Loading...Graphic lesbian sex, questionable consent, and…well…blood-drinking. Also more than likely entirely derivative, albeit subconsciously. If any of that disturbs you, please skip this one. Comments welcome!
I writhe naked on damp cotton sheets in a shallow restless sleep a few hours before dawn, the summer heat keeping me from any satisfying slumber.
“Wake up, Sweetblood.” She whispers from my bedside. No matter how light my sleep, I never wake to her opening my window or door, only to her resonant voice. I anticipate that voice nightly with a befuddled combination of dread and desire, left simultaneously discontented and relieved on nights she doesn’t come.
My heart races at her presence, and beats faster still when she presses her fingers to my neck to feel my quickened pulse.
She’s warm again. The first time she came to me her flesh was ice cold and pale, her pupils pinpricks in scarlet irises. Exquisitely terrifying. Each time thereafter she’s been flushed, her eyes a deep blue-violet. Traditionally lovely. Until she smiles with no conviviality and her sharp white canines are clearly visible behind her full, blood-red lips.
She shears a strip off my topsheet with a fingernail like a straight razor and ties my wrists to the wrought iron bars of my headboard. I lay unmoving on my back.
I don’t understand this part of the ritual. Certainly my fight-or-flight response flares, but it never progresses beyond the onus of quarry. She maintains eye contact with me throughout the experience and, so long as she has my eyes, she has my will.
Her hands go to my legs, spreading them open to her and pinning them wide with powerful fingers to absolutely immobilize me. She never digs her nails into me, for which I am grateful, but I could no more move my thighs from her grasp than I could lift a boulder.
Her head dips and she flattens her tongue to lave the outer lips of my pussy, eyes never leaving mine. Her tongue is long and hard like the rest of her flesh, but also wetted and slender. It’s covered in papillae barbs, like a cat’s, that rasp across my excited young body. Despite my fear, the sensation affects me on a purely physical level and I’m engulfed in lust before she even touches inside me.
Her tongue moves in deliberate lashes up and down the length of my slit, dipping inside only infrequently for the briefest of seconds. The teasing leisureliness of such a potent being is maddening, and I soon desperately want the length of her preternatural tongue to invade me.
When she does move further in, it’s with a series of curving lightening stabs within my canal that strike directly on my sweet spot and take my breath from my lungs.
I bite down on my bottom lip in a shock of pleasure and her nostrils flare. Immediately her tongue is gone and her head is raised.
“Do not bite your lip.” Her eyes are severe and her tone unforgiving. I tremble and manage to nod, afraid of the consequences of displeasing her even in apparently trifling matters.
Her tongue returns to my dripping snatch, this time trailing languid circles around the hood of my clit with sandpapery coarseness. Clockwise and counterclockwise. Over and over. My hips want to buck and my back wants to arch and I want to cum, but I’m held still at the mercy and pace of my immortal captor and she’s much too patient.
Her tongue slides down and submerges within me again, feeling almost absurdly gentle for such an austere creature. Despite its granite texture and firmness, she’s always been careful not to break my hymen. I don’t know why she preserves my virginity. Since I can’t seem to speak in front of her, I suppose I’ll remain curious.
A measured plunging begins and the rhythm continues until I feel myself nearing climax. Then she wrenches me back from the edge before I can go over. My moans of satisfaction become moans of frustration, but there’s no change in her demeanor or eye contact. From experience with her, I know denial will make my coming gratification greater, but that’s no corporal comfort as her mouth pulls back and leaves me emptied.
She nibbles my inner lips tenderly, not breaking the skin. Then her tongue moves down to my anus, licking over the surface delicately for some time before adeptly entering. A few months ago the concept of analingus would make me ill to my stomach, but by comparison it’s one of the more normal things she does to me. It’s certainly one of the more enjoyable.
Her rigid rasping tongue stretches my ring and probes actively inside. Wet, rough, and insistent. My cavity feels wonderfully full and stimulated as she thrusts deeply within me and twists her gritty tongue against my anal walls.
She curls two fingers into knuckles and punches them into my pussy in time with her tongue in my rear passage, hitting my clit again and again. I feel my stomach and pussy clench, ready to reach my apex. My free leg closes on her head against her soft platinum hair. Instantly her tongue withdraws and her hand forces my leg back down viciously.
She scowls slightly at me, I assume for moving without permission. My entire body seizes in fright and all I can hear is my thundering heartbeat for an interminable moment while I await her reaction. She growls in warning, but returns to her endeavor of inflicting a monumental orgasm on my willing body.
She resumes sweeping over and into my slit in placid circular motions, her tongue constantly moving but never hurried. Soon my distress abates and my body and I relish her ministrations once more.
She builds my orgasm by driving into me with hard fast strokes, then slathering me slowly, then decelerating further to nibble the sensitive flesh of my inner thighs and perinea, then licking around and under my hood in seemingly random turns. It’s my belief however that each movement – every nibble, lick, thrust, and suction I endure – is calculatingly delivered to a body she understands much more intimately than I do. Her efforts are painstakingly designed to propel me to the most powerful orgasm she can orchestrate.
Again I feel the tightening of my stomach and the contraction of my walls on her tongue that herald my climax. This time she lets it happen, magnificently. Pleasure rushes through me in a moment of supreme happiness and serenity.
Yet almost before I realize I’ve achieved orgasm, she releases my legs and leaves only a knee between them for me to grind as I ride it out. With astounding alacrity and precision, she has my head turned to the wall without snapping my vertebrae and her teeth are painfully deep in the tissue of my slender neck, just below and behind my jawbone.
She drinks the chemical-rich post-orgasmic blood from my artery so fast that even in my afterglow it staggers me. I take deep breaths and try to relax as she drains me, fairly certain that she won’t let me die and completely certain that I couldn’t stop her from killing me. My senses fail and I lose consciousness.
I rouse partially as I feel her coating my wound with her saliva. In minutes there’d be no indication of her repast except my faintness. She only took about a quart of blood this time, I’ll just need fluids and rest. The first time she took closer to two quarts and I went into shock.
I thought I’d die, confused and terrified. She saved me though. She licked all over my skin until morning. Two weeks later she came and drank from me again.
In the thin predawn light, I can see her next to my bed, if hazily. She’s smiling down at me. Her eyes are fully dilated like she took LSD or PCP, with only the thinnest ring of clear blue iris around the huge pupils. I watch her lick the last of my blood from her lips and teeth.
“Sleep now and replenish, Sweetblood. I will return soon,” she pauses and emotion flickers fleetingly in her wide eyes. It’s not an emotion like affection or remorse, more like mild disquiet, “You are delicate and can be easily damaged. You will not move next time.”
She licks my eyes closed and I fall into a deep, dreamless sleep.