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March 2011
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Jen [userpic]
A story I wrote a week or so ago

The Dream:

Like a great phantom beast, he roared over her. In her barely conscious state she smiled, waiting for the dreams he brings. The black shadow that hangs above her laughs amused by his affect on her. On the bed, she writhes, unable to stop the flow of his presence. Softly, he kisses her, a brush of fangs against her tongue. She arches deep, and her soul explodes. Metaphysical crimson stains her lips. In the darkness of the night, her phantom beast roars into her, and shatters her dreams. Paralyzed, she pants and sweats, while he holds her close.

In the early morning sunrise, she cries out in her sleep, unable to understand the erotic violence of her late night companion. A few hours later she is fully awake, coffee cup in hand, preparing for the uneventful workday ahead of her. Flashes of the dreams enter her thoughts, while her body temperature rises. She shakes it off, and tries to concentrate on her tasks for the day. She wanders about, as if in a strange happy daze. Her coworkers notice, and wonder just how much coffee she's been drinking lately. In her head she laughs like she's harbouring a dirty little secret, thinking "If you only knew". The day passes on, never exciting, she wonders if there will ever be anymore excitement in her job. She laughs sardonically, "It's always the things you love that kill you in the end" she muttered to herself on her way home.

Throughout the night, she watches some TV, maybe reads a bit until the time comes when she gets tired. On the edge of sleep her phantom beast comes to her again, driving her into oblivion. In the orgasmic afterglow, she settles into a disturbing dream.

A dinner party, with beautiful flatware, crystal stemware, mahogany tables, and dozens of beautiful people. The men, all though varying in height, hair and eye colour, were dressed the same. Midnight blue velvet suits, with matching midnight blue shirts. The women were dressed in flowing, deep crimson, gossamer dresses. There were two exceptions of course. She was wearing a black silk gown, edged with onyx beads, and she held a silver fan, with a midnight blue ocean design on it, her light brown hair piled on top of her head. A mass of frothy copper curls framing her round face. Her deep green eyes were shadowed with a silver powder; lips painted a deep ruby red, with just a touch of rouge on her high cheekbones. In the cluster of people something caught her eye, a tall figure with long, black hair. As he turned around, she saw a flash of sea foam green eyes. Scarlet lips formed a curvy smile, the kind of smile that's a combination of both innocence and total lust. A blush so deep it matched her rouge exploded over her face, and in her head, she heard the sound of furred laughter. She couldn't stay inside with those cat eyes watching her every movement. She made her way through the crowd, stepping out of the high French doors into the crisp night air.

He watched her as she moved, and when she disappeared, he frowned. He caught a glimpse of her gown as she wandered around the garden. With quiet stealthy steps, he came upon her sitting on a stone bench surrounded by rose bushes. He was standing in front of her, when startled; she looked up to see him there. While people surrounded him, she hadn't had a chance to see his clothing. Black knee high boots sheathed his muscular legs, out of the top of the boots she saw he was wearing black leather pants. His shirt was white with a little ruffle spilling over his chest and stomach. His jacket was black, velvet with ivory buttons. His sea green eyes looked down at her, glittering with amusement, and the darker shine of lust.

He pulled her up off of the bench, the hunger leaking into his face, and kissed her hard and deep. She pulled his head forward, meeting his brutal kiss with one of her own. Her fist twisted in his hair, as his hands tore off her dress, while her other hand struggled to undo his leather pants. Throwing her on the ground, his mouth bit and sucked at her neck, and down her body, stopping to tease her nipples. Her hands slipped up his shirt, nails raking his back as she arched against his weight. He looked up at her, eyes on fire, and shoved himself full force into her. Her hips rose to meet his, gasping with the pain of his speedy thrusts. His head bent to her neck, biting harder than he's ever bitten anyone in his life. Blood poured into his mouth, as he thrust, bringing them both closer to home. No sound came from her, her eyes closed tight, face fixed into an eloquent expression. Pain and pleasure like never before coursed through her veins. With one final thrust, she shudders violently, as the howling of a nearby wolf drowns out their cries of pleasure. His mouth was still latched on her neck, the last of her life's blood pouring into him. He'd never known anyone to enjoy the Savage Kiss so much, and as her heart fluttered its way towards its last beat, he bit his wrist, and held it to her lips. The blood flowed down her throat, and when he pulled away she whimpered. Moments pass, as her body convulses, trying to adjust to her new physical state. He picked her up and flew into the silent, black night.

Gasping, I awoke, with such a vivid feeling, that I rushed to the bathroom mirror. There, on my milk white neck, were the fang marks from my late night companion. In the mirror, the shadows moved, and his face appeared. Staring into his reflection, I couldn't help but smile. A look of confusion passed over my features as I saw the fangs hovering over my lips.