The Fair Vampire

“The Fair Vampire”

         The master told Renate that she and the two others were not allowed to have the young man. Damned if she was going to listen to him. She confidently led the two dark-haired women down the dank castle corridor toward the man’s room. Long white candles flickered on the castle walls, making grotesque shadows that reminded Renate of something. She couldn’t remember what.

         The closer to the bedroom in which the master had locked the man, the more excited Renate became. Her feet rose from the ground. She began to glide rather than walk. Having not fed on human blood in days, she was sick to death of drinking rats and cats and other unseemly little creatures. Their blood was not nearly as rich. It gave nowhere near the pleasure or fulfillment of a warm young man or woman’s blood.

         This man the master had contrived for years to bring all the way from England to the castle was lovely. She could see why the master wanted him so much. His hair was thick and dark, and his body slender. His eyes were soft and brown, large with long lashes that gave him the appearance of such innocence that Renate was afraid she was going to devour him whole. But she knew she mustn’t. It was one thing to bring the girls out for a drink against the master’s wishes, but it was another to use him up entirely. The master would be furious. He had plans for this guest.

         The heavy bedroom door was locked of course, but Renate opened it easily. Her long gold hair rustled against her sheer dressing gown as she yanked it open. Opening it was easy. Being allowed in could prove more problematic. She waited at the threshold, forcing into the head of the man on the bed her desire for permission to be welcomed inside. It was simpler than she supposed for only a second later she sensed his consent to enter freely. Her sisters-in-blood followed her into the room, staying a respectful distance from her lead. She was the master’s favorite--no matter how many others were to come--and they well knew it. She was, after all, the Countess Dolingen.

         The man lay on his back on the large bed in a dreamlike state. As Renate approached the bed his eyes opened, and he regarded the women in horror. Renate had often wondered why their appearance caused such initial fear in the living. Death had not stolen their beauty. A scream escaped his lips. Renate knew she must act quickly else the master be alerted to her mischief.

         On hands and knees she started at the foot of the bed and animal-like crept across the black silk sheets to the petrified man. Reaching his immobile body, she slowed down. It was no fun to do it quickly, and besides, the man was no longer trying to scream. His expression had changed. This changed appearance pleased her greatly. She knew it well. He could hardly wait for her touch now.

         As she languorously crawled up his body, she looked back with her jewel-like blue eyes to where her sisters stood at the end of the bed, eagerly awaiting their turn. They smiled wide, fangs bared.

         “After you, love,” Sabina told her, waving a hand toward the man. “You deserve him first.”

         Renate turned her attention back to the man. She was straddling him, but had not yet bared her fangs. Slowly, she reminded herself, she must try to do it slowly. Forcing herself to be leisurely and deliberate increased her excitement. The rapture of her anticipation was particularly enormous. She had wanted this man for a long time. The wolves were a nuisance that icy night she came closest to having him. She did not feel the same kinship as the master to the feral beasts.

         Renate abruptly remembered also that she did not move fast enough that Walpurgis Night, did not grasp him quickly enough. She would not make that mistake again! The master would be so furious, but she did not care anymore.

         The man was actually leaning up toward her now, eager in his desire. The loathing in his eyes was gone. He was hers. She pulled at the stiff-collared shirt that was typical of these repressed Englishmen. Its buttons opened for her easily, almost as easily as his mouth went to hers and kissed her red lips fiercely. She led her hands from his chest down to his inner thighs. Once between his legs she made long strokes, with mounting intensity, over the top of his pants. He frantically unfastened them. She let her searing kisses run from his mouth, down to his chest, down to his stomach, down to his thighs. As she stroked him, she teased his inner thighs with kisses.

         “Please,” Jonathan whispered, gazing into her sapphire eyes in a way that suggested he remembered her. “Please.”

         Her kisses moved closer and closer toward his swollen cock. Upon reaching its base, she began to lick the shaft. His panting increased, lick after lick after lick, until he was a hard trunk in her mouth. The act had no little affect on her own body. It throbbed with eagerness to soon drink the precious man’s warm, wet blood. Soon.

         And then she was no longer able to completely hold back her fangs, could no longer control herself. Staring into his eyes, into his luminous, dilated pupils, she languidly ran her crimson tongue across her sharp teeth. Renate sunk into his hard cock and drank deeply from its rich vein. The man moaned in delight.

         She sat up, straddling his waist, and lifted her gauzy white gown over her head, revealing firm, curved breasts. The man pressed his face into them, sucking and squeezing her nipples until she felt them grow painfully and delightfully sore. He grabbed her thighs and rammed himself into her. She arched back in ecstasy, far enough back to see her sisters standing close behind her, their bodies taut with excitement. Their hard, dark nipples now showed through their pale gowns. They pulled at their mouths hungrily, waiting for their invitation.

         Renate beckoned Sabina and Ileana to her. One dark head bent over on either side of her fair one, watching her intently as she leaned in closer to the moaning man. He wrenched her toward him, toward his neck, as her sisters moved in, awaiting seconds.

         Still sliding up and down his engorged cock, she sunk her teeth into the skin of his breast. The vein near his heart was full of intense blood, thick and invigorating. The warm, delicious ache that had begun in her long legs spread throughout her body as she sucked and sucked him. In waves, the orgasm jerked her, her mouth convulsing, dripping with hot blood, her pussy convulsing, dripping with hot semen. She lapped madly at his wet chest, gorging herself. Her sisters leaned in for their share of the feast.

         She did not hear the door open, but her sisters did. They jolted off of the bed, pulling her with them. The master’s voice rang out, saying something, something about belonging. Renate was in too much of a frenzy to understand exactly what he said. She did, however, comprehend the meaning of his tone. The three women shrank to a corner of the room in dread of the master’s wrath.

         Surprisingly, there was no punishment. The master instead hurriedly threw a bag at them, filled with the half-smothered baby of a peasant woman, and sent them from the room. Renate seized the bag from the floor and, laughing at their good luck, they fled. She took one last look at the lovely Englishman on her way out and saw that he was unconscious, but alive.

         As soon as the three women had stepped through the threshold, the door slammed shut. Renate could not help but smile as she wiped her bloody lips on the sleeve of her white gown. Dracula would finish what she had begun.