Lovelust

Lust.

I can smell it, heavy perfume and sweat, so thick in the air that I can barely breathe. The music pounds in my head, their bodies move, grinding to the beat throbbing through the club's speakers, heavy on the bass. Each song blends into the next and there is no distinction, repetitive, just a beat blending with the rhythm of their blood until they're lost in the movement of their bodies, and there is no music, no club, just the heat and the rhythm. Hands clutch at glistening stomachs, legs bend and jerk, heads whip from side to side, hair flung through the air, hips pressed together in a gross simulation of sex.

It's desperation.

I inhale deeply, tilting my head back, my eyes closed, and I smell them all. I drag my fingernails down my bare chest, my shirt opened wide, my nipples hard, touching the hair barely visible at the top of my tight, leather pants. My body shudders and I drop my head back, my eyes glaring into the throbbing crowd.

I step forward, my boots light on the dance floor, and move through them, my eyes darting from face to face, seeing lips parted, cheeks flushed, and eyes hazy with lust. Bodies press against me and I moan, my lips tremble. I long to pull their bodies against me, feel them all as they move, feel them rubbing against me, their sweat soaking my clothes, their heat scalding my skin.

My gaze falls across their eyes and I turn away quickly, not wanting to capture one yet, not wanting to break their trance. I feel the pull as I stare at each of them, feel that connection like a rope between us, joining us, and know that I could have any of them, each of them wanting, for just that instant that our eyes meet, wanting me to hold that gaze, bring them towards me, show them the love they are truly searching for.

Love.

I chuckle to myself and drop my eyes to the floor, wanting no one to see my face when I laugh, knowing that I would capture whoever would see me. I can feel it in their bodies, in their heads, as they push forward, straining, thrusting, so open and free, searching for love in a sea of lust. And they'll never find it, never find it here. They'll think they have, for an instant they'll be convinced they've found it, and for that instant be happy, feel fulfilled, that longing satisfied, coupling with their equally empty mate, bodies joined, and they'll cry out in joy. Later the illusion will be shattered and they'll be back, searching, pulsing, melting into the crowd to find their next love.

I slide my hand across my face and feel the laughter die away. I move through the crowd again, my eyes looking low at their crotches, pressed together tightly, moist and hard. My hand slides along a thrusting hip and I can feel the desire. I steal it and I move on, wanting to touch each of them, wanting to lie down in the middle of the dance floor, all of them lying on top of me, and absorb them all.

I lift my head as I step from the dance floor and allow my eyes to move slower, moving from face to face among those who wait on the sides as they watch the dancers, wishing they were among them.

I hesitate on a face that is familiar and drop my guard for a second, trying to remember her, trying to remember her body, her scent, the feel of her, and it comes back in a slow, warm memory. I smile as I remember, my tongue sliding between my lips, tasting her again.

Then she's moving towards me, pushing through the crowd, ecstatic in her haste, and I grit my teeth together, having lost control yet once again. I tempt myself too much. I push myself. But then that is how I've always been.

I lean casually against the railing around the dance floor and watch her as she approaches, waiting for her, knowing that I have to deal with her before I can continue my hunt.

She stops in front of me, breathing heavily, her chest heaving, strands of hair fallen out of place, her clothes formed tightly to her curvaceous figure, her eyes sparkling as she stares at me.

"Hi...," she says, moving closer, her body brushing against me, and I can feel her desire, feel it strong and thick.

"Hello, Jasmine," I say, letting my voice come out low and deep so that only she can hear me, only she will feel it, and she presses her lower lip between her teeth lightly.

"I... haven't seen you since...," she mumbles, her mind reeling, searching for words in a mist of lust and alcohol. She glances down shyly and then looks back up, trying to collect her thoughts. "I've been looking for you..."

"My beautiful Jasmine," I say and touch her cheek, her skin smooth and warm.

She closes her eyes and leans into my touch. I rub my thumb across her cheek softly.

"I miss you," she says dreamily.

"And I miss you, my love," I whisper.

I pull my hand from her cheek and she opens her eyes slowly like she's waking from a dream, her pupils shrinking as she focuses on me, that need driving to the surface. She moves forward, pressing her body against me, her breasts pushing against my chest, her hands grasping my sides. She stares up into my face, her lips full and red. I moan, tasting her so close, feeling her so warm, so ready, opening herself to me entirely.

"I need you," she says, standing on her toes, the length of her body against me, her lips close to my lips. "I can't stand to be without you. I need you now."

I wrap my arms around her body and pull her against me. She slides her hands up my arms, pushing her hands under my short sleeves.

"You need me?" I ask her, my lips brushing her lips, my hands sliding over her back.

"Yes," she whispers, her body trembling. "I love you."

I press my lips to hers and she relaxes in my arms, falling into the kiss. I open my mouth and taste her, taste her lips, her tongue, her saliva, and I hold her tighter, her warm, supple body so inviting, so open, and I know that she'll do anything I ask, anything I want from her is mine for the taking.

I fold her mind and she moans in my mouth, her body shudders, her arms fall limp.

I break the kiss and pull her against me, lifting her feet off of the floor. I slide my hand up her back and caress her neck. Her head falls onto my shoulder. I can feel her breath, humid and sweet on my neck, feel her body trembling against me, the heat concentrating in her body between her legs. I press my long, sharp thumbnail to her neck, and break the skin. I feel her pain, sharp and intense in her mind, dissolving into a bitter pleasure as the blood flows from the small wound.

I open my mouth and press it to her neck. I suck at the cut, drawing the blood from her. Her body stiffens as she writhes against me, her arms and legs sliding along my body in euphoric caresses, touching me, pulling at me, clutching me, her head pushing into my shoulder tightly. Her blood is sweet, but heady with the alcohol. It flows lightly from her, filling my mouth, trickling down my throat.

I close my eyes and I feel her. I feel her life, her trembling first lusts, her first crush as a young girl, her teenage awkwardness, fumbling in the back of cars, the thrill of seeing the lust she inflicted on the boys, her desire to feel the same, to become consumed in another, becoming nothing.

Her body stiffens and I feel the flood between her legs, an orgasm that pushes her blood into my mouth, makes her whine against my neck, her tongue pressed to my skin. I pull away from her and lick the wound, sending shivers through her body with each lick, each wave flowing from her orgasm. I lick it closed, my tongue probing it, feeling it heal until the skin has mended and I lick the last of the blood from her neck.

I pull away and she falls limply in my arms. I touch her hair, brushing it back from her face and neck, seeing that the small red mark from the cut is barely noticeable. I took just a bit from her, just a taste, just enough to take the edge off, to regain my control, and to satisfy her longing.

"I love you, my precious angel," I whisper into her ear. "But you must forget me."

She struggles for a second, her hands pushing at my chest, but my touch on her cheek relaxes her again.

"You must return to your table, happy and fulfilled. And when you dream, dream of me."

I kiss her ear and she sighs softly.

I slowly pull my arms from her body, setting her down on the floor. I hold her as she opens her eyes, blinks, runs a hand through her hair, and then regains her strength. She sighs again, content, feeling the tingling dampness between her legs. I touch her shoulders and turn her away from me, leading her back to her table. She walks away, walking faster and steadier with each step.

I watch her leave, admiring her form, her curves, as she moves, and I feel it in my chest, that tightness, that desire to own her, to make her mine, to satisfy my desires with her. But I won't give into it. I've resolved to never allow myself to control them. I know what it's like to be controlled by one of us, to lose myself, to feel that aching love that tears at my will. I could never cause that pain to one of them. Never. Their emotions are so fragile, so misguided, their pitiful search for love culminating in the roughness of lust. I can only pity them for it.

I turn away from her and back to the dance floor, not seeing the dancers, just feeling her blood flowing through my body. My cock is growing warm with her blood and I can feel the other desires that need to be satisfied. I feel her lust, her needs, her wants, coursing through my body in the molecules of her blood. My body soaks it in.

I sigh and feel a small shiver pass through me, the small orgasm, the quickening of the pulse, the tingling along my skin, the blossoming in my mind.

I force my focus back to the club and the dancers on the floor. The music has become heavy, seeming to beat down upon them, forcing their bodies to gyrate and thrust. In their eyes is the look of despair, a craven desire driving them to be filled.

I grasp the railing tightly and stand up to my full height, feeling my power rise as her blood is broken down and used by my body. I inhale deeply, watching their desperate bodies, my eyes moving from one to the other, no longer afraid of mesmerizing one by accident now that my control has returned with my strength.

I turn from the dance floor and glide through the standing crowds, drinks in their hands, flirting, hoping, lusting, and pull their thoughts and emotions around me, feeling each of them. Their desires course through my brain in whispers and sighs. Eyes follow me as I pass, feeling my touch, trying to identify it, searching for promised comfort, and then turning back in embarrassment.

I stop before the men's room door. I can feel sex, a twisted sex, dirty and profane, feel the heat of it, baking through the door. I push the door open and step into the men's room. Immediately, I hear a man's moan, feel his pleasure, a dark, vapid lust. A grunt comes from one of the stalls, the shuffling of feet.

"Come on. Faster. Fuckin' bitch," a deep, male voice urges.

I open the stall door and his eyes slowly move up from the woman's head, bobbing up and down in his lap, to me. His eyes are tiny, violent slits, glowing with a rage, demanding to be served, feared, and pleasured. He's everything I despise, everything I hate, the need to dominate and control, taking pleasure in humiliation and pain. It pours from him in a rancid surge. I want to destroy him.

"What the...," he starts before I lash out at him, my power smashing into him and driving his head back into the tiled wall. Tiles shatter. Pain explodes and blows through me. I lash out at him again and open long scratches across his face that instantly pool and overflow with blood.

The woman turns slowly, his cock sliding out of her mouth and she falls clumsily between the toilet and the wall. The man slumps down on the toilet with his pants around his ankles, his cock pointing out hard and red. I resist slicing it off at the root and leave him unconscious with his concussion and scratches.

I reach my hand down to her and she lies there staring at me, her eyes foggy from drugs.

"Take my hand. I won't hurt you," I say, my voice warm and soft.

She responds immediately and grabs my hand. I pull her to her feet gently. She sways on her feet and I grip her arms to hold her up. I look into her eyes, trying to peer through the haze, through the drugs and alcohol, through the layers of medication meant to soothe and annihilate, to see deep inside of her. She stares back at me, her breath slowing as she calms, her eyes narrowing, focusing down on me. Her hands touch my chest, not pushing me away, just touching me, and she sighs as my power rolls over her in a soft swell. She moans and in that moan the fog separates and I see her. I see the loneliness and fear, self-debasement and loathing, the unwanted caresses of a father, the forced kisses in a school hallway, the stares pounding across her body that forced her further into herself; I see her beauty, her strength, her love, curled within her, forgotten, repressed, beaten down.

I feel pity and contempt for her in equal proportions, pity for the young woman who has been subjected to a life that her nature cannot endure and contempt for her for allowing it to suppress that which makes her human and truly beautiful.

I lean towards her and caress her cheek, pushing her hair from her face. She stares back at me, unmoving, expectant, waiting for my next touch, and I see in her eyes that she waits for me to take her, waits for me to push her against the wall, waits for me to pull her skirt to her waist, waits for me to impale her, waits for me to leave her further debased and wasted on the sticky floor of the bathroom stall.

I press my body between her legs, press her against the wall, and stare into her eyes, my hands holding her face, looking into her eyes, and deep inside of me I want to give her that which she expects, I want to take her, treat her like the meat that she is, use her, abuse her, take her roughly, full of contempt and scorn.

I pass my thumb over her lips and feel her breath. I feel her pulse under my palm. I feel her body warm and alive. My power flows over us and she sighs, her back arching, her legs rubbing against my legs, her hands sliding down my chest and stomach.

I lower my head to her neck. My incisors slide from my jaws, lengthening to their horrible extent. The desire to tear into her neck, to rip her flesh, to drink her blood, is powerful. The pulse in her neck throbs and my own heart matches her rhythm. She holds her breath, tilts her head to the side, waiting, waiting for me to strike. I can smell her desire, her desire to feel my teeth piercing her neck, pulling muscle from bone. She is my natural prey, so willing to give her life.

My organ is hard and I writhe between her spread legs. I taste her flesh on my tongue. My lips press to her skin. My hands slide down to her hips, pulling her legs around my waist and she sighs as she wraps herself around me, giving herself to me. I breathe against her neck. My teeth graze her skin. I lick up her neck, tasting her flesh, so sweet and warm, my tongue sliding behind her ear, my hand pulling her hair to the side. She moans and I press myself against her, rubbing myself between her legs.

I breathe deeply, breathe her in, and close my eyes, seeing her life, her wants, her fears, unrolling in my mind in quick, jerky, blood-washed images, and I fall against her, pushing her to the wall, my head pressed to her shoulder, overcome by frustration and depression.

I can't take her life. I won't. I am that beast no longer. I have taken my last life. There will be no more death. I've conquered that beast.

Yet still it beats inside of me, waiting and hungry.

I grab her face in my hands and look into her eyes, seeing her humanity, and in that instant could love her for her faults and weaknesses, love her for being so utterly human. I kiss her. I press my lips to her tightly and she kisses me back. I pull away from her, look into her eyes, see the pain and need, and then kiss her again, wanting to taste her wet lips, feel her tongue, delve inside her again. I slide a hand between us and her body stiffens as I touch her, my finger moving over her clitoris, slowly, lovingly, and she cries out as the orgasm breaks through her and she cuts her tongue on my teeth.

I press my mouth to her, sucking her tongue into my mouth, pulling her blood into me as my finger strokes her climax to exhaustion. Her moans are muffled in my mouth. Her body is tight, her legs locked around me, her hands clasping my shirt. I drink from her, feeling her submissiveness, so subservient to the whims of men, and for a moment the beast awakens, wanting to pull every last drop of that willing blood into me, but I suppress it and lick the wound shut, caressing her tongue with my own.

I break the kiss and her body falls slack against the wall as I pull my hand from between us. I caress her face, her neck, admiring her lovely skin, now gleaming with perspiration. I can smell her, smell her ecstasy, thick and heavy. I lick her neck and taste it. She shivers, her back arching as my tongue flicks her ear.

I pull away from her and gently lower her to her feet. I wrap my arms around her and hold her up. I caress her cheek. She stares through me, her eyes dreamy.

"Awake, my love," I whisper to her.

She blinks and focuses on my face. I smile, letting the magic flow through my face, and she smiles back at me contentedly.

"You are stronger than you think, Renee," I say to her. "You are a woman. In that you have much power. Power over the scum that you accede to so willingly."

Her smile fades, her eyes question.

"You are my beautiful angel," I whisper. I brush the hair from her face, seeing her so beautiful. "Remember how beautiful you are. And never let them take that which makes you so very human."

I kiss her once more, a short, chaste kiss. I release her and she leans back against the wall. I turn and leave the stall, looking back quickly at the man still unconscious on the toilet, his penis now flaccid, pitiful, and to her as she stares back at me, her body glowing, her face radiant. As I leave the restroom I hear her walking from the stall, her heels clicking on the tiled floor confidently.

I leave the restroom and women are standing idly in the hallway, waiting, and once I walk past they file inside.

I turn from the main dance floor and proceed up the dark metal steps leading to the loft that hangs over the club. Two men brush past me, one's hand folded in the other's, shining brightly in the glow of lust. They both moan together as I leach just a taste from them, making the one stumble against the other. They both chuckle, regain their balance, and continue down the stairs as I reach the top.

A long, wide hallway leads down the length of the long building. A few rooms, offices and storage lead from the hallway. The lights are dull, shrouded with many colored cloths. The walls are lined with several couches and chairs, setup in small conversation circles. But there is very little conversation, just moans, the smack of deep kisses, the grinding of the furniture's fabric. People sit, stand, or crouch touching, kissing, grasping, sucking, thrusting. The air is humid with their lust. I inhale them all, their scents each distinct in the heavily perfumed air. The club's music throbs through the floor, the chairs and couches vibrate under their lusting occupants. When the heat, the lust, the fire's raging inside them have become too much on the dance floor, the dancers come here, where they can either quench that desire or bring it to new heights before scurrying off to their lonely apartments and homes to slake it in a flash of frantic climaxes.

I take a step forward and then suddenly stop. I stand frozen in place, feeling the magic of another writhing through the air. My hands clenched into tight fists, my heart stopping then pounding hard in a frantic rhythm. I peer into the shadows of the hallway, my eyes moving from one writhing body to the next, the fresh blood coursing through my body, my skin starting to crawl. I feel her presence, the one whom I escaped so long ago, the one whom I thought I once loved, and I look deeper down the hallway until they stop on the source of my agitation.