Date: Sun, 18 Jun 1995 20:34:25 -0700 (MST) Subject: One More Time? (1/1) Enjoy! M/F sex :) -James ONE MORE TIME? From: Ophelia5@aol.com ---------------------------------- He smelled of horse sweat and stale beer. But she was used to that by now, too used to it for it to matter much anymore. LaCroix had told her to take her time with the mortal, to concentrate. His skin felt like fire beneath her cool hands, the heat of the blood beneath his skin warming her, setting off another fire within her--the hunger--as he placed a hand on either side of her and pinned her back to the stone wall of the hallway with his body. But Janette slipped out of his grasp and smiled prettily, as she'd been taught long before entering this new life, the very tip of her tongue sliding lightly across her lips as she cast her gaze downward and away. It was in no way a demure glance and he matched it, assessing her. She was used to that, as well, and knew that she wouldn't be found want ing. This one was almost easy . . . . How simple it was to slip through the doorway and into the room that waited for them. He followed her, reached for her, but she maneuvered her way out of his arms and closed the heavy wooden door, sealing him inside with her. Not that he cared. His hands reached out and grasped her shoulders, almost tearing her dre ss and chemise from her body, pulling it down on either side. His lips crushed her own as he covered her mouth. There was nothing gentle in this man. He hungered. For too long, she'd endured the hunger of such men. But now it was hunger that mattered. How sweet it was to let him believe for only a moment more that he was the ravager and she the ravaged. She could almost pity him even as he pawed at her, blinded by lust. His mouth moved to the swell of her breasts, lips caressing the upper skin, then lingering on the nipples as he pushed her dress and shift further down, uncovering more of her. Janette threw back her head at the touch of his lips on her cool skin. She closed her eyes and moaned, allowing herself to enjoy the sensation, the heat and the wetness as he suckled first at one breast, then the other, his hands kneading her flesh all the while. Better to let her eyes remain closed--she saw the world cast in a golde n glow through slits and tried to distance herself from the blood she felt coursing through his body, from the raw pleasure of the senses. It was so difficult to remain in control . . . . But she would. She . The ties on her gown had been loosened, the belt discarded and tossed a side. Even as his lips continued to suck and taste the flesh of her breasts, teeth nibbling at her nipples, his hands slipped to the base of her skirt and roamed upward beneath her dress and shift. Janette forced herself to catch his arms and his hands, drawing back and slipping from between him and the door. Still holding his hands in her own, she led him to the padded bench that sat amongst others in the center of the floor. He nearly slipped on the rich blankets and cloths that flowed over and around the bench like a waterfall, but could have cared less to find himself stumbling over soft silks or the coarsest of woven wool. Janette laughed as she nimbly avoided him, throwing herself onto the couch and half-rising to catch him as he followed her. There was a certain amount of give as he landed beside her, the scent of myrrh and other perfumes drifting up from the blankets and cloth beneath them. Her gown was discarded in an instant; the ties of her shift were opened and it followed the gown to the floor, floating for an instant in the air like the departed spirit of modesty. Leaning back against the nest of silk, Janette posed, knowing the picture she must make--perfection in the flesh. She heard the breath catch in his throat as he saw her lying there, in all of her glory. For an instant he didn't move, nostrils flaring at the possibilities she offered . . . and yet there was something more about him, a combination of awe and worship that surprised her. Despite the stink of him and the instantaneous flaming of his lust, there was something slightly different about him, a quality of reverence in his movements. Instead of throwing himself on top of her, as so many others had done, he touched a finger to his lips, wetting it slightly and leaned forward to draw a line from the depression of her neck to between her breasts, along the slight swell of her stomach, down, down-- A shudder went through her as he touched her and now it was turn to regard him with wide eyes and wonder. He smiled as she responded to his caresses, touching here and there, sending shivers up her spine and causing the muscles in her legs to tense so that her toes began to curls of their own accord. Oh, but the of him! Janette caught his hand with her own and sat up, pressing her breasts against him as she undid the tie of his cloak, casting it aside. His tunic followed, as did the rough shirt beneath it, and then there was skin and muscle beneath her fingertips. She lightly touched her lips to his, then ran her tongue along the flesh at one side of his neck as her fingers massaged the expanse of his chest--not too much hair there, but enough. It pleased her that most of the stench disappeared with his clothing, although there was still an odor of sweat around him--common enough with these people who did not bathe as often as they should, thinking it unhealthy. It occurred to her that she'd believed the same, until LaCroix had taught her otherwise. The memory of her first reluctant bath at LaCroix's hands only stirred her onward and reminded her of her purpose. Her fingers trailed down the length of his body and she drew back sligh tly to find one of the not-so-small differences in their genders, which had grown firm and hard trapped between them. As she touched the shaft, then made a fist around it and drew her fingers up the length, she felt his hands grasp the flesh of her buttocks firmly. He pulled her toward him and her lips locked with his, mouths and tongues tasting and exploring one another. The heat of it was exhilarating. He turned, shifted, pushed slightly a nd she was beneath him, trapped between warm, sweaty flesh and muscle and the silky softness of the couch coverings. Janette closed her eyes and wriggled, delighting in the textures, the sensation of it, the heat of him becoming hers, warming her. And, within her, the angry fire grew until the flames of hunger were no longer content with searing only her belly, but roared upward through her lungs and baked the inside of her eyes. Her lashes fluttered as she stared at the golden-colored world, but he was too lost to notice, pressing his mouth to her lips and then her breasts, one of his hands finding the grasp she had over him and urging her wordlessly to draw him on, faster and harder. So much for his worship of her! Janette's smile curled wickedly as she removed her hands from him, placing them to either thigh and inviting him inside her. He did not mistake the invitation, although he surprised her again by n ot thrusting into her instantly, as any of the others had done. The flat of his hand pressed down on her --for LaCroix had told her it was so named--causing her to gasp, and he traced a path down inside her with a single finger. Janette moaned and thrust herself up against him, a whisper of pleading escaping her lips as he toyed with her for what seemed like an eternity. Her hands sank back to the couch seeking purchase, but the slick silk slipped through her fingers and her nails began to tear it, so lost was she in her body's responses to his touch. When he entered her, a long, slow shudder traveled through her body. Janette looked up to see him leaning over her, thrusting into her, jaw clenched in passion and concentration. She wrapped her legs around him just as tightly, wanting to hold him there, to drive him deeper as the spasms that rippled through her intensified. The steady beating of his heart had grown to the thrumming of a drum, rapid and insistent, pounding in her ears and matching his gasps and groans. Her eyes were more red than gold as she reached up and grasped his shoulders, pulling him down toward her, urging him onward and yet needing to draw him close. The arteries and the veins in his neck were like ropes, straining against the flesh of his neck as he nibbled at her mouth and lips, his breath hot and quick and passionate. His muscles trembled beneath her fingers; she could feel him teetering on the verge of ecstasy even as her own senses were burning with mounting bliss. Her fangs fell into place as she returned his kisses, nipping at his lips, engulfing his mouth and claiming it for her own. There was suddenly a drop of blood on her tongue, as one of her fangs cut him, and instinct released the ravening beast inside of her. It was as if she had been kindled from within, her fury and speed overc oming his mortal strength. Like a snake she struck, twisting aside his head and digging her fangs into his neck. His body shuddered at the shock of the attack, at the pain, and then trembled violently as he found release within her. The blood was fine and fierce and wild, filled with his passion and his life. Janette barely acknowledged his groan, the brief pressure of his hand against her head, futilely trying to push her away. Her fangs were imbedded deep and she worried his flesh, moving her head slightly as she drew his life from him, feeling him sigh and tremble again, bringing him further bliss. Not that she cared. There was only the blood and the fire than ran through her; she was being enveloped in the most brilliant and blinding light-- "Janette!" At first she wasn't certain what had happened--only that the body was g one and that she could no longer feed. Janette sat up and snarled, her eyes crimson. "Janette!" A hand fastened on her bare shoulder, nails gripping deep. The pain helped her to focus, helped her to and understand. The world slipped from crimson to gold and she saw LaCroix glaring at her, felt him shake her. When her eyes met his and held his fierce gaze, he released her then leaned down to the body that he'd taken from her. Still shaking with the rush of the blood, her tongue catching the last of it from the edges of her mouth and her lips, Janette watched him examine the body. He placed his hand along the unmarked neck. The man's eyes were closed, his lips smiling--well, was something, at least. LaCroix sighed and straightened. "Too late. He's gone. You've taken too much." He returned to her side and glared at her again. "You were to drain him." She giggled. She couldn't help herself--he looked so stern and formal and it was all so silly. Then Janette raised a hand to her mouth and said, "Oops." He grabbed the hand from her mouth, knocking it aside, then cupped her chin, tilting her face up toward him. "Don't be coy," he warned, in a very hard and angry whisper. "You had your instructions. You've failed." The sheer intoxication and joy of the past few minutes fell from her, dissipated by that blistering gaze and those unforgiving eyes. Janette dared to take a breath, but could not lower her head or even look away, he held her that tightly. "Forgive me," she whispered, her voice contrite--she only hoped she wouldn't hiccup or giggle--, "but it is so . I don't know that I can do it. The blood tastes so--" The words left her as she continued to stare at him, her mind still swi mming with lust and partly-satiated hunger so that she couldn't convey the sheer ecstasy of the kill, the power and force and passion of it But his lips softened into a smile and she guessed that he read much of her feelings in her eyes and her soul as he always seemed to do. His fingers continued to hold her chin, but the nails did not dig into her flesh. LaCroix seated himself beside her and kept her face turned toward him, his free hand brushing back the hair from her shoulder. "Yes," he admitted, still smiling. "Yes, I know. I know you want to obey me. But you're still young." "I want to learn," promised Janette eagerly, following him with he r eyes as he reached behind her and gathered her shift from the floor. She looked down at the body of the man at her feet and nudged it with her toe, frowning slightly. "It's so difficult to maintain control. I've tried everything that you said. And it works--to a degree. But then I taste the blood and--" "Sssh!" said LaCroix soothingly. He pressed the shift into her hands. "It's my own fault. You've been such a apt pupil in everything else, I thought you might learn this quickly, as well. We can take our time, there's no hurry." "I don't want to disappoint you." How else could he respond to her wide eyes and sorrowful manner, but to kiss her lightly on the forehead? "We'll speak no more of it tonight. I'm not angry with you. But--I tidy up. And you must dress." Janette swung her feet against the silks that hung from the couch, but didn't move to dress. Instead, she watched as LaCroix lifted the body of the man easily over his shoulder. He walked to a door, opened it, then tossed the body on the stack of corpses that she could see even from where she sat. She'd had three tonight already, and the evening was yet young. The thought made something in her quicken, a flame that ignited suddenl y in her belly . . . and perhaps further down. She must have made a small sound because LaCroix looked up at her, as he leaned on the door. "Yes?" Janette slid the shift over her head in a fluid, graceful movement, then walked toward him, eyes downcast as she began to fix the ties in place. "Perhaps," she began thoughtfully, "I should try once more. The practice would not be bad." Glancing up at him from beneath fluttering eyes, she tried to appear contrite. "And I want to learn." With a push, he closed the door so that it slammed into place, then smi led at her. His hand raised to her cheek caressing it softly. "You've had three already and you're ready for a fourth? My, Janette, how greedy you are!" She hadn't fooled him. She she hadn't fooled him, but if it mad e him happy to pretend to be duped, she was willing to play along. "I only want to please ," she whispered taking a step toward him, adjusting the sleeves of his tunic, her fingers lightly caressing his cold flesh through the cloth. "It's only practice after all--" "Practice make perfect." He raised a hand to her hair and frowned--but again it was only pretense, as evinced by his tone of voice, "But, see, your hair is all in a snarl." "They'll never notice." "No, they won't." He touched his fingers to her lips and stepped back from her, pointing toward the door. "All right, go. But dress first and be quick about it. I don't intend to spend the rest of the evening watching you drain a generation of men from this city." Janette all but skipped to her dress, kicking aside the man's tunic and belt as she crossed the floor. She picked up her dress and weighed it in her hands. "Or--" she offered, still in the most hesitant of tones, "you might come with me and find something for yourself." With a flutter of lashes, she glanced over at LaCroix. "I'm still not very certain of this and I might learn better by example. If you'd be willing to show me . . . ?" "That's an excellent idea." Before she could struggle into her dress, LaCroix was at her side. He fussed over her, fixing the ties on her gown, then retrieving her cloak. After a moment, he stepped back and nodded, as if satisfied with her appearance. "But you pay close attention," he warned. Janette nodded gravely, barely able to contain a giggle. But then LaCr oix smiled as well, showing her that he was not that serious and that he knew when and under what circumstances her attention tended to stray. Taking her arm, he led her to the door. "Will we bring someone else across soon?" she asked, her head swimming with the life she'd stolen and which she could still taste on her tongue. "Once you learn control. And once we find the right one." She paused at the doorway and leaned against the wall, suddenly alarmed at this information. "The right one? How will we know he's the right one?" "I knew you were the right one, didn't I?" asked LaCroix, an eyebrow ra ised as if daring her to contradict him. She knew better than that. With a sigh, she joined him again. "It mig ht take a very long time." "It might. Or it might not. We'll have to see." Something sent a chill up her spine at his words, thrilling her. Janet te gave LaCroix a generous smile as she passed him and moved into the hallway, knowing that there would be many nights of blood ahead. And many nights of practicing her control, until she decided to tell LaCroix that she knew what she was doing and could stop whenever she wanted. Which might very well not be for a time . . . .