Queer BDSM Excerpt from ‘Willing’ by Xan West

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We’re happy to share a queer BDSM erotic excerpt from “Willing,” which is one of the many stories in Xan West’s Show Yourself to Me: Queer Kink Erotica (available at Amazon, Go Deeper Press, and elsewhere). The piece was recently named by Lisabet Sarai as one of her top ten most memorable erotic stories: “Every time I read [‘Willing’], I marvel anew at the way it explores the emotional dynamic between dominant and submissive,” writes Sarai, who is editor of Coming Together In Vein, where West’s “Willing” originally appeared. Other top stories in Sarai’s list at the Erotica Readers & Writers Association are penned by the likes of M. Christian, Remittance Girl, and Alison Tyler, author of the Those Girls series, to name but a few.

Content note: “Willing” contains blade and knife play, blood sports, and blood play:

From “Willing” by Xan West:

The beast inside me calls for flesh, for pain. He is demanding and relentless, and I barely keep him in check. It’s better if they choose it. Want it. It adds a certain something that is indescribable and yet has become necessary to the meal. So I keep him sated with sadism, feeding on fear and pain and sex and helplessness. Once, I was waiting for the willing—that illusive willing boy I might call my own. I no longer hope for him. He does not exist.

Now, I find boys at the Lure. Boys like this one, who want to open themselves to my tools. But sometimes that is not enough to take the edge off. Sometimes it just stokes the hunger. When the urge for blood becomes incontrollable, even after play at the Lure, I return to Gomorrah, looking for those hungry eyes, the pulse in a boy’s throat that shows he wants it. That’s where I had to go tonight. It’s hard to keep a straight face here, amidst the pretenders, the elitist pseudo vampires, the Stand and Model version of SM, the Sanguinarium, the followers of the Black Veil. So, it’s a last resort, this feast of image and fantasy. When the beast must feed and pain is not enough.

I stride to a shadowed corner at Gomorrah and watch for food. The rhythm of the music brings a booming to my brain as my eyes slide along the flesh exposed, watching for that look, that swiftly beating pulse in his throat.

Whispers begin as I am glimpsed by the regulars, and I know all it will take is a crook of my head and a smoldering gaze. It’s too easy here. I am not seen. I am simply a fantasy come true, made all the more fantastic by my refusal to be showy in dress or demeanor. A growl of disgust rolls through me. I choose my meat, an Asian trans guy with just enough eyeliner, black hair that keeps falling in his face, and a carefully trimmed beard. I draw him to me and lead him out to the alley. He thinks this is a quick fuck and drops to his knees. My hand grips him by that delicious hair and yanks him up, tossing him against the wall. I want to savor this meal. He needs to last.

I pull out my blade and show it to him. His eyes widen and he whispers, “My safe word is chocolate.” I am surprised. Most who frequent the vampire fetish scene know nothing about real BDSM. These first words out of his mouth show that there may be more to this boy than I thought. I stand still, watching him. He is older than I had first surmised—at least 24. It’s always hard to clock the age of trans guys. The little leather he wears is well-kept, his belt clearly conditioned, and his boots cared for by a loving hand. He is motionless, knees slightly bent, shoulders back, offering me his chest. His pulse is not rapid, but his eyes eat up the knife, and his lips are slightly parted, as if all he wanted was to take my blade down his throat.

His eyes stay fixed on the knife as I move toward him. I tease his lip with the tip of it and then speak softly. “How black do you flag?”

His eyes stay on the blade. He swallows. “Very black. On the right, Sir.”

“Is there anything I need to know?”

“I am healthy and strong. I’m trans and prefer to keep my jock on during play. My limits are animals, children, suspension, and humiliation, Sir.”

“And blood, hm?” I am teasing. I know the answer. It is why I found him at Gomorrah and not at the Lure.

“Oh, please, Sir. I would gladly offer my blood.”

“Why?”

He takes a deep breath, closes his eyes a moment, and then opens them. The pulse in his throat starts racing, but his voice is calm and matter of fact. I tease my blade against his neck.

“I have been watching you a long time, Sir. I have seen how you play. I see the beast inside you. I know what is missing. Those boys at the Lure don’t know how to give you what you really need. They don’t see that they are barely feeding your craving and not touching your hunger. The boys here at Gomorrah don’t see you. They just see their own fantasy. They are simply food. I am strong, Sir. Strong enough for you. I can be yours. My blood, my flesh, my sex, my service. Yours to take however you choose, for as long as you want. To slake your hunger. I would be honored, Sir.”

I take a deep breath, stunned, studying him. This boy offered what I never really thought was possible. He has surprised me again. That alone shows that this boy is more than a meal. He just might be able to be all that he has offered.

I almost leave him there. I am ready to walk away. Fear creeps along my spine. With the centuries I have lived and the things I have seen, this boy is what scares me. There is nothing more terrifying than hope. I rake my eyes over him. He is standing quietly. He looks like he could stand in that position for hours. He has said his piece and is content to wait for my response. Oh, he is more than food, this one. What a gift to offer a vampire. Can I refuse this offering when it’s laid out before me? I step back, looking him over, and decide.

Read the full story in Show Yourself to Me: Queer Kink Erotica, available at Amazon, Go Deeper, and elsewhere.