While the destination of my diatribe is delightfully demonstrable, the debut is devilishly difficult to discern. I shall however, endeavor to begin, after all, if I do decide to begin elsewhere, I can kill everyone who read it out of order and start again, and no one will be none the wiser.

This actually brings me to a decent starting point. You are Homo sapiens, man the wise, or human if you prefer. You will likely die of a car accident or heart disease; a car accident likely from your addiction to those damnable portable mobile telecommunication devices, and heart disease likely from one too many bacon cheeseburgers. Frankly, with what you eat, I am surprised your blood actually flows.

I, on the other hand, am not human. I am Homo Interfectorem, man the killer, or if you prefer; Slasher.

Side note: Slashers do eat, just significantly less than humans, and I am a vegan. Another reason for you to think me insufferable!  

So to answer your initial question, yes I have killed people, yet startlingly few, at least for a Slasher. However, I am not a typical Slasher. This story will explain that, and it is an interesting story. When my story begins, I had not yet killed anyone, and would not for some time.

To provide a bit of information about my kind, the Slashers, we have a rite of passage or adulthood, called the raison de fin, a play on the term raison d'être. During this, we decide all the little things about who we are as Slashers, our home turf, our preferred prey, our signature style, our look et cetera. However, in much the same way you humans might go on an alcohol binge or consume pornography before your legal age, many Slashers have figured this out well before the official raison de fin, but we are expected to do so, in the same way, you may purchase a pornographic magazine when you are of age.

However, I am not like most Slashers.

Aside from having not killed while seeking my raison de fin, I still went on the expedition and did all the things you are supposed to.

In here one of my initial deviations from the traditional Slasher mentality emerged. I had no idea where, to begin with, any of this. Gentleman Jack (The Ripper, naturally), the most famous of the early Slashers knew Whitechapel and whores from well before the legendary Dear Boss missive.

It is described as an unmistakable calling, a magnetic pull akin to the feeling of love at first sight, but the opposite, but I had never felt it. I spent quite a long time traversing the “Lower 48” trying to feel that feeling, yet I felt nothing, ever. I felt the desire to kill numerous times during my journey. Yet I abstained, it was difficult at times, even when I found myself in scenarios where a human would kill, though Slashers find themselves in this position frequently. I shall not apologize for being who I am. After all, who is to say murder is any more or less ethical than homosexuality? They were both viewed as taboos at one time in some cultures, with the punishment for homosexuality being death in some places. To them, is homosexuality not worse than murder?

I am getting off-topic. It happens, and will likely continue to happen, I apologize.

I decided, more out of exasperation than a desire to attend the bacchanalian festival known as “Spring Break” in the location called “Florida.” I believed that “Florida” would serve as a decent cross-sampling of people, and that I might feel something will the glut of people. Additionally, many Slashers have found that bacchanalian activities help set off their first feeling, which I should probably name, within the Slasher community, it is simply ‘the feeling’ but in attempting to explain this to humans, a more concrete name is required. I shall use the term blood lust, despite the fact that within the Slasher community, this is a very different term.

I was in “Florida”, something I was apprehensive about. I was not native to “Florida”, or the “Southeastern United States”. Were I to establish “Florida” as my hunting grounds, I felt it would be dangerously close to becoming a Dracula, a term in the Slasher Community for someone who establishes a hunting ground, leaves it, and establishes a new one, doubly derided if the new hunting ground already has occupants. This was an unreasonable feeling, as I had never established a hunting ground, but I felt I might be stepping on the hunting ground of someone else.

Side note: A Slasher who never establishes a firm hunting ground, such as the notorious and legendary Taterman Jones (called such because his weapon of choice was potatoes) traveled all around the “United States of America” plying his craft. He was not a Dracula as he never established concrete hunting grounds.

Anyway, I was at the beachfront, not staying at a hotel because that is how they get you, relaxing in white khaki shorts, a “Hawaiian” shirt, and sunglasses, hoping to remain inconspicuous. There were people drinking copious amounts of alcohol, and in various states of undress, some topless, some nearly nude. The scent of sea air was completely masked by the stench of alcohol, sex, marijuana, bile, and gasoline. It is not that I take inherent issue with any of the above, but I like the scent of sea air.

I scoured the beach, hoping to feel that Blood Lust or anything really, yet again I felt nothing. All manner of humanity was before me, young and old, hedonistic and ascetic, introverted and extraverted, the sober and the drunkard, foreigners and local. Some I wanted to kill yes, but this was more because they were in my way or were speaking too loudly on the phone, or were looking at someone else funny. You know; completely normal reasons to want to kill someone.

Then I saw her. She was in the distance at a hotel on a balcony. A human would not have seen her from where I was, but I am Slasher, and could. I did not know what I was feeling. She had pale skin and jet-black hair and was smoking mullein while burning sage. She was wearing a sage green bikini top and a beach sarong with a floral pattern. I had seen women more beautiful than her, but none that had enchanted me.

I did not want to kill her. I did not know what I wanted to do. I felt like I needed to know more about her. I wondered what she smelled like; why she was in “Florida” and things I did not know or could not and still cannot articulate.

I had never heard anyone mention anything like this. I knew what blood lust was supposed to feel like, but this was not it. I did not know what it was.

I needed help. I needed to understand what I was feeling. I knew another Slasher was in the region, as he enjoyed “Spring Break” but he was not there to kill, rather he was on vacation. He probably killed while on “Spring Break” though. I decided to seek him out, and his help.

This Slasher was famous amongst the Slasher community. He is too good to be known by humans, but we knew him as Gahl. He had been around a very, very long time. No one was quite sure, and he gave conflicting reports as to his age, but we knew he was older than almost any in the “United States.”

You may be wondering why I keep using quotes around “United States” “Florida” or “Spring Break.” It is fair. You see, these and many other are human constructs. Slashers do not recognize many of these. In many cases, (including my own) we struggle to understand the concepts. However, I concede that how we draw our lines for our hunting grounds is similarly a construct.

I reached out to Gahl, though you will have to forgive me for not telling you how. If I were, you could find us, and that is untenable. We managed to get in contact within two hours of my trying to reach him. It was the same day I saw the woman.

Gahl asked to meet me in the hotel that I saw the woman in, and I agreed.

We met in the hotel restaurant; I had gotten there before him and was drinking a cup of green tea when he approached and sat down. He knew who I was by feeling alone; it is a gift we have, identifying one of our own.

“Tell me what ails you, little lantern,” he asked in a growling, yet unmistakably caring voice.

Side note: little lantern is a general term for a young Slasher. Do not ask me where it comes from. I do not know.

“I came here to find the raison de fin, but when I saw the woman, I felt something I never felt before. I did not want to kill her, I wanted to know her, I felt, and feel even now almost an obsession. I am struggling to find the words for it. But when I try to think about killing her, I feel, almost disgusted. I feel-”

Gahl cut me off, “I know what you are referring to. I may be able to help. I do not know yet. We will need to see her room. It is good you reached out. If my suspicion is correct, you are a rare breed indeed. If my suspicion is wrong, we shall kill this woman together.”

I retched at the thought of it.

Gahl stood up and quickly pickpocketed maid staff for a master key. He also slipped her a hundred-dollar bill. Gahl makes it a point to always be polite to workers.

He beckoned me over and we walked to an elevator in silence. I remembered what floor and what room she was in from when I had seen her on the balcony.

Once we were outside her room, Gahl asked me what I smelled.

“Sage, mullein, clove, human blood, high concentration alcohol,” I tuned my senses closer to her door, blocking out what was in other rooms, “candle wax, several types of it, with different types of wicks, iron, there is a venom, it is fresh but I do not know what type of venom.”

Gahl pursed his lips and nodded, “You missed a few. The fresh venom is from a cottonmouth snake, but there is also platypus venom. There are also several variations of blood, some have high alcohol content, but that is separate from the other alcohol in the room. I believe they are from three different people, but there are several samples from each person. The candles are trickier. Some are actually mixed together from several types of wax, but I do not believe that matters as much as the blood. Shall we enter?”

I nodded, and Gahl produced the key he swiped and opened the door.

If the scents had not been a dead giveaway, the pentagram with candles on the nexus points, electric cauldron, and countless other items revealed that the woman was a witch. A real witch, not Wiccan, not one new-age spiritual, she was a true honest-to-blood witch.

We spent a long few minutes in the room, searching it for everything and anything, but taking care to disturb nothing. I’ll not go into what we found, for the sake of the witch’s privacy, but it was enough to be interesting to Gahl. We hurried out, making sure not to leave a trace, and returned to the hotel bar.

 Gahl ordered a triple shot of rye whiskey and a beer. He dropped the triple shot in, mimicking a depth-charge style drink, and downed half of it in a single satisfied gulp, “You, little lantern, are something very special indeed. Something I have not seen in a very long time. Something most of our kind beliefs is just a myth,” His eyes sparkled as he spoke, “There is not even a common name for what you are, that is how rare it is.”

“If there is not a name, explain it to me,” I said flatly, I was becoming more than a little concerned.

Gahl sighed and took another gulp of his drink, “No one knows exactly how we came to exist. I believe that we are the Keres, the violent children of the night. This means that we are the siblings of Hecate, the witch, both children of Nyx. I believe that the Witch and the Slasher are linked, inexorably so.”

“What does this have to do with me?” I was getting annoyed.

“Patience little lantern, I will get there, but do not rush me,” he took another gulp of his drink. “Circe, the witch you are no doubt familiar with, is in some traditions believed to be the daughter of Hecate. Some myths then say that years later, Circe married the son of Odysseus, Telemachus,” he finished his drink and ordered another, “I believe that you are Telemachus, and the witch Circe. I believe this also explains your lacking the raison de fin. The myth is not a perfect match, but I believe this is your status.”

“Telemachus was a descendent from Hermes if memory serves; he had nothing to do with Nyx. The Keres had no children.”

“The metaphor is flawed yes. However, I am merely trying to understand what defies understanding from my existing referential frame. I admit I am trying to map what I perceive you as to my existing beliefs about our origins.”

“So where does that leave me? Do I worship the witch? Do I become her servant? Mate with her?”  Gahl’s speculation was giving me no real answers or guidance.

He tipped the waitress when she brought him his drink, took a gulp, and sighed, “I wish I could give you those answers little lantern. As long as I have lived, I have not encountered the circumstances you give. I believe you should seek the witch out, and from there do what the blood tells you to. I hope you will keep me informed, as I believe you are destined for great things, and perhaps as you gain understanding, ones in the future will gain it as well.”

Gahl and I parted ways, he told me that he was going to have to leave “Florida” soon, as the blood was calling him, and he could not kill here. I am not entirely certain, but I do believe there is a Slasher who exclusively works during “Spring Break,” however as mentioned above, Gahl would not go Dracula.

I left the hotel, it was midafternoon by then, and I decided I would track the witch. I had her scent from the room, and there is a reason it is said that you can run but not hide. A sufficiently motivated Slasher with your scent can track you across continents and oceans. You could be scuba diving in the ruins of the Titanic, and we would still find you.

This would be doubly easy for the witch, as aside from the standard odors you emit, she would reek of witchcraft. The only reason it took me more than a few hours to find her was the crowds of people and the distance. She had traveled via automobile and mingled at various locations while I was on foot and trying not to attract attention; because that is how they get you.

I tracked her to a club where youths were engaging in all manner of hedonistic activities. There were too many to count, a sea of flesh and bodies, but I could still find the witch.

Which led me to ask myself a very simple question: now what?

The club was too loud for me to hear what was being said, and her body language screamed ‘fuck off’ when anyone approached to speak to her. She seemed to merely drink, stare daggers at various youths, and occasionally mumble. I tried reading her lips, but could not.

I had tracked the witch but felt blocked. I could do anything now. To make matters worse, I was rapidly entering sensory overload.

As I mentioned, a Slasher’s senses are more acute than a human’s and we are capable of fine-tuning them to focus on specific aspects. However, due to the sheer volume of stimuli, I could not do anything.

The music was deafening and vibrating my bones.

The lights flashing were blinding.

The alcohol, sweat, and humanity in the air flooded my lungs making it difficult to breathe.

The stagnant and humid air weighed heavy with humanity and clung to me like a cocoon. 

I had to leave the club. I tried to wade through the sea of flesh to an exit but struggled, and I briefly considered killing everyone in the club so I could move unmolested.

The witch noticed me as I tried to exit. I could feel her amber eyes boring a hole through my person, yet she made no move, no change in her behavior, or if she did it was subtle, as I needed to leave. It felt like it took hours to leave, but I managed.

Once I was outside, I nearly collapsed, struggling to regain myself, but managed to at the very least turn a corner into an alleyway before leaning against the wall trying to stabilize myself. To center myself, I began some easy techniques; the kind a human might use during a panic attack; which I suppose was what I was having. I do not think I had ever had one before or since.

I probably should have been paying better attention to my surroundings, as I did not hear the sound of footsteps approaching.

“Why are you following me?” A voice called out from outside the alley, near the entrance to the club. It was the witch.

“I do not know what you are talking about,” I said, hopefully convincingly, but I have never been a particularly good liar. Slashers do not lie to one another, as we can tell when one of us does, as such, lying is extremely uncommon among us.

“Liar,” she said fiercely. “You were in my room at the hotel and when you left you started following me. Why?”

I was still not quite back to being stable after my apparent panic attack and asked “Perhaps we could continue this conversation somewhere more quiet? Not an alleyway outside a club?”

“No. We’re talking here. Why are you following me?” There was absolutely no fear; no trepidation in her voice, and her heart rate was completely stable. She knew she was in control of the situation.

I swallowed and tried to read her, but she was stone. “I do not know.” I do not think that was a lie.

“You broke into my room for no reason? I find that hard to believe.”

“I did not say I had no reason. I said I do not know why. I believe there was, or perhaps is a reason, but I do not know what it is.” That was the truth, “How did you detect me?”

“I’m asking the questions, not you,” she said. “What do you want from me? And don’t say you don’t know.”

I thought for a long moment, I did not know what I wanted from her, and while there was nothing stopping me from saying that, I felt I should not, “I am hoping you can help me figure that out.” Not technically ‘I don’t know’ but it means the same thing.

“We’ll see.” She took a few steps closer to the alleyway. After a few steps, she covered her mouth with her hand and whispered something. A fool could understand she was casting a spell and was being cautious about it. “Start with what you are. You’re no more a human than an ape is.”

“Homo interfectorem” the words spilled out of me. Clever witch, the spell was to make me more forthcoming with answers.

“So you know I’m a witch then?” She asked, taking a step closer.

“Yes,” it spilled out again.

“Have I trespassed on your hunting grounds?”

“I do not have a hunting ground.”

“Are you going to try to kill me?”

“The thought of causing you any harm causes me to feel violently ill. I would sooner set myself ablaze than do anything to cause you any ill effects.” What did I just say? I would harm myself before her?

She took a few steps closer, but I still did not move, “Why did you come to Spring Break?” She asked, softer this time, but still with fire behind it.

I shall not repeat what was written above. I explained to her what I wrote above. I said nothing but answers, no questions, the answer in a direct manner, and nothing else. I wanted to ask her why she was here, what she was doing in the club, and other questions, but did not.

She took a few steps closer, barely two strides away from me now, “If I asked you to kill for me, would you?” this was barely a whisper.

“Without hesitation.” What did I say? Without hesitation? Offering to kill someone for someone I just met? This was madness; this was how you get caught! Slashers do not kill for others! We kill because we are Slashers and because the blood tells us. No Slasher I am aware of has even become an assassin. In fact, I believe that doing so would be akin to going Dracula.

She took a step closer, “amazing, you would. I can see the wheels in your mind, you don’t understand why you would, but you still would. Everything you know about your kind is telling you to kill me, but you can’t,” she was practically whispering.

I managed not to say anything.

“My great-grandmother’s journal mentioned something like this. The bond that can form between a witch and a Slasher; no one believed her, but it’s happening here now. We’re bonded. I can feel it.”

I was trembling, unsure of what to say.

“Would you love for me?” she asked. Now she was so close I could feel her breath, it smelt like red wine and roses.

My jaw was slightly agape, and I did not trust my voice, so I merely nodded slightly.  When my head came down from the nod, I was shocked to find that the witch had reached up slightly, and met my mouth with hers, kissing me.

My shock prevented me from moving, my tongue static behind my teeth as my hands trembled at my sides.

Her tongue slithered into my mouth and I tasted what I had smelt on her breath, red wine, and roses. This time I got a better sense, she had been drinking wine from grapes grown in the “Napa Valley” of “California,” a Cabernet if I was not mistaken. The roses meanwhile were fresh, grown, and harvested nearby.

She broke the kiss, “where are you staying?”

I did not want to answer but felt compelled to regardless, “I am sleeping rough, changing location each night, I do not want to be caught.”

She looked confused, “but you haven’t killed anyone yet, ever if I’m not mistaken. Why would you be worried about being caught?”

“Never leave a trace, never forget a face, and stay sharp enough to draw blood from the moon,” I answered. I wished that the last bit rhymed, but never found a suitable word.

A fun fact is that one can actually draw blood from a stone, had the stone been bled on. The moon is stone, but nobody has ever bled on it to my knowledge.

I wanted to ask how she knew I had never killed but opted not to. Or more accurately I most likely could not, and this was worrying me.

“Then come with me, we have work to do.” She took my hand and began leading me through the crowded streets towards the hotel she was staying at. First, we stopped where I had stashed my current supplies and brought them back to her room.

Her excitement was palpable, and I could hear her heartbeat with enthusiasm, while I struggled to comprehend what was happening, and barely managed to speak.

We got to her room at the hotel, and it was exactly the same as Gahl and I had left it. The witch, who by this time I had learned was called Sasha retrieved a tin of alchemical paste, unscrewed the lid, smelled it, and handed it to me. “Inhale and tell me what you think,” she ordered.

I obliged, “Mandragora root as a pulp,” and handed it back. I recognized the tin from my earlier excursion to the room but opted to not mention it.

Sasha grinned and sealed the tin; she then reached for a vial of red fluid, blood obviously, and opened the vial, telling me to inhale again.

I nearly retched at the scent from the vial, begging Sasha to take the vial away, she did and sealed it. The vial clearly had properties that made smells not transfer out of it; otherwise, it would have overpowered everything else in the room.

Sasha placed the vial back where it was and turned to me, “You and I are going to do incredible things. We’re going to change the world. But first,” she paused and took off her bikini top, revealing her breasts, slightly paler than the rest of her skin, “we need to form a bond. One already exists, but it’s like a single strand of twine, we need to strengthen it, make it unbreakable.” She removed the sarong, then spit into her hand and rubbed between her legs under her bikini bottom. “Do you know what the best way to strengthen that bond is?”

“Pleasure,” I answered. I honestly had no idea but could recognize what she was doing. Call it an educated guess.

“Mutual pleasure,” Sasha responded.  She walked over and began unbuttoning my shirt, “We’re going to need to update your style,” she shook her head. Once all the buttons were undone, she yanked it off my arms and tossed it to the side. She then started rubbing my groin through my khakis. She wore a wide and mischievous smile as she did so.

The sight of her breasts coupled with the warm pressure on my groin provoked a pleasurable sensation that was otherwise entirely alien to me. A different sort of pleasure than a good cup of coffee, and no I am not much of a coffee snob, though I do detest flavored coffee such as hazelnut or mocha, but nonetheless pleasurable.

My mind swam as I, “What do you need me to do?” I asked, completely unsure of what was expected or required of me. Yes, I was a virgin at this time; in fact, I had never ejaculated either.

Sasha’s smile widened, and she removed her hand from me and spoke a spell, igniting the candles on the vertices of the pentagram drawn on the floor, “Take off your shorts and lie down, I’m guessing you’ve never done anything like this, so just leave most of it to me, okay?”

I nodded and did as she requested, and was corpse still, my nerves getting to me.

Sasha looked down at me, her smile replaced with a look of incredulity, “socks too, I shouldn’t have needed to point that out.”

“Oh,” I said, more than a little embarrassed, I sat up and removed my socks, then stood up to place them by my other clothing, realizing that for the first time in my life, I was naked in front of someone. Some part of me wanted to cover my genitals, but that felt a bit silly, as I assumed Sasha and I was about to engage in intercourse. I lay back down, hands at my sides palms down.

Sasha nodded approvingly, her eyes scanning my body, staying on my genitals for a long moment before down to my feet, “You’ve got a pretty good body, is that Slasher’s or do you take care of yourself?”

“Both I think, I have seen some overweight and unhealthy Slashers, but I believe most of us maintain ourselves. I assume it aids in the hunt.” I answered, barely moving.

“I believe it,” Sasha said, she said another spell; she responded to my quizzical look, “That one was to make you last a bit longer. The more mutual pleasure generated the stronger the bond, so we can’t have you shooting off after just a minute. I’ve never cast that spell on a Slasher, so let me know if it gets too intense and we can cool off, okay?”

I nodded in agreement. She took off her bikini bottom this time, knelt down, and placed them in my hand, “Smell it,” she ordered.

I inhaled the scent, per bikini bottom smelt a bit fruity, a bit musky but mostly indescribable, yet thoroughly enjoyable, I could easily imagine trying to bottle the scent or turn it into a candle or incense, “It smells good,” I said.

“I’m glad,” she took the bikini bottom back and tossed it over her shoulder, she then straddled me, grabbed my hand again, and placed it on her breast, “Go on, play with them a bit, it’ll feel nice for both of us.”

I began kneading her breast, feeling the weight and elasticity. They were firm, yet supple and soft. I delighted in touching them, stroking them, feeling their density, and gently squeezing them.

Sasha moaned pleasantly and smiled, signaling me to keep going. This gave me a bit of courage to knead them a bit harder, “That’s it, you can go further, pinch my nipples,” she almost purred.

I had been consciously avoiding the nipples, unsure of what I had been meant to do. Per her instructions, I took her nipple in between my thumb and index finger and pinched, softly at first but with increasing pressure, eventually twisting them as Sasha began breathing harder, her cheeks beginning to flush as the scent from below her waist intensified.

The scent was intoxicating, such that I wanted to taste it, but when I tried to sit up to do so, Sasha pushed me back down to a supine position.

“I know you want to taste me, but we can’t have that. I’m sorry, I wish I could explain, but we just can’t. Maybe later though.” Her voice was a husky whisper that served to increase my arousal.

I did not understand but felt I needed to trust Sasha in this matter. I was putty in her hands, a puppet, her desires were mine to fulfill without question or objection. I did not care though.

Sasha moved my hand away from her breast and reposition herself. She had been straddling my torso but moved down to my waist and upper thighs.

From there, she spat in her hand and wrapped it around my penis, before gently moving her hand up and down, stimulating my penis in a manner that I believe was to emulate being inside her vagina. She asked me if her hand felt good, to which I could only nod and give a slight moan in pleasure.

“Good,” she said, then released her grip, but still had my penis in her hand and moved slightly forward while still straddling me. From there, she moved her hips forward such that my penis was between the folds of her outer labia. I felt warmth and moisture emanating from her as she slowly rocked, engaging in intercrural sex which in turn was sending pleasurable stimulations up my penis and along the vein.

She leaned forward while still rocking with her hips and whispered in my ear, “You’re still outside me now and I’m only stimulating half of you. Just imagine just how good it’s going to feel once you’re inside me. Then, just think of what we’re going to do next, I can hardly wait.”

I tried to reach up and place my hand on her glutes, but she used her hands to pin my arms to the side, all the while still gently rocking my penis between her legs.

“Tsk, tsk, tsk, I thought I told you to keep your arms down, well I guess it can’t be helped, in your position I’d want to feel every part of me, I’d want to grab my tight ass, and feel the muscles. I’d want to know every part of me, and that’ll happen, but you’ll have to be patient,” she teased me.

After a few long minutes of gently rocking with my penis between her legs, she stopped and grabbed hold of my penis again, “There’s so much we’re going to do together, you and I. Once the bond is forged and strengthened, we’re going to have lots of fun together, we’re going to change the world, but for now,” she paused and lifted herself up, she took my penis and placed it against the opening of her vagina, perpendicular this time as opposed to parallel and teased the tip against her entrance, “just enjoy yourself,” with the final word of that sentence, she lowered herself, so I was inside her from the tip of my penis to the base, my scrotum barely touching the lowers part of her.

“Do you feel that?” She asked, “You’re all the way inside me, can you feel your dick stretching out my tight little pussy?” It feels good right? I’m going to start moving.”

Dick? Pussy? I did not recognize these terms, but from context assumed they referred to my penis and her vulva.

With that she began raising and lowering her hips, the friction from where her vulva came in contact with my penis sending a warm pleasure that seemed to spread all throughout my body, the scent of our mutual sweat and her vaginal fluids mixed together, intoxicating my senses, as her breasts rising and falling with both her breath and the movements from her hips felt almost hypnotic, all the while, her moans of pleasure echoed through my ears like the most beautiful music one could imagine.

Though my physical senses were coming dangerously close to being overwhelmed, they seemed to mix together into a singular additional sense that served as the blend of all my other physical senses, the information converting purely into the most sublime physical pleasure I had ever experienced.

This continued for several minutes as a new sensation built in my body a feeling, not a physical one but an emotional feeling, one I had never experienced and still struggle to define, despite having felt it countless times since then. How does one describe feelings that you have never experienced and do not have a proper name? How is happiness described without the word itself? I find myself in a similar situation regarding this feeling. I not only have a name for it but no accurate point of reference. All I knew was that I liked everything that was happening, and could easily imagine a world where it never ended, but knew all too well that all things must end.

“You want to come right?” Sasha asked. She leaned down and practically growled into my ear “I’m getting close too, once I’m there, I’ll release your limits and let you, fill me up with your cum” she didn’t break her rhythm, merely transitioning to moving her entire body from her legs to her lower back and hips, her breasts mere inches from me.

I did not know what ‘come’ meant in this context, as I did not appear to be going anywhere, but assumed Sasha knew best and managed to make some kind of gurgling sound in response. This caused her to laugh, bell-like slightly mocking as she sat back up continuing to move, drawing yet more pleasure.

Suddenly, her back arched back taking her head with it as she screamed “Yes!” her vulva trembled and I took this to mean she had an orgasm, however as that thought was shot through my brain, the pleasure from my penis, or dick I suppose, increased along with a warmth as I ejaculated, the synchronicity of our orgasms being such that I had ejaculated the moment she shouted ‘yes’ in pleasure.

She stayed in that back arched for a long moment, struggling to catch her breath while my heart rate began slowing to reasonable levels. She removed my dick from her vulva, or pussy I suppose, and leaned forward to kiss me.

This time, I was aware of what was happening and managed to actually reciprocate the act, my tongue extending into her mouth in a manner that felt awkward, her tongue began moving in circles around mine inside her mouth before she extended her tongue into my mouth.  We stayed like that, exchanging saliva while our tongues played together for a long moment before she broke the kiss. She had wrapped her arms around me, and now her head was next to mine, her face close to my ear while her breasts pressed against my chest.

“Can you feel it? We’re bonded now, and we’re going to change the world, and we’re going to have so much fun doing it, and we’re going to keep fucking like that whenever we want to. I can hardly wait, in fact, I want to go again right here right now, but I don’t think I could handle it and I know you can’t, but next time it’s going to be better. You’re going to eat my pussy, and I’m going to suck your cock, and swallow every drop when you come in my mouth. It’s going to be magnificent,” she trailed off, or perhaps I did, every ounce of energy drained from my body and the experience we had just shared.

I was unsure of the bond she mentioned, but one thing was for certain, I wanted to have sex with her again, and I never wanted to stop having sex with her. I wanted to what she had just promised, even if I did not know what it meant. Those were the thoughts that consumed me as we both drifted off to sleep on the floor of her hotel room, our naked bodies still pressed together centered on the pentagram drawn on the floor.