Infinite Lust & Death

I'm still here at this fucking fetish ball. A rubber ball, in fact. You know the details, I've been through this once before. The last one had no name; I didn't care to get his name or give out my own. This one has a name. This tall, muscular, gorgeously tattooed body that is wearing a black sleeveless dress shirt and fake fangs is Joel. He seems cocky, self-assured; but then he has a moment of shyness. Of course, how shy can you really be when you're wearing fangs and dripping fake blood and trying to make-out with any random woman who walks past your spot at the bar?

Obviously not too shy. He's got the same black, swept-forward messy hair as the last one. The same deep, soulful eyes. In fact, they look alike. But that doesn't matter. I'm not here to evaluate their looks and their fashion sense, I'm here to fuck. I'm here to fuck Joel. In his loose fitting pin-striped slacks, black sleeves shirt, and those fucking hot as fuck fangs. If only they were real. Maybe he'll suck my-

Getting him into the coffin has proven interesting. He resisted at first. Saying that he wasn't 'into that shit', but really, we all know that's a lie. He's here, isn't he? And men all want the same things. So I've lured him into my little tomb of sin with my pussy. Because I know that's what he wants. And it's still pretty tight in here. Tighter than before, in fact, as Joel is taller than the last victim. We're pressed tightly together and he grins, nibbling on my neck. At ease. Playful, he is. And then as I shut the lid he panics. He wants out. But oh no, my pet, there is no exit. There is no time to turn back.

We are forever trapped in eternity now.

His breathing calms after a few minutes. His caresses return. His soft lips- devoid of piercings- press to the nape of my neck. He is a tender lover, working slowly and with passion. As he moves around my neck and shoulders, placing his feather-soft kisses, I reach to his chest and tear his shirt open. I'm aware that the buttons have fallen all around us. I'm aware that Joel's aware of this, as well. The sounds are loud. The sounds are over-powering. He growls. It's deep and throaty and it reminds me of the last one. The one with the delicious piercings and tattoos and, oh yes, Joel has tattoos too. I find that tattoos really make a man. Don't you agree?

As we lay side by side in this cold, hallow darkness, our lips meet. He is soft, gentle. He tastes like Diet Coke and Jack. What he was drinking earlier. And yet, there's a sugary undercurrent to his taste. Like he is chocolate frosting and my tongue is the spoon. Dipping deeper, swirling, falling, losing myself in his kiss. The fake blood drips from his fangs onto my tongue and I swallow. I taste the portion of him that is not even...him. I feel the sharpness of the fangs, and dream that they are real. Losing myself in the fantasy that he will turn me toward him and sink into my flesh. Marking me as his captive for eternity.

"Joel," I moan. "I want-"

"Hush, my pet," he demands, the soft side melting and fading into a dominance that I crave. "You are mine now, do as I say."

He grabs my wrists, holding them at my sides. Forcing his body against mine, forcing me to feel his hard length. Pressed so tight. My rubber skirts pushed up, my corset pulled down. He sinks his teeth into the top of my right breast, and I cry out. I am fully aware that I am bleeding, I can feel the warmth coating the top of my chest and bleeding slowly onto Joel's hungry lips. He licks. He swirls his moist tongue and captures my release. It is a release. Just not the release that I need. The release of-

"You taste like red wine," he whispers, pulling away and pressing his stained lips to my own. I taste myself on him. Taste my life on his lips and his fangs and his tongue. I hunger for more, desire the joining of our tongues. He slides a finger between my thighs. I purr. This brings a devilish smirk to his lips. "You enjoy that very much, don't you, angel? You want more? You're going to have to beg, Morgan."

I coo.

There's movement, his firm grasp on my throat, a slight crushing. I feel his warm breath in my ear and his firm erection slide across my thigh. I try to part my legs, try to beg for entrance and dominance and everything that he will give me. He just laughs. I see stars. I feel myself slipping away. But I am still faintly aware that he is sucking at my breasts, leaving marks and bruises and claiming me as his toy. His finger enters me again. I gasp as he removes his hand from my throat.

"Beg," he demands.

My hands no longer pinned, I reach for his length. I grasp him. I feel his heat. "Please," I plead, my eyes wide and cat like, though I don't know that he sees this. "Please, master. I want you inside me. I want to be yours. I want to be-"

"Hush," he coos, pushing my hand away and grabbing my wrists. "Be a good pet."

I do as he says, allowing him to roll my body. I face into the black silk lining and feel him pressed against my lower back. There's a delicious laugh, and I can sense his smirk. He spanks me as best he can, in the tiny space. I feel the rubber of my skirt riding up inside my corset. Cinching me. Pulling my waist tighter. Making me feel smaller and more helpless as he slides inside my body. He bites down on my shoulder, and I feel more blood. Feel my body giving to him everything that he demands and that I might not normally give.

"Mmm," he growls. He drops my wrists, reaches a slender finger down and twirls my clitoris as he plunges inside my depths. "Morgan."

"Joel," I breathe back in response. It's the only word running through my mind. The only thought I have left. His strokes are slow, tantalizing, sure. He brings me ever so close, then backs off. A tease. He wants me to beg more. But my wrists are pinned and my mind is racing with that one word and one thought. I just keep begging and pleading and cooing his name.

"I want you to bleed for me." His fangs close on my neck, he bites down hard. I scream out with my release and the pain and the pleasure. He is draining me as I return to earth and this place of darkness. The fake fangs have fallen out and are inside the coffin with us, somewhere; yet he continues to drink. He leaves gentle kisses and my world fills with the sound of his voice and endless promises. "You're a good pet, Morgan."

"Joel."

"I think I'll keep you."

"Mmm, Joel."

"You taste like red wine and sorrow," he smiles and his tongue launches a warm trail up my ear. "You taste like you belong to me. Forever."

"I do."

"Good," he smiles and a sudden light intrudes. He's raised the lid of the coffin and he's lifting me out. "Because I intend to keep you."