Lady Aibell Press
Someone, some thing has been speaking to Becky in her dreams. Wanton dreams. Lusty dreams. Nightmarish dreams.
Now he has come to her in the flesh. She begins an odyssey of self discovery and learns the horrors that lie within her own soul, what she is willing to do and capable of becoming. More importantly, she learns what she is willing to sacrifice and what she isn't.
The being that has been haunting her dreams is an ancient vampire. His melancholy soul struggles with the weight of immortality and shines a spotlight on the loneliness brought on by being immortal. A true and horrific beast, he is also a gentleman and one that knows the price he paid for immortality.
She watched in awe as he drew her closer and then offered the young girl’s throat like the tantric spoils of war. “Drink, little one,” rumbled his voice, echoing inside of her head.
She lowered her mouth to cover the gaping wound in the girl’s delicate neck. Without the slightest revulsion, she began to suckle the blood as it streamed from punctured veins. As she lapped eagerly at the bloody feast, her mind recalled suckling her baby at her breast and she felt her nipples tighten. It was the same sensation, the same peace. It was an eerie semblance to a suckling child and the bond between mother and infant. The bond was different, the emotion unique, but the underlying chemistry felt vaguely the same.
After a moment, she realized she could feel the heartbeat of her conquest. She felt it drumming in her temples, throbbing in her femininity. She felt very nearly as if her hungry mouth would inhale the girl’s soul. Watching the girls body grow limp, she sensed the life slipping from her prize, like the girl was sliding out of a cloak and stepping toward freedom and release. There was none of the sadness one would expect, none of the guilt or stomach wrenching horror at what she had just done. It was as if she had done the girl an incredible honor, or perhaps as if she had given her a great gift.
As the life ebbed from the girl’s body, Becky sensed the soul pass through her as it re-entered the universe. This was an awakening. She realized that there is no death. There is only a continuation of life. A soul merely takes a step from one world into another; the mixing of day into night.
She kissed the girl’s cooling forehead, thanking her for the gift, then turned her eyes to meet her Master’s. She saw the obvious pleasure in his eyes, but behind the twinkle of happiness, she saw a roaring furnace of desire building towards release.
Again feeling paralyzed by some magical spell, she watched as he leaned toward her face. Thinking he was about to kiss her, or possibly rip out her throat, she could not help but feel slightly nervous as his lips reached for her soft skin. She felt the stroke of his tongue and the plumpness of his lips pressing into her and realized he was cleaning the blood from her.
“Mmmmmm, a fine vintage, was she not?” she heard his voice echo in the recesses of her mind.
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His hot breath moved over her neck. She felt the heat and dampness of it flowing down her blouse, tickling the curves of her breasts as it drifted down the cleavage and fluttered over her tummy. The heat, along with the excitement, made her entire body feel warm, and an indescribable, cozy feeling overtook her. She felt the rest of her body awaken as a familiar dampness between moist thighs reminded her she was a woman.
Invisible hands strengthened their grip on her voluptuous hips. She felt a kiss from warm and wet lips pressing softly into the delicate side of her throat. Mesmerized and entranced, she watched her reflection in the mirror. She could see the imprint his sensuous lips left on her skin.
His unseen hands slipped around her hips and slid up under the bottom of her blouse. Gentle strokes on her smooth tummy awakened fires in her womanly core that made it difficult to breathe. Time came to a complete stop; there was only herself, the mirror and his magical hands.
Breathless with anticipation, she watched, hypnotized as the clear outline of hands stretched through her blouse. The imprints crept higher and then mercifully, they cupped her anxious breasts, caressing them through the lacy bra. In the mirror, it looked like a small animal had wiggled up her blouse and was trying to get out. The sight was almost comical, but the intensity of the moment drove away any desire to laugh. She could scarcely take in enough breath to keep from feeling lightheaded; expending precious air on laughter was out of the question. The outline was so clear she could even see fingers as they closed over the nipples straining against the confining bra, tugging gently on each one.