BOUND IN THE AFTERGLOW: By Krist N. Webb
Monday, September 27th, 2010Jayne woke to sharp pain gnawing at her skull. Unconsciousness started to fade as she peered through coin-slot eyes into the dimly lit darkness that surrounded her. She tried to decipher the shadows that spilled down the walls, cast by unknown objects and candles that had been scattered about.
Jayne was someplace unfamiliar and cold. The last thing she could remember was her suicide mission and crashing head-on into a tree before fading into glittering blackness. Tiny bursts of regret, fear and confusion consumed her, and she wanted to leap to her aching feet and run away to a place more familiar; a place without regret.
But Jayne could not move.
She was bound to a bed in the middle of the strange room. Janyne could feel the soft flesh of her wrists shift between hard leather cuffs. Her full figure lay stretched and helpless as she strained her neck to gaze down the landscape of her body, over the little mountains formed by her C-cup breasts and down her round, heaving stomach. Her ankles had been crossed and bound with the same leather cuff that bound her wrists. One meaty thigh crossed over the other, heavy and still and hiding her pink delta like a secret. Only a furrow of amber bush was exposed.
Suddenly, Jayne heard footsteps stir outside of a door that was hidden on the other side of the room. The door creaked as it slid open, and the sound of footsteps became louder as they drew closer to the bed. Although she was awake and trembling, Jayne clenched shut her eyes. She listened to the deep steady breath of a man and her nostrils became filled with the aromas of cinnamon and musk.
Jayne knew there was no escape, so she opened her eyes to face reality. But the man beside her was not the ghoul she had envisioned. He did not look like the monster that had transpired in her head.
“My name is Deacon Steed.”
Deacon was striking, his flesh pallid and smooth. His steel gray eyes were so deep that they pierced through Jayne’s lingering stare and made her hazel eyes look ordinary. Deacon’s face was obscurely beautiful and he looked as if he had been carved from stone, every feature was carefully considered and pronounced.
“You wrapped your car around a tree not far from here last night. I heard a crash, and when I went to see what happened, I saw you trapped in the wreckage.”
“You shouldn’t have saved me,” Jayne said, averting her eyes away from his.
“Maybe I wanted to die.”
Deacon took Jayne’s face in his hands. His demeanor, which up until now had been emotionless and cold, turned wicked and intense.
“Your past life is dead to you, consider it over. Now you belong to me.”
Jayne became filled with an uncontrollable sense of desire. No one had ever wanted to possess her. She felt the void within her being start to close as she mulled over Deacon’s words: “Now you belong to me.”
Jayne suddenly felt complete.
Casting gunmetal eyes upon her, Deacon flashed a devious grin. Jayne watched as two sparkling white fangs reared their pointed existence in a row of otherwise normal teeth. Chills rushed off Deacon’s body, surging Jayne’s sex like an electric pulse.
Deacon released her sore, stretched limbs and drew in her stale, sweet scent as he fondled her heavy breasts. He sucked on her hard nipples, one after the other. Jayne threw back her head in a fit of pleasure, recklessly spilling her hair all over. Her eyes were wild – his were hungry.
Deacon sucked a hard kiss from Jayne’s lips then slashed at the delicate flesh until a trickle of blood rolled down her chin. Jayne felt his tongue lop up every bit of her salty fluid as it seeped from the fresh wounds.
Blood spilled down Jayne’s chin and on to her heaving breasts. Deacon squeezed a handful of her soft buttocks as he drank. She surrendered herself completely, wishing she too had fangs to taste the forbidden insides of her lover. Never had she been in the throngs of desire like this. Suddenly, she felt Deacon’s fingers slip into her soaking-wet sex, then slide out and into her orifice again. Then he slid his moist fingers into her mouth, letting her taste her own bitter juices. Deacon filled Jayne with his burning erection.
Deacon went in for more, silent beside the sounds of pleasure. Jayne felt the sting of his pointy daggers tear into her neck. The pain disintegrated into the incandescence of their lust, and Jayne felt strangely at ease. The two were bonded by the balance of fulfillment and need – of carnal give and take. Jayne started to fade into a bleary facsimile of herself, and the candle-lit darkness grew blacker. The last thing Jayne felt before unconsciousness claimed her was the withdrawal of Deacon’s invading teeth.
Jayne woke to find herself once again bound by her wrists and ankles. This time, streams of light filtered into the room through places that went unnoticed in the dark. As the morning light cast a glow over Deacon’s sleeping body, Jayne realized it had no affect on him. And she still felt mortal.
Her neck throbbed and she could feel clotted blood crust around the small wounds. Her lips swelled, the tender flesh felt violated and raw. The scene looked different in the light and everything felt real.
Beyond Deacon’s dead-still body, Jayne saw something glimmering on the floor next to the bed. On a pile of crumpled clothes sat a row of prosthetic fangs that were covered in dried blood. Peeking out of the pocket of Deacon’s pants was a dagger – the blade was clean and waiting to be dirtied with blood. As Deacon slept beside her, satisfied and full, the truth became clear in the harsh morning light: Jayne’s fate had been sealed since the night she crashed – the night she decided to die – and she would never escape him.
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©2010 Krist N. Webb
