan of satisfaction that slips from her eager mouth echoing up through you in a wave of impossible pleasure. Everything feels so fucking good, so right and safe and proper, so wonderful …

You're not sure which of you moans as she sucks the last bits of blood from your undying body, as she slides up to wrap herself around you; she's so warm against your chilly flesh, your blood pulsing through her as she cradles you in her arms. Being near her feels so good …

The last thing you can remember before you slip away into blessed sleep, into the closest thing to death you'll ever be allowed, is her smiling down at you and brushing a stray strand of hair out of your face.

The last thing you remember is how much you love her.