She pulled at his belt, felt the swell of his cock against the black leather of his pants. He pulled her against the wall by her long black hair. The pain mixing with the drugs to make her uncomfortably wet in the latex and leather she wore. His hands fell from her face and she swore she saw a glint of silver. A smile in the darkness; hard, and cold; not the grin of someone lost in pleasure--something that made her shiver in heat of her would-be lover’s attention.
His hands found the zippers in her outfit revealing her wetness to him. He smiled at her though she couldn’t see anything except the bright red of the neon above her and that cold smile just beyond the light. If someone wanted to watch from the darkness, let them; she had gotten off on being watched before.
His face went between her thighs and the rough caress of his tongue sent waves of pleasure up through her body. He worked her clitoris smoothly, expertly, her heat and wetness becoming too much for her to bear. He was incredibly gifted with his tongue, but the back of her mind still ached for some missing sensation, like a blind man wandering a new room. What was missing that she couldn’t pinpoint?
The gentle breeze of the vents around her finally caught her warmth. The slight cool on her wet thighs and crotch slapped her with the realization of what her mind had been searching to feel. She lay on the floor of this dark room, her thighs spread apart, her knees on the shoulders of a complete stranger getting the best head she had ever received, yet she had never felt the warmth of his breath on her sex as he worked to bring her to climax. In fact, he did not breathe at all as he flicked his tongue furiously back and forth across her hard throbbing clit bringing her closer to orgasm.
The strange dread that filled her at that moment was more than mere
paranoia, more than fear--it was a feeling as old as creation. It was
the feeling which overcame prey when they realized that they were about
to become meat for some greater beast. She kicked away from her lover.
He looked at her, smiling, taunting. He looked at her and she saw
nothing. No eyes--they weren’t contacts making him seem to be soulless, he
truly had no eyes; the black in his sockets deeper than that of the
room around her. She tried to scream and the grin from the far corner
covered her exhalation.
She felt the thin needles enter her brain, her face; the same sensation that brought her pleasure when she pierced some part of her body. Disgustingly, uncontrollably she came again; she felt the last overpowering ripples shoot through her body. She lay exhausted as the things in the room fed. Her fractured mind thought of some bit of translated prose--something French about orgasms…le petit mort, the little death.