Cold Stone Tomb

I walked through the cemetery to the old, overgrown section at the far reaches, farther than the asphalt trails extended. There would be no searching light this year.

I climbed up on a tomb, laid on my back, opened my legs to him, and rolled my hips up toward him as, with sneering smile and extended canines, he loomed over me, cape spread in the breeze, heavily muscled chest heaving, cock at full, viciously curved staff.

As he thrust his punishing cock inside me, and I cried out at the ultimate satisfaction, I turned my head to the side, offering the pulsating veins of my neck to him in supplication. I was his. I had been his for a year. I would be his for as many years more that he wanted to grant me.