A rather iconic story of mine, this is the short story of a violent sexual mishap.
A young man laid in bed, spread eagled. His heart was racing and beads of sweat wound from his forehead all the way down to his neck. His girlfriend had her head on his chest, heaving, eyes wide open. Her hands were on his waist, slowly wandering downwards. His mouth was dry and he could barely contain his excitement. She finally reached her desired point between his legs. He gave a little moan. Her lips twitched and she moved her head down his chest to below his waistline. He heaved and groaned, anticipating her next move. The young woman's eyelashes kissed his thigh. He arched his back. He felt her lips. Then her tongue. He gritted his teeth. He tangled her flame coloured hair around his fingers. He felt teeth. A shooting pain surged up his body. She closed her jaw. He screamed. She tasted blood. He couldn't move, his body was frozen in shock and horror. She tore her face away. Her face was red and blood dripped from her mouth. The duvet was wet and crimson. The girl spat a misshapen piece of bloody mangled flesh onto the floor.
She slid her face beside his. She grinned. Teeth red. He whined. Weak. Agonised. Horrified. Could barely move. Mouth like sandpaper. Her sharp nails clawing at his cheeks, she spat;
“Now it's my turn.”