Tall and fragile, pale and elusive, hungry and seductive, all at the same time. She was exquisite, in a raw and dangerous way. Right from my first sight of her, I knew she was not all she pretended to be. I read the rage in her dark eyes, the anger that burned as hot and cruel in her heart as it ever had in mine. She was as much a predator as I, finally, despite her delicate appearance and coquettish smiles. When she smiled like that, I could almost see the knives in her mouth, could almost see the blood running down her ivory chin.
Her name was Amaranth; at least that was what she called herself – I stole the name from her unconscious mind as easily as from a child's. I doubted very much that her parents would recognise the title, but it seems customary for young women today to adopt such sobriquets. I followed her around for two consecutive evenings, watching her every move, noting where she went and to whom she spoke. My first impression of her proved correct – she was certainly no innocent. She frequented notorious clubs and bars, mixed in very dubious company, and lived in a suspiciously expensive apartment, paid for no doubt by a grateful part-time lover or shady associate. She dressed like a cyber-goth: all leather mini-skirts and slashed tops and plastic boots, her ebony hair crimped and spiked, her face painted a livid white, her eyes dark pits, her mouth a scarlet sneer. She was brittle in her beauty, too harsh to be as hard as she seemed. There was a nervous energy about her that belied the apparent languor of her movements. Within the space of two nights I was infatuated – I had to have her.
My pursuit was assiduous, as steadfast and true as any lover. I followed her wherever she went throughout the entire night, only giving up as she returned to her apartment (fortunately enough for me) at dawn. Her activities seemed confined to the dark hours, as were mine, and it came to be our secret, the shared knowledge that we possessed, something sacred to us like a favourite song. Although she remained oblivious to my existence, I felt that somehow we were kindred spirits, alive with the same destructive fire.
Though a cunning shadow, there would inevitably come a time when she saw me, and at length it happened, fortunately in a crowded club where the two of us were neither out of place nor alien to one another. I had just gone through my rather tedious routine of purchasing a drink, which of course went un-drunk all night, and she had just left the dance-floor in search of refreshment. She bumped into me at the bar, I believe accidentally, and was about to turn away after a brief, compulsive apology, when our eyes met and she hesitated. What was it she saw in me? Did she see what I was? Was I a revelation to her of some terrifying truth she had only half-subscribed to all these years? Whatever it was, it captivated her, and she sat on the stool next to mine and set down her drink. She pulled a battered packet of cigarettes from her jacket and waved them in my direction.
Intimacy was at last established. I could feel the electric heat of her gaze, those large dark eyes dilated with what I assumed was a perverted pleasure of some kind. The way she sat caused her stockinged thigh to brush against my leg, and her flesh was warm and succulent. On this particular night she wore a plastic skirt with a rubber slashed top, and the aroma of her skin was hot and spicy, fragrant with perspiration and musk in the stifling heat of the crowded club. I am fortunate not to be affected by such extremes of temperature any more, but she was clearly discomfited by it at the very least. She sucked vigorously on the cigarette, her cheeks pulling inwards, giving her an emaciated appearance that matched her pallid complexion. Her make-up was starting to run in the heat, but she still looked terrific, even this close up. A dozen erotic thoughts flooded my mind: of she and I dancing naked beneath the moon; of her leading me into her flat, eyes beckoning and wide; of her pressed close to me, her voice breathless and deep; of her lying on a bed of satin, her legs wide and her cunt glistening in the half-light; of her red lips enclosing my cock; of penetrating her slippery hole and pushing so deep inside her that she cried out; of coming inside her, filling her with my spunk – "oh, it's so cold!", her eyes snapping back with the shock of it; of her hot little hands on my spent flesh, rousing it once more to acts of carnal depravity; of shooting off another load all over her beautiful, deathly white face; of sinking my fangs into her throat, the kiss she will never forget; of sharp nails clawing at my back; of making her mine forever...
She had introduced herself by this time – dear girl, I knew your name a lifetime ago! – and I felt compelled to do the same. The danger involved in such a confession only added mystery to our relationship. I only ever confessed my name to the Food just before they died, just so they departed this life with my name upon their bloodied lips, just so I could drink of their fear more deeply. This time, perhaps, I would let her live, or bring her into the Eternal Darkness with me...
"I am Gabriel, Gabriel Koslowski." I felt her drowning in my eyes, my deep, ocean-green eyes that had served me so well in the past. Her pupils were totally dilated now, her dark eyes as black as the grave of earth from which I had risen so many centuries before. "Your servant." I raised her hand to my lips, pressed that soft skin close to me and breathed in its rich mortal scent.
"I've never seen you here before," she said, her voice shrill against the pounding music all around us. "I feel sure I would have noticed you." She licked her scarlet lips, her moist tongue pausing at one corner of her mouth. Her eyes were devouring mine, and I felt a hunger as keen as mine had ever been emanating from her. Witless mortal, to think that you can pretend with me – I, who see everything.
"I am no stranger to this town," I replied. "But its way are not mine. I move in... unusual circles." Was I sounding too theatrical? She seemed flattered by whatever she imagined me to be, but why should I hide my true nature behind this shroud of lies? I am a predator, I told myself: I kill, I rape, I torture, I sacrifice others to sustain my own evil life. I am the worst of scavengers.
"Would you like... I mean, well, I was just wondering if maybe you wanted to..." She leaned forward, her lips less than inches from my face, her breath hot and tobacco-stained. "I live just around the corner." One white hand descended on my thigh and her long fingers closed gently around the muscle. I caught a whiff suddenly of another perfume above the sweat and the musk and the tobacco – a rich, salty syrup spiked with sugar pearls. I was not the first of her conquests this evening, and she was hot for another to take his place. The thought of another man's cock inside her sent waves of raging blood into my groin and my own cock responded instantaneously. She felt the sudden movement and ran her hand up to enclose my swollen flesh softly. "If you think you can hold it that long..." she whispered, her lips brushing against my ear, her hair on my cheek.
What could I do but follow her? Wherever she led me, it would be no worse than where I could lead her – to the gates of Hell itself. I stepped through the door of that deceptive apartment, and both our fates were sealed. She knew what would happen next; I knew what would happen later.
We were barely through the door before she pounced upon me, her hot hands on my chest, around my waist, holding me tight against her while her mouth devoured mine. My cock was unbearably stiff now, crushed against the flesh of her thighs, those milky thighs between which it would soon be penetrating. The more I thought of her, the fiercer my passion to possess her became. Without a word she began to open my shirt, pulling it out from my waistband and scratching the skin of my stomach gently with her long red nails. She was surprised at how cold my skin was to the touch – "when you're obviously so hot elsewhere" (laying a fiendish emphasis on the 'hot', her eyes widening as she looked at the strident outline of my cock inside my trousers). I thought for a moment that she would push me to the floor right there in the hallway, but it seemed that the desire for comfort outweighed all other impulses in her, and she took my hand and led me into the bedroom.
As she shut the door behind us, she threw off her jacket and unzipped her skirt. It fell to the ground with a silky swish, and she stepped out of it, her long, pale legs encased in seamless black stockings. Her thighs were every bit as soft and milky as I had imagined, their pallor accentuated by the dark stockings and the carefully cultivated triangle of black down on her mound. She stepped towards me again, her hands placed close to that hidden garden of delights, her eyes and mouth provocative and moist.
"You do want me, don't you?" she queried, her voice vibrant with raw passion. "Don't I please you?"
I was momentarily unable to speak: the beauty of her held me spellbound and I could think of nothing beyond slipping my huge cock inside her and fucking the very life out of her. She must have read my thoughts, for she lay down upon the bed and beckoned me to her. I approached with all haste, throwing my shirt upon the floor and kicking off my shoes, before sinking down into the vast bed at her feet and admiring her delicious skin. Such pallor! It seemed impossible that she could be mortal, she looked so like one of my own kind.
I rained kisses upon her feet and her legs, travelling smoothly and with practiced ease up to her bony hips, bypassing completely that salty, pungent slit to which I should later turn my most eager attention. I had rarely known a mortal woman this crazed, this horny, this desperate to be loved. She seemed to care about none of the precursors which mortal women usually so insist upon. She wanted my cock inside her, and she wanted it now, even if it hurt. I could do nothing but pamper her needs.
At last free of its bondage – her hands expertly removing my trousers with the minimum of fuss – my cock stood up stiff and proud, so hard that it hurt. The hunger for blood had never been as intense as the hunger for sex was at that moment, and I was hard pressed to wait while she offered her admiration of its length, size, texture and so on. She weighed my balls in her hands, again remarking on my coldness, and leaned forward to gently kiss each one. Her hair rubbed against the swollen head of my cock and I could control my passion no longer.
I pushed her down deeper into the bed, tore her rubber top clean in two, watched her small breasts tumble out with a smile of disinterested amusement, and then forced her legs wider apart than she had already spread them, and forced my massive cock inside her. With what delight did I feel her ragged cunt lips part to make way for me, with what undeniable pleasure did I negotiate my way past her pelvic bone to seek the warm, snug, moist passage beyond?! I felt her cunt lips draw up upon me as I entered her, as she pushed her hips off the bed to allow me in deeper still. As I found her full depth, she cried out with pleasure, her voice breathless and excited, thrilled with the size and the force of me. she begged me to "hold it there just a moment", and I earnestly tried, but the lust in me was too strong to be checked for long. A brief pause, feeling the blood pounding through the length of my cock, feeling my balls tighten with anticipation, feeling the walls of her wet cunt crushing me – and then I had to move.
Moving inside her was unforgettable. She was slick with well-use, but I filled her adequately, and any deficiency in her of being too wet was compensated for by the strength of her internal muscles, and the tenacity with which she gripped my cock inside her. For all intents and purposes, she was snug and close enough to have been a virgin, but with all the obvious advantages of a woman of experience. She was pressing up against me, writhing on the bed beneath me, apparently in ecstasy, her hands clenching coils of satin sheet into tight little balls, her eyelids puckered with concentration, her mouth a wild, vacant O of surprise and confusion. I wondered how long it had been since a man had fucked her – not long, I knew, since I had still been able to smell his scent mingled with hers when I met her – and how long it had been since a man had fulfilled her in the way I seemed in danger of doing – far longer, I imagined, judging from her expression and the way her hands kept fluttering up towards my face, as though she wanted to embrace me but feared the intimacy.
I made no move to embrace her, to kiss her. In one way it felt wrong to show her affection while I was fucking her like a whore; in another it felt almost sacrilegious to try to get close to her because she was so radiantly beautiful, literally untouchable. It was fine to pollute her with my cock, to defile her and rape her and drag her to heights (or depths) of pleasure by screwing her, but if I thought about her in a romantic light I would be sure to lose my will to fuck, and that would never have done. She had made it abundantly clear that any affection she had for me depended solely on my performance here and my ability to use and abuse her naked body.
She was so slippery now, her cunt wet and harder to negotiate while pumping the way I had been – swift, deep descents punctuated by long moments of pulling away from her, almost leaving her completely. When I pulled out, my cock was slick and shiny with her creamy juices, when I plunged back in, she was wider and more welcoming with every stroke. I was losing control fast, and began to pump harder into her, staying close to her and stabbing at her, so that each inward action caused her to moan breathlessly – "ah, ah, ah, ah!" I think she even said my name once or twice, her lips quivering, soft tears in her eyes.
She began to push harder up against me, her hips grinding against mine, her cries becoming louder and sharper and faster as I fucked her deeper and harder and stronger. Building up speed inside her, I felt my orgasm approaching at a rate of knots. I could feel waves of delirium spreading all over my body, tensing for the shock of it. In those final few seconds I was trembling from head to foot as I felt the hunger cresting inside me – coming as a surprise after the intensity of my carnal desires. My gums were itching, my eye-teeth felt as swollen as my cock, as keen to be plunging into soft flesh as it already was. When the climax finally came – against a symphony of desperate cries from the shaking body beneath me, obviously on the verge of her own climactic release – the growl of passion in my groin merged with the death-snarl of hunger as I threw my head back to prepare for the fatal kiss.
Her mouth was a loose caricature of itself now, the sounds of her pleasure echoing in her throat and in her heaving chest. Her legs were tight around mine, her thighs drenched in sweat and spunk and her own lovely juice. And blood. It was the sight of that which froze me momentarily. It caused the hunger in me to radiate outwards, to burn my stomach and my chest and my throat. The pounding in my cock at last allayed, the smell of my spunk rich in my nostrils, the ache in my balls more poignant and grating than ever, I could give myself over to my true hunger, the one which sustained me. And yet that blood on her thighs was mine, and it seemed at once terrible and hilarious to be shedding hers so soon after she had given me such transitory, potent pleasure. How could I do this to her? How could I think of killing, of sacrificing, so generous a woman, who had made the gift of herself to me, without knowing me, without caring, without fear of recrimination or regret? My little Amaranth, so brittle, so fragile finally, so hard to the outside world, but so gentle and weak inside, so afraid of her own passion, hiding behind the lie of the whore a heart that beat with pure beauty, pure love.
For a predator like me, such romantic notions are fatal. Of course, as is the nature of this particular beast, I killed her.
But I fear I shall never see her like again.
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