moist nook.
But she couldn’t speak. She was too hungry for words.
“Ask me,” I repeated.
“Please,” she managed between shallow breaths. One of her hands began grabbing desperately at her corset, trying to relieve the pressure.
I increased the pace of gliding up and down her misty petals, pressing harder against her. Her breath coming faster and faster until I brought her. She cried out in delight as her body drenched me with its pleasure.
It was all I could take. I plunged inside her, giving her what we both wanted. Grabbing her hips with both hands, I crashed into her repeatedly, watching her scarlet bustle dance along with us. She came again and again, singing her exultation into the night, but I held out.
I withdrew from her, still throbbing, and threw her up onto the bed. She turned over and looked at me, face flush. She grabbed at her bodice again, probably unable to breathe in her restraints. I didn’t care about how to carefully get into her dress anymore, so I ripped it open to the corset and then ripped that down the seams. No time for unlacing. Her breasts, now free, swelled in her excitement. I gripped one, teasing her nipple with my tongue before moving on to the other.
She took a deep breath and pulled me on top of her, kissing me deeply. She angled her hips toward me, and I slid back inside her, more gently this time, allowing her to kiss me as I rocked against her. She met each thrust in kind.
I had always been amazed at the passion of these High Society London women. All the stuffiness and etiquette that had been strapped so tightly inside their corset was unleashed in the bedroom. Good for me.
We moved together faster and harder, until she came again. She threw her head back and cried out, loudly. Surely the party below had to be able to hear us, but I didn’t care about that. Not now. For now it was my turn. I bore down on her, grabbing her shoulders as I thrust deeper and deeper inside her. Her head was still thrown back in ecstasy, giving me the perfect opportunity. I ripped the pearl choker from her throat. My fangs descended and I plunged them into her neck while still thrusting inside her. She screamed, but not in terror, in euphoria again.
I exploded inside her just as her blood began to gush into my mouth. I held her beneath me as she began to squirm. She was shouting something, but I didn’t hear words. I was too engulfed in the rapture of her blood. I drank deep, and I heard her heartbeat begin to slow. Before I could bring myself to pull away, it had stopped all together.
I had lost control in my passion and killed her. I had only intended to feed and then wipe her memory of it.
Oh well.
I withdrew from her and redressed. Her blood, the little I had left, trickled down the side of her throat and stained the ivory bed, coloring it to match her fine gown. I ripped some lace off the canopy and wiped my mouth clean.
There she lay. Legs spread wide. Breasts lolled out. Glassy eyes of death: a vision.
Still, must allow her some dignity, I thought, so I straightened her legs and covered her up with her skirts. She probably wouldn’t be found until morning or perhaps afternoon. Not until the chambermaid did her rounds. This was a guest room, so it was low priority without a guest present.
I pulled my watch out of the small pocket in my waistcoat and looked at the time.
I still had hours before dawn.
Perhaps a dance or two before I retire.
###
Thank you for taking time to read Caught in the Cogs, Volume One. If you enjoyed it, please tell your friends & family about it! Read more of O. M. Grey’s poetry and articles on her blog “Caught in the Cogs” http://omgrey.wordpress.com .
Also discover other Blue Moose Press titles at Smashwords.com
https://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/rowanofthewood
About the Author
O. M. Grey dreams of the dark streets of London and the decadent deeds that occur after sunset. She dons a tight corset, a
But she couldn’t speak. She was too hungry for words.
“Ask me,” I repeated.
“Please,” she managed between shallow breaths. One of her hands began grabbing desperately at her corset, trying to relieve the pressure.
I increased the pace of gliding up and down her misty petals, pressing harder against her. Her breath coming faster and faster until I brought her. She cried out in delight as her body drenched me with its pleasure.
It was all I could take. I plunged inside her, giving her what we both wanted. Grabbing her hips with both hands, I crashed into her repeatedly, watching her scarlet bustle dance along with us. She came again and again, singing her exultation into the night, but I held out.
I withdrew from her, still throbbing, and threw her up onto the bed. She turned over and looked at me, face flush. She grabbed at her bodice again, probably unable to breathe in her restraints. I didn’t care about how to carefully get into her dress anymore, so I ripped it open to the corset and then ripped that down the seams. No time for unlacing. Her breasts, now free, swelled in her excitement. I gripped one, teasing her nipple with my tongue before moving on to the other.
She took a deep breath and pulled me on top of her, kissing me deeply. She angled her hips toward me, and I slid back inside her, more gently this time, allowing her to kiss me as I rocked against her. She met each thrust in kind.
I had always been amazed at the passion of these High Society London women. All the stuffiness and etiquette that had been strapped so tightly inside their corset was unleashed in the bedroom. Good for me.
We moved together faster and harder, until she came again. She threw her head back and cried out, loudly. Surely the party below had to be able to hear us, but I didn’t care about that. Not now. For now it was my turn. I bore down on her, grabbing her shoulders as I thrust deeper and deeper inside her. Her head was still thrown back in ecstasy, giving me the perfect opportunity. I ripped the pearl choker from her throat. My fangs descended and I plunged them into her neck while still thrusting inside her. She screamed, but not in terror, in euphoria again.
I exploded inside her just as her blood began to gush into my mouth. I held her beneath me as she began to squirm. She was shouting something, but I didn’t hear words. I was too engulfed in the rapture of her blood. I drank deep, and I heard her heartbeat begin to slow. Before I could bring myself to pull away, it had stopped all together.
I had lost control in my passion and killed her. I had only intended to feed and then wipe her memory of it.
Oh well.
I withdrew from her and redressed. Her blood, the little I had left, trickled down the side of her throat and stained the ivory bed, coloring it to match her fine gown. I ripped some lace off the canopy and wiped my mouth clean.
There she lay. Legs spread wide. Breasts lolled out. Glassy eyes of death: a vision.
Still, must allow her some dignity, I thought, so I straightened her legs and covered her up with her skirts. She probably wouldn’t be found until morning or perhaps afternoon. Not until the chambermaid did her rounds. This was a guest room, so it was low priority without a guest present.
I pulled my watch out of the small pocket in my waistcoat and looked at the time.
I still had hours before dawn.
Perhaps a dance or two before I retire.
###
Thank you for taking time to read Caught in the Cogs, Volume One. If you enjoyed it, please tell your friends & family about it! Read more of O. M. Grey’s poetry and articles on her blog “Caught in the Cogs” http://omgrey.wordpress.com .
Also discover other Blue Moose Press titles at Smashwords.com
https://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/rowanofthewood
About the Author
O. M. Grey dreams of the dark streets of London and the decadent deeds that occur after sunset. She dons a tight corset, a
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