A visitor (Xavier Thorne chapter 1)

Not many come to my secluded quarters. Once a cemetery for the nearby villages, it is now as deserted as the ghost towns nearby. As soon as the last scrap of gold was taken from under the mountain, most villagers moved to cities to work, and hardly anyone visits anymore. Sometimes, an elderly lady, bringing flowers to the grave of her beloved, soon due to join her in the world of shadow.

A vampire's unlife, the crossroads between the death and the living, allows me to read the minds of both, somewhat. I would tell her how her sweetheart loves her flowers, but the mere sight of me would terrify her. If she only knew the sort of demon who had been watching over her...

Not even that many decades ago, two country girls had fallen in love and would come at night into my garden to consummate their sweet innocent passion. I remembered one of them well: she must have been five years old when I'd first met her. She was lost in the woods, and I was just coming back from having fed, disguised as a priest. I guided her home - the least trouble around my hunting grounds, the better. I could do without the search party for a disappeared child.

I'm still puzzled as to how she managed to charm me in that short walk. Her giggling smile, and golden glowing locks reminded me of my little sister - back when I was a mortal. The purity of her innocence allowed her to feel no fear around me, and that felt refreshingly unusual. As I dropped her off at the edge of the village, she hugged me and aid,

"Thank you! You're nice! What's your name?"

"Xavier. What's yours?"

"Amelia." Her brow furrowed as she thought for a moment.

"You're beautiful. Marry me!" She shouted, giggling.

I didn't take her up on that. But from that day, watching over her and protecting her became my hobby.

I would tell her how I saw the sheriff spying on them one night about a decade later. No bigger slimeball had walked the face of the village in the last few centuries, his vile acts too many to recount. Mmm. "Slimeball". Sounds so much better than "scoundrel"!

Oh, how he saw the golden opportunity to run back to the village! Get the mob, surprise the witches, and have them burned at the stake -- not before raping them in the prison. I could see his plan unfold into his mind. There had been a few stillborn babies, and the village was looking for a witch to blame. What better candidates than a pair of lesbians, frolicking in a cemetery? Clearly, servants of Satan without a doubt. Witches, to be burned.

If he couldn't have her, she surely wouldn't.

I would tell her how he never made it. Mauled by a mountain lion in an unfortunate accident, his mostly eaten body was found several days later in the forest. The "witches" were safe, and I had had my fill both of blood and violence.

I enjoyed torturing him for a couple of days. I don't need to sleep, and for sure I allowed him no rest. When I was done with him, I set him up on a stool, with a noose around his neck. Then I crushed his toes and his feet with a hammer. I laughed in his face when he cried for mercy. Soon enough his feet could not take the pain, and failed him - I laughed again with grim delight as he desperately failed at stopping himself from hanging. Before he expired, I cut him down and drained all his blood. As his lifeblood flowed away, I cursed him into eons of torment in the beyond.

And then I fed his bloodless carcass to my pet. She roared and purred with thankful enjoyment as she devoured his flesh.

The lady never knew about her guardian devil.

Just don't mess with my friends. The burglars who never quite made it to her house last year could also testify to that -- if they could still speak.

Yet, save for this lady with now silvery white hair, my eternal home lies forgotten on a hillside. When I must feed, I have to fly much longer than I used to. Minor annoyance, but I actually like it that way. I've... always been a bit of a recluse. I have far more books in my library than one could hope to read in a lifetime. Well, an ordinary lifetime, that is. They also keep me up to date with language. If not for them, I'd still be speaking Latin.

Imagine my surprise when, at the crack of midnight under the moonlight, I hear steps in the distance. A young, forceful stride. Definitely not the old lady.

Someone willingly coming to offer me a meal?!

I quickly fly on top of a tree, hiding in the leaves, and smell the air.

Female. Fertile. Perfumed. Wearing leather.

Curiosity has the best of me, and thus I ignore my thirst for the moment.

And then I see her. Flaming long red hair. Leather trousers. Red and black corset. A long leather jacket.

My heart races. I lick my lips in anticipation for a taste of her blood.

She pulls out a camera, and starts taking pictures of the graves. As she snaps away, I sense energy coming from her mind.

Whatever it is she is thinking about, it's turning her on. Her blood is pumping faster, her skin is sweating despite the biting cold, and I can smell her nectar starting to trickle between her legs.

I tune into her thoughts as she takes a picture of a stone coffin. The picture in her mind is much more exciting. Hazy at first, but with some concentration, it soon becomes crystal clear.

There she is, chained to that coffin, fingering herself, a display of raw lust for the eternal eyes of the dead below.

She takes a few more steps, and takes a picture of a large stone cross. The moss that's covering it glistens in the flood of moonlight.

And there she is, chained to that cross in her mind's eye. Her arms strained above her head, exposing her bare breasts. A bullwhip extracting a scream of pleasure and pain whenever it bites her luscious skin. The image flickers and blurs into one of her, now suspended to that cross, with her legs chained and spread apart, getting brutally fucked by a demon who drips hot wax and claws her back while he pounds her anally.

I like to play with my food, especially when I sense it likes to play as well. I send a thought into her mind and direct her towards a certain grave. Unbeknownst to anyone, it is not just my grave, but also the entry to my underground crypt.

My mind spell works. She sits on my grave, crosses her legs, and lights up a cigarette whilst staring at the moon.

Her dark desires radiate from her mind with such a strength it slams into my thoughts.

As she is lost in her thoughts, I command the dead vegetation to restrain her. A dozen strands of dead brambles, animated by my dark magic, wrap around her ankles. Blood starts trickling out, and I feel a rush of wild desire. She lets out a scream.

I can smell her fear. And her arousal. I grip my fist, and the brambles bite deep into her flesh as they pry her legs apart. She loses her balance and lies with her back on my grave.

But even I was then surprised. She slowly unzips her crotch, and starts fingering herself, and moaning invitingly.

"Whoever you are, I order you - come and pleasure me!", she shouts in a commanding tone.

I sense the world of shadow is waking up. The spirits of the dead are tuning in with curiosity.

It's been eons since I last got turned on. Surprisingly, my prick is aching for this stranger. It hadn't felt a twinge of desire for over a century.

I command more brambles to tie her down completely. Tendrils of vicious thorns wrap themselves around her wrists and spread her down onto the freezing slab of stone. "You ask for pleasure? You will learn the true meaning of pain. How dare you attempt to command me?" I howl in my darkest, otherworldly voice.

Before she can react, I have already ripped a strip off a large silk handkerchief that was in my pocket, blindfolded with it, and gagged her with the rest.

She tries to speak, but only incoherent sounds come out.

I start to run my sword on her body. She writhes and wriggles. I slowly point it against her neck - I can feel her carotid pulsing against the tip. I slap her face with the flat side. Then, in a flash of steel, I slice through her clothing, revealing her bare skin.

Oh, what perfect breasts. My prick pulsates in appreciation.

"Now, a pretty girl like you trying to order me around... It's time I taught you some... manners. I will be back shortly." I say in a sweet voice.

She moans.

I enter my lair and find some instruments of torture. I select an Italian scourge, prized war spoils from the hands of an inquisition priest who had nothing better to do than try to mind my business. The vicious cleric had added some metal clips to it, to bite into the flesh of his victims. "I'll have to be a touch more careful with her than I was with him", I remind myself.

I also take a large buttplug, and an ornate black candle.

She does not sense me returning. She has barely enough time to hear the hiss of the scourge slicing through the air when it hits her breasts. She lets out a growling scream.

I hit again. And again. For what feels like an eternity, she screams in pain and pleasure.

And then I notice the river flowing from her legs.

"Whore," I address her. "All this does is turn you on, hmm?"

She groans and nods her head.

"Do you want more?"

She gurgles something in response.

I slide my gloved finger inside her. She writhes around it and squeezes it. I take it out and lick it.

Inebriating.

I rub it against her lips.

Aroused by the musky scent of her juices, I slide the buttplug into her to lubricate it. When i slide her into her arse, tears come out of her eyes from the pain.. Then, I light the candle.

I start dripping it on her. I start from her feet, all the way up her legs. I lower it when it hits her clitoris, and she lets out a yell of pain. So hot, it makes her shake and bite her lower lip.

Mercilessly, I drip all the way up to her neck and on her lips. On her face.

She grinds and squeezes against the buttplug.

My prick is now on fire. I slap her face with it and put it on her lips.

She tries to bite it through the gag, but my skin is harder. I pull it out and whip her viciously. The smell of her nectar makes my prick rage. I lick her clit and bite her labia. She whimpers and moans.

I let the brambles that tie one of her wrists a little slack, and tell her: 'do your worst'.

I watch as she fingers herself, her clitoris hard and glistening. Her nectar trickles down her thighs onto my marble grave.

I watch her moaning as she slides a finger inside her and rubs circles around her clitoris.

And then I can't take it anymore.

I order the brambles to pin her down, and they pull her wrists above her head, just as she's on the edge of orgasm.. Her attempt at resisting it fails. I fly on top of her and penetrate her brutally. She winces in pain at the size and hardness, and I do not relent. She squeezes it inside her. And screams - i can not tell whether from pleasure or pain.

Inebriated by the scent of her blood, I bite her nipples hard. She tries to fight me off, but the brambles pull her harder. I claw her, leaving marks on her beautiful breasts.

Her screams pierce the veil of the night. All the souls of the cemetery are now watching the show. Even the bigoted priests are watching with lewd delight and sorrow, now themselves devoid of all the pleasures they denied others, cursed into an eternity of the same unfulfilled desires they so unctuously imposed. And now, they can't even masturbate.

She grinds harder into me, squeezing my prick inside her. I feel it pulsating every time she squeezes it in. I will have my pleasure from her, and her blood. As she crashes into an orgasm, she squeezes me so hard I lose control.

I shoot my flood deep into her with a chilling moan. When I come to my senses, I find that my teeth have sunk deep into her neck.

I drank so much she's passed out. In fact, I've nearly drained her. The link between her soul and her body is starting to weaken. If I do nothing, soon it will sever.

I want more of her. I've only just met her, and I won't let her go. Such a nice toy is too new to be broken.

And her blood was so inebriating, I'm feeling drunk.

I make a snap decision. I slash my own wrist, and let my own immortal blood trickle into her mouth. Contrary to popular belief, a few drops are enough, especially from an elder vampire like myself.

I free her from the brambles, lift her listless body, and welcome her into my lair as I carry her. I lie her into the grand bedroom, sprinkle the silk sheets with rose petals, and kiss her forehead.

Soon, she would awaken to be my immortal lover.

And that, my friends, was the beginning of my troubles...

[To be continued]