"Excuse
me. Do you have anything that can eliminate this stain?"
The
low, musical voice was fraught with urgency. With a weary sigh, Sybil
stuck her thumb between the pages of One Hundred Years of
Solitude. She turned her attention to her customer, a slender
young man with Asian features wearing tight jeans and a look of
concern.
"Let
me take a look." She slipped a bookmark into Marquez'
masterpiece then returned to focus on her companion. The guy passed
the garment over the counter. As her dark hand grazed his pale one, a
bolt of electricity made her gasp. She shook her still-tingling
fingers.
"Sorry,"
he said, plump lips curving into a half-smile. Her stomach did a
little flip. She didn't normally find Asian men attractive, bu this
guy had some kind of pop-star charisma.
"It's
okay. There's always a lot of static here, because of the dryers."
Sybil spread the fabric out on the linoleum surface. It was a shirt
in Renaissance style, yellowed with age. The cream colored satin
graded almost to gold at the collar and cuffs. A rust-brown splotch
defaced one billowing sleeve.
"You
can't wash this. I'm not even sure that dry cleaning would be
advisable for something so fragile." She slipped her hand inside
the garment and spread her fingers, holding the fabric up to the
light. "Look. In some places it's already translucent."
"Oh
dear." The stranger shook his head. "That is my favorite
shirt."
"If
you wear it, it's likely to tear." Sybil's fertile imagination
immediately supplied an image of her companion with his hairless,
muscled chest visible through artfully arranged satin rags. Her pussy
dampened under her Indian print skirt. His crestfallen expression
added sympathy to her simmering lust. "If you like this style,
you might try Trash & Vaudeville on St. Mark's Place. Wonderful
vintage clothes, and pretty cheap too."
"Thank
you. Perhaps I will." Even when he smiled, there was a pervasive
sadness about him. Sybil had the urge to comfort him, to take him in
her arms and cradle him against her ample breasts. The way her
nipples tightened at the thought was far from motherly, however.
She
scanned the otherwise empty laundromat, stark in the fluorescent
glare. Pitch-black night pressed against the plate glass window. The
floral scent of fabric softener hung in the humid air. One dryer
halfway down the left rank hummed, emitting a rhythmic click as a
button or buckle tumbled against the metal drum.
"Is
that your load?" she asked, wanting to keep the conversation
going. He nodded. "I haven't seen you here before. Do you
usually do your wash during the day?"
"No,
no - I just moved here a few months ago." He hoisted his
obviously firm butt onto the stool on the other side of the counter.
"I was pleased to discover there was an all-night laundry in the
neighborhood." A jet black lock of hair fell over one eye. He
tossed his head , flipping it back into place.
The casual gesture was somehow supremely sexy.
"You
work during the day?" Sybil smoothed the skirt over her lap,
acutely aware of her peaked nipples brushing against her white
peasant blouse. Arousal buzzed between her thighs. A bead of sweat
trickled down the side of her neck. The place seemed even steamier
than usual.
"Um
- not exactly." For the first time he looked directly at her.
His eyes were as black as the night outside. A delicious shiver
crawled up Sybil's spine. "What about you?"
"Oh,
I go to school, days. NYU MFA program. I've worked here since I
started a year ago. It's not exactly my dream job." She
shrugged, trying to slow her racing pulse. "But I've always been
a night person."
"Yes,"
the young man sighed. "I am as well." He speared her with
those coal-dark eyes, staring without blinking, as though he were
reading her soul. Sybil squirmed in her chair, unable to look away.
Did he see the fantasies her wicked mind was spinning? Her pussy grew
slick and swollen. His nostrils flared. Did he smell the ocean scent
rising around her?
For
an endless time he held her there, suspended in his gaze. "What
is your name?" he asked at last, without breaking the visual
connection.
"Sybil,"
she whispered. He reached for her, grasping the hand that lay on top
of his soiled shirt. Once again electricity sizzled through her.
This time he didn't let go. Sparks teased her heavy breasts, making
them tingle and ache. Current rippled through her belly to vibrate
in the wet space between her legs.
"I
am Liu," he said. Sybil did not see him move, yet suddenly he
was behind the counter, still grasping her hand. His energy pulsed
through her taut body. He leaned close. He smelled of sandalwood and
earth. His lips grazed her earlobe, completing the circuit.
Pleasure
surged through her. She sank to her knees, unable to bear the
intensity. He followed, joining her on the floor. She felt his
fingers combing through her wiry curls, his cool breath on her cheek.
"You
are so lovely, Sybil," he murmured. "So ripe and full of
life. I want you so much." She heard pain in his voice. Pain
echoed in her chest when he released her and pulled away. He sat back
on his heels and gazed on her, sorrow etched into his beautiful face.
"I cannot allow myself to surrender to this
desire, however."
"Oh...no...please,
Liu...I want you too..." Sybil went wild. She dragged her
blouse over her head and tossed it away, then untied the long
wraparound skirt. The voluminous cotton tangled in her legs.
"Damn!" She tugged at it but finally gave up, having to
content herself with crumpling it to her waist. Her string bikini
tore away with a single yank. Musk gusted out from between her parted
thighs.
Canvas
bags of dirty laundry lay piled beneath the counter, waiting for the
daytime staff who handled drop-off service. Sybil stretched out on
the makeshift mattress, arms above her head, breasts elevated, legs
falling open to reveal her pussy. The lewdness of her position only
excited her more. "Take me," she begged. "Now!"
"No,
please...do not tempt me!"
Sybil
hefted her breasts and squeezed the rigid tips, plump and dark like
morsels of succulent chocolate. "Come on," she pleaded.
"No one can see us. No one will know." She slipped a finger
into her moist cleft and gasped at the sensations produced by that
small intrusion. "I'm so wet, Liu. Come see. Come taste me!"
The
young man groaned. All at once he was naked, his jeans and sweatshirt
strewn on the floor around his lithe form. Sybil had time to blink
just once before he was upon her, nuzzling her neck and stabbing his
cock blindly against her sex.
"Let
me..." Sybil reached between them, circling the smooth, cool rod
of flesh and guiding it between her lower lips. He slid inside,
gliding through her slick folds and making her writhe. She clenched
down on his invading bulk. Waves of energy rippled through her,
dancing over her skin, surging through her veins. He jerked, driving
his rock-hard cock as deep as it would go, then pulled back and
speared her again. Pleasure was too pale a word for the feelings that
swirled through her.
"Sybil,"
he whispered, his lips near her ear once more. He traced the line of
her jaw with his tongue, then licked and nibbled his way down to the
hollow of her throat. All the while he slammed into her, fierce,
relentless, as though he'd split her open.
Sybil
arched up, grinding her pelvis against his narrow hips. He seized
her full buttocks, scoring them with his nails as he sank his
irresistible cock even deeper. "Oh, God!' she gasped, her eyes
screwed shut in concentration. "I'm nearly there." Liu
thrust faster and harder, battering her with pleasure. All the while
his strange lightning flickered through her.
Her
pussy was molten. She gripped his steel-muscled arms, straining
toward release. Razor sharp teeth sank into her shoulder. Pain
exploded, brilliant as a sunrise. The first quivers of climax shook
her frame, even as she felt blood welling up from the wound.
She
opened her eyes, seeking her lover's gaze. His eyes were pools of
night, threatening to drown her. His formerly-pensive expression was
replaced by a manic grin that exposed gleaming, vicious fangs.
"Do
you still want me, pretty one?" he growled, crushing her with
the force of his cock. "Now that you know who I am?"
Sybil
was too far gone to answer.
The
fire swelled inside her, sparks circling, making everything bright.
He pressed his lips to her torn flesh. She felt his suction between
her thighs, in the dark cauldron his cock still stirred. He pulled
the blood from her, pulling her to the edge at the same time. His
ferocious hunger fed her own, pushing
her off the precipice. She tumbled into searing pleasure, convulsing
under him even as he sliced into her breast and drank deep.
The
feeble light of dawn brought Sybil back to her senses. She found
herself sprawled naked across the piled laundry bags. She tried to
sit up. A languid weakness infected her limbs. She could hardly
move. Dried blood crusted over her breast, a few shades darker than
her skin. She palpated the painful spot on her shoulder. Her fingers
came away reddened and moist. She should have been afraid, but all
she felt was sweet satisfaction.
Finally,
she managed to roll over and rise to her knees. Her thighs were
sticky and sore. Between them, her pussy tingled with echoes of
pleasure.
After
struggling into her blouse and untangling her skirt, she crawled to
the vending machine and bought herself a Coke. The sugar and
caffeine revived her to some extent.
She
seated herself behind the counter, watching the second hand on the
clock sweep time away. Five forty five. Elena, the day manager,
would arrive at seven. Meanwhile, Sybil tried to think rationally
about what had happened. Her thoughts just slithered away, losing
themselves in the fog of remembered delight.
Vampires
did not exist. But oh, the electric sensation of his teeth entering
her flesh! And the dark fury of his cock, tearing her open! She
wanted all that again, God help her. She wanted him, whoever he was.
Would
he return? Was he gone forever, terrified by his lapse of discipline?
She hobbled over to the window and peered out into the brightening
day. The sidewalks were empty. Where did he go, when the sun drove
him into hiding?
The
laundromat was silent save for the tick of the clock. Sybil surveyed
the small, bare space, as though he might be hiding somewhere. Her
glance fell on one of the dryers. A crumpled heap of clothing showed
through the circular window.
His
laundry! He'd left it behind. Sybil grabbed a basket and extracted
the contents of the dryer - not silk or velvet as she expected but
ordinary things, tee shirts, sweat socks, boxer shorts...
Automatically, she began to fold the items, piling them on the
counter. Maybe, just maybe, he'd come back for his clothes. And he'd
have to come at night, wouldn't he, when Sybil was on duty?
Maybe,
he'd even come back for her sake. Perhaps right now he slept, in
some shadowy room sealed against the light, dreaming of her.
The
way she was dreaming about him.
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