Cyzarines Stories

We met at the worst set of circumstances possible- my beige garb messily flapping around me; its once seamless veneer reduced to rubble, coated with crimson red- my blood. His dreary eyes lingered in my now exposed thighs a little longer than necessary, a flash of excitement, of covetousness flickering there before his eyes met mine. My breath caught in my throat as I gazed upon his beauty- he is offensively attractive, definitely a magnum opus. A playful smile graced his luscious lips upon hearing my sudden intake of breath and I couldn't help but wanting to press my own lips against his- craving to have a taste of him. As if hearing my own thoughts, he closed the distance between us in just a blur- his virile scent, piquant and risqué, molesting my senses; his hands, frosty and unyielding, grappling my thighs- caging me closer to him. My admiration turned to horror- and something akin to desire- as charcoal ink insidiously tainted his flawless face, transforming him into the devilishly handsome and dangerous predator that he really is. With inhuman speed, he attacked my lips roughly- nipping and biting at my lower lip for entrance- and it is on that instance that I realized one thing: I am his prisoner, figuratively and literally.