Stone's Thirst

Chapter 3: Sweetener

The blood bag was sitting in the office chair, facing the door, with Watson positioned behind her. They were speaking quietly as Professor Stone stood off to the side, hands tucked nonchalantly in her suit pockets.

“Is here all right?" Watson asked softly, pressing his first two fingers just above the girl's collarbone. The girl nodded, tensely. She was clearly doing her best to be impassive, but she couldn't contain the shiver as the vampire's cold fingertips touched her flesh. My heart hurt for her. She clearly wasn't cut out for this line of work.

Professor Stone stood icily beautiful behind the girl, giving her another evaluative gaze. I was sure she couldn't see me on the other side of the door, but my own stomach clenched with nerves. What was I doing? I was jeopardizing everything this assistantship could represent. But still…my curiosity was terrible.

“It didn't say on your profile," Watson was saying quietly by the girl's ear. “But are you open to adding a little sweetener?"

The confusion on the girl's face was clear, as I'm sure it would have been on mine.

“Watson, stop. She doesn't know."

Professor Stone stepped forward, standing tall and sleek in front of the girl. The blood bag looked up at her with a stare that was half awe and half terror.

“Forgive my partner," murmured the professor, her voice softening from its crystal-and-steel tenor. “He is overeager and impatient. A fault of youth. His little crass term, sweetener, is a bit of an industry shorthand. You see, the flavor of human blood is affected by the chemicals—hormones, endorphins—that are pumped into it, which in turn are triggered by emotion. Blood tastes its best when the person is experiencing terror…"

The girl's eyes went round.

“…or s****l pleasure."

“Oh," breathed the blood bag.

“It's rather archaic to feed on terror," Professor Stone continued in that same, softened voice—dark and velvety. “And honestly, it's a bit of a cliche too. Watson is asking your permission to add sweetener of the second variety."

The girl seemed to go stiff, her hands clasped together so hard the knuckles went white.

“It is entirely optional," soothed the professor, crouching down and laying one graceful hand over the girl's shaking ones. “And as always, you may leave at any time. If this isn't something you're comfortable with—"

“Oh, um," stuttered the girl, cutting her off. “I mean…I am comfortable with it. I'd like to. Yes."

“Are you sure?" asked Watson gently. “It's completely up to you."

“Yes," said the girl, more firmly this time. “Please."

Watson smiled at his wife over the girl's shoulder, a warm, conspiratorial look. His lips grazed the girl's neck, and she flinched, but he just began kissing her, down, down to her shoulder. Her tensed muscles relaxed by degrees. At the same time, his hand trailed forward down her chest, cupping one small breast, fingertips pressing and messaging into the thin silk. The girl's breath caught, and her eyes began to close, her n*****s hardening.

I pressed my hand over my mouth. My heart was beating faster and faster, and the tightness in my stomach seemed to be taking on a different, more urgent tension.

I froze as Professor Stone began to move, long fingers slowly and deliberately unbuttoning the blood bag's blouse. She pulled it away to reveal a narrow, ribby torso with tiny breasts, heaving with deep, anticipatory breaths. All the girl's tension seemed to be melting, transforming. Watson's kisses pressed more firmly against her flesh. He pressed her backward against him as her shirt fell open and her bralette unfastened, falling in a pink lacy puddle to the floor.

Slowly, Professor Stone rose, moving around the back of the blood bag's chair, draping herself over the girl's other shoulder alongside Watson. With cool, feline certainty, she cradled the girl's chin in her hand and tilted her head back, planting a long, throbbing kiss against the girl's lips. The professor's hair tumbled dark and loose, falling together with the girl's pale blond. I saw the girl's body go slack, her tensed legs relaxing.

Watson pulled the blouse down the girl's arms, wrapping it in a silken makeshift binding around her wrists behind her.

“You like this?" I barely caught his whisper through the ragged, rising sound of the blood bag's breathing.

“Yes," she half-moaned. “Yes."

Professor Stone's hand drifted leisurely down from the girl's chin to her breasts, trailing a fingertip down the taut line at the center of the blood bag's belly.

Oh, I thought, half-horrified, half-eager. Surely not.

She dipped her fingers underneath the waistline of the girl's slacks. The girl groaned audibly into the kiss, her throat tightening as the professor's fingers moved below the fabric, patient, slow, and then faster and faster. The blood bag let out a whine of pleasure, arching her back and pressing her hips forward. Watson's big hands massaged her breasts, toying with her hardened n*****s.

I felt her pleasure echoing in my body. My groin was throbbing with a quick, firm urgency. I wanted to be the one in that chair, bound and tormented. Just admitting that to myself made my face go warm.

Then, with evident relish, the professor slid her lips away from the kiss, leaving the girl with head thrown back, gasping sharply through the surges of pleasure. Watson lowered his head to the girl's left shoulder as the professor pressed a kiss against her right. The girl was lost in pleasure, eyes shut, rocking with the tides of the professor's hand against her clit.

In an instant, their lips drew back, revealing dagger-sharp, pearl-colored fangs. The professor and her companion sank their teeth into the girl's flesh, just above in collarbone, as the girl's thighs began to tremble toward climax. The girl's eyes sprang open. There was a half-second of shock—maybe fear, maybe pain—in her eyes. But then a glaze of bliss settled over them, as if the pain was nothing in the swell of sweet release.

The vampires drew the blood out of her in long drags. I could hear it, like the sound of someone slurping their whiskey: greedy, powerful draws as the girl bucked and shuddered with pleasure. Her legs shook, heels fixed against the ground as her stomach muscles convulsed. Her hips rose in one final, desperate press—more, more—before she slumped limp back down into the chair, gasping, as the vampires fed.

Her face seemed to go paler and paler by degrees, the pink draining from her smiling lips. She was in an utter, helpless daze of pleasure. Her feet twitched against the floor as the couple drank and drank.

That's when Professor Stone raised her head, vivid red blood dribbling down her chin. She looked more beautiful than ever, a fierce, animal beauty with an iron edge of bright danger. Her black eyes were predator-bright, like a scenting tiger.

It took me a second too long to realize those dangerous eyes were staring at the keyhole: straight at me.