A moral or intellectual poison; a harmful, corrupting, or malignant influence. Also, an infectious fear, anxiety, etc.
Brad struggled uselessly in the ropes as Tracy approached him slowly, swaying her hips. She straddled his naked body, and with a dagger-sharp red fingernail, scratched a red mark in the side of his neck. Then she bent down and kissed it. Brad moaned at the touch of her hot tongue. Then, just as quickly, she rose up off of him.
"That's all?" Brad asked, weakly.
"That's all," Tracy said, smiling sweetly.
But that wasn't all, because in less than a minute, Brad began to tremble uncontrollably. He wasn't hot, he wasn't cold, but suddenly he just couldn't stop shaking. "What did you do to me?" he managed to ask.
"You've been Infected," Tracy explained. "I need fresh blood, Brad, and you're just the person to...procure it for me. I want you to go out and find someone for me, just like Tom found you. And you'll be happy to do just that, if you ever want the shaking to stop."
Tracy leaned in close. "You see, in a few minutes, I'm going to see Tom. And he will want me to scratch him, to cut him with my fingers. In fact, he's going to beg me to do it, just so I can kiss him and stop that terrible shaking. And in a few weeks, he'll go through it again. All for me, Brad."
Brad tried to speak, but he couldn't get the words out.
"You lose, Brad."
Copyright (c) 1998 {hamlet}Ophelia