Thirst Smallville Novels & Stories

I had to ask, and my eyes went looking for water and as if on cue, Cecil handed me a glass to which I gulped like I had breathed the water in. “Just a few hours, you were pretty dehydrated.” Bayne answered while I passed the glass to Cecil. “Another please…” I said to him, this time my throat felt like it was mine again instead of feeling like someone had taken their time to scratch the surface using a rake. Cecil filled my cup up and passed it to me and I took it with desperation like if I didn’t I was going to die of thirst that instant. “Easy, you don’t want to choke on it.”

I want to drink water. Azfarin said in a melancholy voice and raised her face and looked at the boy standing in front of her. Azfarin's face turned yellow, whether he was human or not? Breathing was not taking the name of recovery. The body was completely emaciated. Thorns were biting in the throat. The feeling of intense thirst had increased badly. Due to which it was impossible to take even one step now. "Is it on my soul that they should not reach us and you have to drink water?"

Then something cold and damp touches my lips. A sponge. For a split second I want to knock it away, but the small trickles of water instantly soak into my painfully dry mouth and throat. The relief is immediate, almost overwhelming. It’s like rain falling onto cracked desert soil. My throat greedily absorbs every drop. Then it stops. The sponge pulls away. Frustration sparks through me. It feels like a cruel tease. Suddenly I hear sniffles. Quiet sobbing. “My love… I’m so glad you’re okay,” Vance whispers softly. “Just know that I will never leave your side again.”

My lips were dry and my throat burned in thirst. Heaving a sad sigh, my eyes traveled in the direction of the quarters. I groaned inwardly, calculating the long distance in my head. If only I could have a glass of cold water to quench my thirst. At the same time, I didn't want to leave my chores halfway. My eyes lit up in joy as a slave crossed my path holding onto a small flask. Walking to meet her, I tapped her shoulders slightly, forcing a nervous smile in greeting. “Hi, is that water?” I asked, licking my dry lips.

Half past one in the morning. I swallowed my saliva to moisten my dry throat even though it didn't reduce my thirst. I've been asleep for almost fourteen hours ... No wonder I feel so thirsty, the last time I drank blood was almost twenty four hours ago. Before I could open it, the door in front of me opened first. Automatically my feet took a few steps back but a hand stopped me and pulled me into a very familiar embrace. I took a quick breath in in surprise, the delicious smell filled my lungs making my thirst even worse. Before I could open my mouth to say his name, his hands wrapped around me so tightly that I couldn't hold back the corners of my mouth to form a smile.

He wasn’t even offering her a bite. “Mike,” she whispered, unable to hide her pout. His sharp eyes met hers mid-bite. “What?” His tone was cool, casual, as if it didn’t bother him at all to be caught. “Nothing…” she muttered, looking away, her cheeks puffing in frustration. She stood slowly, her gaze falling to the jug of water on the small table across the room. Hunger she could tolerate—she’d learned to ignore it long ago—but thirst was different. She walked over, her body weak but determined.

Thirst Trap lets out a low guttural groan as he releases down my throat. It seems I gave him the best service of his life because his legs began to spasm, and he looked spent. He slides out of my mouth, and his limp dick falls flat on his balls. He cups my cheeks, leans forward, and kisses the top of my head. It is no longer about need, but something deeper.

CINZIA POV I was thirsty. It had been two days since our capture, and I hadn't had more than a sip of water. I supposed I should count myself fortunate, as the others hadn't even had that chance. As a server passed by, I swiftly snatched a glass, hoping for a reprieve. I downed its contents in a single gulp, only to wince. It wasn't water. My throat burned, and I gasped, scanning the expansive hall for something to ease the pain creeping toward my chest. I had never tasted a glass of wine in all my years, but the it had looked inviting and much more like water.

“Are you hungry?” She blinked again, then locked eyes with him. “I’m... just thirsty.” Phillian grinned knowingly. “I could tell. From the way you stared at my body.”

I’m not sleeping anywhere except next to her, and we both know it. “Not really,” she murmurs, voice rough, “but I’m really thirsty. My throat feels like sandpaper.” I slip on some undies and turn around. Her hand curls around her neck as if she’s trying to coax moisture back into existence, eyes drifting — unapologetically — over my chest. And suddenly I’m thinking the thirst isn’t only from the drugs. She’s affected. Almost as much as I am. That thought makes me smile. “Can we watch Dexter?” she asks.