Like everything else in her high-end flat, Parminder’s curtains are of extremely high quality. Double-lined and perfectly fitted from ceiling to floor, they function as perfect blackout curtains. Pity you guys left them open, really. Despite the sunlight beaming into her bedroom you’re so exhausted and enamored with the Egyptian cotton sheets and superking bed that you manage to sleep in. It must be gone ten when you blink your eyes open.

I’ve been thinking about firsts. If I’ve asked you about yours, you must have demurred. You share so much with me, but about certain things you are a closed bear trap. I know you weren’t always like this. You had to earn your teeth. I wonder, did you taste flesh first? Or drink blood? Perhaps you supped at the altar of the soul. It feels like the last should be most sacred and difficult, but I know first-hand the silk you use to seduce and bind your prey’s will.

A kiss, delicately pressed on your belly, wakes you up. What time is it? Who cares. It’s dark outside, still. A gorgeous Kashmir blanket still swaddles your legs and flank, but Parminder has pulled it aside to reveal your tummy. In the moonlight it is the brightest thing in the room next to her eyes. “You’re so thin,” she says. And you are. Though many courses of food and several pints of living blood were packed away, and still show their mark as a soft rise in your gurgling abdomen, the rest of you shows modest toned muscle and very little padding.

After she agrees to be your food and you agree to give her the night, there’s a moment of awkwardness. Have you ever had this happen before? Certainly this is new to her. It’s not like you needed her to agree, so I can only imagine that you were fond of her. Amusingly, despite the fatigue of blood loss, she took charge of the situation. She was the host, after all.

When your senses come back you realise she is furiously fingering herself. “Nng. Ah-ah. Up. Come on, pet. Up.” She whimpers when forced to abandon her own climax but obeys, sitting up tall on her knees. Your lips are centimetres from hers. Your hand traces patterns around her pussy, dragging an animal sound of need from her throat. She looks at you with begging eyes. “Would you let me eat you, if I let you cum?

While her lips linger on your belly, between ribs and belly button, she peels off the rest of your dress, and your panties along with it. You step out of both and gaze down at her, imperious. “Yes, I’m greedy. I want to eat everything. I want to eat you. Make me some room to eat you. Massage my tummy. And for God’s sake, put your mouth to good use while you do!

You could probably walk faster, but why would you? Parminder matched your pace and walked beside you but you took her hand and threaded it around your back. It was partially to further thrill her with the anticipatory contact with her first lesbian lover. But it’s mostly for the sensation of being touched. Your dress, cut like a country dress with coquettish asymmetric shoulders, is zip-burstingly tight. Her arm around your back helps drive home the distinction: there’s scarcely an ounce of fat where she touches your flanks, your back, the tops of your hips.

It is around the third course that Parminder starts to look concerned. “You weren’t kidding, were you?” You smirk up at her as you chew your mouthful of chicken souvlaki. Any garlic is neatly drowned out by the strong spices, cumin and cinnamon leaping most to the fore. A swallow sends this latest mouthful to join the thoroughly minced up spanakopita you had for a starter, and the mezze platter you had for a second starter.

It is around the third course that Parminder starts to look concerned. You met her at a concert. The Dead South happened to be touring nearby, and how often do they come to the UK? She was dressed like she thought it was an Evanescence concert, with spiked lower lip, pleated black-on-black corset, feather earrings and startling dark eye makeup over her natural gorgeous coffee-coloured skin. Your eye trailed to her often enough, and hers to you, that it quickly became clear you both were interested.

The throb in my pierced lip is offset by oxytocin and dopamine released at the simple touch of your skin. You ate your cheesy chips—50 month aged cheddar from Aldi is the shit—then immediately fell another 60% asleep. Barely conscious on the couch, you lie down on your back to give me best access. I’m reminded of times in the past, before I had sacrificed so much of myself and my fellow prey; before your own insatiable hunger for life led you to take down people already packed with fat.