In my drafts, this story was called ‘vampire lesbians’ and it involves consensual non-consent sex in a dyke bar. It explores something I have been thinking about recently: someone innocent and youthful (or someone role-playing thusly) being taken advantage of in a setting where they are not quite sure of themselves – in this case a lesbian bar. The idea of hunting and fucking your prey, whether you’re a vampire or not, is a hot one to me at least.
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Content note for consensual non-consent.
I don’t recognise the girl next to me at the bar. She’s pretty, with short dark hair and a silver nose ring. I lean back a little, to get a good look at her arse in those tight jeans… I know I’m openly perving, but I’m not ashamed. She’s younger than me, and there’s an innocence in the voice that shakes as she orders a drink that suggests that this is her first time here. Her first time in a dyke bar.
There’s something about that knowledge that makes my cunt ache. She might never have been touched by a girl, fucked by a girl. Damn, she might never have been kissed by a girl. There’s something wrong and filthy and awfully exciting about that thought. I want to lure her away from the crowded room and do dirty things to her, taking advantage of her innocence in a dark corner.
She turns a little towards me enough for me to see a faint scattering of freckles and the light gleaming off her nose ring. I look her up and down, not hiding the fact that my stare falls on her tits and arse. She’s not brave enough to meet my eye, but the blush that rises in her cheeks tells me that she feels my gaze lingering on every part of her, especially her exposed neck.
She walks away from me with a fuck-me swing in her hips. She’s just begging to be taken advantage of and thoroughly fucked, and I’m sure I’m not the only one who thinks so. Many eyes are on her as she returns to the dance floor, but I’ve claimed her as mine. She’s mine this evening, and if the others don’t know that then they will soon. My predatory gaze follows her across the room as I lean against the bar.
I give her a few minutes head start before I begin the chase. There are people dancing, but it’s easy to keep her in my sight. She makes her mistake when she leaves the bright lights and warmth of the bar to make her way to the toilets. I follow her into the corridor. There’s a hint of fear in her eyes when she realises she’s cornered, and it makes me wet as I back her against the wall.
“Fuck you,” she spits at me when I get closer. I grin. I like it when my prey fights.
“Get off me,” she says, a pleading note in her voice as I grab at her to stop her escaping. I laugh.
I pin her hands above her head against the tiled wall. Her eyes seem to be challenging me, daring me, and she turns her head away. I don’t let that stop me: I go for her neck, kissing, biting, sucking. I want to leave bruises from where my teeth scrape her soft skin; I want to mark her as mine. A slither of a whimper hisses out between her teeth. She’s adorable.
She struggles a little under me, but when I pull away her eyes are pleading and wanting more.
“Oh, do you like that little one?”
She nods and whines as I slip a hand inside her shirt – no bra – to pluck at one of her nipples. She grinds against me, trying to get one of my thighs between her legs, but I draw back. Prey doesn’t get it’s cunt touched until I decide it does. I kick her legs apart so she cannot get any friction to her poor desperate clit.
“Such a dirty little bitch, coming here all dressed up and all but begging for us to fuck you. You wanted to be taken advantage of, didn’t you? If I were you, I’d be glad it was me who claimed you as my prey – you have no idea what depraved and filthy things they would have done to you if they’d hunted and caught you. But then, you maybe would like that, wouldn’t you?”
I whisper this against her throat, punctuating my sentences with little nips that make her gasp.
“Fuck me,” she says, and there is still defiance in her voice, but her words have changed and I grin. My lips can bite and suck at her neck, while one hand creeps to her neck to hold her in place while my other unzips her jeans.
“No knickers either, what a brazen slut you are..”
“Touch my clit,” she begs, but I shake my head.
“No. We both know you don’t need it, do you? You can come just from my fingers inside you, filthy little thing. And from thinking about how others would take advantage of you and use and abuse you…”
She moans. I’m still pinning her to the wall by her throat, and making sure I keep up a steady stream of filthy words as I push my fingers inside her. Fucking her like this is exhilarating. There is a thrill from fingering her like this in the open; there is something delightfully dirty about corrupting this innocent little thing. Not that you’d know that it was by how she is begging for me to fuck her harder.
“You’re going to come like this, aren’t you little one. Think about what dirty things I’m doing to you, think about how the filthy dyke fucking you is going to make you come and come and come.”
“Please,” she begs, and the word is barely above a whisper, and I kiss her quickly, biting her bottom lip hard until she moans into my mouth.
“Mine,” I growl, my lips next to her throat.
She is no longer struggling or trying to pull away.
“Yours,” she says, just like she does when we’re in our own bed, and she comes around my fingers.
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Quinn Rhodes (he/him) is a queer, trans, disabled sex writer with vaginismus. He’s a slut and a sex nerd who writes about his adventures in trying to fuck without fucking up. Quinn can usually be found wearing stomp-on-the-patriarchy boots while falling in love every time he fucks.