Wailing

Author’s Note: As I did mention in the last update of Aure, I’ve now finished making the discussion thread for my stories. It is located here: http://www2.adult-fanfiction.org/forum/index.php/topic/41704-dean-wax-fiction-discussion/

Tenth Ink

The wetness arrives at my mouth and trickles down across my teeth, but before the first drop slides onto my tongue the smell permeates in the air and reaches other senses before I taste it. My eyes snap open in the darkness and I feel like I know that smell but cannot name it. There is someone here; a presence, but it is less important than the smell; meaningless compared to the wetness. It mixes with my saliva and spreads over my tongue, and I swallow.

It’s good. Every fibre of my being is telling me its good and I want more, pressing forward and sucking from the source of ambrosia. My tongue traces over tendon and bone, ragged flesh kissing my lips as I reach up to grab the proffered wrist and suckling becomes guzzling. Nothing matters in that moment but the feeding; the smell of copper fills my nose and brings with it a keening, continuous string of satisfaction running through my cock that urges me to keep drinking.

“Yes… that’s it, drink up,” the voice, heavy with lust, pauses for a sharp intake of air through the nose. “…such a good boy.”

Slowly I become away of my immediate surroundings in the darkness; there is a body entwined with mine but it is lukewarm, not hot. The only real heat seems to be the warmer bulge pressing into my bare thigh through suit slacks. My jeans are gone; my chest is bare, too. More importantly, the tap of veins dripping sweet copper runs shallow and makes my eyes open. With inherent malice I gnaw at the raw flesh there, an alien texture on my tongue but deeply satisfying when it flows again.

Rather than screaming, all I get is a gasp and a grunt. After a moment more a strong hand threads into my hair and wrenches my upwards like a rag doll, a masculine mouth crushing against my own bloody lips. All I’m interested in is biting the tongue. It slips away from my blunt tombstones and when I try to lacerate the lip instead I earn a growl and the being presses on my stomach, just below my navel, and the world slips into stars.

There is a smooth and shiny scar there, fresh and pink from a knitted wound that can’t have happened that long ago and when he rubs it I mewl and submit like some frail whore in heat. Beyond coherency I cry out and breathe and sweat while my nails rip at his bare shoulders with no effect and then the lips are at my neck, grazing my Adam’s apple and then down, down; hands shove me back onto sterile tile as teeth slip back into the scar like knives into butter and then the blood in my cock really starts to boil.

I want to fuck then; something in his teeth makes me want it bad and rough and I don’t care about the specifics. As long as I die cumming then that’s alright by me; teeth gnashing at the air I shove my hips closer to his face. We seem to be on the same page; he shifts and shoves his cock into me, lathered in more of that sweet spit. I let out a guttural groan and scrabble at the stone beneath me.

He leans down, breath loud but not hot in my ear but he says nothing. All there is is the rhythm of our fucking matched by breathing pitch which slows down and speeds up and gets louder and harder and then I come and he comes and buries nose in my hair, inhaling me and playing with the blood above my cock, mixing it in with sticky semen.

“Such a good boy,” he lets me lay back against the tiles, pulling himself out of me and crawling away. He pulls himself up near what must be a door, because briefly it opens and the world bursts into an explosion of light and pain stabbing me right in the eyeballs. Hissing, I recoil and curl away, vocal chords wound too tight to choke out any of the obscenities I’d like to utter at the offence.

“You’ll be so beautiful…”

The door closes with a boom; solid steel, bringing back the pitch black I now love like a vice. Grimacing in the afterglow of the arousal I touch myself, the fluids making slick friction though I can’t tell which is which. Somehow giddy, I chuckle, sucking coper from my teeth and wallowing in the disgrace I’ve become. Then the heat comes.

It starts out as sickly nausea; sweaty and strong enough to make me roll over seeking cooler tile but soon the whole floor is soiled and warm and eventually I crawl into the corner and hurl up the soggy, solid remnants of the burger I once ate. The purge racks my body and has me clawing at the ground like a beggar and I shove myself away from the stink of it when I’m done but the burning doesn’t stop there. It brings with it a tightening then a throbbing and cramping of the limbs like when you wake up in the night and your calves scream for no reason but this is everything, this is my soul, and I scream but I can’t get the air out and it gets worse and worse until I beat my skull against the stone and then it’s black.

I wake up in a different room. My eyes struggle to open and it seems black but there’s a brightness there that burns and I hiss and coil back into the crisp sheets that surround me. I’m still naked, but someone has cleaned me; my body is clean and cool and this room is a new size and a new smell and I can tell all this without even opening my eyes.

A hand grabs my wrist and turns me over, and I smell male musk; powder and some rich, alcoholic scent I’ve never known before. But it smells familiar; deep and intensely personal like I’ve always known it and I can remember nothing else.

“Hush, my sweet boy,” the affected accent rumbles, fingers of the free hand toying little circles on my scar that makes my cock plump up. “You’ll be such a sensitive and pathetic thing until you’re stronger… here.”

He presses a smooth wrist to my hand, the pulse of his blood blooming against my lips and I shudder at the smell beneath the papery skin, biting into it with more speed and ease than I ever had before… before memory. All there is is the sweet copper filling my belly and making my head heavy with swirling satisfaction.

He smells my hair as I slurp, licks the shell of my ear and purrs. “I’ll call you David.”

David.

That can’t be my name. Already closed, my eyes are heavy and I fall back into coma with deadweight limbs, lip still painted crimson with a faint feeling of unease.

David. I can’t remember.

I sleep.