Inside, she excused herself to the bathroom. She checked her medicals, pulling out the tiny vial containing her own special potion of xylocaine, fentanyl and rohypnol, all in a base of DMSO to carry it through skin. She finished her toilet, flushing for sound effects. Chapstick coated her finger, and under her opaque pink nail was a sedative-soaked sponge.
He was waiting on the couch when she came out, and she went to him, seating herself so closely that he could not mistake her invitation to kiss. His lips sought hers eagerly, and they frenched lingeringly for a minute. She did love to kiss, and she put her heart into it. she broke off though, as his tongue began to probe toward her razor bucuspids, and began to nuzzle his earlobe, and the hollow beneath his ear. She licked his earlobes, and squeezed a drop of sedative onto her tongue-tracks. He didn't notice the additional moisture, and the powerful penetrant narcotic began to be absorbed into the skin directly above the jugular.
Soon, his hands dropped away from her breasts, but she continued to undress him. When his clothes littered the floor, she removed hers as well.
She didn't want to get any food stains on her new dress... and he had been very courtly with her tonight, not at all the usual overbearing yuppie-asshole type who were her standard prey. Though he would not remember the events about to transpire, he would recall sweet dreams in the morning, and all of his sexual pressures would be gone.
She got some Kleenex from the table, and scratched the vein on the inside of his ankle. A red drop welled up, and she licked it off. She scratched a bit more, not satisfied with the flow, and licked more. About the same time the flow subsided, so did her hunger. She turned her attention to her other appetites.
For some reason, it did not bother her to drug her lovers, but she felt squeamish about using her mental coercive abilities. It wasn't sporting, somehow. She remembered the thrill of combat, the close shaves she'd had before her Power had come to her. The Power was so much of a trump card and was so boring, besides. However, the man beneath her was healthy, attractive, and his breath smelled of quality beer and good oral hygiene instead of breath mints and too much red meat... and he was heavily sedated. His life was in no danger, not from the dose she'd given him, nor from the loss of a few ounces of blood... but he was sound asleep. So...
She felt gingerly in his mind for arousal centers. She took her time, not wanting to cause any lingering mental disturbances. Some people had latent telepathic skills, nothing that could withstand the overpowering force she could bring to bear, but often they would resist with all of their strength, causing exhaustion and psychic damage. Worse yet, as her Power (which often seemed to have a life of its own) was deflected from sleep centers, it often selected deeper centers. Once, in a fierce mental battle, the man's dormant powers began to mimic hers, act for act, as if learning from her. She'd slapped him, hard, to distract him, and her Power had blasted him. Last she'd heard, he was doing a good imitation of a cabbage in a mental hospital. "Couldn't take the rejection, I guess," she'd said...
She'd gone hungry that night, ashamed of herself once again, punishing herself. As she should, she figured. It might have been better to have killed him.
She found the arousal centers, found love, companionship, and the capacity for devotion nearby, more closely linked in this man than in most. Shit. All she needed... she should have known that this guy, from the way he'd acted, hadn't just been out for a quick lay. Extra careful, then, she told herself. I don't need unrequited love following me around.
Once, she'd kept a lover, until he'd turned into a pet. Towards the end, he must have known what she was, what she was doing to him. He was, he claimed, in love with her inner person, and somehow, that filled her with contempt for him. She could never find a way to actually hate him, she even sort of loved him in her way, but she wouldn't have minded rubbing his nose in shit like she might a badly-trained puppy. She hadn't even thought of doing that to her actual victims, the ones she'd slain when she was starving, before she'd learned the modern soft-option. There had been a sort battle-honor between her and her prey, no gloating. Just win or lose.
She'd had to run before she became a true monster.
There! The big fat finger of her mind managed to lightly touch only the tiny button she wanted... and he stirred, moaning, to swell turgidly into her open palm. She thought about giving him some head, and thought of all of the dental work she'd need for it to be possible. A hand job? Her razor nails would slice too easily through his most tender skin in just a moment of inattention. It was good that she felt his arousal touching her in kind.
She was moist now, and straddled him. She slid his length a few times, feeling little thrills each time the head bobbed into her vestibule. she carefully locked down the power of her mind, lest she pussywhip him inadvertently... and rolled her hips to let him enter her.
She rode him then, letting her instincts move her. She knew she had great instincts, men loved her for her instincts as much as much as for any other part of her, more than her looks, her smell, her soft husky voice. She relaxed into the cradle of her reflexes, letting them move her, her movements making the man below her writhe and shiver. The pace picked up, and soon enough, they both came. He gurgled something deep in his throat, the began to snore.
She showered. On her way out, she gathered her things, and dressing, pondered again the twists of fate. Normally, the "taste" of her prey's minds left a bad aftertaste in her memory, but tonight had been different.
She asked herself, why can't it always be like this? A for real nice
guy... Then she remembered why she had come home with him in the first
place, and felt again the old self-loathing... that quickly transmuted
itself into a contempt for the easy, unsuspecting victim. She caught
herself.
Back to the assholes, she thought. This kind of guy must never know why that beautiful woman prefers the company of assholes, would rather go home with them...
Because you are nice, buddy... I hope you never know it's because you're too good, and I'm not a nice girl (tho' I sure can act it, fooled you didn't I!) -
Your kind of man doesn't deserve me.