(Monday, April 11)
Him: Vampire lust is barbarism. Vampire lust is opportunistic. Vampire lust devours without prejudice, like a voracious, insatiable glutton, unable to stop eating, unable to connect action and thought to consequence. I am only half vampire. Ruthless killing has never been my forté. I am a humanitarian first and foremost.
I said goodbye to my lovely Magdalene, to leave her to the morning, then drove to Sandrine, to the trophy I inherited. It was a spectacular morning. I felt vindicated and renewed. I had confessed my long-held secret to Magdalene and she had accepted my half vampire identity with an open heart. And yet, her acceptance was almost too easy. There had to be a backlash. There had to be a latent moment of realization to come crashing down. A close eye would be kept on Magdalene. She was worth ten thousand of my eyes. Magdalene was and is the giddy music in my head of warm lyrics and floating melodies. She made my life whole.
Sandrine was just a concubine. A half vampire deserves to feed more than once a month, and with more than one woman. After all, even a hybrid man must remain true to his nature. Anyone else in my position would do the same.
As I headed upstairs to the apartment, a memory reared up. I was standing above Jean-Pierre, overlooking his lifeless body, my former, intensely-stupid runner. His pasty white face and punctured neck had become a fanciful flashback, one I would relive only as a reminder that reality is expunged in one breath. I didn't blame myself for what happened. Jean-Pierre was too weak an individual to withstand the sharpness of my brutality. And as far as I was concerned, he brought on the trouble himself, through his own spineless lack of courage.
Magdalene's Aunt Aileen is a wealth of wisdom. She says death is hardest on the living. I would further qualify her statement to the effect that death is hardest for those who pine for the dearly departed.
Truth was, I cared nothing for Jean-Pierre. His young, eager girlfriend, however, had become my acquisition because my vampire lust demanded it of me. Not for one iota, did I doubt her obedience. After experiencing my devastating tongue, I anticipated she would froth at the lips for my lust to plunge into her again. I arrived at her doorstep hungry, my tongue and cock sensing the red to come, and my probing hands anxious to explore. A strand of three-foot twine was snuggly tucked into my back pocket. She answered the door naked. Those pert, tiny breasts were barely two scoops of fluffy oats in my hands.
“Samuel, like you actually came, just like you said you would,” she nervously declared.
I heard drops. I looked below. Blood fell in a shimmering cascade of one, two, three light taps, hitting the linoleum.
She closed her legs embarrassed and ashen-faced.
“Don't ever shy away from your womanhood, Sandrine… and of course I'm here. I said I would drop by, didn't I? I'm a man of my word,” I reinforced.
Even though I had a busy day scheduled, making time to satiate my hunger was logical. In my heart, I realized I would come to regret establishing a relationship with Sandrine but I didn’t want to help myself. I wanted to suck her blind, until every last, glorious drop of her young blood landed on my tongue and swelled in my belly. She would have to be dealt with most assuredly in delicate fashion. At some point in the future, Ottawa police would come to her, looking for Jean-Pierre, either that or she would go looking for him. Life doesn't end with one death. One death merely opens the door through which new energy may emerge.
I threw her slight body over my shoulder, releasing a whiff of female scent, reassuring me of warm, wet flesh to come. The world spins on the axis of female. We men are nothing without our women. We men are better with our women.
“Which way, girl?”
Romantic youth is charming. A line of lit candles ran from the hallway, around the corner, veering right to the bedroom. Young women change moods like weather. Sandrine's lust had transferred from Jean-Pierre to me in a heartbeat. Magdalene said it best: lust remains true to no one.
I gently rolled her body forward, off my shoulder and threw her. Sandrine bounced off the firm mattress, landing on her back. Her little breasts barely jiggled. Breasts, bums, legs, eyes, necks, thighs and bellies - these attributes are prizes to be appreciated. I grabbed her slight ankles, spreading and opening her feast of flesh. I stood back and admired my red prize, rubbing myself demonstrably.
“First a little lick or two or maybe forty-six will do,” I said playfully.
“Samuel, I thought of you like non-stop. Fuck! You’re amazing. Like I've never got off like that ever,” she said in her mindless twenties jargon. I expected her to discuss Jean-Pierre. She didn't. I kneeled, turning down my zipper, allowing my wolf to peak. Sandrine was in store for a surprise; one she wouldn't readily expect.
“Turn over, girl, and put your wrists behind your back.” Her eyes registered defiance. She opened her mouth to speak.
“I won't ask twice,” I calmly stated. A responsive, obliging and submissive woman must be schooled with gentleness at the outset. Otherwise, she will not be willing to do the things you want her to do.
Even before I knocked on her apartment door, I had decided to turn Sandrine. Having her spread-eagle, completely naked before me, not unlike our first encounter where I could only focus on her red cunt, I took a moment to scrutinize her body. She had no tattoos, which was fantastic. Tattoos are a detriment to flogging as the skin is raised up too much, requiring additional healing time.
Sandrine complied, rolling over. Her bum was fleshy like Magdalene's. I rubbed her softly in circles, stroking and caressing her cheeks without parting them, forcing myself to wait. The hunger of lust is no different than a wolf at the door.
“What do you plan on doing with me?” she asked hesitantly.
“Maybe nothing, lie beside you or I could do the very thing you need most.”
“Which is like what?” she asked.
“Why don't you guess,” I toyed.
“Like before, Samuel, what you did the last time. That's what I want.”
“You want me to lick you clean?”
“Yes, yes, yes that's what I want.”
“Is that what you really need?”
“Yes, yes, Samuel! I need you to lick me clean.”
“Maybe you need a particularly good thumping.” I felt her glee, looking at her from behind. I pulled out twine and loosely tied her wrists. A submissive woman will relax and allow control to be submerged inside pleasure but only after her mind accepts the belief that pleasure will surely follow. I produced a sleep mask, slipping the dark patches over her head, shielding her view.
“Samuel, I want to see,” she meekly protested.
“Quiet now… it's time for you to breathe and relax. Allow your arms to accept being bound. Allow your loins to anticipate. Let your mind wander and listen to my voice.”
“OK, Samuel… I'll do whatever you say. I'll do anything for you.”
Is it any wonder why men chase after young women? But the dream of remaining in control is nothing more than fanciful whimsy. Eventually, women, young or mature, will place expectations on men. At least a mature woman finds her rhythm in the relationship at the beginning.
“Good girl… you should do anything for me. I could hurt you at this point but I wouldn't consider doing such a thing. You need special attention, Sandrine. Jean-Pierre took you for granted. You should look upon his disappearance as a blessing. Your life will take on new meaning without him and you'll be happier.”
“Don't make me wait any longer… please Samuel.”
Not every woman can claim bragging rights to having her very own half-vampire. My goal was to teach Sandrine to appreciate the uniqueness of my desire for her blood. She could never learn about my true heredity, however. She could not be trusted; few women should be, like men. I trusted Magdalene with the knowledge of my heredity because she is my wife, my beloved. I had faith in Magdalene, who would not betray me by divulging sensitive information.
Blood reminds us we are all brothers. Blood reminds us of our mortality. Blood reminds us we live and breathe. Blood regulates and passes. Blood bonds us to our flesh and incites my digression.
I parted her tight cheeks, peeling the globule of flesh apart. And there it was, her crinkled hole, that amazing site that capped off the path leading to the primary place of my wonder. She had shaved off all pubic hair. It was another point to be covered between her and me: how to care for her pussy. Naturally, I would expect her to adhere to my design. When you get them young, their loyalty is changeable and their minds and bodies are malleable.
I looked long and hard at her sideways smile. Whether viewed straight on, upside down or from behind, I regard women as the abode of God. With my knees planted firmly on the bed, I smelled the bitterness of lime and lemon.
“Some little wench I know was drinking gin and tonics?” I said with sarcasm.
Sandrine laughed, nodding yes. She tried to lift up her head.
I directed her to remain straight. I bent my head lower, pausing for a few seconds, blowing air into her lips, watching them quiver, watching the flesh move as though her lips were breathing, and seconds away from uttering actual words.
If a woman's cunt could speak, what pearls of wisdom would they impart? Her cunt would have told me to shut the fuck up and start licking. Her lips twitched when the tip of my tongue twirled on the periphery of her opening.
The red void is a reservoir. Dried blood is dead in taste, whereas first-day female blood is pure and strong, nipping the tongue and senses with a stinging bite. The sourness of the second day pinches the glands at the back of the throat in sharpness and wonder. The third day blends into a tempting combination of sweet and sour, a less potent version of the first two, yet very much tasty. When I pass bleeding women on the street as I go about my day walking from one government office to another, I am overcome with the urge to swoon. The overwhelming aroma of blood I smell reminds me I am half vampire. As I ingest, imagery explodes in my head of wisps of cloud, the kind of clouds that hold old and young faces, those who have come before me. I see and hear horrible screams in my dreams and burning, free standing crosses, perched atop hills, below dark skies. These images disappear in a waking state, as I ingest, as my body wakes in wonder. The man's face in my dreams I can never make out, that face, which rings with familiarity, almost comes into focus in my waking thoughts. The faint image vanishes when I finish feeding. Who is the man?
My tongue descended and then my eyes rolled over, licking and sucking, swallowing greedily, pulling her hips closer to my mouth. My balls twitched. My muscles flexed. Sandrine's body was a spasmodic worm, moaning, writhing and squirming.
“I'm going to tie your legs down, girl… stop wiggling.” I spanked her softly.
“Oh, Samuel, you're like beyond fucking amazing. I've come three times… oh, man, like you're a fucking God or something.”
I spanked harder and she reacted defensively, inching her bum away from my mouth, forward to the headboard. I clamped onto her ankles, drawing her back.
“Next time I will tie you.” Both palms smacked her backside. “Don't make me work for it, girl.” I wanted her to writhe. I wanted her to resist. She was clueless, in truth. I doubt if it had even occurred to her to orally pleasure me. That would come in time. Her desire to ensure my pleasure would become her priority.
“Sorry…I'm not used to this,” she said. That wasn't entirely the truth.
“You're used to being slapped around, so I've heard.” I stopped licking, lying next to her with my hard cock, observing her nakedness. A woman with bound wrists is an enticing sight for any painter.
“Did you like it when JP struck you on the face?”
“No way, it didn't start out like that, not at all, he was sweet and caring.”
“Why did you stay with him if he eventually became abusive?”
“'Cause…he like threatened to kill me if I left him.”
“When he finally shows his face, I'll gladly beat the living crap out of him.” I was highly manipulative, encouraging the belief that JP would at any moment come home.
“I should file a missing person’s report on him,” she said.
“Why?”
“'Cause his family will blame me for his disappearance.”
“Tell them the truth that he fucked off and left you without a dime. Tell them you have another man and JP can go fuck himself.”
Sandrine laughed and when she did, a ray of youthfulness broke through the mask.
I stroked her bum, walking with fingertips to her crack, sneaking in between her cheeks to her red cunt, tickling and flicking her lips back and forth. I brought her off.
“Samuel, are you going to leave me this way?”
“With bound wrists, blind and vulnerable?”
“Yeah,” she said.
“Very tempting but no.” I pulled off the sleep mask, looking into her hazel eyes. Hers lacked the vibrancy of Magdalene's. An older woman is a sexual tour de force at forty and beyond. Nubile woman under the age of twenty-five are passable with bodies designed for birthing. Their minds, however, have yet to formulate a master plan. For intellectual challenge, sexual satisfaction and personal bonding, Magdalene had everything I wanted. For reasons of circumstance and exerting new control, I acquired Sandrine. It wasn't a direct hit to Magdalene. In good time, I would tell her about Sandrine.
Standing up from the bed I removed my shirt.
Sandrine watched.
I undid my belt buckle and took off my pants. My cock protruded out of the slit in my jockeys.
Sandrine looked astonished.
I saw what Jean-Pierre had to offer at his induction ceremony. He was nothing to write home about. Mine, on the other hand, must have alarmed and amazed her. I displayed my wolf.
Sandrine quietly acknowledged my girth and length. Her eyes never left my cock. She said nothing; her quietness won my approval. I enjoy the company of a chatty woman, providing they have the intellectual capacity to back up their dialogue. Not all women appreciate peace. For our second encounter, Sandrine knew well enough when to open. I moved toward her and into her small, wet mouth, went my cock.
“Elephantine cocks, if they could talk, would tell you to wrap your big, fat, juicy lips around this and suck it.” She pulled back her head.
“I know how to suck cock, Samuel.”
I smiled. Her spunk was unexpectedly bold. Conditioning a concubine requires giving respect in order to receive respect. I don't make assumptions. Not every young woman is skilled at fellatio. Her lips were flat until they closed around my wolf. I love the sound of smacking lips against cock flesh. With her hands tied, it was cumbersome to move her head back and forth. I needed to feel the warmth of her hot mouth, the silk of gliding tongue.
“Use the tip of your tongue and squeeze into my slit, girl.” Sandrine stuck out her bright, short, soft appendage.
“Good…that's real good.” I stroked her lovely blonde hair, moving it off her face to observe her eyes. “Lie your head down.” Sandrine had potential but comparing her to my Magdalene, my master sucker, was unfair.
The eye mask was put in place. I stepped behind her and straddled her parted knees, opening her pussy lips. I quickly slipped on a condom and inserted in a prolonged, gliding slide where every inch disappears. I marveled at how her lips hugged my wolf. She gasped and I winced. The tightness of her pussy nearly choked the life out of me. I thrust hard and fast, wanting more blood released into her cavity, wanting the red demon to be purged out of its treasure chest. I pumped and pushed, placing my hands beside her head.
“Are your wrists okay?” I asked.
Sandrine said nothing. “Girl, is the twine too tight?” I asked again. Sandrine's voice was barely audible.
“Don't stop…fuck me, Samuel… you're like beyond fantastic.”
Instantly, I pulled out. A gush of blood followed.
Magdalene was decidedly the resident writer in our marriage. I considered myself to be our philosopher. Seeking truth and wisdom came naturally to me. By birth, my philosophical depth was bred into my very being, a resulting factor of having to contend with a longer lifespan which translated into a deeper understanding of the universe. And rather than possess a flare for using language, mine was the capacity to recognize greatness. Where women are concerned, I should have written an encyclopedia or bible, perhaps not with the eloquence of a poet but with plenty of erudition to astonish readers.
I drank the fluid flowing from Sandrine's shaking vaginal lips, happily burying my face and nose, inhaling the glory of red. After a prolonged period, I stood up from the bed.
“I don't want you if you shave your hair all the way up. I like a little cap above the clitoris. And schedule permitting, I'll see you soon. Don’t worry if JP shows up between now and tomorrow because I'll deal with him. It would also maybe be a good idea to put aside filing a report.”
“Ya think…like he probably took off?”
“That would make the most sense. If he got busted, which he probably did, he might just be stupid enough to run away.”
Sandrine nodded. In her eyes, I didn’t see signs of hidden knowledge making the connection that I was behind Jean-Pierre's demise. Instead, my smeared, red face transfixed her. She rolled over and I spanked her bottom and left for the bathroom to wash up.
Work required my attention. I had an operations meeting with the Director of IT for the Privy Council office. I didn't anticipate the meeting going beyond lunch hour. I was waiting to receive one particular phone call. When we last saw each other, she told me she would be ready in one week. I didn't want to do what I had to do with this particular woman but I had given my word and a pact I would not break. A man without his word is no man at all.