… solipsubmissive …

This is a continuation.  You might want to begin here:  Part one

“May i offer you a beverage?”

Nicholas reveled in the nervousness in Kate’s tremulous voice. “Water, please,” he said, politely. Kate stared, watched his lips form the words. He tilted his head and smiled encouragingly. She blushed when she realized she’d been staring, turned and went into the kitchen.

Nicholas followed more slowly, leaned against the arched entranceway and watched as Kate filled a glass with ice, then ran cold water over the cubes. When she turned to take the glass to the living room, she nearly dropped it, surprised to see Nicholas lounging there. He chuckled softly and watched her approach and hold out the glass. He took it, then placed a hand on the small of her back and guided her back into the living room.

She sat, at his direction, on the sofa, automatically curling her legs beneath her. Nicholas settled at the other end. “Tell me what you do, Kate. Before tonight, you’ve never left the house to my knowledge.”

“I am a writer,” she replied softly. “I like the quiet of my home.”

“Then I am doubly honored to have been invited into it,” he said. “What do you write, please?”

Kate smiled. “I write of love, of beautiful love.”

He quirked a brow. “And passion? What of that?”

“Yes, that,” she demurred, looking down at her hands. She gathered her courage. “When did you first know I watched you?”

“The first time, love. Every time. Your ache reaches out, embraces.”

“My ache?”

He moved closer, lifted a hand. She shrank away, as much as the arm of the couch would allow, but his hand continued on its path. He pressed it, softly, in the center of her chest. She held her breath, her heart pounding, and she felt it, too. The ache to be touched, held, cradled.

He slid the rest of the way down the length of the couch. Her pulse leapt in her throat, and he watched it, then raised his eyes to hers. His hand slipped left, over her breast, cupped it, then moved to the buttons of her blouse. “Your bath, Kate. It is that time, yes?”

She nodded. Far back in her mind, a voice whispered a warning, but his nearness intoxicated her, cajoled her. He smelled like rain, she thought, as she took the hand he held out to help her up. They walked, together, to the bedroom, and Kate automatically turned toward the bed. He stopped her.

“I’ll turn it down, love. Go prepare your bath.”

And she did, amazingly. He fit, it seemed right into her nightly ritual, and she knew she’d watched him, all those nights, in preparation for this. She stood before the mirror and removed her clothing while the water ran, hot and steaming, into the tub. She felt his hand cover hers as she slipped it down her abdomen, felt him step up behind and fit himself against her back. Felt him, but did not see him reflected in the mirror with her.

The thought barely registered before it slipped from her mind. Her fingers, or his, (she didn’t know which) found her sex, dipped inside, gathered the moisture, the slipped up to her clit, rubbing rubbing rubbing in circles. She moaned.

“Come, Kate,” he whispered urgently. “Come for me.”

Her cunt twitched once, and she gasped, then exploded, crying out with the sweetness and the pleasure. Her other hand slipped behind her back, found his cock, hard with need, inside his trousers, traced its outline, caressed it, as she rode out the waves.

She didn’t remember going there, but somehow she was in the bath, with Nicholas sponging her, kissing her softly, murmuring things she heard but did not hear. He helped her out, toweled dry her pink, moist body, led her from the bathroom to her bed. She slipped between the sheets and watched in wonder as he undressed, quickly, then joined her, pulling her close, touching his lips to hers.

He kissed her, everywhere, lingering on her neck, nuzzling her forever where her pulse beat strong and sure. She felt his teeth, smooth and hard, graze her a second, then move down to tease her nipples, one after the other, biting, the suckling, then biting again, harder. Her tummy, then, and her thighs, lingering in that place where her leg joined her sex, his lips resting on the pulse that beat there, too, before moving to her center and pausing, poised, his mouth open, just above her mound.

Her eyes found his, begged him, once, then his mouth was on her there, nuzzling and cooing, his tongue darting as she writhed beneath him. He buried his lips in her pussy, eating, then rose, his face glistening, to suckle her clit. She arched and cried out. His hands clutched her hard, just behind her knees, spread her wide. He lifted his mouth from her pussy, and growled, met her eyes, opened his mouth.

She screamed, only once, before he buried his suddenly long, glistening incisors in the flesh to each side of her clit. Her orgasm erupted, and she bucked beneath him in pain and pleasure, his front teeth working the sensitive bundle of nerves, his tongue lapping the juice from her pussy as he sucked her life’s blood through his fangs.

He stopped when she stopped struggling, brought his wrist to his mouth and bit down, once, piercing his own flesh. He moved up her body, plunged his hard cock into her still twitching cunt and pressed his bleeding wrist to her lips.

“Drink, Kate,” he coaxed, thrusting into her, fucking her as her mouth weakly found his blood. Her tongue darted out, tasted, then she latched on and suckled. He pulled his cock from her cunt and pushed it against the puckered rosebud of her ass. It held him out, at first, then opened a bit, just enough for him to surge inside, bury himself in her ass and come, hard.

He stayed there for a while, his cock deep in her ass, even after it softened, even after her lips stopped moving on the weeping wound in his wrist. Day was dawning when he slid around behind her, gathered her lifeless body into his arms, pulled the covers up around them, and closed his eyes.

Just before he fell asleep, before the sun, safely outside, topped the horizon, he saw, with satisfaction, the color returning to her lips. “Tonight, Kate,” he promised.