She was on her knees in front of him, staring up with vacant eyes and obediently bobbing her head. He was on her couch, head back and eyes closed to narrow slits, his hand wrapped in her hair as he leaned back and enjoyed. Mary sucked like a pro; she was too stoned to be anything but single-minded, and right now all her focus was on working up and down the length in her mouth, trying to take it as far down her throat as she could.
He had come to visit her the Friday before Labor Day, nearly a month after he’d raped her in the parking lot. She’d been so surprised to him when she opened the door that she hadn’t even screamed. Maybe it was shock. Maybe it was fear. Maybe it was flashbacks to how he’d bent her over the bathroom sink near her office that night, and how he’d pinned her in the back seat of her car. He had almost been tempted to keep her sober. Instead, he’d lunged at her, buried his fangs in her shoulder, and then caught her as she’d sank to the floor. For the next three days, he’d kept her drugged up, mewling, and full of cum.