by
Lisa Y. Drexel

Mine.

She actually felt it, more than heard it, when he whispered it to her, against her bruised lips.

Mine.

It somehow bored its way into her gut, heart, mind and soul all at once—encompassing everything that she was and had been.

Mine.

And she knew—as she felt the string of mini explosions of pleasure that rocked her body with hearing that one word—that she was just that—his.

Mine.

As he slowly took her—his cool cock sliding in and out of her hot, wetness—his larger body draped over her smaller one—covering her, possessing her—taking her, she had no choice but to succumb to his needs—inwardly rejoicing when everything inside of her felt like it finally fell into place.

Mine.

When he slid his fangs into her small, full breast and drank her life's essence, she realized what that had meant—really.

If she was his—then he was hers.

As her mind splintered into a thousand tiny parts and her chest arched into his mouth and her cunt grabbed his cock and held it tightly inside of her as she milked his cold semen from his body, she heard herself screaming in ecstasy.

"Mine!"

And when she heard his soft chuckles tickle her breast as he lapped her wounds, she knew he agreed.

The End

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©1999 Lisa Y. Drexel