When Androgynes Meet

We hadn't even noticed we had been conducting our entire conversation whilst sitting atop a cage containing a naked man. Naked except for a chain around his neck. On all fours he crouched, his fingers gripping the bars of the cage. So absorbed we were with one another, this man below our butts went unnoticed... until a black latex creature appeared beside us and casually inserted the heel of her savage stiletto through the cage to tickle the man's exposed ribs. For a moment we glanced down to observe her action, and how the man responded, with a wince, cowering, yet oozing pleasure from his naked pores. Oozing the agony of denial and the delay of gratification. He oozed the scent of submission. His face was turned down to the cage floor, damp with his own sweat and need, a willing captive in his own fantasy.

We turned back to one another, unfazed, consumed by the each other in every way, every sense. Absorbed, hypnotised. All around us moved the figures of flagellants, sadists, masochists, shibari-ists, ornanists, fellators sodomites, hedonists, tethered transvestites in all forms of attire and adornment, in a whirl of rubber, latex, lace, sequins, feathers and fishnet. And yet we remained transfixed only on one another as if the entire universe of pleasure surrounding us was just a tiny bubble on the tongue of some hermaphrodite deity we'd already fucked long ago and forgotten.

It was the way his silvery corpse blue lips

curled around the midnight offering of chips

I handed to him at the dungeon door

It was the way his eyes melted across my hips

where my snakeskin catsuit dipped

in that moment I knew we were eternal

We descended that night into the depths of the dungeon full of the rush of a new connection, an intense gaze that hung between us like unbroken spider silk dangling with temptation. We were becoming entangled in one another's webs as perfect strangers who saw something in the other on first glance, and were seduced, charmed so immediately. No matter what other delights were on offer, from figs proffered by sylphs to cocks offered by nuns, all we wanted to consume was one another.

I fell under his sanguine spell, his vamp gaze, he had the youthful exuberance of Dorian Gray. A femme fatale in waiting. He was seeking something. He seemed to recognise it in me.

After an eternal twilight of animated conversing, his hand reached up.

Opening the jacket he wore over tight feminine spandex, little bottles of clandestine elixir glittered in his pockets in the dungeon light. He took one, unscrewed the lid, and tipped some drops down his long elegant white throat. He offered some to me. Without hesitation, I sipped his potion.

The change was not instant, we continued to exchange verbal desires while all that elegant seductive beauty swirled around us, unheeded.

And then I felt it. It may have been the potion taking it's slow sure effect, or maybe his words that were shaping my thoughts, but I had the sudden urge to asphyxiate him. His long bare white throat beckoned to me, as if he was offering it.

Deep in the bowels of the fetish club, I knew of the orgy room, through a set of swaying chains and down a corridor lit only by the red light of desire. I reached up, on the toes of my boots, to whisper in his ear to follow me, and with his gaze upon my snake hips, I enchanted him into through those chains. My delight was enhanced to find the orgy room empty, it's rumpled round bed left in disarray by previous kinksters on heat, and currently abandoned.

Throwing him down onto the bed, I climbed over him, the dim red light glinting in his pleading stare, my body taut with mean intent. But for the erect nipples I could glimpse through his top, and his cock I felt stirring against my swollen groin, his body was limp in supplication, in trust. His piano fingers reached out to grip the curved edge of the circular mattress, as I reached for the scarf at my neck, unwound it slowly, and threaded it under his head. He made no protest, only moans of bliss. In pure eager submission he begged me with his stare to pull that scarf tight, tight as a serpent constricting the flow of his air. He begged me to take him to another plane, to raise him into eternal bliss, to force the life from him.

I placed my lips upon his to kiss him. His response was to suck my air, and I sucked it back...and whilst we inhaled one another's kiss, I pulled the ends of the silk binding at his neck...I pulled, and felt him harden, felt his legs flail, heard him try to moan in urgency as he felt his air being taken away, saw his eyes redden...watched him grip his own nipples in ghastly arousal. I felt the twitch of his cock and feeling how I wanted it, I pulled it free from its lace and lowered myself upon it with an easy slide, never relinquishing my grip on the ends of the scarf.

Panic did not perform its wild dance, but it was dramatic in its silence, how he faded into unconsciousness as his explosion could be felt deep inside me upon his expiration. A life-giving death rush. A fatal bucking, a final fucking thrust.

What wild beast had been unleashed to possess me to kill a man and take his dying seed? What hell on earth had got into me?

My breathing was rapid as I reached for his pulse...alone in that deathly carnal den below the crawling laughing night above.

My relief was audible when I felt that subtle twitch of life...he breathed. With deep dark love, I pulled him close, reveling in his breath, sure as faith, certain as flame.