Shawn’s long red hair swept over her shoulder as she slipped her shoes off then bent to pull off her pants. She straightened, folding them neatly and placing them on a hanger which she then hung on the hook next to her, over her blouse and jacket. She turned in the small changing room and reached behind her, undoing her bra. The weight of her breasts pulled it down as she let the straps slide over her shoulders, and she hung the bra from the hook, as well. She felt a small tingle of excitement mixed with wariness, her eyes darting from side to side. Undressing in a public changing room always made her nervous, and yet also aroused her. It was the strange dichotomy she lived with, that within her was a deeply sensual, sexual person, an exhibitionist with an open mind willing to try anything, however lewd, but without she was tightly bound in society’s conventions, in the lessons ingrained in her by her parents since she was a little girl, and an absolute need for respect and dignity. She was not shy, but she was terribly conscious of her image, especially of her body image. She was an extremely attractive woman, but had never allowed herself to truly accept that. She had been a skinny, bespectacled, awkward, flat chested girl, the victim of taunts and teasing through most of her teenage years, until a spurt of growth had filled out her body and smoothed the angular lines of her face. Her hair had been a ragged mass of crinkly curls, impossible to tame when long, laughably unkempt when short, too dry, too thin, and a fierce, dark red. And while the curls had now softened into loose ringlets which were - almost - attractive - her hair was still, to her mind, a hideous mess. Her eyes were a bright, brilliant, amazing shade of green, but were, for the most part, hidden behind her glasses. She had inquired into laser surgery, now that she had money, only to be told her eyesight was too poor to be so easily corrected. And so she still wore glasses, if small ones, glasses which had made her feel ugly and inferior since the third grade, when she had donned them for the first time. Now twenty eight, Shawn was willing to admit she was no longer ugly, no longer even really unattractive. People had attempted to tell her she was actually quite pretty, but she put that off as patronising false compliments. Like many women, she was her own worse critic. She did not see her brilliant green eyes, lovely lashes, small, but sensuous lips or beautiful smile. She saw only her glasses. She did not see her long, lovely legs, but only cellulite in her thighs. She did not see her smooth, trim belly, but only her too thin hips. She did not notice her firm, full breasts, but only the slight sag to them. To her mind, her body was not at all like those beautiful models and actresses’ society held up as the standard bearers of beauty, and so, she was not beautiful. And yet she did enjoy the tactile pleasure of running her fingers over her downy smooth skin, of cupping and kneading her sensitive breasts, of posing and preening before her mirror in the privacy of her apartment. And in a small, locked box there she had all manner of sexual toys with which to vent her strong sexual urges without fear of rejection or ridicule, without losing her dignity where any could see. And beneath her always dignified exterior, her sleek, expensive business suits, she wore lingerie which would accentuate her body’s curves and give her a pleasant sense of secret sexual attractiveness. In particular, the only feature she was willing to admit was quite clearly beautiful, with only the occasional doubt or hesitation, was her bottom. It had filled out considerably from the flat, boyish rear she’d had as a teenager, and was now firm and rounded like an apple. And it looked absolutely marvellous in a thong. Which was what she was buying now. But it had to be a particular type of thong, a thong with thin strings slicing up high across the hips, and a very small, narrow triangle of fabric at the very top of her cleft. With her conservative upbringing she continued to think of thongs as wicked and sexual, despite how common they now were, and so it always gave her a little thrill to be wearing them beneath her suits. She slipped off her thong now, and then stepped into one of those she had brought with her. Again, nude now, she felt a little thrill of excitement, and paused to enjoy being naked with people all around her, a few feet on either side of the door and walls, their voices filling the air around her. She stepped into the dark blue thong, pulling it up her hips, then slipped the matching bra on and pulled it tight, adjusting the straps. When she was seventeen her breasts had grown two cup sizes and four inches in eight months. She was now a thirty-six D cup, and only her height - six feet, two inches, kept her from seeming busty. Which would have given her another reason to feel self conscious. She straightened her back and turned, rising slightly on the balls of her feet, examining her bottom in the mirror and nodding. The thong looked truly excellent on her. The bra did too, with triangles which firmly supported her breasts, yet were comfortable, which exposed the curving ivory flesh of her cleavage in a way which was pleasing to the eye - though only her eyes would ever see it. She shook her head and her hair fanned out around her head like a lion’s mane, spilling across her forehead, floating up above her, and twisting in from the sides so that she was constantly brushing it back. She removed the bra and then gasped at a sudden noise. But it was not someone shaking at the door’s handle, but only her cell phone. She felt suddenly even more naked, more self conscious, as the cell phone’s ring drew attention to that room. She snatched at her purse quickly and pulled it free. “Hello?” “Miss Frasier?” “Yes.” It felt odd speaking to someone wearing only a thong, with people still passing to and fro outside the change room. “Mr. Eldon Moore wishes to speak with you.” “All right,” she said cautiously. “In person,” the voice said dryly. “A helicopter will pick you up at pad twenty four at the airport in one hour.” “I’m sorry but - .” “Mr. Moore does not like to be kept waiting, as I’m sure you know. He is not a patient man. One hour, Miss Frasier.” “But - .” The phone clicked as he hung up, leaving her staring at it in irritation. She should have simply said no. No, and no again. She did not want to work for Eldon Moore again. She regretted having done it once. The man gave her the creeps. What good was having your own company, being your own boss; if you had to come running every time some asshole crooked his finger? And Moore was an asshole. There was absolutely no question about that. He was also seven kinds of nuts. And not a man to be spurned. She sighed and slipped off the thong, then pulled on her old things. She quickly tried three more bra and panty sets, deciding to buy two of them, then dressed and hurried out to the cash register. Her jeans and tank top were hardly appropriate for a meeting with a multi billionaire, but she had no time to go home or to the office if she was to get to the airport on time. She would keep her black jacket zipped. She put her bag in the back of the Ford Explorer (tinted glass, speed control, tilt steering, air conditioning, mouldable leather captain chairs, AM/FM stereo/ CD player, etc.), which was a gift of the federal government (a business expense), and headed For Washington National Airport. Elden Moore was notorious crank, notorious on an international level because he was also a filthy rich, immensely powerful crank. No one wanted to get on his bad side because there was no telling to what lengths he'd go to get even. Moore was well-known for running people out of business on a whim, something a multi-billionaire who ran one of the world's bigger multinationals could often do with ease. Shawn had met him five months earlier after her one girl agency had done a job for one of the subsidiaries of Moore's company. She'd been called in to an electronics factory to put a stop to employee theft that had gotten to epidemic proportions. Hidden cameras had caught everything from janitors slipping walkmans into their jumpers to senior office staff embezzling expense funds. When she'd arrived to present the videos Moore had been there, along with his ever-present bodyguards. That had been a shocker. It had taken a major effort to maintain her composure. Moore was not a particularly intimidating presence, but he was rude, arrogant and as obnoxious a man as she'd ever run across in her life. Luckily, once she'd started up the videos he'd lost interest in her entirely. He'd sat in the president's executive chair laughing gleefully as he watched them. He'd munched on popcorn and laughed out loud as he witnessed each new instance of theft. The factory managers who'd been lined up along the wall behind him were somewhat less enthusiastic, especially the ones who had been unwittingly caught on tape ripping off the company. Moore was known to have a thing about disloyalty. He took enormous offence at employees who didn't show sufficient gratitude to the throne, and it was rumoured Moore had an entire department dedicated to making the lives of people he was annoyed with miserable. After watching the tapes Moore got up, smiled all around, patted her cheek... and her behind, then left without a word. The next day bulldozers had arrived and knocked the factory down with all the stock and equipment still inside. Then everything was trucked to a landfill and ploughed under. Half the employees were transferred, the rest fired. All the managers were fired, the ones caught on tape arrested and sued. Moore had bought air time and played the videos on TV, and published still photos in the local papers where the former managers lived. Shawn wanted nothing to do with a man who could put her out of business on a whim, especially when he gave into his whims so often. She'd put a lot of time and effort into Tech Tron Consulting, not to mention every penny she owned. She'd gone for an upscale image from the start, while providing very specific services. She didn't call herself a private investigator because it carried too many images of seedy television PI's gunning down mobsters. Her company was high tech all the way, making extensive use of computers and computerized information. She did still have to get out and interview people sometimes, and even did some old-fashioned stakeouts, usually for insurance purposes. But the computers were the heart and soul of things now. Companies contacted her for information and the computers provided it. She pulled into National and parked, combed her hair as best she could, pulled it back into a loose braid, set the alarm and headed for the heliport. Half an hour later she was in a Bell-100 heading west. The scenery was nice but it didn't do much to distract her from her dilemma. Working for Moore was dangerous, but turning Moore down was even more dangerous. All she could hope was that whatever he wanted was fairly easy to accomplish and she could be rid of him quickly. The helicopter settled gently onto the pad next to an enormous ranch style house surrounded by broad lawns and gardens. She'd heard about Moore's private little paradise but never expected... or wanted to actually see it. She braced herself against the largesse Moore was famous for, determined to maintain an air of professional detachment no matter what. Two enormous men wearing expensively tailored blue suits escorted her to the house. They were both extremely handsome, like a pair of male models, and she wondered if Moore selected all his employees for their looks. She'd heard enough about the women but hadn't thought he did the same with men. The front doors were at least ten feet high. They were covered in gold with an intricately cut family crest spreading across them. Inside was all marble, crystal and mahogany. The floors gleamed. Surprisingly, directly in front of her was a rail looking out on the several lower floors. What had seemed like a single story ranch house was built on the edge of a hill and the far end of it was made up of a fifty foot high wall of glass. Enormous multi layered crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling, and past them, just inside the glass wall, was an enormous oak tree, beneath which as a pond, gardens and a waterfall spilling down one rocky wall. The guard had closed the door behind him, but now another showed, and her eyes widened. He wore a robe of some kind, with Moore’s crest on the chest. The crest was set just in front of a large blue cross - as if the man were a crusader or something. Even more bizarrely, he had what seemed to be a machine pistol at his left hip, and a long dagger at his right. “This way,” the guard said, nodding to her right. “There a costume party or something?” she asked doubtfully. He jerked his head curtly to the left, not speaking. She followed him, impressed despite herself, as they circled to an open style elevator and stepped inside. The floor fell sank beneath her feet. It was slightly unnerving to have no walls or rails, but the ride was smooth as the floor dropped her to the lowest level and she stepped out onto more marble. A few feet ahead it turned into grass - real or false she didn’t know, and Moore, sitting on a chaise lounge next to the pond sipping on some fruity drink and speaking on a cell phone. He ignored her, and she looked around. It was some view. The pond was seventy or eighty feet across. The tree sprouted from a small, neat, round island in its centre. A wall of what had to be faux rock rose up to the right, and the water spilled down it into the pond below. Past the tree, the land fell away further so she had a view of the entire valley, and distant homes and buildings. Off to the left she saw another robed guard, also wearing a machine pistol, and standing before a twenty foot high silver cross rising from the floor. She shook her head. Moore was getting wackier every day. There were rumours he had thrown his support to Campbell Rutherford, the born again fundamentalist politician who was trying to build enough support to make a run at the Republican Party nomination in the next election. Given his wealth and power that support would be considerable. Moore hung up and looked at her. She made an attempt at a pleasant smile. “Miss Frasier,” he said, looking her up and down. “I have a job for you.” “Well, I am a little busy at the moment, Mr. Moore,” she said. “You’ll understand how my reputation requires...” “I’ll pay a flat rate of one million dollars.” She halted in mid-word, staring at him. “It’s dangerous, however. Very dangerous.” “Uhm, you know I’m not a former FBI agent or cop like some...” “This isn’t a job which can be done face to face. They’ll know in a second if... never mind. I need someone good with computers. Computers, robots, mindless. They ought to be safe,” he said to himself, nodding a little. Shawn stared at him. “But first I have to make sure you’re not one of them.” “Uhm, one of whom, sir?” He gave her a tight, sneaky little smile. “Whom indeed, Miss. Frasier. Whom indeed? Only the greatest threat mankind has ever faced. Only the evil warned of since biblical times.” He had snapped. That was the only explanation. Still, a million dollars! “Go with Peter and see. We’ll see how the monster reacts to you. We’ll see how you react to him. We’ll see. Oh yes. Oh yes, we’ll see. When you come back you’ll know what has to be done. You’ll know.” He gave her a smirking grin and she shook her head for a moment, forgetting herself. Then the robed guard took her arm and led her to one side, beneath a wide, rounded stairwell leading up, and then into a narrow corridor. “What is going on? Has the old man lost his mind?” she asked anxiously. He didn’t answer. At the end of the corridor was a steel door bracketed by two more robed men. One of them pressed a button and the door slid smoothly aside. It was at least six inches thick, and Shawn stared at it in disbelief. The corridor beyond led downwards, curving into the hillside. It was very brightly lit with what looked like the kind of lamps used in tanning salons. She drew on a pair of sunglasses and shook her head at the heat pouring down. The corridor widened and as it turned she saw another steel door, again bracketed by gun wielding guards. This slid up and they walked into near darkness, or so it seemed compared to the absurdly lit corridor. Several Asian men were inside, like the others, carrying automatic pistols. The guard leading her spoke to them, but Shawn did not recognize the language. The Asian men nodded, glowering at her, then two of them led her deeper into the dimly lit room to another steel door. Heavy bolts were drawn back, and then she was led down a steep, narrow flight of stairs to emerge in another corridor. Yet another heavy door just to one side was unbolted and opened. Inside was a room, perhaps twelve feet square. It was empty, but its centre consisted of a cage made of iron bars as thick as her arm. The cage was eight feet high and perhaps the same wide and long. Inside sat a nude man. He was tall, but cadaverously thin, his ribs visible beneath his skinny chest, his hip bones protruding. He had sunken eyes which seemed to glow darkly as he stared at them. “What in the...” The front of the cage had a small entrance tunnel, blocked at both ends by iron doors. One of the guards slid the first one up as she gaped at the man in the cage, then the other roughly thrust her through. She stumbled, clutching the bars and turning”Hey!” The outer door clanged shut and the two men quickly locked and bolted it. “What are you doing?” she demanded. She glanced up at the nearest corner, at the television camera there. “What is going on!?” she demanded angrily. One of the men moved to the side and she heard the inner door cranking open. She whirled, her heart pounding as nude man’s eyes gleamed. He rose from the floor, and she thought she might have heard his bones creaking. He seemed old, worn out, barely able to stand, but even so she saw his cock was thickening. And what a cock it was! The thing hung halfway to his knees! And she backed against the outer door as he shambled forward. “If you don’t want me to hurt him get him back!” she cried, fear and anxiety raising her voice several pitches higher. He entered the narrow entrance, his hands, like clawed, stretched out to her. Shawn was a fourth degree black belt and though wildly disconcerted, knew how to handle men attacking her. She reached for one wrist, gripping it tightly, and twisted. It was like trying to twist steel. He came on, pushing her hands aside as easily as a grown man with a four year old child. And then he was slamming her against the bars, crushing the light out of her. His left hand gripped her long hair, twisting it roughly back so that her throat was exposed, and he growled as his teeth sank into her exposed throat. She rammed a foot into his knee, drove a fist into his side, clawed at his chest. None of it drew the slightest reaction, and suddenly she felt an intense pain at the side of her throat, a sharp, piercing pain that made her cry out. She continued to struggle, his face buried in the nape of her neck. He should have been as easy to dislodge as a scarecrow, yet even throwing all her weight against him did nothing. She felt him sucking at her throat, sucking, swallowing, again and again. She could actually, incredibly, feel the flow of blood as he gulped it down. Her heart pounded, her body spasming and twisting. She whimpered, helpless, terrified now. She felt herself growing weaker, felt faint. Black dots danced before her eyes and she felt herself sinking into a peaceful haze. He pulled his head back, and she saw the blood covering long fangs and sharp teeth. His face seemed different now, stronger, less pale, fleshing out. He backed up, gripping her by the front of her jacket bunched in a suddenly meaty fist. He dragged her along as if she were weightless, dragged her back into the centre of the cage. She hung from his fist, eyes glazed, legs dragging on the floor, looking up at him. Blood dripped down from her throat and trickled into the front of her blouse, then down between her breasts. He pulled her up higher and licked a long, slow trail across the wounded side of her throat. She felt a shudder inside her, an easing of a pain she hadn’t been aware of. Then he threw her onto the floor so hard her glasses slipped off and bounced away, dropping atop her. Her tank top and jacket were torn open and off her as though made of paper, exposing her filmy green lace bra. Then her jeans were torn off, even the belt ripped in two. She felt no embarrassment, only a strange, soft, sense of contentment as he stripped her nude and roughly forced her legs wide. He knelt between them, his face hovering over hers, and then he bent in and licked a slow trail down the middle of her chest, following the line of blood, down onto her right breast, slowly circling in towards the nipple. He raised his face and his jaw opened wide to reveal a predator’s teeth. There were fangs on both sides, upper and lower, each more than an inch long and curved slightly inwards. He hissed at her and then his mouth plunged down, his jaw closing on the centre of her breast. She shuddered as his teeth pierced her breast, driving deep into the soft, warm flesh, drawing it up into his mouth. Her back arched weakly and her hands trembled on the floor beside her. His tongue slid slowly, sensuously, hotly over her nipple. He began to suckle, his tongue swirling and twisting, his breath pulling at her nipple in long, deep, rhythmic, suctioning actions. It was like nothing she had ever felt in her life, and the centre of her breast burned and throbbed and tingled. He drew his head back and her nipple continued to crackle with sensations which were midway between pleasure and pain. Her eyes lost focus, then cleared. Her nipple was swollen to an absurd size, pulsing and throbbing with a life of its own. It was bracketed by four neat round holes. Tiny trickles of blood oozed slowly from each. And then his mouth bit into her other breast and again she shuddered, arching her back, her legs spasming on the floor as she gurgled at the pain. Again his tongue slid over her nipple with an immensely sensual feeling that sent a flood of heat into her loins. She found it difficult to breath, and gulped air in small, quick, desperate panting breaths. She felt intensely weak, drained. Fear began to rise in her, yet she could not bring herself to move. His head rose again, bloody fangs exposed as he leered down at her. He moved with sinuous speed now, and she wondered in a dreamy way, how he had gone from a shambling ruin to this so quickly. His mouth darted down, like a snake striking, and she cried out again as he bit into her arm just below her shoulder, then into the side of her left breast, then into her belly, teeth driving deep. His hands gripped her thighs and yanked them up and painfully wide, lifting her lower torso off the floor and holding it with ease as he struck again. His wide mouth closed on her groin and the four needle sharp fangs drove deep into her soft flesh. She gurgled helplessly, her head rolling behind her, beneath her as he hefted her lower torso higher. She felt his tongue coast wetly along her slit, then push between her pussy lips. It felt like a wet, slimy snake as it pierced her and drove shockingly, impossibly deep into her sex. She felt it intimately caressing the walls of her sex, stroking and coiling, twisting and squirming inside her. She grunted and gasped as it drove deeper, and yet deeper, and then it was licking at her cervix, teasing and caressing her there as her insides squirmed and spasmed. The long, thick tongue withdrew, then slid across her clitoris like a hot, wet snake. The orgasm came unbidden, flowing through her groin, spilling out of her sex and sweeping up through her nervous system. She bucked frenziedly, her muscles spasming and jerking as the heat of climax washed over her. He dropped her legs onto the floor, splayed wide, and gripped his manhood, now thick and long, thrusting the uncircumcised head against her moist opening. He thrust into her with brutal force, and the pain was such that she finally could scream, split open, the lips of her sex torn apart by brute force as his cock, thick as a baseball bat, was rammed down the narrow, constricted tunnel of her sex. His weight fell atop her writhing, twisting body, and his hand gripped her hair to still her thrashing head. His mouth closed on hers and she felt his fangs driven into her as his tongue slid across her own, crushing it down against the base of her mouth. A sudden thrust and she screamed into his mouth as his cock drove deeper still, ramming against the base of her sex, against her cervix, then past. It was purest agony. And she came, the orgasm more powerful than anything she had ever experienced, anything she had ever imagined. He was all but eating at her mouth, his sharp teeth and writhing tongue twisting and biting as he growled wildly. She tasted blood, and felt the suction of his mouth as he drew it into his own mouth. His cock was driving in and out of her now, spearing her, driving deep into her abdomen with every agonizing thrust. The orgasm grew and spread. Every fibre of her being swooned to the glorious pleasure. Between her legs, in her burning lower belly, she felt the orgasm shift, change, and grow still more powerful. Yet it was unlike any she had ever felt, for it began to break up, from a long, continuous roar into tiny, wondrous explosions of purest ecstasy coinciding with every thrust of his monstrous cock. Again and again and again and again they orgasms tore through her, each like a bolt of lightning, striking her and surging through her bones and nerves and sinew until her body writhed and twisted in helpless convulsions. She had never felt such pleasure or such pain. She could feel the tip of his cock now and it had driven well past her cervix. He had torn through the back wall of her sex, she knew, and the tip was driving up into the base of her belly, prodding at her stomach. And yet she did not care. The glorious pleasure rolled her mind over and over and over, and she had no thought but for the wonders of the sexual electricity coursing through her body and fading. Pain drew her out of her reverie, the pain of his fist in her hair, yanking her head cruelly back as he snarled down at her. Her eyes fluttered weakly, and she murmured against his wrist as he jammed it into her mouth. Warm blood dripped from a cut in his wrist onto her tongue and her entire body spasmed at its touch. Her mouth burned and she tried to twist away. His fist tightened in her hair, forcing her head back. His wrist bruised her lips as he jammed it harder into her mouth. Blood trickled softly into her mouth and down her throat, and a dark, terrible heat followed as he held her tightly against his body. Her legs kicked and spasmed, her arms flopping and bouncing on the floor of the cage. The world faded into blackness. And then shadows fell slowly away and she heard a soft, weak groan. Her eyes fluttered and then slowly, ever so slowly, opened to see bars overhead. Her mind remained in a state of semi conscious confusion for long minutes. Then clarity began to appear, and memory surfaced. She groaned again, and reached out, fingers closing around thick iron bars by her head. She dragged herself to a sitting position, fighting off dizziness. The world came into a semblance of focus. She closed her eyes, squinting. The light seemed unusually bright, and her vision oddly clear, though she wasn’t wearing her glasses. She could make out his shape across from her, and even his face as he watched her with cool, grey eyes. She abruptly remembered her nudity, and then what he had done to her. She cringed, both mentally and physically, drawing her knees up against her chest, gasping in pain as they pressed in against her breasts. The sting was enough to jerk her eyes downwards. Her breasts were covered in bite marks, in dark bruised, discoloured areas where the blood had been sucked to the surface of the skin. Her nipples were fat and swollen as small raspberries, aching to the touch. There was something wrong with her vision. Everything seemed unnaturally sharp and clear around her. She could even see her glasses lying on the floor five feet away. She shouldn’t have been able to see them, not at that distance. Perhaps it was the bright light. The man sitting across from her bore only a faint resemblance to the one she remembered. This man too was nude. But his chest was powerfully built, his shoulders broad, his hips well muscled, his legs thick and strong. His face was filled out, his hair lush and soft as it flowed around his face. He looked back at her, but without any great interest or curiosity. Shawn grunted with pain as she moved. Her entire body felt like one vast bruise, and she had an ache deep inside her belly. Not taking her eyes off him she slowly dragged herself further away, to the farthest extent the cage permitted and sat huddled there, trying to inspect herself while still keeping her eyes on him. She had scooped up her glasses along the way, and slipped them on, yet while her vision sharpened everything continued to look blurry. She wondered if she had a concussion. She dropped a hand to her sex, then, and winced. He had torn her open, and her sex felt raw and swollen, so swollen it hurt to even try to slide a finger into her body. Suddenly she noticed bowls of fruit and a pot of water in the next corner. In an instant she was ravenous. All but ignoring her own pain, fear and embarrassment she slid along the bars to the food, snatched up an apple, and bit into it. The warm liquid trickled into her parched throat and she moaned in relief from a thirst she had not realized she possessed. She finished it to the core in seconds, then bit into an apple, her teeth tearing at the flesh. A grapefruit, three bananas and a half dozen more oranges went into her mouth, and then weakness overcame her and she sank against the bars, fighting and failing to keep her eyes open. She woke again. This time she came out of the darkness quicker. Her mind felt sharper, her body very much recovered. The pain had largely faded, though she still felt an ache deep in her belly. The man was still there, as if he had not moved at all. Perhaps he hadn’t. Her nipples were still swollen, still tingled at a touch. Her sex lips were less swollen, much less sore. Her hunger remained, and she feasted on several more grapefruit and oranges as she stared at him, squinting, her vision still blurry. “Who are you?” she asked finally, her throat raw, her voice gravelly. He ignored her. “What are you?” She might as well have not spoken at all. “Bastard,” she snarled under her breath. His head turned at last, his eyes tightening and - . Shawn blinked and her vision seemed to fog for an instant. Her hands, which had been gripping a half eaten banana, fell away, dropping it to the floor. She leaned forward unconsciously, her hands dropping to the floor without her realizing it. Then she was drawing her knees beneath her, crawling slowly across the floor towards him. Her eyes never left his, did not blink, did not see anything around her. She was lost in those eyes, those dark, bottomless eyes. She crawled to his feet, crawled up his legs, her eyes seeking his, transfixed, despite his blurred image. He gripped her long, braided hair and twisted her onto her back as he dragged her up across his lap. Her eyes broke free of his and for an instant she started, as if suddenly waking. Then she was caught again as he looked down at her, and she stared in dazed confusion. His free hand moved over her breasts, and she shuddered as he pressed his thumb and forefinger against her nipple, catching it between them, squeezing and rolling it so that it burned and throbbed and made her entire breast pulse with need. His fingers sank into the soft flesh of her breast, kneading it almost carelessly, then glided down her body, between her legs. She whimpered in pain as he pierced her, as his long, thin fingers drove up into her body. And then she cried out as she came, her body writhing, back arching as pleasure washed over her. He forced her head up and she saw him drag his sharpened fangs across his wrist. Blood flowed, and she stared, stupefied, as he jammed his wrist against her mouth. His blood was too hot, the taste like acid as it flowed into her mouth. She jerked convulsively, her hands rising, gripping his arm, trying to tear it away. Yet he held her easily, and she thought her entire head would burst into flames as the heat poured through her mouth and down her throat. Then he flung her off him and she went sprawling onto the floor. The world swam around her, colours shifting and changing, everything doubling, moving in and out of focus. She was hardly aware of his fist in her hair, his hand beneath her groin as he yanked her up onto all fours and moved behind her. Her arms gave way almost at once, her chest and face and shoulders dropping to the floor. Yet he held her hips aloft, kneeing her thighs apart. She felt the pressure against her sex but only as a distant thing. She was drunk, and more than drunk, high on - on nothing she could understand, her mind floating amid a scalding heat even as he rammed himself into her from behind. She became aware of the pain now - vaguely - but neither understood its source or even what it was. She grunted as his hips slammed into her upraised bottom, grunted and jerked repeatedly on the floor as he hammered himself against her from behind. Her insides ached, burned as his long, thick tool sliced through the still aching flesh and up into her belly. The world shook violently, or her body did, as she was pummelled by the force of his thrusts. Again she felt her sex tunnel torn, felt his cock, impossibly long, thrusting up into her abdominal cavity, punching against her very stomach - from the inside. The pain was terrible, but still she did not care. Her long hair wrapped around his wrist and gripped in his fist, he yanked her head up, raising her upper body from the floor and holding it before him as he pounded against her. His right hand moved beneath her, crushing her breast in a cruel grip. She mewled dazedly, but showed no other response. He yanked her head up and back and bit into the side of her throat, his incisors sinking deep into her flesh. The climax spilled through her body, and warbling moans of nearly insensible pleasure poured from her open mouth. Shawn hardly knew who she was, much less what was going on. And did not care. She had no more mind than an animal, and reacted as an animal, writhing in the grip of unknown but wondrous pleasure. She felt the tight, taut grip of her sex lips around the fat shaft of his cock, felt the hard, rasping caress of his flesh as that shaft pumped wildly back and forth. Deep within her, she felt the hard punch of his cock against something too high, far too high in her belly. She could feel how slick that shaft was at it moved in and out of her, far too slick to be coated by her juices. The orgasm was like fire playing along the nerve endings of her body, and she thrashed and twisted mindlessly in the throes of a firestorm of pleasure.