For approaching Halloween.

his is a fictional account. Any resemblance to persons dead or living is purely coincidental...

A chrome white washroom in a penthouse somewhere above Gotham city. Sterile surfaces. Cold tile. The relentless dripping of a nickel faucet. The sound of..

Fear.

A man is bound to a wooden chair..a collar round his neck bolted to the ladder back, four leads running downwards, his wrists fastened taut to the spindles behind, his thighs spread, and ankles cuffed and bolted to the floor.

Ballgagged he waits. Aroused his speeding heartbeat threatens to drown out the traffic far below. He faces an expanse of plate glass, naked. Sweating slightly, he alerts to the unmistakable but softest of footfalls, the softest of breaths.
He tries to turn, but is brought up short by the collar...

The metallic sound of a precise placement of surgical instruments on the basins chilled lip.

She faces him. She's smaller than he anticipated..but striking.
Chiselled cheeks, a mass of pinned burnt sienna hair, an almost translucent ivory skin, kinetic inertia to her lean musculature.
She's standing in thigh hi black boots, a soot colored leathery corset...it reminds him of the skin of something old and mythical..a choker..there are bangles on each of her wrists..they tinkle...and with horrific fascination he notes the trinkets resemble miniature deaths heads.

But it is her eyes that hold his breath. They are acid blue..he knows he has seen them somewhere before..but he cannot recall..her face floats below his memory like murder beneath backwaters...

She does not move, does not blink, and his cock stiffens, his eyes lower in a mixture of helplessness and deference. Her stare bleaches his soul.

He has made this date..it is she..the Necrolancer.

And then, with one cold arc she straddles him. Strokes his face in her little hands..feels his surrender. Raises an arm without warning and strikes him hard across the face. Before he can react..she raises the other arm and strikes him again on the other side. The sound of his stung flesh amplifies in this echomatic chamber. And again. And again, her eyes never leaving his.

Numbed and struggling, he begins to space, to submit his will to what is about to happen. Bracing herself with her palm over his throat, she applies a blade to the side of his neck, and just as deftly with thumb and forefinger she slices the skin, the fascia peeling open like an orange..

She drinks as his eyes roll upwards seeking eternity, his cock leaping like that of a hung man..screaming into the vampress's burning cunt. He feels, as he fades, her body buck against his torso..she claws at her corset, exposes her breasts, small, hard, swollen, perfect, grinding them against his chest..

They say sound is the last sense of a dying man..this is what hears..
" I do this for love.

.

.

.

Suffer
for
Me."

The only sign she is satiated comes later, as she rests her forehead for a moment on his lapsed chest, her soaken tangled curls trailing across her lips..

Vertigo. The tilt of endless timescapes, distances great and small...

She smells his scent before she sees him..the scent of a bloodline once removed from humanity. Composes herself, straightens.
"Master."

Something, someone moves in the corner of the room..how long has he been there?

"Sekhmet", he speaks..though no sound is made. "Sekhmet, child."
(the Devil's bitch)
She feels his hand on her cunt..altho she sees nothing..she moans, crawls with instinct.
She is at his feet, kneeling, her face a bloodied mess. He reaches down, grabs the thick handful of hair at the nape of her neck, pulls her to a stand.
They kiss. For a moment a translucent shimmering crimson rose blossoms from their blood smeared mouths. Then he pushes her hellward, and she snakes down his torso leaving a trail of dead rose petals in her wake.

She inhales the vampires cock. Cries, sucks, her throat filling with his milk, her face stung with it..

He crushes her neck with the force of his ecstasy..hauls her face backwards..she looks up to see his throat arched and striated with bloodlust..

He roars.
.

.

.

"You are Mine, Bloodwhore...mine.."