The Daywaler's Slave

MidNyte and meri

It never starts with a kiss, but an embrace. i never seem to be standing either, but kneeling or cross legged on the deck – stitching in hand. You walk on board, misting into view suddenly. i always blush, always tense. (and Your first words send me half into that lovely space ... more power allotted than should be in Your word for me "Mine".

Eyes glinting, Your human side fades when You look at me, especially when You haven't fed. i must look like wine, nay, a feast to You – because Your eyes reflect hunger when You stare. My blood pounds within when i see Your eyes swirl like that – rising in me – ready. Under that gaze is another hunger, no less vicious or predatory; the twin needs echoed in myne own heart.

...

It is when You wind Your hand in my hair, softly moving it away from Your mark, that i sink – a willingness at that moment to be what You need. The anticipation of that pleasure/pain is almost enough to send away the fear... almost. Your breath warm on my throat before You bite, the endorphins you emit telling my brain that the two sharp stabs will be joyous not agonizing. This inspires my stillness – drags me into rapture.

To feel ones blood pulsing away, to feel the One you love pulling from you with such need is a challenge to trust. Even that first time, anger filling You at Blacklyon's demand, even though terror welled in my heart at the Monster before me – some part of me trusted You wouldn't let me go – even hoped there would be enough of me left to exist through it again.

And now – now it is carnal; a prelude perhaps to more human passions. Because when You feed, and Your hand is traveling up my thigh, teasing my sex, distracting the blood to fill other places in me; when Your thumb brushes with savage flicks across my clit, i am undone, transported. The Ship and it's crew could wage mutiny on decks, could find a long lost Atlantis and I will be sensation in Your arms – oblivious.

But it never ends there. At some point i fall into half consciousness for lack of blood and You carry me off. Our bed has seen much, mine. You appear as power – black leather, high boots, blades strapped to Your lithe frame; long raven hair and red lips the single delicate concessions to that strength. Somehow, as i kneel before You, slowly pulling Your garb away, revealing muscled limbs and taught frame, (a faint scar marring Your perfect flesh here, on your calf, here again across Your back,) You lose none of that power. Your sweet sex even holds sway over me...

My own clothes are meant for You to have access to me – but You prefer me naked. So when You pull away my vest to reveal Your mark on my neck, Your collar bright on my throat, Your emblem piercing my nipple reflecting the candlelight, i try to be pliant.

I am grateful You have never demanded i not meet Your gaze - for it is asked of some – watching Your eyes swirl from black to starry night is one of my most treasured sights; and almost as beautiful is the smile that plays across Your lips when You plan to be devious.

You will let me rub away Your tension, kneeling up behind You. my well worked hands drawing tension from You – rubbing Your neck, under Your collarbones, into Your arms, down Your chest to Your breasts. I am gentle, but perhaps should not be so; You are none gentle with me. I will kneel at Your feet, my hands spreading Your thighs, my hair held lightly in Your hands – and tease, my own hunger sparking. You taste of wine and woods, the promise of a fire on a cold night. Perfection before me, I will lick and kiss, suck and push with my tongue delving deep, my brow furrowed, eyes closed to taste more, trying to drag a pleasure sound from You. My hands will snake to cup Your ass, pulling You into my face, separating Your cheeks to find Your rosebud. I will push into You, and the sounds You release as You cum are by no means human; echoing eerily through the closed hallways.

If it pleases You to do so You will take me – flung on Your bed, arms pinned or strapped down. You tease with small bites, small punctures like pinpricks causing me to gasp, cry out. i usually fail You and writhe, moving beneath You trying to get away, trying to get closer. Your face flushed with my blood - beautiful and demonic above me, hypnotising. You will mark me, knowing for this hour I will bleed onto Your bed, but later You will heal me – broken skin mended. (for otherwise I would be so very scarred, mine)

You will lick my sex, pulling me open; hands holding me wide (You are never surprised at how ready i am for You...) The site of You, my Daywalker, with Your face between my legs, will cause me to buck into You – so heartrendingly lovely to see. Those teeth grazing then piercing my clit send me to screaming; pleasure/pain focused on that one spot – like taking the forests of the world and reducing them to be held in a babe's hand. Ecstasy.

Your hand will be none too gentle, pushing into my sex while You lick at my wounds lavishly, suddenly Your whole hand digging my depths, as if finding my soul within and twisting it to mould me into more of Your creature. my body takes You in – and while at first there may have been doubt i could survive You, Mistress – that doubt has vanished and i hunger now for even Your fiercest touch.

Your other hand will drag up my ribs to pull on Your emblem pierced through my nipple – sending shockwaves that draw a line straight through to my sex – as if You wanted to pull me by Your mark to some passionate heaven. To say that i orgasm beneath you would belittle my experience – i become joy.

...

In the end, held in Your warm embrace – Your bloodlust and passions sated; my pale skin marked still with Your bites, breasts full and ripe and flushed, sweat-glistened with my collar burning cool against my neck, Wwe are complete. Wwe will talk, laugh, and as i struggle with exhaustion i will feel You closing the wounds You have opened – a kiss and lick and i am healed, Your sweet face at its most tender, knowing You heal me only to be taken again.