try until nothing is left

"More or less, you had a fever so high that your brain fried," said the emergency doctor, a man who seemed to have a perpetually exasperated expression each time you saw him. "Right after EMS brought you in, you started having seizures. We've stabilized you and seem to have gotten them under control for now, but I have to say: I've never seen anything like this before."

The doctor and his colleagues agreed that the bite mark on your wrist was the likely culprit for your onslaught of symptoms. They had guessed rabies, or perhaps a bite from a dog or another large animal with perfectly uniform, long teeth. Big dogs. Big cats. An abnormally massive raccoon. Foxes. Wolves. Each scenario deteriorated into further absurdity because they could not find any creature, any animal with the teeth to match the marks in your flesh.

Except one.

"Now, I understand this may be embarrassing to hear, but those marks there," the doctor gestured to your gauze-wrapped wrist with the silvery tip of his pen, "those marks most closely resemble human teeth. Except for the puncture wounds, of course. Do you remember what happened? Anything at all?"

Of course you did. Perhaps you couldn't recall what all had transpired once you had left that man's house—that thing's house—but every detail of that night was still fresh in your mind. Felt like scars on your body.

Around three days ago, you had detoured the normal course of your day after work by visiting a local watering hole for a drink. It was a well-lit and maintained bar, polished surfaces everywhere, chairs that were consistently steam-cleaned and reupholstered when worn. This was the type of place where women traveled in packs, knowing they could leave their drinks uncovered because the bartenders were scoping out the place like hawks on the prowl.

You had thought it would be a safe distraction for an hour or two, somewhere you could unwind without having to engage in trivialities and flirtations. And, for the most part, that's exactly how it had gone until all the light from outside had gone away and the scrappier regulars returned for yet another night of self-medicating.

"Do you mind a little company?" asked a man, to which you breathed a sigh into your drink and rolled your eyes. "Oh, I'm sorry. The men down there are just a little too rowdy for my taste. You're the only person I saw here who seems even a little normal."

Now, you looked at him and nearly spat into your cup.

He was beautiful. He was the most beautiful man you'd ever seen in your life.

A lean build dressed in a tailored suit that complemented his very pale (almost too pale) skin, black eyes, and dark brown hair. His lips were raised into a soft smile and looked cold, colorless, purple like the veins in his face. You looked into his eyes and swore you saw nothing in them.

Then, you did something you shouldn't have done: You started talking to him.

"I'm sorry. I just… have completely forgotten myself tonight," said the handsome man, face stiff with that same small smile. "I saw you, and everything I wanted to say slipped my mind. May I know your name?"

An hour later, you had left the bar with him, hanging off his arm.

In hindsight, you hated how easily you were able to be wooed by him, but you knew that there wasn't anything you could've done to prevent it. He had set his sights on you that night, a predator in the shadows, and collected you exactly as he had planned. You looked into his eyes for a moment too long once—that was all it took.

You weren't sure where he had taken you once he had paid the cab fare. It was a house somewhere outside the city; old, but far from decrepit despite being poorly lit. The only way you were able to navigate the walls and rugs was by holding tightly to his arm, allowing him to guide you, completely at his mercy.

He swept you into a room and turned on a lamp. It set the room aglow red, from the lampshade of the same color. Then, he turned to you and began to loosen the tie around his neck.

"Do you like the light? I've found it's made the experience all the more invigorating," was the strange thing said, now reaching for the buttons on the front of your shirt as he looked into your eyes.

The depth of his black eyes was abyssal, finding that the longer you stared at them, the heavier your own became and the less you felt confident you could stand. His hand stroked your face, cold fingers caressing your lips and the curve of your cheekbone, never breaking eye contact as he leaned in and kissed you.

It was a passionate kiss that you reciprocated with heat prickling your ears and neck. His tongue pressed into your mouth while his hands maneuvered the layers of clothes off your body. You heard each piece land—whump—until nothing was left. You were completely naked in front of this beautiful stranger, his hands returning to his own body to strip himself of what remained.

"Lie down, spread your legs for me."

The command excited you. He ravaged you until you couldn't handle his tongue and lips on you anymore, and pushed his face away with a whimper. He said you tasted divine, that your moans and writhing were beautiful to him. Show him more of it.

You were able to track the path of his freezing lips up your body, molding against the contours that made you everything that you were. He lavished every part of you that his mouth touched, stroking his cock closer to hardness when you would moan for him. He smeared the fluids from his tip along his shaft and spread the mess between your legs.

He pushed his cock into you while his lips still roamed you, seating himself as deep as he could before he started thrusting. You stared up at the red ceiling while he fucked you, laving at your neck with his wet tongue and lips over your carotid pulse.

Bump. Bump. Bump. Bump.

You could feel the pulse he outlined. He pressed against it, and it pushed back. Something about it made you nervous, or perhaps it was the excitement of his cock increasingly fucking into your harder and faster, stealing your breath into ragged pants. It was then that you felt his teeth come out to play with your flesh, lightly, teasingly grazing the spot where your neck throbbed back at him.

They were long. They were sharp.

Dread made your stomach plummet, and something primal began to needle at the back of your head. This was what you expected it was like for a bug stuck in a spider's web with no feasible escape once it was caught. He had you pinned under his body, writhing in the throes of ecstasy from fucking you so good with his cock.

Everything now was too intense for you to handle. The strangeness of the sex was too much. The fear incessantly prickling your senses was too much. You wanted this to be over and to leave. So, despite your leaden arms, you lifted them and pressed against his body, tried to wrench your body out of any convenient position for him.

"No more! Stop!" you said, tempted to slap him when he took one of your hands and pressed his lips against the inside of your wrist. "Get off of me!"

His hips thrusts slowed, though he never fully pulled out. "My, I thought we were having so much fun. You sure seemed to be enjoying it. Like a little whore."

You were taken aback by his change in demeanor. Even the way he looked down at you was different now: less patient, less of his charismatic smile, less than nothing in his black eyes.

Then, with the sharp teeth in his mouth bared, he sank them into the delicate flesh covering your wrist. The agony was immediate and weakening, stealing the air from your lungs, no matter how intensely you wanted to scream out. It felt like four hot skewers inside of you, burning through tendon and muscle and boiling the blood in your veins and arteries. It was pain unlike anything you'd ever experienced before. And, in that moment, you knew you would never regain full control of that wrist again.

When he withdrew his teeth, you groaned. He flattened his tongue on your skin, across the meat of your wrist, and began to ravenously lap at the blood flowing profusely from the puncture wounds. There was too much for him to control that managed to escape, leaving long, hot streaks of red darker than the red of the room down your arm. They dripped onto your naked body, making you flinch each time the drops made contact.

That was when you started thrashing around under him, throwing around the weight of your body until you were able to yank your wrist out of his mouth and crawl away, off the bed, out of the room, and out of that damn house. After that, your reality had blurred, and that was when you were found wandering the parking lot alone and naked.

As the days went on, you realized that the only reason you were able to escape that night was that he let you. He didn't try to keep you there. Rather, he'd sat back on his heels, licking the blood from his lips, and said aloud to the empty room:

"More or less, you had a fever so high that your brain fried," said the emergency doctor, a man who seemed to have a perpetually exasperated expression each time you saw him. "Right after EMS brought you in, you started having seizures. We've stabilized you and seem to have gotten them under control for now, but I have to say: I've never seen anything like this before."

The doctor and his colleagues agreed that the bite mark on your wrist was the likely culprit for your onslaught of symptoms. They had guessed rabies, or perhaps a bite from a dog or another large animal with perfectly uniform, long teeth. Big dogs. Big cats. An abnormally massive raccoon. Foxes. Wolves. Each scenario deteriorated into further absurdity because they could not find any creature, any animal with the teeth to match the marks in your flesh.

Except one.

"Now, I understand this may be embarrassing to hear, but those marks there," the doctor gestured to your gauze-wrapped wrist with the silvery tip of his pen, "those marks most closely resemble human teeth. Except for the puncture wounds, of course. Do you remember what happened? Anything at all?"

Of course you did. Perhaps you couldn't recall what all had transpired once you had left that man's house—that thing's house—but every detail of that night was still fresh in your mind. Felt like scars on your body.

Around three days ago, you had detoured the normal course of your day after work by visiting a local watering hole for a drink. It was a well-lit and maintained bar, polished surfaces everywhere, chairs that were consistently steam-cleaned and reupholstered when worn. This was the type of place where women traveled in packs, knowing they could leave their drinks uncovered because the bartenders were scoping out the place like hawks on the prowl.

You had thought it would be a safe distraction for an hour or two, somewhere you could unwind without having to engage in trivialities and flirtations. And, for the most part, that's exactly how it had gone until all the light from outside had gone away and the scrappier regulars returned for yet another night of self-medicating.

"Do you mind a little company?" asked a man, to which you breathed a sigh into your drink and rolled your eyes. "Oh, I'm sorry. The men down there are just a little too rowdy for my taste. You're the only person I saw here who seems even a little normal."

Now, you looked at him and nearly spat into your cup.

He was beautiful. He was the most beautiful man you'd ever seen in your life.

A lean build dressed in a tailored suit that complemented his very pale (almost too pale) skin, black eyes, and dark brown hair. His lips were raised into a soft smile and looked cold, colorless, purple like the veins in his face. You looked into his eyes and swore you saw nothing in them.

Then, you did something you shouldn't have done: You started talking to him.

"I'm sorry. I just… have completely forgotten myself tonight," said the handsome man, face stiff with that same small smile. "I saw you, and everything I wanted to say slipped my mind. May I know your name?"

An hour later, you had left the bar with him, hanging off his arm.

In hindsight, you hated how easily you were able to be wooed by him, but you knew that there wasn't anything you could've done to prevent it. He had set his sights on you that night, a predator in the shadows, and collected you exactly as he had planned. You looked into his eyes for a moment too long once—that was all it took.

You weren't sure where he had taken you once he had paid the cab fare. It was a house somewhere outside the city; old, but far from decrepit despite being poorly lit. The only way you were able to navigate the walls and rugs was by holding tightly to his arm, allowing him to guide you, completely at his mercy.

He swept you into a room and turned on a lamp. It set the room aglow red, from the lampshade of the same color. Then, he turned to you and began to loosen the tie around his neck.

"Do you like the light? I've found it's made the experience all the more invigorating," was the strange thing said, now reaching for the buttons on the front of your shirt as he looked into your eyes.

The depth of his black eyes was abyssal, finding that the longer you stared at them, the heavier your own became and the less you felt confident you could stand. His hand stroked your face, cold fingers caressing your lips and the curve of your cheekbone, never breaking eye contact as he leaned in and kissed you.

It was a passionate kiss that you reciprocated with heat prickling your ears and neck. His tongue pressed into your mouth while his hands maneuvered the layers of clothes off your body. You heard each piece land—whump—until nothing was left. You were completely naked in front of this beautiful stranger, his hands returning to his own body to strip himself of what remained.

"Lie down, spread your legs for me."

The command excited you. He ravaged you until you couldn't handle his tongue and lips on you anymore, and pushed his face away with a whimper. He said you tasted divine, that your moans and writhing were beautiful to him. Show him more of it.

You were able to track the path of his freezing lips up your body, molding against the contours that made you everything that you were. He lavished every part of you that his mouth touched, stroking his cock closer to hardness when you would moan for him. He smeared the fluids from his tip along his shaft and spread the mess between your legs.

He pushed his cock into you while his lips still roamed you, seating himself as deep as he could before he started thrusting. You stared up at the red ceiling while he fucked you, laving at your neck with his wet tongue and lips over your carotid pulse.

Bump. Bump. Bump. Bump.

You could feel the pulse he outlined. He pressed against it, and it pushed back. Something about it made you nervous, or perhaps it was the excitement of his cock increasingly fucking into your harder and faster, stealing your breath into ragged pants. It was then that you felt his teeth come out to play with your flesh, lightly, teasingly grazing the spot where your neck throbbed back at him.

They were long. They were sharp.

Dread made your stomach plummet, and something primal began to needle at the back of your head. This was what you expected it was like for a bug stuck in a spider's web with no feasible escape once it was caught. He had you pinned under his body, writhing in the throes of ecstasy from fucking you so good with his cock.

Everything now was too intense for you to handle. The strangeness of the sex was too much. The fear incessantly prickling your senses was too much. You wanted this to be over and to leave. So, despite your leaden arms, you lifted them and pressed against his body, tried to wrench your body out of any convenient position for him.

"No more! Stop!" you said, tempted to slap him when he took one of your hands and pressed his lips against the inside of your wrist. "Get off of me!"

His hips thrusts slowed, though he never fully pulled out. "My, I thought we were having so much fun. You sure seemed to be enjoying it. Like a little whore."

You were taken aback by his change in demeanor. Even the way he looked down at you was different now: less patient, less of his charismatic smile, less than nothing in his black eyes.

Then, with the sharp teeth in his mouth bared, he sank them into the delicate flesh covering your wrist. The agony was immediate and weakening, stealing the air from your lungs, no matter how intensely you wanted to scream out. It felt like four hot skewers inside of you, burning through tendon and muscle and boiling the blood in your veins and arteries. It was pain unlike anything you'd ever experienced before. And, in that moment, you knew you would never regain full control of that wrist again.

When he withdrew his teeth, you groaned. He flattened his tongue on your skin, across the meat of your wrist, and began to ravenously lap at the blood flowing profusely from the puncture wounds. There was too much for him to control that managed to escape, leaving long, hot streaks of red darker than the red of the room down your arm. They dripped onto your naked body, making you flinch each time the drops made contact.

That was when you started thrashing around under him, throwing around the weight of your body until you were able to yank your wrist out of his mouth and crawl away, off the bed, out of the room, and out of that damn house. After that, your reality had blurred, and that was when you were found wandering the parking lot alone and naked.

As the days went on, you realized that the only reason you were able to escape that night was that he let you. He didn't try to keep you there. Rather, he'd sat back on his heels, licking the blood from his lips, and said aloud to the empty room:

"More or less, you had a fever so high that your brain fried," said the emergency doctor, a man who seemed to have a perpetually exasperated expression each time you saw him. "Right after EMS brought you in, you started having seizures. We've stabilized you and seem to have gotten them under control for now, but I have to say: I've never seen anything like this before."

The doctor and his colleagues agreed that the bite mark on your wrist was the likely culprit for your onslaught of symptoms. They had guessed rabies, or perhaps a bite from a dog or another large animal with perfectly uniform, long teeth. Big dogs. Big cats. An abnormally massive raccoon. Foxes. Wolves. Each scenario deteriorated into further absurdity because they could not find any creature, any animal with the teeth to match the marks in your flesh.

Except one.

"Now, I understand this may be embarrassing to hear, but those marks there," the doctor gestured to your gauze-wrapped wrist with the silvery tip of his pen, "those marks most closely resemble human teeth. Except for the puncture wounds, of course. Do you remember what happened? Anything at all?"

Of course you did. Perhaps you couldn't recall what all had transpired once you had left that man's house—that thing's house—but every detail of that night was still fresh in your mind. Felt like scars on your body.

Around three days ago, you had detoured the normal course of your day after work by visiting a local watering hole for a drink. It was a well-lit and maintained bar, polished surfaces everywhere, chairs that were consistently steam-cleaned and reupholstered when worn. This was the type of place where women traveled in packs, knowing they could leave their drinks uncovered because the bartenders were scoping out the place like hawks on the prowl.

You had thought it would be a safe distraction for an hour or two, somewhere you could unwind without having to engage in trivialities and flirtations. And, for the most part, that's exactly how it had gone until all the light from outside had gone away and the scrappier regulars returned for yet another night of self-medicating.

"Do you mind a little company?" asked a man, to which you breathed a sigh into your drink and rolled your eyes. "Oh, I'm sorry. The men down there are just a little too rowdy for my taste. You're the only person I saw here who seems even a little normal."

Now, you looked at him and nearly spat into your cup.

He was beautiful. He was the most beautiful man you'd ever seen in your life.

A lean build dressed in a tailored suit that complemented his very pale (almost too pale) skin, black eyes, and dark brown hair. His lips were raised into a soft smile and looked cold, colorless, purple like the veins in his face. You looked into his eyes and swore you saw nothing in them.

Then, you did something you shouldn't have done: You started talking to him.

"I'm sorry. I just… have completely forgotten myself tonight," said the handsome man, face stiff with that same small smile. "I saw you, and everything I wanted to say slipped my mind. May I know your name?"

An hour later, you had left the bar with him, hanging off his arm.

In hindsight, you hated how easily you were able to be wooed by him, but you knew that there wasn't anything you could've done to prevent it. He had set his sights on you that night, a predator in the shadows, and collected you exactly as he had planned. You looked into his eyes for a moment too long once—that was all it took.

You weren't sure where he had taken you once he had paid the cab fare. It was a house somewhere outside the city; old, but far from decrepit despite being poorly lit. The only way you were able to navigate the walls and rugs was by holding tightly to his arm, allowing him to guide you, completely at his mercy.

He swept you into a room and turned on a lamp. It set the room aglow red, from the lampshade of the same color. Then, he turned to you and began to loosen the tie around his neck.

"Do you like the light? I've found it's made the experience all the more invigorating," was the strange thing said, now reaching for the buttons on the front of your shirt as he looked into your eyes.

The depth of his black eyes was abyssal, finding that the longer you stared at them, the heavier your own became and the less you felt confident you could stand. His hand stroked your face, cold fingers caressing your lips and the curve of your cheekbone, never breaking eye contact as he leaned in and kissed you.

It was a passionate kiss that you reciprocated with heat prickling your ears and neck. His tongue pressed into your mouth while his hands maneuvered the layers of clothes off your body. You heard each piece land—whump—until nothing was left. You were completely naked in front of this beautiful stranger, his hands returning to his own body to strip himself of what remained.

"Lie down, spread your legs for me."

The command excited you. He ravaged you until you couldn't handle his tongue and lips on you anymore, and pushed his face away with a whimper. He said you tasted divine, that your moans and writhing were beautiful to him. Show him more of it.

You were able to track the path of his freezing lips up your body, molding against the contours that made you everything that you were. He lavished every part of you that his mouth touched, stroking his cock closer to hardness when you would moan for him. He smeared the fluids from his tip along his shaft and spread the mess between your legs.

He pushed his cock into you while his lips still roamed you, seating himself as deep as he could before he started thrusting. You stared up at the red ceiling while he fucked you, laving at your neck with his wet tongue and lips over your carotid pulse.

Bump. Bump. Bump. Bump.

You could feel the pulse he outlined. He pressed against it, and it pushed back. Something about it made you nervous, or perhaps it was the excitement of his cock increasingly fucking into your harder and faster, stealing your breath into ragged pants. It was then that you felt his teeth come out to play with your flesh, lightly, teasingly grazing the spot where your neck throbbed back at him.

They were long. They were sharp.

Dread made your stomach plummet, and something primal began to needle at the back of your head. This was what you expected it was like for a bug stuck in a spider's web with no feasible escape once it was caught. He had you pinned under his body, writhing in the throes of ecstasy from fucking you so good with his cock.

Everything now was too intense for you to handle. The strangeness of the sex was too much. The fear incessantly prickling your senses was too much. You wanted this to be over and to leave. So, despite your leaden arms, you lifted them and pressed against his body, tried to wrench your body out of any convenient position for him.

"No more! Stop!" you said, tempted to slap him when he took one of your hands and pressed his lips against the inside of your wrist. "Get off of me!"

His hips thrusts slowed, though he never fully pulled out. "My, I thought we were having so much fun. You sure seemed to be enjoying it. Like a little whore."

You were taken aback by his change in demeanor. Even the way he looked down at you was different now: less patient, less of his charismatic smile, less than nothing in his black eyes.

Then, with the sharp teeth in his mouth bared, he sank them into the delicate flesh covering your wrist. The agony was immediate and weakening, stealing the air from your lungs, no matter how intensely you wanted to scream out. It felt like four hot skewers inside of you, burning through tendon and muscle and boiling the blood in your veins and arteries. It was pain unlike anything you'd ever experienced before. And, in that moment, you knew you would never regain full control of that wrist again.

When he withdrew his teeth, you groaned. He flattened his tongue on your skin, across the meat of your wrist, and began to ravenously lap at the blood flowing profusely from the puncture wounds. There was too much for him to control that managed to escape, leaving long, hot streaks of red darker than the red of the room down your arm. They dripped onto your naked body, making you flinch each time the drops made contact.

That was when you started thrashing around under him, throwing around the weight of your body until you were able to yank your wrist out of his mouth and crawl away, off the bed, out of the room, and out of that damn house. After that, your reality had blurred, and that was when you were found wandering the parking lot alone and naked.

As the days went on, you realized that the only reason you were able to escape that night was that he let you. He didn't try to keep you there. Rather, he'd sat back on his heels, licking the blood from his lips, and said aloud to the empty room: