"Excuse me. Do you have anything that can eliminate this stain?"
The low, musical voice was fraught with urgency. With a weary sigh, Sybil stuck her thumb between the pages of One Hundred Years of Solitude. She turned her attention to her customer, a slender young man with Asian features wearing tight jeans and a look of concern.
"Let me take a look." She slipped a bookmark into Marquez' masterpiece then returned to focus on her companion. The guy passed the garment over the counter. As her dark hand grazed his pale one, a bolt of electricity made her gasp. She shook her still-tingling fingers.
"Sorry," he said, plump lips curving into a half-smile. Her stomach did a little flip. She didn't normally find Asian men attractive, bu this guy had some kind of pop-star charisma.
"It's okay. There's always a lot of static here, because of the dryers." Sybil spread the fabric out on the linoleum surface. It was a shirt in Renaissance style, yellowed with age. The cream colored satin graded almost to gold at the collar and cuffs. A rust-brown splotch defaced one billowing sleeve.
"You can't wash this. I'm not even sure that dry cleaning would be advisable for something so fragile." She slipped her hand inside the garment and spread her fingers, holding the fabric up to the light. "Look. In some places it's already translucent."
"Oh dear." The stranger shook his head. "That is my favorite shirt."
"If you wear it, it's likely to tear." Sybil's fertile imagination immediately supplied an image of her companion with his hairless, muscled chest visible through artfully arranged satin rags. Her pussy dampened under her Indian print skirt. His crestfallen expression added sympathy to her simmering lust. "If you like this style, you might try Trash & Vaudeville on St. Mark's Place. Wonderful vintage clothes, and pretty cheap too."
"Thank you. Perhaps I will." Even when he smiled, there was a pervasive sadness about him. Sybil had the urge to comfort him, to take him in her arms and cradle him against her ample breasts. The way her nipples tightened at the thought was far from motherly, however.
She scanned the otherwise empty laundromat, stark in the fluorescent glare. Pitch-black night pressed against the plate glass window. The floral scent of fabric softener hung in the humid air. One dryer halfway down the left rank hummed, emitting a rhythmic click as a button or buckle tumbled against the metal drum.
"Is that your load?" she asked, wanting to keep the conversation going. He nodded. "I haven't seen you here before. Do you usually do your wash during the day?"
"No, no - I just moved here a few months ago." He hoisted his obviously firm butt onto the stool on the other side of the counter. "I was pleased to discover there was an all-night laundry in the neighborhood." A jet black lock of hair fell over one eye. He tossed his head , flipping it back into place. The casual gesture was somehow supremely sexy.
"You work during the day?" Sybil smoothed the skirt over her lap, acutely aware of her peaked nipples brushing against her white peasant blouse. Arousal buzzed between her thighs. A bead of sweat trickled down the side of her neck. The place seemed even steamier than usual.
"Um - not exactly." For the first time he looked directly at her. His eyes were as black as the night outside. A delicious shiver crawled up Sybil's spine. "What about you?"
"Oh, I go to school, days. NYU MFA program. I've worked here since I started a year ago. It's not exactly my dream job." She shrugged, trying to slow her racing pulse. "But I've always been a night person."
"Yes," the young man sighed. "I am as well." He speared her with those coal-dark eyes, staring without blinking, as though he were reading her soul. Sybil squirmed in her chair, unable to look away. Did he see the fantasies her wicked mind was spinning? Her pussy grew slick and swollen. His nostrils flared. Did he smell the ocean scent rising around her?
For an endless time he held her there, suspended in his gaze. "What is your name?" he asked at last, without breaking the visual connection.
"Sybil," she whispered. He reached for her, grasping the hand that lay on top of his soiled shirt. Once again electricity sizzled through her. This time he didn't let go. Sparks teased her heavy breasts, making them tingle and ache. Current rippled through her belly to vibrate in the wet space between her legs.
"I am Liu," he said. Sybil did not see him move, yet suddenly he was behind the counter, still grasping her hand. His energy pulsed through her taut body. He leaned close. He smelled of sandalwood and earth. His lips grazed her earlobe, completing the circuit.
Pleasure surged through her. She sank to her knees, unable to bear the intensity. He followed, joining her on the floor. She felt his fingers combing through her wiry curls, his cool breath on her cheek.
"You are so lovely, Sybil," he murmured. "So ripe and full of life. I want you so much." She heard pain in his voice. Pain echoed in her chest when he released her and pulled away. He sat back on his heels and gazed on her, sorrow etched into his beautiful face. "I cannot allow myself to surrender to this desire, however."
"Oh...no...please, Liu...I want you too..." Sybil went wild. She dragged her blouse over her head and tossed it away, then untied the long wraparound skirt. The voluminous cotton tangled in her legs. "Damn!" She tugged at it but finally gave up, having to content herself with crumpling it to her waist. Her string bikini tore away with a single yank. Musk gusted out from between her parted thighs.
Canvas bags of dirty laundry lay piled beneath the counter, waiting for the daytime staff who handled drop-off service. Sybil stretched out on the makeshift mattress, arms above her head, breasts elevated, legs falling open to reveal her pussy. The lewdness of her position only excited her more. "Take me," she begged. "Now!"
"No, please...do not tempt me!"
Sybil hefted her breasts and squeezed the rigid tips, plump and dark like morsels of succulent chocolate. "Come on," she pleaded. "No one can see us. No one will know." She slipped a finger into her moist cleft and gasped at the sensations produced by that small intrusion. "I'm so wet, Liu. Come see. Come taste me!"
The young man groaned. All at once he was naked, his jeans and sweatshirt strewn on the floor around his lithe form. Sybil had time to blink just once before he was upon her, nuzzling her neck and stabbing his cock blindly against her sex.
"Let me..." Sybil reached between them, circling the smooth, cool rod of flesh and guiding it between her lower lips. He slid inside, gliding over her fevered flesh and making her writhe. She clenched down on his invading bulk. Waves of energy rippled through her, dancing over her skin, surging through her veins. He jerked, driving his rock-hard cock as deep as it would go, then pulled back and speared her again. Pleasure was too pale a word for the feelings that swirled through her.
"Sybil," he whispered, his lips near her ear once more. He traced the line of her jaw with his tongue, then licked and nibbled his way down to the hollow of her throat. All the while he slammed into her, fierce, relentless, as though he'd split her open.
Sybil arched up, grinding her pelvis against his narrow hips. He seized her full buttocks, scoring them with his nails as he sank his irresistible cock even deeper. "Oh, God!' she gasped, her eyes screwed shut in concentration. "I'm nearly there." Liu thrust faster and harder, battering her with pleasure. All the while his strange lightning flickered through her.
Her pussy was molten. She gripped his steel-muscled arms, straining toward release. Razor sharp teeth sank into her shoulder. Pain exploded, brilliant as a sunrise. The first quivers of climax shook her frame, even as she felt blood welling up from the wound.
She opened her eyes, seeking her lover's gaze. His eyes were pools of night, threatening to drown her. His formerly-pensive expression was replaced by a manic grin that exposed gleaming, vicious fangs.
"Do you still want me, pretty one?" he growled, crushing her with the force of his cock. "Now that you know who I am?"
Sybil was too far gone to answer.
The fire swelled inside her, sparks circling, making everything bright. He pressed his lips to her torn flesh. She felt his suction between her thighs, in the dark cauldron his cock still stirred. He pulled the blood from her, pulling her to the edge at the same time. His ferocious hunger fed her own, pushing her off the precipice. She tumbled into searing pleasure, convulsing under him even as he sliced into her breast and drank deep.
The feeble light of dawn brought Sybil back to her senses. She found herself sprawled naked across the piled laundry bags. She tried to sit up. A languid weakness infected her limbs. She could hardly move. Dried blood crusted over her breast, a few shades darker than her skin. She palpated the painful spot on her shoulder. Her fingers came away reddened and moist. She should have been afraid, but all she felt was sweet satisfaction.
Finally, she managed to roll over and rise to her knees. Her thighs were sticky and sore. Between them, her pussy tingled with echoes of pleasure.
After struggling into her blouse and untangling her skirt, she crawled to the vending machine and bought herself a Coke. The sugar and caffeine revived her to some extent.
She seated herself behind the counter, watching the second hand on the clock sweep time away. Five forty five. Elena, the day manager, would arrive at seven. Meanwhile, Sybil tried to think rationally about what had happened. Her thoughts just slithered away, losing themselves in the fog of remembered delight.
Vampires did not exist. But oh, the electric sensation of his teeth entering her flesh! And the dark fury of his cock, tearing her open! She wanted all that again, God help her. She wanted him, whoever he was.
Would he return? Was he gone forever, terrified by his lapse of discipline? She hobbled over to the window and peered out into the brightening day. The sidewalks were empty. Where did he go, when the sun drove him into hiding?
The laundromat was silent save for the tick of the clock. Sybil surveyed the small, bare space, as though he might be hiding somewhere. Her glance fell on one of the dryers. A crumpled heap of clothing showed through the circular window.
His laundry! He'd left it behind. Sybil grabbed a basket and extracted the contents of the dryer - not silk or velvet as she expected but ordinary things, tee shirts, sweat socks, boxer shorts... Automatically, she began to fold the items, piling them on the counter. Maybe, just maybe, he'd come back for his clothes. And he'd have to come at night, wouldn't he, when Sybil was on duty?
Maybe, he'd even come back for her sake. Perhaps right now he slept, in some shadowy room sealed against the light, dreaming of her.
The way she was dreaming about him.