Today’s selection was: Blindfolds, Chastity, Bloodplay. Well, I’ve written vampires in a few different directions, so – while I did have one for blindfold, it might crop up later anyway (or maybe I’ll go back for it). Instead, I decided, why not take a dip more into the… intense?
This is from a very unfinished work. I don’t know if it ever will be finished, but I think I would like to at some point – I think it’s a worthwhile if slightly awful story, but would require a lot of work.
Viola is a vampire spawn: she was turned some decades ago but caught in a cave-in, and as a result knows next to nothing about her form and what it means. She knows her heart doesn’t beat, that she doesn’t need air, and that she gets hungry, but beyond that is unknown. She is undertaking a journey to a city called Verenal, populated by vampires, in hopes of finding both help dealing with her life-as-it-is and in hopes of finding the man who turned her.
Chris is a draconid, a reptilian humanoid descended of dragons, and was once a servant of one of the higher families in Verenal. He was exiled from the city for reasons he hasn’t yet fully divulged, but gladly took up the cause of escorting Viola, teaching her what he can, and – enthusiastically – ensuring she has a supply of blood. Chris is addicted to being fed upon; this is not yet known, but becomes important later in the story. As we can guess, surely all of his advice for Viola is beyond reproach (not).
Wyrria is a hired mercenary, only there for protection. She may crop up in other snippets as she’s also at Iolanda’s party, but she’s hardly in this.
This story is set in Arellan, a fantasy world.
This piece includes vampiric feeding during sex, both fairly messy, from the point of view of the vampire; she is new to this form, and unaccustomed to much of it. If you dislike blood, I would suggest you not read.
Below the break is some messy, bloody, fucking a near-stranger against a boulder.
On one of the first nights they passed within earshot (or at least, her earshot) of a camp with a different sort of activity within it. The distant sounds of moans, groans, shouts; hearts pounding with exertion and passion, several of them, and the rhythmic hammerblows of them filled Viola’s head and echoed within it like it was an empty tin can, until she could not hear what Chris was saying – until she couldn’t force herself to focus on his words, but thought only of flesh and heat and blood all at once.
“I am hungry,” she stated simply, reaching for Chris’ hand. Her tongue tensed, as if there were more words upon it, but her mind didn’t have many words to give. Instead, she tugged him off away toward a large boulder set into the sandy landscape.
Chris nodded, following; Wyrria watched them go in the moonlight. “I’ll just wait here, shall I? Don’t worry, I don’t have anything better to do.”
“Sorry,” Viola offered, the only explanation or apology she could think to give, but she simply- needed, and it was clear to her that her mind wouldn’t resume its normal useful tracks until she dealt with that need. Wyrria waved a hand dismissively with a grunt anyway – in her own oft-quoted words, she was being paid.
Viola tugged Chris around to the other side of the large boulder and then spun, putting his back to the rock. She buried her mouth immediately in his neck – biting, yes, but not only that and not only to feed. Her tongue lashed out more than was needed; her fangs nipped at him lightly after she’d drank a few mouthfuls and taken the edge off of her hunger.
One hunger, at least.
“I want more than blood,” she hissed into his ear, feeling his heart quicken, feeling his blood rush; she stroked firmly at the front of his britches, clutching at the bulge she felt there.
She didn’t have many words in her head, and as it turned out neither did he; he let out a plaintive noise and nodded, his clawed hands gripping at her sides but gently. Her fangs found his flesh again, piercing scales on the opposite side of his neck and drawing a rough groan from his throat as she stroked at his bulge again.
It made her chuckle, giggle – delighted; she felt playful, she felt needy, she felt wanton, she felt wanted, and it was wonderful. She felt as alive as she had in a long time as she pulled at the overlapping flaps of fabric, untangling and unraveling them until she reached through the front of his pants – a handy feature meant to make relief on the roads easier and faster, to let him empty his bladder without needing to remove the garment entirely, but one with multiple uses as her hand wrapped around him and he gasped a moan.
Viola shucked her own breeches off; a little snap was the only indicator as she broke the drawstring, but neither of them noticed enough to raise complaint over it, and complaint was nowhere near their minds anyway. She hiked a booted foot up against the boulder and leaned toward him, quickly spitting into her hand to slicken him up without even a brief thought for what exactly it was that she was spitting out.
For a moment – a very brief one, only the space of a few of his increasingly rapid heartbeats – Viola leaned back slightly, stroking at his cock, one foot braced on the boulder beside his thigh; Chris’ eyes were closed, he leaned back against the rock and sighed roughly as she stroked at him. The reptilian ridges along his face were flushed a bright red, blood dribbling down both sides of his neck and into his shirt; she was being messy, but she didn’t care. She could smell the blood, feel its warmth even from this distance – feel the same coursing through her from the mouthfuls she’d swallowed, and she wanted more than that of him within her.
Viola leaned forward with a growl, rolling her hips toward Chris, guiding him in with her hand; he hissed through his teeth, and she felt resistance to be sure, but none of the slight discomfort of accommodating someone or something new that she might have expected; he was different in form and dimension from any lover or any personal toy or experiment she’d ever had, but she took him easily, slowing herself only briefly and only out of concern for him. Pain and discomfort might have been beyond her body now, but she knew he would still fall prey to them and she didn’t want that.
…he should be falling prey to her, and her alone.
She bit his lip, hard enough to draw blood as she thrust against him and gasped; the blood filled his mouth and she chased it down with her tongue, deep into his unfamiliar mouth, his forked tongue meeting hers in an intimate and frantic dance as her hips started to speed up, snapping against his forcefully.
It was glorious. Viola had always enjoyed sex, while she lived – and some small mournful voice within her did lament the loss of some she no longer had, the sweat and the heat and the racing of her own heart, the heaving breaths and all as her body reacted not in the slightest to anything, but that voice was drowned by the choir of lust and hunger and satisfaction that filled her and lent its collective voice to hers, resonating in her chest and throat and out into the night air, and regardless, his heart did plenty enough racing for both of them.
She always had enjoyed sex while she lived, but this was a fulfilment of a different sort, a greater sort; she drank as she fucked him, both deeply, reveling in the taste and the warmth of him, the smell of his blood. His claws turned in against her sides, scraping deeply and she let out a cry – an encouraging one – gripping tight to his shoulders in turn as he started to thrust back at her.
Their sounds mingled together, as much an intertwined tangle as their tongues, as their bodies; shouts and swears and hisses and moans, gasps and groans and guttural growls filling the night air as thick as the darkness itself.
Viola could hear the changes in his heart – it faltered as she drank, and that meant weakness; she wanted to exploit that weakness, to fall on him and take him to the ground and drain until there was nothing left, the hunger in her gut told her so. Another hunger though, another need, wanted him alive; alive and moving and thrusting into her, clutching claws at her side and her back and her thigh, and it was that hunger which won out.
For the moment, at least.
She withdrew her head a little, delightedly lapping up what blood was already available but holding her fangs back from his scales – even as something within her rebelled. She heard his heart strengthen again, renewed vigor in his movements, and she spurred him on with her voice and her hands and her body, thrusting forward against him with more than the force he could manage.
When he neared his limit, she could feel it; could hear it in his heart and the strain of his voice, the way they built up, and at the last possible moment she pushed herself back away from him, away from the rock, and fell to her knees to drink a mouthful of an entirely different sort from him.
It mixed with the blood oddly in her mouth, but pleasantly, and she wasn’t sure she would be using it as a dressing over salad but the prospect of cocktails was certainly enticing. Viola swallowed down the mixed mouthful of blood and the rest, lips wrapped tightly around him, clawed fingers raking down his scaly abdomen underneath his blood-soaked shirt.
…and when it was done, she had no heat left, and no heaving breaths, no racing heart and no lingering ring in her ears, and no sweat – not even any to have transferred from him, his scales not reacting to exertion the same way skin would. She spared no time mourning those small losses, though, as she stood to lean forward against him.
His heart raced plenty, and she soaked it in as she could, shifting as his lungs pulled in deep and fast at the night air. She heard his heart slowly, gradually return to normal – a little slower than normal, in fact.
“That-” Chris let out a heavy sigh, stroking claws through Viola’s hair. “That was… wonderful.”
“Yes,” she agreed with a happy small hum through her nose. “I- apologize for not asking more clearly, I just…”
She trailed off, unable to clearly articulate her thoughts and feelings on the matter.
There had been hunger there, but how much of that was her, and how much was the curse – the gift – she now bore? Chris had mentioned relationships with other blood-kin; they didn’t seem uncommon. Was she alone in that link between lust and hunger? It seemed unlikely. Things seemed different to her than they had moments before.
“I wanted you,” she stated slowly, certainly, and was pleased to find that the words felt like truths as they emerged. They may not have been the whole truth, but they were not pleasant lies at the least. Whether it was the hunger or her, in the moment at least, she had wanted him. She believed that.
“And I, you,” he confirmed. “I- whatever you would have of me, I am glad to be of service, but moreso than that… I feel a tenderness toward you particularly. Your life has been so hard. If I can give you something soft, I would do so.”
“It really wasn’t that soft,” Viola teased, kissing him on the neck and taking advantage of the opportunity to lick a little more blood up as she stroked between his legs again. “And I- the end, I thought… well, I was unsure of pregnancy. In life, there were potions and tonics and measures which could be taken, but out here-”
Chris nodded, petting the back of her head. “Of course, yes – although you need worry over that no longer, and you need not apologize or explain for anything. You’ll find I was quite satisfied with the experience, ha!”
“Yes, well, I feel a little left out and quite like a third wheel if I’m honest.” Wyrria’s voice drifted over from the other side of the boulder, carried by sandy desert air which sounded much the same as she did. “So do you think we’ll be getting back on the road, now? Or at very least ask me the next time. I’m not saying I’ll say yes, but it’s good to be invited at least.”
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