the night before their wedding, they toasted each other by drinking
champagne flutes of each other's blood, their arms entwined in
the traditional manner. That first time though, on the night they
met, he had drunk straight from her source without recourse to
two years she had bled every day. No medical explanation. They
had vacuumed out her insides. They had given her pills that caused
pounding headaches. Eventually, she had resigned herself to taking
iron tablets and the constant crimson flow had become the norm.
She couldn't remember her twenty-eight day cycle, once a month
curse. She couldn't remember being held.
had been drinking Margaritas at the bar. The twenty-something
bar where she and her thirty-something friends usually met on
a Thursday night. She'd arrived late. They were gone. She drank.
had bought her a drink. A bronzed, Italian cliché. Young girls
in shiny, strapless wisps of material were puckering in his direction.
Still, he sat beside her. He breathed garlic and beer. There had
been a hint of sweat stain under his business shirt. Man odour.
A thin moustache twirling above his lip. Man hair.
first man to approach her in two years. A man to break a two year
drought. Slick up the neglect in her barren cunt. Spill into it.
wooed her like any man. Plied her with more alcohol. Smiled at
everything she said. Fed her tomato crisps from a packet. Then
the question. Her place? It had to be her place for reasons she
could not remember through the fog of Margaritas and Man.
hot car. Fast, breezy, rooftop down. She had lifted her legs onto
the dash and spread them. Cool air and gentle vibration of bumps
in the road stirred nerve endings in her cunt. Speeding to her
place where a man wanted her. Wanted to see her bare, white flesh
and touch her lonely places. Maybe stay.
had felt bloated. Hungry and bloated. Wanting. She needed to be
in her bathroom, the colour of the sports car stained the white
floor tiles and she had remembered. Temptress and tease but she
needed him to leave. Excuses tripped and stumbled from her. Drank
too much. Not feeling well. And still he had moved forward like
her words were inaudible whispers.
brain had pounded with need and fear of discovery. His moustache
tickling at her lips, then his mouth tasting, eating her cinnabar
lip gloss. His mouth was memories of pasta and gentle sunshine
on vineyards as his tongue pressed past her teeth and into her
tequila, tomato chip crumb mouth. He had pulled her tight so that
their chests heaved in unison.
had ground his pelvis into hers, vibrating purr of the car engine
in his loins. A slow, circular grind. Swirl of hips and lips.
with desire, desperate with the need to extricate herself, save
dignity. She was weak with his presence. She had muttered words
into his mouth but he did not hear, mistaking her attempts to
enunciate for playfulness and he had duelled with her tongue.
reached inside her silk blouse to the tense, unencumbered nipples.
He looked at her like he was grateful, like she would not be just
another night. She wanted to be grateful too, but she needed to
pull away before his hands had the chance to explore beyond the
elastic of her unexciting, work knickers and retreat with disgust.
had fought through the cloud to escape his embrace only to find
him still there. His thumb was there, caught in string and cotton
and she wanted the flush on her face to become so red that she
died. Still that kiss. Not a moment's hesitation and his thumb
had massaged at the barrier, gently encouraging the irritated
flesh where hasty changes in public toilets had left little tears.
sorry," she tried to say but still his lips brushed her words
found herself being undressed, carelessly, not roughly. He had
unbuttoned the blouse, kissed each new patch of flesh as it became
exposed. He had knelt on the floor, his kisses continuing as her
skirt and knickers slid to her ankles, his hand patting the little
pocket of rebellious flesh on her tummy. He had tugged at the
fine ginger patch of hair beneath it with his teeth, sending shivers
of excitement up through her mound that had caused the little
pocket of flesh to wobble.
and unlovely. She still tried to escape. She could smell the excretions
of desire and menstruation in the places where he was licking.
This man who had been the first to notice her in two years. This
man whom she might still want next week.
hands clasped her ass, refused to let her move. Despite the discreet
plug, there were juices forming sticky toffee at the tops of her
legs. She had never been so utterly exposed. Inside and out. His
tongue persisted and she had lost control, had clutched him so
she would not fall. Then she came and there was only the smell
had remained on the ground before her, letting her ride the speed
bumps till her tyres screeched to a halt. She had then watched
in fascinated awe, beyond protest, as he gripped the little, blue
string between his teeth and pulled it downward. Sex and blood.
Blood and sex dripping from her cunt onto the linoleum. He licked,
pecked, nibbled at her stubbornly secreting cunt like it was normal.
stood, locking her eyes with his. A spark of delight. Tiny crimson
drips on his lips and in his moustache. He had kissed her again,
soft and tender. For the first time in her life she tasted the
metal of her own blood.
had stepped away from her, slowly undressed as she watched. Dark,
curly patch of hair on his chest that faded away on his firm abdomen
but became a wiry forest below his belly button. His cock long
and thin like his body, stretching to greet her as the last of
his clothing fell away.
the bed, he spread his shirt, his neatly pressed trousers. He
had lifted her onto his clothes, adjusted her into position on
her knees. She had closed her eyes, tried not to think of him
looking at her streaming cunt under the harsh 60 watt bulb.
leather belt had felt cold and calculating against the skin of
her ass as he rubbed it up and down her crack, across her slit.
She had tensed, bit her lip, buried her face into the pillow.
Infinite seconds of time as he stroked her with the belt. Deliberate,
firm movements then the emptiness of no touch at all. She thought
she heard the swish of air as he raised the belt then swept it
with precision so that it smarted against both ass cheeks. She
had flinched into the pillow but her ass had instinctively risen
higher in supplication.
lash had been a welcome agony. Eight. Nine. Uneven pauses between
each so that she could not prepare for the contact. Before the
tenth meeting of hide against hide, he had slipped his thumb into
her mouth. The crack of the belt had been cruel and hard. She
had bitten into his thumb, teeth into bone. Salt lime as his blood
trickled to the back of her throat.
thumb remained there, his life source flowing into her as she
felt his cock glide easily into the slinky depths of her cunt.
She had remained static, aware that even the slightest movement
would cause him to lose his rhythm within the slippery hollow.
He had contented himself with small thrusts sending her to a place
where there was only warm contact of his skin against her stinging
ass, his blood in her mouth and cock.
took her by surprise. A sudden warm glow, unbearable pressure
in her neck and spine. Then, an eruption in her brain and she
floated on a river of red. She had imagined that she watched his
seed flow into the river and sink.
she had been unable to rise. He moved around the room, opening
windows, wiping her intimate places with a wet sponge, slipping
a pad between her legs.
the morning, she had awoken while he still slept soundly on his
back. Gentle, contented breaths of air tickled his moustache.
Tiny rivulets of dried blood were tattooed on his stomach. Her
blood. She had leaned forward, feather kissed his chest. Then
she had crawled to his stomach, tracing the tributaries of her
womanhood with her tongue.
he stayed for days, then weeks and then months, her cycle returned
to normal. No medical explanation. On that first morning however,
he had awoken with a smile in his eyes.
are blood lovers," he had said. "I can never leave."
Marguerite is a teacher who
likes to explore boundaries in her writing as a release from the
conservative texts used in schools. She has been published at
Clean Sheets and Literotica.
© 2002 by Marguerite