So begins the writing prompt on the site of write to done. This is an excellent place for showcasing your writing, and to get the creative juices flowing.
The link for this particular “scene-stealer” prompt is here. Go there and follow the rules in posting your piece. Have fun with it! As they say, ‘think out of the box.’ Please do read some of the postings as they are entertaining and vary tremendously.
And here is my contribution:
And then I bit him.
The reaction never varied. It was always the same, no matter the man.
Shock, disbelief, horror. It was comical. I could time it to the second.
Every man succumbed.
The late nights trolling the bars, wearing my kick-ass mid-thigh leather skirt and knee-high boots, a revealing top with plunging neckline, the outfit never failed.
And tonight was no exception.
I never tire of my game; the coquettish stare, the toss of long blonde locks, the slight open-mouthed pout, the fondling of my wine glass. The come hither look.
I can see it in their eyes. Always dilated, nostrils slightly flared, the shortness of breath.
He pays the tab, we exit the bar, he drives or walks me to his place, and then it happens.
I tell the man to get undressed and lie on his bed. I tell him to wait for me. I tell him I will just be a moment.
I linger in the bathroom, allowing the excitement and anticipation to build in his mind. Of what might come.
But what comes is not what he expects.
I come, slowly, out the bathroom door, slowly, and pad naked to the bed. I stand before him and stare into his eyes.
He reaches for me, but I admonish him: “Don’t touch.”
He lies back, aching, waiting for my hot sultry smooth skin.
I climb onto the bed and crawl towards him, watching his face, waiting for the moment.
I slowly straddle him and slowly lean across his body.
He’s tense, hard, agitated.
I let my locks caress his face, his chest, and I bend down to whisper hot breaths on his sweating skin.
It is exciting and erotic.
That is when I plunge my incisors into his carotid, and feel the hot sweet succulent smell of fresh blood as it erupts upon my lips.
I pull back and watch his face, watch as his life ebbs with every spurt of precious blood.
The reaction never varied. It was always the same, no matter the man.
Copyright, Paul Grignon, 2013, All Rights Reserved.
ALSO: Don’t miss Eric Alagan’s Gallery of Writing at his superb site Written Words Never Die. Here is the link to it. Eric always enjoys your contributions and comments, and his site is one not to be missed!
Paul Grignon 