The Nightlife: New York - Chapter 15

In the taxi on the way home, Aaron contemplated the miracle of his life. To live without need for the trappings of civilization. Free of the disease of greed driving every moment and motivation. To have power over everyone, both physical superiority and the power to live without want. Blood was the only desire that couldn’t be ignored, easily remedied.

Money, houses, cars, consumerism, he didn’t need these things. People gave him anything he asked for. All his for the taking. Blood was his right, his due, and it could not be withheld.

Where was the need for things and money that had propelled him out the door to work every day? The need for approval and love driving him to chase Delia?

Michelle had gifted him a new, wondrous life, free of the burden of human afflictions.

In truth, his existence wasn’t entirely carefree. His autonomy ended with Michelle. Being her slave, her servant, defined his life, giving distinct flavor to all his moments of freedom and triumph. Yet he wasn’t bitter. He loved her for all that she was, mistakes and quirky attitudes included. All things considered, being Michelle’s slave was the most fulfilling and enjoyable life he’d ever known.

Aaron entered the apartment bouncing with anticipation, his mind consumed with fantasies of a night with Michelle. He felt comfortable and secure knowing this was his home and he shared it with a magnificent, fascinating woman … and he was so in love with her he couldn’t stop smiling.

Michelle didn’t have the same pleasant home-coming mindset. Something was very wrong. Her mind had closed off and he read only a blank wall from her. It was the first time in days she had shut him out like this.

“You look very happy and satisfied. I hope you didn’t ruin your appetite. I have something special for you, my special boy.” Michelle patted him on the cheek with a gleam in her eye and a tightlipped grin.

He grinned back at her sheepishly, thinking of the energy he’d expended during those gratuitous moments with Rosalie. He thought he was spry enough to handle whatever Michelle planned for him. His appetite for Michelle held strong as ever. She watched him closely. He thought he saw something in her eyes, a burning ember sparking into flame.

She turned and marched into the bedroom speaking over her shoulder, “Come take off your clothes. Sunrise in two hours!” This was not a request. It was an order.

They came to bed nude, sliding under the covers side by side. A remote coldness permeated Michelle’s every move. Even her skin seemed cooler to the touch. Their connection was devoid of warmth or mutual affection. His hackles rose. What should have been sensual and arousing now seemed menacing. She gave him a feeling of wariness, as though she’d pounce at any moment.

“Is there something wrong? Are you angry with me?”

She slid her hands over his chest and reached down between his legs to feel him. Her hand came up and she ran her fingers under her nose, catching the scent.

“What have you done to anger me?” Michelle had a strange look on her face.

“Well, I did have some fun with my date …”

He braced himself for the onslaught, expecting her to tear into him with a scathing lecture. Instead she seemed calm. “Just a little fun?”

He nodded, confused. Michelle flashed her eyes, a brief glimpse of animosity bleeding through her privacy wall, but she quickly clamped down her iron control.

In a quiet voice barely above a whisper, she asked-compelled, “Did you hurt the woman?”

He tried to issue a straightforward denial, but what came out of his mouth was, “Maybe a little bit …”

As soon as he spoke, two vivid images flashed to his mind’s eye, transmitted directly to Michelle. The first was of his hard cock in his hand as he stood in the shower cleaning up after his date. A pinkish-red taint of blood rinsed down the drain from his groin. He had fucked Rosalie so hard she bled. The second image was of Rosalie lying in bed quivering and moaning, distinct hand-grip bruise marks visible on both her thighs. He hadn’t been fully cognizant of the damage he did to Rosalie until Michelle forced the truth from the recesses of his mind.

Michelle had that gleam, a wild look, like she was about to take a chunk out of his hide. She didn’t. She reached between his legs to grab ahold of his cock.

“I will be on top this time, lie back and enjoy the ride!” She spoke in a hiss.

His instincts screamed of impending danger, stripping him of any arousal. He was completely flaccid.

“Give me your full erection now!” Michelle growled as though ordering soldiers to stand at attention. A threshold had been crossed. She’d never used her authority to impose her will in their intimacy. Michelle was rewriting the boundaries of their relationship and he was sure to be on the losing side of the fence. Upon her spoken command, his penis reacted of its own accord, growing hard and ready without any sexual arousal whatsoever. Fear, shame, and a desire to run created a sickening boil in his gut.

This must be what it feels like to be raped.

Michelle gradually worked him, first licking and sucking slowly, sensually. Then she sped up until the intensity reached super-human speed and force. She shifted position, straddling his head with her thighs to place her most intimate flesh in his face, and began grinding her pussy back and forth across his lips and teeth. His natural reaction of arousal spiraled up. The wonderful sensations of Michelle’s skilled attentions could not be denied. All his fears erased in the heat of the moment.

At the point he reached his peak and could no longer resist his climax, Michelle struck like a viper, driving her mouth down to seal against the base of his engorged cock to the ultimate deep throat position. She buried her razor sharp fangs deep into his pubic flesh, sinking in to the bone, sucking down his blood and climax all together.

Aaron’s peak, pain, shock, and venom-saturated loins, brought the most excruciatingly intense orgasm he’d ever known. He reacted on instinct. He sunk his fangs into Michelle’s intimate folds, piercing through inner and outer labia to hit home at her pelvic bone. He gave as good as he got, blasting Michelle with the same intensity of climax twisted by pain, shock and the amplified euphoria of his venom flooding through her tender, vaginal flesh.

Their psychic privacy barriers shattered in the storm of sensations and pain. Mind-altering waves of ecstasy, agony, and multiple orgasms assaulted them. They shared each other’s rollercoaster of pain and joy. The cycle of climax, crash, and repeated climax continued over and over. The lovers remained locked together, spasming and grinding, consuming each other’s blood and sex, surpassing their supernatural endurance.

Near sunrise they passed into oblivion, still locked in a parasitic sexual embrace.

Both awoke at sunset, faces buried in groins. Michelle arose first and silently prepared a scorching hot bath. She looked horrific––her face and thighs encrusted in blood and sex. Aaron moved into the bathroom in a daze and saw himself in the mirror. He appeared every bit as ghastly, caked with blood. He shared Michelle’s haunted expression. They had sexually assaulted each other, a mind-numbing traumatic experience blended with sick pleasure.

Aaron sat in the oversized Jacuzzi tub across from Michelle. They soaked in silence, avoiding eye contact. He didn’t understand what the fuck had happened. His world rocked from pure happiness to extreme pain, humiliation, and depravity.

When he finished bathing and moved to leave the tub, Michelle broke the silence. “What did you do to that woman last night? I know you had sex. Did she survive your assault?” Her face twisted in a murderous snarl. Her mind was blocked up solid.

He answered her simply, “Yes … I had sex with Rosalie. And yes, she survived.”

Michelle reached out with a whip-snap move to grab hold of his scrotum, her claws piercing through flesh, drawing blood in demonstration of her willingness to castrate him.

“Show me your memories of last night!”

The door to his mental vault dissolved. Their connection opened wide to access his memories, or anything else she might want to know. His mind replayed his entire date with Rosalie leading up to his return home, and then followed by the bizarre sexual encounter with Michelle, transmitting everything in full, graphic detail. Michelle experienced all his thoughts, feelings, emotions, and sensations as though she lived through these moments inside his mind and body.

“Enough! I don’t need to see anymore!” She turned away from him as if trying to avert her eyes from what she’d witnessed. She released her painful grip on his genitals and his bleeding testicles turned the bath water pink. Her face looked stricken.

He leaned towards her and whispered, “You’re fucking nuts.”

He climbed out of the bath and dressed without once looking or speaking to Michelle. He ignored the tears of blood silently running down her face.

She had stripped him of all protections, ego, and privacy. To him it felt like standing naked in Times Square, all his dirty little secrets laid bare. Psychic rape and threat of castration.

He settled into heavy depression. He meant nothing to Michelle. Nothing more than a possession––a servant to be punished when he misbehaved.

Shattered, smashed, damaged beyond recognition––Michelle demolished all hope that her affections were genuine. He was nothing but her slave, her property, who had disobeyed and needed to be reprimanded. He felt like a dog pissing on the floor, forced to have his nose rubbed in it as a lesson.

“Come, we must feed.” Michelle spoke in terse tones. She wouldn’t look him in the eye. Her face was tight-lipped and severe as he followed her out the door.

“Yes, Master.” He wasn’t teasing or smiling.

Cruising through the night streets in the taxi, his depression took on a new color of resentment. Why should he be treated like this? Was this all because he disobeyed her directive or was there something else? Is this how it would be with her for years to come? He deeply resented her abuse of power.

He began to hate Michelle for turning an act of affectionate lovemaking into a grueling punishment. The kindness and mutual care that once permeated their relationship disappeared. Michelle reached out to hold his hand as she had so many times before, but the gesture no longer felt like the loving caress he’d imagined. It felt like a leash.