The Weight of Your Eyes on My Neck

Upon awakening, my gaze fell upon the bedroom's crimson door, its handle gracefully arcing into the frame. Standing nearby was a familiar gentleman, clearly just returned from a hunt. You see, this duke had a peculiar penchant: whenever he ventured out food, he insisted on wearing white gloves. "White is both the purest and the most sullied color in the world. It can be immaculate, yet it is also susceptible to being tainted by all manner of hues. And I happen to relish its tainted state," he remarked. Having spoken these words, he procured a tall goblet and hoisted it over a man sprawled across the dining table. The unfortunate creature bore a bloody puncture in his neck, from which wisps of steam still emanated. Tilting the man's head to the side and placing it face down, the duke allowed the thick, crimson liquid to spatter against the insides of the goblet, with a few stray droplets staining his pristine white glove. After a considerable pause, he casually discarded the man's lifeless form like refuse, then pinching the rim of the goblet, he presented me with this "nectar." "Your eyes are quite captivating, reminiscent of a pair I believe I once encountered in the human world," he mused, though his smile exuded a frostiness that belied its warmth. No Bloodhound spy cared to associate with the term "human," and I was no exception. Without hesitation, I seized the goblet and drained its contents. I even ran my tongue along the rim, eradicating every trace of the liquid, the friction between my fangs and the glass emitting a grating sound. These actions served to demonstrate that I too was an elegant vampire, craving blood. Suppressing the urge to retch, I returned the goblet to its rightful owner, offering a smile honed through endless practice. "Not at all, your grace. Your eyes are truly bewitching." As he shaking the goblet, his pinky brushed against the back of my hand. "So, have I stolen your soul, my beautiful lady?" he inquired. Dabbing at the corner of my mouth with a handkerchief, I replied, "Perhaps next time." He then gallantly inclined, bestowing a kiss upon the back of my hand, a true epitome of gentlemanly conduct. Straightening up, he murmured near to my ear, "Next time we meet, I hope you will call me Xander." Our first encounter, and Christopher had coerced me into imbibing human blood. That night, I consumed an excess of emetics, digging my fingers into my throat and forcing myself to vomit until there was nothing left. I loathed blood and everything red, as it evoked thoughts of slaughter and death. I still vividly remember the desiccated shell of the human drained by the vampire, resembling a layer of plaster peeled from a wall, only much thicker and rigid. Yet, strangely enough, I no longer recall the putrid taste of blood that penetrated to my very marrow on that day. Instead, the memory of Christopher's white gloves and those mesmerizing, unfathomable purple irises lingered like a haunting nightmare, deeply etched into the recesses of my mind. Truly, he was a gentleman. Even though he controlled my actions with an object, he didn't forget to place me on the soft leather sofa he had purchased for me. I exposed my back to him and shook the intriguing device that bound my hands, playfully asking, "What is this, a new fetish?" "This thing," he said, pulling a copper key from his pocket and inserting it into the lock on the door, "was called 'shackles' by the ancient Easterners." He turned the key twice, and I heard the sound of the lock clicking. My heart rate quickened slightly as I glanced at his still snow-white gloves and feigned calmness. "It seems your hunting expedition wasn't very successful today." "Last night, an elder from the Council died in his study with a hole in his head from a silver bullet soaked in holy water," he approached, gripping my jaw forcefully and raising it mockingly. "Ah...such a pity for the painting of 'The Last Supper' in his study. I remember he personally had it stripped from the wall. Such a shame." "It's truly unfortunate news," I forced myself to meet his gaze. "Any leads?" "Not yet," he tightened his grip on my jaw. "But that kind of bullet is a dangerous toy favored by blood hunters. So, I suppose it might be the work of a certain little wildcat in the mansion." I felt my throat dry up and mechanically swallowed in search of moisture. "... Perhaps you should thoroughly examine the new human servants who have arrived." "No need to worry. If anyone dares to act audaciously... I'll send them to the next tea party." With that, his fingertips ruthlessly probed into my mouth, and one finger alone couldn't satisfy him. So he added two more. It felt as if I were enveloping his genital, my mouth stretched to its limits, with my tongue taking the lead and my teeth playing a supporting role. The muscles in my soft oral cavity contracted involuntarily as I swallowed his three fingers. The silk gloves from the ancient Eastern country became wet with saliva, gradually staining and drooling from the corner of my mouth onto my partially exposed collarbone. He seemed quite satisfied with my current state, so he increased the intensity of his stirring, his fingertips delving deep into my epiglottis, almost uprooting my tongue. The area had been conditioned and wouldn't elicit a physiological gag reflex at the slightest stimulation, but his probing was too deep. The silk fabric became incredibly rough against the soft lining of my throat, and every inch of movement felt like swallowing a rope twisted around a water barrel. I couldn't endure it any longer and forcefully spat out those disruptive fingers, lowering my head to cough violently, my lungs turning into two wheezing bellows. If not for the effects of the drug, my cheeks would surely have turned blood-red at that moment. "Is this your limit then?" Christopher's voice, belonging to the alpha wolf, echoed above my head. I couldn't discern any emotion, though the ending tone carried a rising inflection, pulling me into a lightless dungeon. "My little wildcat?" He was not only the most exceptional alpha, but also the most cunning fox. As this pure-blooded vampire revealed his fangs, my body began to tremble. I didn't know if it was fear or excitement, joy or resentment. Christopher had a habit of chewing mint leaves, so his breath was always spicy, leaving a temporary confusion in my mind. I couldn't move, my arms hanging motionless in the two rings, my jaw stuck in his grip, my neck pulled straight. His soft, cold tongue ruthlessly licked the tip of my teeth and the taste buds on my tongue, infecting me with the mint flavor, so that he and I shared the same breath. His strength was enough to break my tongue in half, but he didn't. He just forced my tongue into a corner, then mercilessly pressed down on all the sensitive points he controlled. His other hand intruded into my pants, delving into the hair, using two fingers to pry open the closed flesh crevice, without any foreplay, directly plunging into the narrow hole. The sudden chill caused the muscles there to contract into a ball, sucking on his fingers, even though I symbolically twisted my body to protest, it still looked like I was unsatisfied. I heard a cold hum from his throat, a sound squeezed out of his airway, processed by the vocal cords, like the first low note played by a pianist at a concert. After this cool bass note, came a rain-like sonata. His fingertips did not retreat because of the dry obstruction, but instead went in forcefully, all the way to the deepest part of the cavity. The bumps and folds along the way were the conductor's stage, the breeding ground for dew, and his knuckles jumped back and forth on the anterior and posterior walls, making a dull thumping sound. My body's desire was tied by Christopher with a thread, he was the manipulator of the thread, as long as he pulled the end of the thread, no matter the situation, he could awaken my body's instinctive longing. Even if my mind resisted, my flesh had already obediently prepared for pleasure. To be honest, I despised this kind of debauchery, yet time and time again I stepped into this swamp, the more I struggled, the deeper I sank, unable to free myself. Legs wide open, the liquid soaked my underwear, I swallowed the saliva in his mouth, treating it as if it were divine nectar from heaven. My buttocks trembled involuntarily, my waist twisted. My body had started to itch, like refugees longing for water, or like addicts chasing after drugs. He let go of me. I saw my reflection in his pupils, a face tormented by real desires, a hypocritical face. I also saw his lips pressed into a perfect curve. This gentleman possessed a face that would make both humans and gods envy, every feature and line could be considered the masterpiece of a master. He unzipped his pants, but the buttons on his shirt remained intact, firmly fastened together. His legs were spread apart, exposing a wet entrance that eagerly beckoned. He smiled gently and politely at me, while the blade of flesh mercilessly pierced into my body. "I will give you everything you desire."