Smoothly, with deadly efficiency, she bound him to the cold metal chair. He wasn't even quite awake yet! And now, almost before he realized what was going on, she was tying medical tubing around his left biceps.
"No..." he mouthed, almost inaudibly. "Please..."
She just smiled at him, and swabbed the crook of his arm with rubbing alcohol. "It's coming, you know it's coming," she said, trancelike. She reached over to a tray and delicately picked up a hypodermic, its long needle flashing, even in the dim light. "But maybe, if you're good enough..."
She let that thought trail off as her mouth approached his, and she plunged her tongue in deeply, almost as if in anticipation of sliding the venomous syringe into his arm. For a suspended minute, he savored the soft feel of her lips, contrasting with the bite of her front teeth.
Finally, she withdrew, a drop of saliva dotting the edge of her mouth. "Good," she said, sighing with a salacious grin. He relaxed, just a bit. "But not good enough," she said, and with that, she jabbed the needle in, and he screamed--
He sat straight up, his heart racing, his forehead drenched with sweat.
His girlfriend turned around groggily. "Honey, what's wrong?"
He turned to her, and for just a second, he couldn't speak, his voice was still paralyzed. Then, he said, "I can't do it. It's too much for me."
She gently nudged him back down, and slyly ran her naked leg on his chest. "I know it's a lot," she whispered in his ear. "That's why I made you promise."
Copyright (c) 1998 {hamlet}Ophelia