Marcus woke just before dawn, hunger squirming through his guts, angrily twisting; burrowing deeper like a maggot gnawing away at his rotten core. He stumbled to the bathroom, barely making it in time to vomit the remains of last night’s meal into the sink - thin ropes of bile dragged reluctantly from his body, burning the back of his throat.

Placated for now, the hunger retreated and he ran the tap, splashing tepid water onto his face until the nausea faded. It was getting harder these days to maintain something approaching human form. Sleep was elusive, dreams tortured; hunger tore at his insides until he woke. Not that his waking hours were any easier.

He shook his head, wincing at the twinge in his temple and gripping tightly onto the cool porcelain sink for support. His doppelganger stared out from the mirror, splintered and chipped. Marcus glared back. Fibrous grey skin, muscles long wasted away leaving nothing but waxy flesh, meat as soft as rotten fruit. Red-rimmed eyes sunk deep into their sockets. Mouth drawn in, shrivelled; his tongue dry, lips cracked and brittle. Scratch marks mapped his body where he’d clawed at the pain.

Is this really who I am? Is this really all that’s left? Nothing but profanity in place of a god?

A god?

Marcus sneered at the thought, glancing at the garbage piled high in one corner of the room - styrofoam trays with half-eaten takeout, discarded wrappers, cracked and empty vials. The tub was lined with hardened scum rings; the taps coated with mildew and mould. Sallow light leeched through grimy windows long painted shut, leaving the room claustrophobic, the air sour and fetid in the early summer heat.

Some god. Behold! My temple!

And yet, still the women came; still they worshipped.

His services were unique. Older women; younger women. Single women, desperate for deeper gratification than their buzzing toys could give them; and married women, sneaking away from unsuspecting partners, or dropped off by curious husbands. They all came, brandishing money, seeking satisfaction. They all left, having found it, none of them ever knowing the true cost.

Marcus shook his head again. Pushing away from the sink, he stepped out into the hallway, slightly cooler air washing over his nude body as he made his way to the kitchenette, splintered floorboards pricking the soles of his feet. At this time of the morning, the block was still quiet; nothing but the faint rumble of air-conditioning units to disturb the je ne sais quoi of the slumbering building.

The room smelled of stale tobacco, alcohol and rotting food.  Over-filled trash bags lay grouped by the door, thin plastic skins split, garbage spilling out onto the floor.  Rats squabbled over something deep in the heart of the pile.  His client’s clothes lay where they had been torn off, strewn across the stained flooring. Only her Verscae jacket had been respected, neatly folded over the back of the room’s single chair, pushed up against a small wooden table crowded with junk mail, cigarette butts and dirty crockery.

“Why here?” Elaine had whined the first time she’d set foot into the apartment. “Why not the Waldorf? Or better yet, the Four Seasons? David’s firm owns a suite they use for executive guests. We could drink champagne, and make love on Egyptian cotton sheets.”

But Marcus had insisted. He didn’t run a sanitised fuck service for trust fund socialites. This was full-on, full-blown; dirty as sin, and as seedy and sordid as only real orgasms could be.

Elaine.  Rich; bored; married to the archetypal corporate salaryman.

David was hubby.

Hubby worked at some fancy corporation - Wall Street wizardry; fiscal chicanery; some white-collar, blue-chip crime shit like that. All dollar bills, no sexual thrills.

Hubby gave Elaine free reign: cash; clothes; cock.

Hubby was a dick.

They’d met in a midtown coffee shop. Free WiFi, twelve dollar shakes.  Patrons thinking Marcus wore this season's shabby-chic.

“This guy?” David asked, not impressed. “You gotta be shitting me, Elaine!”

“Martha recommended him,” Elaine said, eying Marcus lengthways, clearly unsure. “She said he really helped her after the divorce.  Said he made her feel like a real woman again.”

“But this fucking guy? He looks like a goddamn junkie!”

“That’s what she said.” Mind made up now. “So, yeah - this guy. I want to know what the girls at the tennis club are talking about.”

Argument over, Elaine winning even if hubby doesn’t see it yet.

“You’re telling he’s packing some kind of Frankenstein’s cock down there? Jesus, Elaine - if you want a fucking stud, I’ll buy you a stud.  But this fucking guy?”

Marcus bristled.

“Sometimes it not about the cock,” Marcus had said. “Sometimes the mouth can do so much more.”

Hubby learned quick.

Hubby fled the coffee shop.

Hubby stayed gone, periodically wiring funds straight into Marcus’s account, always paying on time. Busy, busy hubby, beavering away to fund wifey’s habit.

Elaine moaned softly in her sleep, and Marcus turned at the sound. Hunger, temporarily quietened but never quite gone, lashed out, and he trembled at the sudden rush. Without thinking, he retraced his path along the hallway to peer through the open doorway of the bedroom.

She lay on her side balled up in the bed sheets, one soft thigh peeking out from beneath the covers. Mid forties; salon-blonde and country-club tanned; potent. Blessed with hips and curves; the type of voluptuous womanhood that gets called zaftig by certain social circles, and Rubenesque by others.  Call it what you will, she packed enough boob and ass to satisfy most men.

Marcus hesitated, scratching at his greasy hair. Then Elaine opened her eyes slowly and stretched, feline-like; fingers and toes pointed. Pushed the bed covers to one side to reveal her nude body, spreading herself wide open, inviting him closer.

“Come here, lover-boy,” she said, smiling at him. “Let’s see what else you can do.”

She wiggled provocatively, boobs jiggling. Her movement sent a waft of perfume to his nostrils, cloyingly sweet, and Marcus’ stomach lurched. The hunger returned with savage intent and he crossed the threshold, crawling up into the space she offered between her legs. Elaine’s pussy was waxed smooth and Marcus manoeuvred his body closer, his tongue flicking out to graze her clitoris before slipping between the folds of her sex, running up and down her labia.

Elaine moaned, raising her hips slightly to allow him better access and Marcus obliged, taking her outer labia between his lips and sucking them gently, feeling the first tang of her arousal on his palate. With Elaine bucking rhythmically against his mouth, Marcus pushed gently at her slick hole with his fingers, smiling as her pussy grasped at the tips, almost sucking them inside as he flicked the hood of her clitoris back with his tongue, nuzzling it gently with his teeth.

Her arousal was more obvious now, her pussy weeping as he worked his fingers, curling them inside so that he grazed her more sensitive spots, prompting a low growl of desire as she moved closer to orgasm, pushing her body hard against his as she sought release. Her labia were slick and swollen, almost puffy in his mouth as he continued sucking and rolling them between his lips, letting his tongue jab gently in time with his fingers, tasting her desire.

With two fingers deep inside her, Marcus positioned his thumb at the delicate rosebud of her anus and slowly pushed it inside. The tight entrance constricted around the digit as if unused to having anything inserted.  Instead of protesting, Elaine sighed contentedly, her breathing coming in short, sharp gasps as she acclimatised to these new sensations.

Marcus began moving his fingers quicker inside her, barely withdrawing them so that he kept her wet hole stretched at all times, his face practically moulded to her sex; her juices smeared over his lips and mouth, running down his chin. When he finally stuck his tongue back inside her along with his fingers, both as far as they could go, Elaine moaned loudly, thighs trembling, closing around his head as the first waves of orgasmic bliss rumbled through her.

He saw the moment coming, practically gluing his lips to the entrance of her slick cunt, working his tongue faster; twisting and jabbing with frenzied rhythm. Elaine grabbed the back of his head, crying out as she came. Her juices flooded his mouth and he lapped at them eagerly, drinking all she had to offer, until both of them collapsed back onto the stained mattress, exhausted and drained; the air filled with the scent of sex and sweat, tart and musky.

It was the one thing that humans always forgot about vampires. They remembered the blood of course, but forgot about the sex.  Yet both were magical in their own way.  After all, sex was the key to all life.

Seeping into the slick walls of her cunt, the hallucinogens in Marcus’s saliva continued to flood Elaine’s senses, stealing a year of her life even as her orgasm had extended his. With the hunger finally sated, Marcus sat up, watching Elaine wallowing in post-coital pleasure. The saliva-high had taken hold and she giggled, thinking she saw angels as she slipped back into slumber.

Outside, the city awoke and went about its business.