I

My name is Anna and this is my story...

It was the night before Halloween and dinner was almost ready.  I had spent the afternoon with our nine-year-old Stan carving a jack o’lantern.  He was out on the porch cleaning up the innards while I fretted in the kitchen.  

I was anxious, my stepdaughter Jenny was bringing a girlfriend home to eat with us. I was always nervous around her friends, the popular crowd.  They were going to try on outfits together, to try to work up some plan for the costumes they were to wear for a Halloween night party. 

As I pulled my roast from the oven my husband Roger walked in, boasting of his hunger.  Stan, finished with his chore, came in too and they got settled in the dining room as I got everything together.

The kitchen window looks out over our front yard and drive.  I heard a car pull up and looked up from carving to see the familiar red of my husband’s old Mazda coupe, bequeathed to our daughter, turn into the drive.  It rolled to a halt, a burst of gaiety issuing as it’s clunky wings opened simultaneously. 

From the passenger side emerged a glorious figure. Long legs sheathed in tight denim, a black leather jacket and long, thick hair of ebony.  She removed her sunglasses and scanned our home with a bemused expression.

Stan, proud of his work, went outside to meet them armed with a long matchstick.  He swiped it on the concrete step and pushed the lit stick into the crown of the jack o’ lantern.  Its ghoulish face came alive, yellow triangles wavering across the steps, as he talked to the young ladies.

A leaf blower started up somewhere in the twilit distance.  I found my reflection in the glass and tried to fix my hair as the three of them came in the house.

Jennifer led her in and introduced us: “Mom, dad, this is Simone.”

I smiled and took the limp hand she offered while we studied each other. She had long delicate fingers, short nails polished black, black eyeshadow, hair dyed black although clearly a natural brunette.  She was clearly cultivating a bad girl persona.

She had to be close to six foot tall, taller than my husband. Her midriff was exposed, revealing a toned flat tummy.  She had a little stud at the button and a tattoo peeked from under the waist of her jeans. Roger waved an indifferent hello from the table where he was already diving into the food.

“Nice to meet you, Mr. and Mrs. Xavier,” she says in a posh, subtly contemptuous tone.  I looked into her green eyes, staying there for a moment before they turned from me.  She cleared her throat and her pale skin turned a charming shade of pink.  She sniffed once or twice and held her fingers to her nose.  

“Is there something wrong Simone?” I asked, offended.  I certainly didn’t think my dinner smelled bad.

“My apologies Mrs. X, but I think you’ve used garlic in one of your recipes and I just cannot abide the scent of it.”

Jenny blurts in, “Fortunately we grabbed tacos for dinner.  We’re going to go upstairs.  We won’t be loud.”  They brushed past me and on up to her room.

I deflated at that.  I was really hoping we could at least sit around and chat. It made me feel less lonely to talk to her friends and I worked hard on the meal but your kids never appreciate those things.  I sighed and settled in at the table, resigned to eating with the two guys.

I thought about my stepdaughter as the white noise of my sons and husbands conversation droned in the background of my thoughts. We’d always had a good relationship, ever since her father and I hooked up when she was about seven.

As I said she was very popular.  She seemed to know everyone worth knowing.  She was a freshman in college and looked forward to moving out as soon as she could get her finances in order.  I was proud she was growing up but a little sad at the idea of her leaving the nest. 

What I found puzzling was that in spite of her popularity, she never kept any boys around for longer than a week or two at best, and a few of them were quite charming and handsome.  You would see them once or twice if you were lucky before they vanished into the mist forever.  Some I never even got to meet, they remained just names in the air, attached to some vague description or other.  If I asked her about it she would strike a cocky pose, saying she was a “player” and not a one boy girl.  I was unsure if this was true. 

She had some beautiful girlfriends though.  I admit it, I was jealous of her.  I would lie in bed at night with only the music of my husbands’ farts to keep me company and imagine that I was friends with her friends. Shopping with them, partying with them, sharing with them whatever exciting things they did together.  I remembered being young and sexy and able to turn heads without even wanting to, and the world full of possibilities.   

The night wore on in its typical way.  I put Stan to bed at 10.  I could hear the girls having a good time in her room, giggling away and gossiping and I didn’t disturb them.  Hubby and I watched TV until he got tired and went upstairs.  I switched on Netflix to watch some of my shows. 

Jenny came down a little later and addressed me from the foot of the stairs.  

“Mom, Simone and I are tired.  I don’t feel like driving her home so she’s just going to sleep over ok?”  

I said okay.

Next thing I remember I woke to the sound of screams.  Astonished at first, I watched a young woman swoon into the arms of a beautiful female vampire who sucked the blood greedily from her neck.  It looked like a good movie but I was tired.  I switched the set off. 

I staggered to the bathroom, hoping to summon enough energy to brush my teeth before I went in and collapsed for the night.  No sooner had I loaded the toothbrush and met my reddened eyes in the mirror than I heard it. It was not loud, but clear enough and unmistakable, the sound of a young woman’s inflamed yearning. A familiar sound, a sweet, low moan from the throes of pleasure, reeking of a bedroom.  All at once I was completely awake. 

Clutching the brush, I looked at myself while listening, somewhat horrified, as if I had never known what lurked behind the face I’ve fretted over every day of my life.  I could hear my heartbeat, pounding in my left eardrum.  The drop of blue paste fell into the sink. 

First I checked Stan’s room.  He was asleep.

I looked in our bedroom.  Roger was a snoring lump. 

Reassured I quietly approached Jenny’s room. I pressed my head to her door and listened as I slowly turned the knob.  Holding my breath I pushed gently.  As the door gradually opened I wondered what earthly excuse I could give if caught.  Like an intrusive pet, I pressed my face into the widening gap.

Her blinds were wide open.  There was a full moon that night which seemed to perch in the bower of the oak tree right outside, an ancient visitor, curious like myself and peering in.

Jen was lying on the bed while Simone straddled her. The shadows of swaying branches drew jagged calligraphy over their pale skin, that glowed under the caress of moonlight.  

They were pawing and grappling fiercely with each other; they rolled over several times, giggling, playfully taking turns being in charge. Their hands and mouths roamed insatiably and aimlessly for a while.

Simone then straddled my stepdaughter, grinding her hot mound between her legs and rolling her hips as they kissed, her black hair falling over her.  The soft sound of their moaning sent shivers through me.  The heel of Jen’s foot rubbed the small of Simone’s back as she purred in acquiescence, her butt raised, hips bucking in reciprocation. 

All of a sudden, Simone turned her head and I caught the flash of her eyes.  I gasped into my palm then hurriedly but quietly closed the door and rushed to my room.  Had she seen me? I was not sure.

Hidden at the back of my panty drawer was my favorite dildo.  I took it into our private bathroom and yanked my jammies and panties down.  I was completely soaked.

I was trembling with lust.  I spread my legs and fucked myself, imagining it was Simone’s hard fingers inside me.  I came very quickly but harder than I had in years.  How lucky Jennifer was!

Satisfied, if a little ashamed, I cleaned up, crept into bed with my husband, and soon fell asleep.

I had a nightmare that night, although it might be more correct to call it a vision or theophany.  It was of Halloween.  We were trick or treating, my husband, son and myself with our old neighbors the Wilsons and their boy, who was friends with Stan.  We were walking along a street which I knew, with that certainty you have in dreams, to be in our neighborhood, but which was not quite any specific street I knew.  A light rain was falling. 

I was dressed as a witch with a wide-brimmed floppy hat, a fake nose covered in warts and a black shift and carrying a straw broom.  I was alone on the street, having wandered ahead of the group.  I turned my face up to refresh it in the cool rain from time to time.  Little droplets dangled like precarious crystals from the brim.  I looked back.  The two boys were dressed in strange, indeterminate costumes, almost like two futuristic clowns.  They were carrying on about something as the older men walked with them, chatting, myself apparently forgotten.

All of a sudden I was startled by a throaty, “Yes.”  I looked to my right and was so scared I nearly jumped out of my skin.  

Walking along next to me, although a moment previously I thought myself completely alone, was a young woman, her face smeared red, wearing fake horns on her head, carrying a cheap plastic pitchfork. She wore red tights and a sort of red bustier from which a pair of firm white breasts peeked out.  She walked on red stiletto heels. 

The costume was garish, gaudy and gauche yet she exuded an aura that made her cheap appearance seem magnificent, even regal.  Even her eyes I noticed were red; they gleamed with an awesome intelligence.

“I’m sorry?” I asked.

“I said yes!” she squealed.

“Yes to what?”

“To what you’ve been thinking about.  To what you want the most, deep in your heart,”  she purred.

Her voice touched something in me; some feeling within began to gather itself from the dust and shake itself off.

“Don’t be coy, you know of whom I speak.  Simone.” 

“Jenny’s Simone?” I replied, unsure of what she was getting at.

She chuckled, touching an absurdly long red nail to her lips.

"You know who I am.  You’ve stared at the sun.  Don’t worry about that party they’re talking about. You can have her all to yourself, tomorrow, with no interference.  I’ll do better than leave a trail of crumbs for you to follow, I’ll text you the address.  All you have to do is say yes and the bliss you’ve always yearned for will be yours.”  At this, she sniggered, rather unpleasantly.

As she grinned I noticed she had been sloppy with her lipstick.  It was all over her teeth.

I paused and looked back again.  What I saw was the same scene, the same distance as if we had not moved, as if no time had passed.  The boys and men repeated the same gestures, in front of the same house, everything the same.  I turned back to this devilish creature.

She handed me a cell-phone in a pink case just like Jennifer's.  She traced a pattern with her long nail on the lock screen, like a large C in reverse.  It unlocked and I could see that it was, in fact, Jen’s phone. A picture of her at Cedar Point with some friends was on her home screen.  She pressed the message icon and opened her thread with Simone.  I leaned in to read but the words were fuzzy and I couldn’t make them out.  

“I only have one condition.”  She leaned in, put her lips to my ear, whispered, and I woke up.  

It was late morning.  I lay there for a few minutes, brooding over the previous night.

I was not sure what disturbed me more, having seen my daughter with her lover, the pleasure I had gotten from it, or my nightmare. I could make no sense of any of it at all.   

I got up and checked my son's room.  Roger had evidently let me sleep and gotten him off to school himself before leaving for work.  I must’ve been sleeping very heavily.

I got in the shower, set the head at pulse and pleasured my pussy at leisure. Leaning against the wall, to intense visions of lissom young women soaping my showering body.  I came, somewhat loudly, hoping the sound of the shower drowned me out.  I had stayed away from Jen’s room and was not sure if they were still there.

As I toweled myself off I assessed my feelings.  My envy of Jennifer had intensified.

The devil in my dream had told the truth.  I did want Simone.  The thought of her all to myself was extremely exciting but of course, that would be stupid and impossible for a married woman with kids to think about.  So strange, I thought,  that my subconscious would choose to show me my feelings via this weird nightmare.

I put on my bathrobe, put up my hair in a towel and wandered into the kitchen.  Jennifer, in an oversized shirt and little else, was eating strawberries.  She turned her innocent blue eyes to me.  

“Morning Mom.  I think I’m going to the gym.  I’d like a swim, you want to come?”  She held the root of another strawberry to her mouth as she said this and sucked the firm fruit away as a stray lock fell over her face.  My heart beat a little faster.

“I think I’d rather get some reading done love,” I said as I listlessly perused the contents of the refrigerator.  I felt her eyes linger on me a bit longer than I would have expected as if in interrogation. 

I pretended to be searching for some particular item but my mind was not on food.  I was scared to death Simone had told her that I had seen them and I didn’t relish having to have that talk.

“Did... What’s her name... Samantha leave?” I asked the carton of milk.

“Simone,” she chuckled.  “She left early.  She had to go to her Yoga class.  I’m leaving after a quick shower.  We can go to lunch when I get back if you like.”

She got in the shower and I poured some juice and turned on the TV, just to let the noise of it dispel the silence.  

I heard the sound of some Top 40 song come on in Jen’s room, a few seconds of it and then it looped.  I wandered in, it was her phone.  I stared at it for a bit, touching the rumpled sheets of her unmade bed. I picked it up and made a large inverted C on her lock screen.  I was not surprised when it unlocked.   There was a message from Simone but not for Jennifer.

“Hello, Mrs. Xavier.  Glad you picked up.  Jen and I are attending a party at 11 but there’s no reason you and I should not meet up first and have our own fun.”  

I stared at the phone for a moment in shock and disbelief.  For the first time in my life, I began to doubt my sanity but I composed myself and played along.

“How did you know?  I’m so confused,” I texted back.

She sent me a pic. A bed, hers I assumed, with handcuffs, nipple clamps, an anal plug, a blindfold, and a strap-on all laid out.   My heart pounded like a hammer. 

“Send me a selfie,”  I texted with trembling fingers

“Lol, unfortunately, I can’t do that. You’ll understand before long.” Then she texted an address downtown.  A street I’d never heard of, Brindle Ct.

“Make sure to wipe this thread.  I’ll see you at 10.”

Am I going mad? I thought.  No, the devil had promised her to me.  I began to believe. 

II

That night, Halloween, I took my son out as planned and we returned around 8:30.  I let him eat some candy and put him to bed.  Roger went out to the bar with some friends.

Jenny, in excitement I could well understand, was fretting over her costume in her room. Some character from a film I’ve never seen, wondering whether or not it was too sexy. Which I thought was funny considering whom she was to spend the evening with. She was an amazing and beautiful young woman, if she wasn’t exactly my innocent little girl anymore, I was very proud of her.  Despite this, lust prompted my every move that night and I never hesitated.

So in a sort of daze, telling no one, essentially leaving my sleeping son alone for the night, I dressed and did my make-up. I chose a little v-neck blue dress that cut off just above the knee.  I thought it showed just enough cleavage and leg without being too tacky. 

I thought of wearing some stripper pumps but then remembered I had a little walking to do so I pulled out my all-purpose open-toed wedges.  I borrowed a raincoat from my husband; it had started to drizzle and I also wanted to cover up so as not to draw unwanted attention alone at night downtown. 

I drove to an obscure area in an adjacent neighborhood, found a parking spot and walked to the streetcar stop. I waited under a disc of yellow light and lit a cigarette.  No one else was around.  I paced nervously, taking long deep drags which went to my head, making me slightly high. The streetcar rose out of the ground as it climbed the hill in the distance.  The weather was typical late October, grey, gloomy and wet.

I saw a single old man at the back, otherwise, it was empty.  I sat down and pressed my face to the glass.  Soon we were in the city.  

We traveled through the somber financial district, cold and dark at this hour, until we reached the warm electric glow of restaurants, bars, and nightclubs.  The raucous sound of two girls disturbed my reverie.  I looked up.  When had they boarded? I hadn’t noticed them.

They were young, teens or early twenties.  One of them had very short hot pink hair and wore a leather jacket and jeans.  

She smiled at me and yelled across in a husky Southern drawl, “It’s alright darlin’. Everything you want is waiting for you!”  

They laughed at me and I burned with shame.  They knew! 

Her friend was a pretty brunette with dull empty eyes.  She parted two fingers and stuck her tongue at me through them.  They burst out laughing.  I tried to ignore them even as they continued their noisy frolicking.

Soon the pink-haired girl reached up, yanked the cord, and yelled, “This is your stop love, you almost missed it!”

It was indeed my stop.  So these girls too were the devil’s “crumbs” I was meant to follow.

“Hmm she’s not bad, is she?”  I heard as I got off, and then a squeal as from a pinch and louder laughter as I stepped onto the street.  I watched the streetcar move away.  The girls waved from the back window.

The pink neon from a bar, Pussycats Lounge, illuminated the street sign, Brindle Ct.  Several females talked and smoked outside and seemed to expect me to go in.  I walked on and tried not to think too hard about what I was doing.  To keep myself from becoming too frightened I simply concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other.

The rain fell with melancholy insistence.  I was shivery and shaking and not just from the cold.   The neon from the nightclub gave way to the wan light of feeble street lamps that sent out dim white circles every ten paces or so and then these stopped, leaving me in glistening darkness.  

I was in the midst of residences now, all very old buildings;  it was the first time I’d seen this part of town.  A dog let out a lonesome howl, a dog from a distant street answered, and other than that no sound but the dripping of the rain and the pounding of the blood in my veins.  

I reached the termination of the cul-de-sac.  I found the building, magnificent but run down and probably a hundred and fifty years old if it was a day. The neighborhood must once have been very nice.

I buzzed and was let in without a word.

It was really going to happen, I thought, but something still disturbed me.  Although my dream of the night before, unlike most dreams, had retained all the vividness of actual memory, the last part, the words she whispered in my ear, the condition she set me, had vanished right away.  

I felt no worries about sleeping with Jen’s girlfriend or cheating on my own spouse but this mysterious condition, hanging over the fulfillment of the devil’s promise, made me anxious.  I knew the price to pay would be terrible but I put it out of my mind.

Smelling the woody scent of a very old house, I climbed the long, circular flight of steps to the second floor flat.

The first door I saw was underlined with a strip of red light.  Without even looking at the number I made for it, knocked, and it slowly creaked open.  I entered.  She was seated in a chair, facing away from me, smoking a cigarette. 

From a mere drizzle now the clouds burst and I jumped in shock as thunder pealed, lightning flashed, and the old trees outside swayed in excitement.  Simone did not seem to notice I was there at first.  One red-bulbed lamp was lit and several candles.

“Come in Mrs. Xavier, shut the door,” she commanded and I did so.

"Now sit down and take off that stupid coat,” she said, in an imperious, threatening tone.

I hung up my wet coat and suddenly felt ridiculous in this sexy blue dress that my husband always liked me in.  I sat awkwardly on the edge of the bed.

She rose slowly, her hips swaying, like a cobra emerging from its basket to a fakirs’ flute.  She stamped out her cig in an ashtray.

She wore only a garter belt and stockings with a harness from which a purple cock peeked out.  The straps deliciously accentuated her creamy thighs.   

She approached the cock swaying playfully with her gait.  Her stilettos clacked on the wooden floor, sending ominous echoes through the flat... Clack, clack, clack…

I raised a tentative hand to touch her but she pushed me back onto the bed.  She lifted my chin and took me roughly by the jaw and kissed me.  She pulled down the shoulders of my dress, freeing my breasts.  The cool air on my nipples hardened them and my panties dampened.  I felt my fear, the need to control, personal will, slipping away.

She picked up a pair of nipple clamps from a side table and with an evil grin, affixed them. I winced and cried out a little from sensitivity.  She slapped my face hard.  Once I got over the shock I found myself soaking wet.

She took the neck of my dress in each hand and ripped it down the front. The violence of this gesture and her unexpected strength frightened me, and excited me terribly.  I loved the way she took charge of my body.  No experience I had ever had with a man could have prepared for me this.  She didn’t care that I had nothing to wear home and neither did I.

She slid my panties down as I unhooked my bra.  Her gloating green cats’ eyes slid over me from top to bottom in appraisal.

“Not bad mama bear, now I want to know something,” she said in a near whisper as she took two strands of ribbon and tied my wrists to the bedposts.

She got on her knees in front of me and slowly shifted her weight from one knee to the next so that the purple strappy swayed, inches from my lips.

“Did you enjoy the show last night?  I knew you would come, and I knew you would love it,” she cooed as she caressed my face.

And then she asked, “What would you sacrifice for me?  To be my lover?  What would you give up?”

“Anything,” I choked out.  

She took my hair roughly and said, “I can’t hear you.” 

On the verge of tears, I repeated the word, in a louder but still cracked voice.

I see now the full tattoo on her lower belly, a pentagram.  I move to kiss it and she lets me but does not let go. 

“Would you give up your husband?” she whispered.

"Yes,” I said

“Would you give up your daughter?”

“Yes,” I said

“Really now?”

“Yes,” I said emphatically, and locked my eyes to hers.

“Your son, your house, your car, your friends, just for me?” She was coquettish at this point.  She taunted me, knowing what my answers would be.

“Fuck yes!”  I almost shout.

“Your soul?”

“Oh my god yes.”

“And you thought you had forgotten the condition I set you!” she said gloatingly.

She put the cock to my lips and I leaned forward, not sure if she really wanted me to, if this was something that lesbians actually did.    

“Suck me,” she commanded.  

I looked up at her.  Her long black hair flowed over her pale globes as she smiled wickedly.  I took it in my mouth and sucked it.  She bucked her hips to force me to take it deep. 

I knew she felt nothing, of course, she merely wanted my total submission.  So I sucked it as eagerly, even choking and gagging on it, as if it were real.

“Tell me you belong to me,” she said as she yanked my head back. 

Ecstatic, I said so, and added, “Please fuck me, Mistress.”

“My, such filthy language,” she said with a look of pretend shock.   

She pinched her tits and I admired their fullness and her erect nipples. She spread my legs, cupped my pussy and rubbed me, testing my wetness. 

She inserted a finger.  I cried in pleasure and then she tasted me, licking her finger clean.  She let a drop of saliva fall into her palm and jacked the prick.  She propped one leg over her shoulders, maneuvered the head to my opening and, suddenly, pushed it inside me.  I squealed with pleasure.

I was her helpless toy.  She fucked me slowly at first until our juices were dripping all over my ass and thighs. Our rhythm built and she pounded me to the noise of wet slapping.  I wanted so badly to touch her, to grope those bouncing tits right there above me but I was bound tight. 

We kissed deeply and I licked her neck.  She offered me her full, gorgeous breast and I filled my mouth.  Our pace accelerated and my body shook like gelatin.  Her hair smelled of some exotic Eastern perfume.

Coiled close, I felt myself on the verge of cumming, when suddenly she pulled out of me.  She untied me and I caressed her supple back as I gave her skin little tender kisses.  She played with my hair and allowed me, for the moment, for that span of a few seconds, to feel that we were equals, real lovers.

She pushed me back onto the pillow and slid off the harness.  She then turned and straddled me giving me my first real close up. Her round, full ass, her pink slit, swollen lips, and little pucker, which I immediately had the desire to kiss, made me gasp with desire.

Hesitant and shy, I felt her hair brush my thighs and her fingers toy with my folds.  At the touch of her tongue, my body jolted.  I clutched her butt and, tentatively at first, as it was my first time, but with increasing boldness, I parted her with my tongue, wetting my face.  Our muffled moans made enchanting music as we licked each other.

I stuck my tongue in her asshole, as deep as it would go.  She sighed and then chuckled devilishly with satisfaction.  I probed, face deep, and gloried in it.  The taste reminded me of a sour pickle. 

She had two fingers inside me.  My walls hugged them as she twisted them in and out of me and the heel of her hand rubbed my excited clit.  

She settled her weight on my face.  She rolled her hips and I licked, sucked, and tried to draw breath.  The thought of being suffocated this way left me unbothered.  I was completely at the mercy of her pleasure.

I wanted to tell her that I was ready to cum all over her fingers.  I tried to drink every drop of sweet nectar from her.  The mingled scent of our lovemaking was a musky incense.

She was fucking my face hard and her fingers were slapping furiously into my pussy.  I gripped her thighs and lost control of my body.  I contorted like an epileptic, her shouts grew louder and her honey dripped over my face, past my chin and neck and onto my breasts.

I jerked, spasmed and fell limp. I summoned just enough strength to nibble at her ivory thighs before she wheeled over to confront me again, offering to my mouth her dripping wet fingers.  I sucked them and savoured our combined tastes.

There was a large mirror on the far wall I first noticed now out of the corner of my eye.  Something was not quite right.  I looked over and what did I see? Myself on the bed alone. 

Simone was on top of me, we were there together, I was not that crazy, yet she gave off no reflection.  I shot up and cried out at the sight.

She noticed my distress and fixed her cat eyes to mine, the pupils enormous in the flickering candlelight, and her voice was a serpent’s hiss.  Her accent changed as well.  She sounded Eastern European.

“When death comes, dearest Anna, it is always hard. Even in the most wretched life, the heart has built up a store of precious treasures. The songs you love, memories of kindnesses and happy times, the poetry that’s made you weep, the special way you look at the world.”  As she said this she stroked my hair tenderly.

“Even your losses, your heartaches, life would lose its’ charm without all these tender wounds. Our pain is sweet to us too, in the end.  But to lose these affections, these shackles, Anna, is to lose what ties you to the world and thus to the inevitability of endless suffering.  Your personality is a tawdry illusion, a veil of mist separating you from Reality.  Death is a liberator.  Death, at least to those of us who “live” on after it, is enlightenment, is freedom.”

“I had a family once like you. I wonder whether it was even the same planet when I think back to those times, so much has changed.  This world, I would hate it if I could, it’s so insufferably ugly.  The way you chase money and congratulate yourselves on your freedom while living lives only the most abject among people of my time might have envied. I know you.  No matter how much you attain you are alienated and alone. 

“At any rate, I sacrificed that family, along with everything else of value to me, to attain this power, the power that has placed you, a beautiful, intelligent woman, in the palm of my mercy, like a pinioned bird.”   

Her fangs came out.  I screamed but no one heard and no help came. Saliva dripped from them like vipers’ venom.  For a fleeting moment, I struggled to escape, but too late.  Like knives, they tore into my neck. 

At first, it was a simple pain, a sharp stab, but the sensation evolved.  

As I felt my blood rapidly drain my brain went woozy and high.  Icy fingertips tickled my nerves and lit them up for a brief hot flicker before they went cold.  I imagine it’s like what a heroin addict feels when they shoot up and all the pain melts away.  That’s the pleasure I felt as life left me.

She mauled my breasts as she drank and sucked from my neck.  She was so thirsty she even paused to lick the drops that flowed down onto my shoulders and chest.  It made my pussy throb. 

Soon I was cumming again, more languidly than before, and the warmth of my body flowed from me along with my cum.  My very living essence seemed to drip down my thighs.  Dying was so hot.

All the conflict and heartache of my life, as well as all the love, all the compassion, everything human, dissipated in an intense climax.  I can only describe it as the raging of a fire of intense cold.  My soul slipped away, my heart died, and I felt that I had been reborn. 

She pulled away from me, sated with her meal, face covered in blood. Her smeared red teeth were those of the devil in my dream.  

My own image faded from the mirror and disappeared.

From every crack and cranny in the room emerged tarantulas, they dropped from the ceiling, until it seemed there were hundreds of them. They crawled over our naked, bloody bodies.