I'm still here at this fucking fetish ball. A rubber ball, in fact. You know the details, I've been through this once before. The last one had no name; I didn't care to get his name or give out my own. This one has a name. This tall, muscular, gorgeously tattooed body that is wearing a black sleeveless dress shirt and fake fangs is Joel. He seems cocky, self-assured; but then he has a moment of shyness. Of course, how shy can you really be when you're wearing fangs and dripping fake blood and trying to make-out with any random woman who walks past your spot at the bar?
Obviously not too shy. He's got the same black, swept-forward messy hair as the last one. The same deep, soulful eyes. In fact, they look alike. But that doesn't matter. I'm not here to evaluate their looks and their fashion sense, I'm here to fuck. I'm here to fuck Joel. In his loose fitting pin-striped slacks, black sleeves shirt, and those fucking hot as fuck fangs. If only they were real. Maybe he'll suck my-
Getting him into the coffin has proven interesting. He resisted at first. Saying that he wasn't 'into that shit', but really, we all know that's a lie. He's here, isn't he? And men all want the same things. So I've lured him into my little tomb of sin with my pussy. Because I know that's what he wants. And it's still pretty tight in here. Tighter than before, in fact, as Joel is taller than the last victim. We're pressed tightly together and he grins, nibbling on my neck. At ease. Playful, he is. And then as I shut the lid he panics. He wants out. But oh no, my pet, there is no exit. There is no time to turn back.
We are forever trapped in eternity now.
His breathing calms after a few minutes. His caresses return. His soft lips- devoid of piercings- press to the nape of my neck. He is a tender lover, working slowly and with passion. As he moves around my neck and shoulders, placing his feather-soft kisses, I reach to his chest and tear his shirt open. I'm aware that the buttons have fallen all around us. I'm aware that Joel's aware of this, as well. The sounds are loud. The sounds are over-powering. He growls. It's deep and throaty and it reminds me of the last one. The one with the delicious piercings and tattoos and, oh yes, Joel has tattoos too. I find that tattoos really make a man. Don't you agree?
As we lay side by side in this cold, hallow darkness, our lips meet. He is soft, gentle. He tastes like Diet Coke and Jack. What he was drinking earlier. And yet, there's a sugary undercurrent to his taste. Like he is chocolate frosting and my tongue is the spoon. Dipping deeper, swirling, falling, losing myself in his kiss. The fake blood drips from his fangs onto my tongue and I swallow. I taste the portion of him that is not even...him. I feel the sharpness of the fangs, and dream that they are real. Losing myself in the fantasy that he will turn me toward him and sink into my flesh. Marking me as his captive for eternity.
"Joel," I moan. "I want-"
"Hush, my pet," he demands, the soft side melting and fading into a dominance that I crave. "You are mine now, do as I say."
