Well...seeing as no one else has said it.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY HARRY POTTER! Today is Harry Potters 31's birthday, and not a single person on my friends list is enough of a nerd to notice...seriously...well anyway happy Birthday Harry, and I'll try to write a story worth posting...soon.
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First Story Post. And the Beast Thanked Me

It is an interesting concept to realize that the person who led you to accept who you are is now in denial of who he is. I sit across the table from my cousin and am both disgusted and aroused. I'm not disgusted because he is my cousin; in all honesty we barely share any blood. We were raised on opposite sides of the country and I never even met him until I was nine, he was already twenty-three by then.

No, I am disgusted by the plaid shirt and the cowboy boots, the baseball cap that hides his red blond hair and the cheesy smile that denies he was ever anything but what he is now. But I am aroused by the fear I can see in his eyes when he sees me. Fear of what I could say, or do, that would let his secret out. And also a bit of fear for the feelings I stir, the desire to be what he once was, and truly still is.

Honestly I think it's less the fear than what it means. He knows I know and is terrified to be outed, not only to everyone else but to himself. He has built a high wall around the beast inside him, and only I know its true nature, its name. And thus only I can unleash it.

When I look into his eyes I can see that beast looking back and it wants out, but it is being strangled by the bolo tie and the crucifix that hang around his neck. I sit basking in the sun while he preaches about life and its gifts while the beast stares at me from behind his pretty blond eyelashes. He sits across from me contentedly chatting with his mother, his face still looking boyish at thirty three. Every now and then I see that fear and my stomach tingles and fire races down inside me. I know today will be the day I finally snap and help him unleash the beast hidden behind religion and tacky fashion sense.

When I met him he told me who he was, he was all beast then, and very proud of it. But I was just a little girl and didn't understand the nature of his beast. I didn't know terms like fetish and sadism. He said he was a vampire and so to me he was. His beast stared back at me through tinted glasses and my own juvenile beast mewed in response. I saw what he was and knew it was what I should be, or what I was looking for.

I remember how it felt when his mother was scared to leave us alone together, and I remembered the eye roll he gave me when he turned to his mother and dead panned. "Mother I've been alone with her all night, if I was going to kill her I would have done it already."

Only now can I see the fear in his mother's eyes for the confusion it really was. No grown woman could ever understand what connection we had. The years passed quickly but I never forgot, and when we finally met again I had a better concept of what he was. He gave me a book he had suggested when I was younger and it helped me see him for what he was, a predator. Not the kind you think of, not the one who searches out innocence and destroys it. I simply mean he was a beast, an animal who could only get aroused when wielding a sharp blade. And I knew then that he was what I needed. As much as he needed to inflict pain, I needed to feel it. At thirteen I finally understood him. And once again he disappeared for years.

The next time I saw him my stomach did a flip. It was still him, same sly smile, same boyish face. But that face was now a mask, a cover for who he was inside. I tried to speak to him and I could tell he wanted to talk to me, wanted to share with me. But he was too afraid. He hid his beast and lived in terror it would regain control. He had a sickening idea that he needed to fit in with society, needed to play the game and coast on good looks and charm, not be his real self. And now, only the fifth time I am seeing him in my life, I know that it is my duty to unleash his beast.

The gathering slowly breaks apart, one by one they leave and he stands up to depart. There are still people around so I know I must be discreet. I take his hand and he looks at me like the devil himself just grabbed him. I dig my nails in hard, my face smiling, and he goes blank.

"Hey, Lee. I thought we could hang out, catch up. We never see each other."

He is terrified but I dig my nails in harder and he nods. His mother shoos him along, happy to see him talking to a female at all. None of them understand, they just see a quiet, shy boy who never dates. They don't see the monster that's hidden behind those gorgeous eyes. He follows me, his stance stiff as my nails loosen from his skin, oddly the crescent shaped wounds depressing me more than they should. He should be angry, he shouldn't let me lead him. He has the power, not I.

But still he follows as I lead him to the back of the store and silently slip into an empty restroom. Once we are alone he yanks his hand out of mine and backs up. He's hiding his fear behind a thin mask of anger, but I like this better.

"What is wrong with you Dawn? What is the purpose of dragging me into a bathroom, this is all very odd. Now explain so I can get the fuck out of here."

I smile and back him against a wall, his eyes wide and scared. I drop to my knees and begin unbuttoning those crotch hugger country western jeans of his. He tries to bat my hands away but he doesn't have the concentration. I can tell by the pulsing beneath my fingers that it has been a long time since he has allowed a woman to touch him. I crave in my chest the taste of him, the groans. And the moment when his beast wakes up.

I take him in my hand and love the feel of his perfect cock. He pushes me away and his cock springs hard to life as my head hits the tile flooring. He tries to cover himself, ashamed of his reaction, but not enough to stop me from crawling back to him on hands and knees and taking him once again in my hand.

Hard and hot and smooth with the red blond hair at its base silky smooth, it is perfect in an odd way. My lips touch his hot skin and he shudders, his hands across his chest as he fights to tell me to stop. But he doesn't even try; he says the words but holds his position as surely as ever. My tongue flicks out and I taste him, the salty sweetness of his smooth skin. I take him into my mouth and when I do his hands float down to my hair of their own accord. His fingers tangle but do not pull, like the memory of force without the need.

I stroke him, my mouth encircling him with my tongue as I bring him closer and closer to the edge, his hips thrusting slightly as he tries to stop himself. Every once in a while he will manage the word "Stop," but with no force or conviction. And as he nears his brink I undergo the final bit of my plan.

My teeth scrape hard and deep and just as I expect he tosses me away. His cock is solid steel as he pins me to the floor. His body is rigid with tension as he lifts my skirt up and thrusts inside me. No concept of right or wrong, just this and now. His teeth bite into my neck as he thrusts into me harder and harder as I cry out with every thrust. Tears spring to my eyes and the beast inside him roars loud as he licks a tear off my face. His teeth bite down harder and I can feel the hot red blood flowing down my neck as he thrusts in deep and releases. His whole body goes limp above me, his tongue lapping at the ragged bite on my neck. The beast is unleashed.

He leans up and looks me in the eye. There is hatred there, boiling and pure, and he smacks me across the face.

"You stupid bitch! Don't ever do that again. I hide to protect others and myself, I could have killed you."

His hand back swings and slaps me again and I can feel his cock hardening against my thigh. He thrusts in again and again as his teeth and hands hurt me. He laughs as I sob. But inside I am crying out in joy. When he is done he straightens his pants and walks away.

I call after him in a horse voice, "You'll thank me someday!"

But he just ignores me as he walks out the door. I lay there for a bit longer, laughing and sobbing until I recover enough to stand up. My face is bright red and puffy and blood drips from one nostril. But I have done it.

Several years later I see him again, at another funeral for the family. His hand snakes out and grasps mine, his short nails digging deep, and I follow him. He takes me outside to the empty parking lot, the streetlight combating the darkness ineffectively. He pins me against a hearse and pulls out a knife, he runs it lightly along my neck, drawing a small trickle of blood.

I do not fight; I feel the wetness between my legs as his mouth finds that spot and suckles. His hips grind into me and he lifts my skirt and thrusts into me, ripping aside my panties without a thought. My legs wrap around him as he bites and suckles at my neck and I come harder than I ever did with anyone in my life. And when he comes inside of me he roars, because he is the beast, body and soul now.

Afterwards he smacks me across the face and that slow, shy, sly smile lights his face.

"That was thank you, by the way."

He straightens his pants, licks the blood from my neck, and walks away.