Well, dear, avid reader…

The last story I posted I discussed how sometimes when I write the tale seems to have a life of it’s own. Well this one ended up having an afterlife of it’s own! As you can see form it’s sub-title it is part nine of a twelve parter… I guess you could call it a novel! It ended up with such an after-life there was even an epilogue and an epi-epilogue (if there’s such a word). Like a lot of my stories I like my own personal twists and although i’m a part-time fan of the vampire story and film I always like my tales to have some semblance of behaving as regards the physical laws of the universe we inhabit, of course if you pick a different universe, I have no objections. All of my favourite horror films aren’t the slice and dice variety that makes you jump while watching them but the one’s that make you jump after you’ve watched them. So if vampires existed… maybe they might be a little like O’Neill?




(The Tales of O’Neil- Act IX)


There’s no such thing as monsters.

We’re just a natural variant, a Darwinian predator. Okay, we do need blood to survive and if people really believed we existed, they would be queuing up to put a bit of ‘4×2’ through my chest.

The facts of the case: well, I absolutely love garlic and holy water doesn’t burn me. Crucifixes and hallowed ground, whatever, hey, I’m an atheist so I’m going to hell twice! Superhuman strength and can only be killed with the aforementioned, I wish. Now sunlight does present a problem – we don’t go up in flames, but our skin does burn very easily. Five hours on a beach in Bermuda and I would be toast, but more of a slow roast than the Hollywood pyrotechnics. Why do you think we all look so good in black?

Oh, and sorry, no freaky transformations into bats or growing a Klingon forehead. Who the fuck comes up with those ideas?

On the plus side though, we are immortal if we don’t get hit by a train. We do not age. We heal from most injuries, except major or massive trauma, fairly quickly – we can’t re-grow limbs or digits, but give me a day and I am as good as new. We don’t suffer any illnesses and I only have to shave once a week (definite plus). We are stronger than the ‘average’ human, have a very high tolerance for pain, and have very quick reactions, but against the like of an accomplished martial artist or trained assassin I’d only give myself even odds. And we are all very wealthy; you wouldn’t believe the killing you make on long-term investments.

About the one true myth is the bite: our saliva and blood carry enzymes that mutate homo sapiens D.N.A. Very rarely one of you is immune, and it’s our bad luck that one of us bit that hack Stoker; but for him, we’d be as well known as the Tuatha Dé Danann. And if the donor – okay the victim – survives, normally they will transform, fucking painful I tell you. But we are a selfish bunch and, well, too many of us and we would become obvious, probably a good thing.

Are we sterile? Well, two vampires couldn’t have a child; the ageless thing basically means the egg doesn’t grow (you can tell I’m reading this can’t you?). With a human the odds are about in one in four of a human/vampire crossbreed with no chance of immortality. But to be honest we don’t make good parents, I did say we were selfish.

So I guess the serial killing is a bad thing, though personally I only need to feed three or four times a year, something to do with us needing to consume your haemoglobin (look it up if you want all of the technical jargon). Oh, and no pointy teeth, either. Ironically we need dentists just as much as the next person; I haven’t an original tooth left in my mouth.

So here we all are, the winter is drawing in and the nights are getting longer, and All Hallows’ Eve is upon us. Party Time!

It’s a tradition thing, about the only time of the year the Brethren are sociable unless one of us is coming up to a centenary, and you certainly don’t want to accidentally gatecrash one of those parties. I tell you, we were cleaning up for two solid days at my Blood Child’s hundredth until we thought to just burn the place down. We may have annoyed the locals, as they had only built the Alexander Palace a couple of weeks before. Have you ever tried getting that amount of blood out of soft furnishings?

Quiet affair this year: just me and Isabella, my only Blood Child (don’t know who coined the phrase, always seemed inappropriate to me, seeing as I was fucking her when I turned her), going out on the hunt. The two of us are standing naked on the balcony of my flat looking out across the Thames. The sun is just dropping below the horizon behind my building (always have an east-facing flat if you enjoy the end of the day and don’t want your skin to melt), the city appearing in the twilight to come alive.

Is’ arrived four days ago, travelling overnight from Rome, where I spent last Halloween. She looks about twenty years old, almost six foot tall, her body toned and her flesh so dark as to be almost black as night. Her long legs rise to a perfect ass, which I first saw two hundred and thirty five years ago tonight, but that’s another story. Her breasts, although not large, are incredibly firm and topped with black nipples that when erect are over an inch in length. A simple silver chain hangs around her neck, a small Celtic cross that I gave to her at her first century bash, hanging just above the swell of her bosom. The only scar to mark her flesh permanently, from when she was human, is a circle and cross, branded at the top of her left breast. Her hair is braided, falling to the top of her ass cheeks, steel balls around the ends glinting as they sway. I smell a drop of my blood on one where it pierced my side in the throes of her orgasm as she flung her head back and forth. I look to her bald quim, where my white cum seeps down her thigh.

We have spent the last few days fucking, each time more animalistic than the last, both of us now covered in scratches and bites as we approach the hunt. I can almost see her ebony skin, lit by the rising full moon, knitting over the deep bite I left in her shoulder. My fingers go to my own neck, lightly stroking the identical scar she left as we both came. The flesh is hot to the touch (another myth spread by the church, we are not the undead, in fact we are so much more alive than the herd).

She looks across at me, smiling, licking her lips; it’s almost time to go.


We arrive at the club – my club, but no-one who works here knows that I am the owner – just on the edge of Soho, situated down an insignificant dead-end street. A quite exclusive club, no neon sign, just a small brass plaque, but frequented by a select clientele who like a touch of the risqué. If only they knew!

We don’t use familiars anymore (often they turned out to be a liability); the staff know that the club caters to tastes that can be extreme and even illegal. But they are extremely well paid and have been completely vetted. Only after they have begun to enjoy their newfound wealth does the manager let them know exactly how well vetted they were. All of them have secrets of the order that will put them in jail for a very long time, or a past that they are hiding from and may prove fatal if they are found. I do draw a line on certain activities, and either let slip the information to the police or, if I’m feeling hungry… well, you know. They are told that it doesn’t matter and that they will be well looked after and protected as long as they remain loyal, confidential and look the other way at the members’ indiscretions. They tend to believe it’s just perverted sex and drugs.

A misconception that is nurtured – even the manager believes the owners to be a drug cartel and is not even aware of certain secret parts of the premises. The club has been, on and off, running for almost a hundred and twenty years, with only the odd blip on the radar, thanks in part to our membership of various other influential organisations, wealth and resources.

Influence and subterfuge have kept us the myth that you believe.

I hold the door of the limousine open for Is’ to get out and take her hand as we walk up to the doorman. He is the size of a small tenement block and nods to me, a regular, as we walk in. Is’ has a short, black, silk dress on, nothing underneath, and four-inch heels. I’m in my Irish family tartan, complete with a razor sharp antique Sgian Dubh… admittedly a Scottish affectation

Inside we walk through to the main lounge. The lighting is low, and I lead her to my usual booth where we can survey the other members and guests. We nod to a few acquaintances and note one or two celebrities in the gathering. About halfway across the room we both sniff the air simultaneously, detecting the scent of a fellow predator. After a moment I spot the blonde at the end of the bar. Her hair is cut short, but the face is unmistakable. We both nod to her and I wonder if she has decided that the attractive couple talking to her will be alive come morning.

We take our seats and watch the interactions of the crowd. A waitress arrives with our drinks, the barman (wanted in Texas for double homicide and with the death penalty already decided) knowing our preferences. I sip my 1963 Bowmore while Is’ drinks her Janneau Tres Vielle. We discuss potential prey, and whether or not we will take them together or separately. Is’ doesn’t realise that I have already chosen my quarry and expect her to arrive within the hour.

The blonde from the end of the bar walks over, her hourglass figure turning heads as she passes, and slides in beside Is’. She places a hand to Is’s cheek, turning her head, her luscious lips opening to kiss Is’ deeply. I feel her hand press down on my sporran as I watch Is’ reach up and squeeze her nipple between her thumb and forefinger through her dress. After a minute she breaks the kiss and leans into me, her tongue sliding deep into my mouth, writhing around mine. Glancing over her shoulder, I see Is’ sucking on her neck as her hand slides down her back and up beneath the hem of the blonde’s dress. The blonde’s hand is beneath my kilt, cupping my balls, and she moans into my mouth as I imagine Is’ sliding a finger or two into her pussy. I caress her left breast as Is’ pulls and twists her right nipple.

She gives my hard cock a quick squeeze before breaking the embrace and sitting back to look at the pair of us.

“It seems like fifty years since I last saw the pair of you,” she breathes in that husky voice of hers.

I smile. “By my reckoning it was twenty at Mardi-Gras… and you were only ‘blooded’ forty five years ago!”

She laughs. “Forty-six years August just gone, pedant!” she replies in her American drawl. “Do I really have to wait another fifty four years for my anniversary?” she pouts.

Is’ takes the blonde’s chin in her hand and is rewarded by that wide-eyed look. “For you, my sweet ‘Eve’, we may make an exception.”

I laugh loudly, and those faces that hadn’t already been watching our embrace turn to look. I stifle my mirth, embarrassed by my loudness, taking a moment to recover my decorum.

I lean in conspiratorially. “Knowing the Brethren’s fondness for you, we’ll probably have a fifty year bash on Pennsylvania Avenue.”

Is’ laughs and the blonde smiles, saying, “Oh, I have such good memories of that desk… it’s such a shame I couldn’t have turned Jack…”

“It’s such a shame he found out about you,” I replied. Okay, sometimes we are extreme in covering our tracks, but he had been emphatically told not to pursue it.

For a moment we each retired to our thoughts till Is’ asked, “So are the two at the bar, who I note look incredibly forlorn in your absence, going to be supper tonight?”

She turns to look at the couple and blows a conciliatory kiss to them. “Oh, I think so…” she replies and then whispers, “I could just eat her all up…he’ll be the appetizer I think.”

After a brief discussion of old friends she stands up to go, pushing her dress back down slowly for the benefit of the feasting eyes.

“So are you up for ‘dessert’ after?” she asks. “You know how feeding always makes me horny!”

Simultaneously, both Is’ and I reply, “I remember!” recalling New Orleans.

We agree to rendezvous later as I pass her a ring. She looks down at it and glances upwards. I nod.

“You remember the way up, don’t you?” she smiles in reply. She leans forward from the hips, her glorious ass pushed out for the crowd, and kisses us both sedately on the cheek.

We watch her ass sway provocatively as she walks back to join the couple at the bar. Within a minute the couple becomes animated once again, hands tentatively touching up our old friend. Is’ sucks on her finger, tasting the blonde’s juices, as she watches the ‘wife’ slide off her stool and kneel between our friend’s legs. I drag a nail up Is’s thigh, pushing her dress upwards.

At that moment I spy my ‘prey’ enter the lounge, and she is arm-in-arm with a tall, broad-shouldered man. They appear to be a couple as they look around the clientele, her gaze apparently casual, while his eyes dart slightly as if searching for someone of interest. Her eyes pass over our booth without pausing and a moment later his follow suit, but stay for a fraction, before moving on.

They go to the bar and order drinks, still assuming the pretence of lovers. I suspect they may have been in the past but not for sometime.

Don’t worry, we are not mind readers, but having almost four and a half centuries of experience in the world, one finds an ability to ‘read’ people coming naturally. I point the pair out to Is’; she examines them for a moment or two, feasting her eyes on the man’s physique.

Looking at me she says, “They could do quite nicely, don’t you think?” After a moment’s thought she adds, “They don’t belong here anyway… You were expecting them, weren’t you?” She was always quick on the uptake.

“Not quite, I was expecting her. Though, it’s very accommodating of her to bring some food for you as well.”

Is’ smiles, licking her lips as the hunger appears in her eyes. She stands up, smoothing her dress down. “I’ll see if he’d like a tour of the club. Shall we get together for dinner” – her obsidian eyes sparkle – “later, or desert?” She looks to the end of the bar where our blonde friend, leaning against the rail, is writhing under the ministrations of her chosen dishes, who are knelt between her legs, one in front and one behind. There are various groupings throughout the lounge now, varying in intensity from passionate kissing to fucking, a tall redheaded woman groaning loudly as she bounces up and down on top of her partner in one of the darker cubicles.

“Oh dinner, definitely,” I reply, stroking her hip. Is’ reaches down and traces the almost invisible remains of the bite mark she left upon my neck earlier.

“You take care now O’Neill,” she says as she turns away and heads for the bar. I watch her stroll up to the bar, the neckline of her dress plunging down her back almost to her buttocks. She stands beside them, trying to catch the attention of the bartender. The man calls out and service is forthcoming. I can almost follow the conversation without being able to hear as the room is murmuring to the sound of sex.

She thanks him for his gallantry, insisting she buys them drinks, because this is their first time here, and “oh” they’ve played the scene before. You’ll like it here then, there’s a lot to choose from, and you won’t feel pressured either. He looks around the lounge. This is just foreplay in here, there’s all sorts going on and coming off elsewhere, the man laughs, and the woman smiles, her eyes flicking over towards me. Is’ waves her arm behind her, indicating the three corridors leading further into the premises; it’s a bit of a maze mind. We may need a guide, he smiles. I’d love to show you round, she replies, resting her hand on his forearm while stroking the chain around her neck. The woman puts her hand to his neck; you go on, I’ll just browse here for the moment, and the eyes flick again. Are you sure, he says. Definitely, she answers and gently pushes him and Is’ onwards.

They wander through the lounge sipping their drinks, watching the fornication as they pass. Is’ briefly looks up at me and smiles, and she mouths the words “babes in the wood!” and leads the hunk through the left hand arch. I look back to the woman as she notices my drink left on the bar; smiling to herself, she picks it up and makes her way over. My eyes are closed as she approaches, I smell a hint of Coco Chanel as she nears; can almost taste her excitement and nervousness.

“Excuse me…”

“Yes.” I open my eyes, looking straight into her light blue irises, almost steel blue. She hesitates for a moment, thrown by the statement-like tone of my answer.

“Oh. Your friend…” She glances over her shoulder to the arch and then back. “She left your drink on the bar… I thought I would bring it over for you…”

“Thank you very much, there was really no need.”

“It was no trouble.”

She stands there waiting for me to ask her to join me. I slowly let my gaze wander down her body and then slowly back up. She is only about five foot two inches tall, her black hair cut into a tight bob, and hardly any make-up on her face except for her lipstick. Her breasts, a B-cup, are in a push-up bra, the top of the cleavage exposed above a dark blue dress. Her waist is small, accentuating her hips, a long slit on either side showing the tanned flesh of her legs. She taps her fingers restlessly against a matching clutch bag.

“Well…” she finds nothing to say and turns and walks away.

“Join me,” I state. She halts and turns, seeming to deliberate. I already know her answer as I know the reason she is here.

She walks back and slides in behind the table, sitting down just out of arm’s reach. I smile to myself. The waitress appears at the table a moment later, carrying her forgotten drink and placing it down in front of her.

“As I said, there was really no need.”

“So I see. That’s really very good service.”

I smile. “Well, I tip very well.”

We both raise our glasses and take sips from our drinks. When they are back on the table I ask, “So is there any particular desire you wish to fulfill tonight?”

She blushes very slightly. “I’m not sure what I am in the mood for tonight, I’ll probably just choose on impulse.”

“Always good to keep your options open,” I reply. She crosses her legs, the dress falling away to show off almost all of her thigh. My eyes glance down for a moment.

“And you?” she asks, “Any unfulfilled fantasies?”

“No, not for a long time, I seem to have fulfilled them all over the years…”

“That sounds almost sad, no boundaries left to conquer, almost seems as though there isn’t a point to it anymore?”

“Oh not at all,” I reply. “Humans have the ability to surprise even the most jaded of old men.”

“You don’t seem that old…” she hesitates, “I am sorry I don’t know your name. I’m… Susan.” Well, she got her name right, even if for a split second she contemplated lying. She reaches out her hand.

I take her hand and note her eyes glancing down as we shake. “I’m Sean, but my friends call me O’Neill.”

“Pleased to meet you O’Neill” she smiles questioningly.

I smile back. “Likewise, Susan.”

We make some small talk, and occasionally I point out some of the acts being performed around the room, almost as if we are perusing a menu. Though there are less people now as they drift deeper into the establishment in search of the different facilities on offer.

My eye catches the blonde at the end of the bar as she and her feast finish their drinks. She feels me watching (Susan turns to follow my gaze) and blows me a kiss. Then, rubbing the ring I had given her, she mouths ‘thank you’. Her ‘prey’ nod and wave thanks to me exuberantly as they move to the arch on the right. They head out of the lounge, a hand of each of the couple caressing that wonderful derriere.

Susan turns back. “She looks just like…”

I interrupt. “She does, doesn’t she? If she ever loses her fortune she can get a job as a lookalike.”

Susan hesitates as her true desire begins to get the better of her. “Mr. O’Neill?”

“Yes, Miss Fielding?” I reply.

“…” She opens her mouth and then shuts it closed with a snap.

“You knew?” I nod. “And you didn’t say anything.”

“Yes. I knew before you walked in tonight that you were a journalist. Though I must admit I don’t know who your ‘partner’ is?”

“He’s just a friend,” she replies hastily.

“Ahh… Now I see he’s a photographer, no problem; he will be searched thoroughly before he leaves. Though if I’m any judge of Is’, taking photos will be the furthest thing from his mind at the moment.”

Susan looks taken aback, opens her mouth again to say something and then thinks the better of it and shuts it once more.

“Do you mind that your work colleague and ex-lover” – Susan flinches – “is probably at this moment having his cock sucked like never before?”

She blushes deeply, though I notice that she is absent-mindedly squirming in her seat and squeezing her thighs together.

“Though there are three things that I am curious about?”

Susan manages to regain her composure a little and asks, “What are those, seeing as you seem very well informed! Mr. O’Neill!”

“Please call me O’Neill. One is, seeing as you have found out more about me than anybody has in a very long time, you must know how influential I am, so how do you think you would ever have got your story published?”

She straightens her back and I note the way her breasts are pushed forward. “I recently began to realise that may be a problem, but I figured I would cross that bridge when I came to it. Next?”

“How did you get onto me in the first place? I suppose there is no point asking which of my staff has failed me?”

“Well, I suppose there is no harm in telling you now. About six months ago an employee of this club was reported missing by his frantic partner. I know that the police investigated, but after leaving his shift here he was never seen again. I believe the manager even provided them with CCTV footage of him happily counting his tips as he left. It turns out that he was not a very nice person anyway. That got me interested in the club.”

Digital CCTV footage is so easy to manipulate with the right equipment.

One of those blips I talked about earlier, it turned out that he had been very good at hiding his tracks. Where we had initially found out he was a bank robber, he also, after relaxing into the post and I guess resuming his amusements, was a serial rapist. Don’t think me altruistic; I kill for a need and mostly kill those who deserve it, though I have dispatched a couple of stubborn (and incredibly boring) business rivals.

“And which of my staff?”

“They’re very high up in your organisation. Very high!”

I ponder this for a moment, totally unable to fathom who it was.

“It was you,” she says, interrupting my thoughts. “When I initially looked at the club, I found it very difficult to ascertain who owned it. There are so many rumours about it, which strangely, don’t seem to interest the likes of the police considering their substance.

“Then I found a picture of you at the opening, and weirdly, it was the only one I have ever found. That is what got me hooked on finding out about you. You are incredibly shy.” For the life of me I couldn’t recall having a picture taken of me in the recent past, or for that matter the last hundred years. “When I eventually sorted the paper trail, and I commend you on your innovativeness, I found the ‘club’ was owned by the ‘club’.”

I grin. Years in the making, I pride myself on the maze of companies and offshore accounts that have gone into it. I am also greatly impressed with her tenaciousness. “Eventually, after a good deal of bribery, I found that you were the largest factor in the web of paperwork,” she said.

“So now you want me to answer your questions and I will happily let you destroy my anonymity!”

“You had one final question, O’Neill?” she smiles.

“Considering the nature of this club, exactly how far were you willing to go to get your story?” I ask, raising an eyebrow.

She looks me straight in the eyes without blinking. “I guess I would have let my impulses guide me.” She crosses her legs and her left foot lightly touches my shin.

I smile back at her, thinking that perhaps I won’t feast on her after all. At least it won’t be her blood I’m drinking. It has been a long time since I kept a human lover and I am sorely tempted now.

“Well I guess, after all, there IS something you don’t know, O’Neill!”

I look at her quizzically. I was sure I had missed nothing, but the look in her eyes and her body language tells me different.

“The story isn’t about me?” I ask, feeling somewhat vain.

“Oh it is, but what’s the story?” She knows that she has gained the upper hand.

I realise that if the story isn’t about a reclusive multi-millionaire with dubious sexual tastes, there is only one thing it could be about. She sees the look of consternation on my face.

Grinning broadly she says, “It was the picture I saw, it was of you, and now seeing you in the flesh, up close and personal, I have very little doubt. It was taken at the opening of this club. We recently, at the paper, have had all our old issues transferred onto hard-drive. So it is a simple matter to trawl the files. Enter the name of the club and all the files appear. Just a click of a mouse away.”

I suddenly see what’s coming. “And?” I brazen it out.

“The picture was from one of our early editions.” She pauses, looking at me. “One hundred and seventeen years ago! Apart from the fact it was in sepia, you would swear the picture was taken yesterday. Actually, you don’t even look like you have aged a single day!”

I throw my head back, laughing, attracting looks from the remaining lounge dwellers. I calm after a minute, gasping for breath. Looking at her, I can see she’s holding her face in a serious manner.

“So let me guess: you think… I have been creeping around since the 1800s, pretending to croak every once in a while, leaving all my goods to a kid who has been a corpse for years and then assuming their identities? Priceless, could almost be a script for a Hollywood movie. And here was me thinking you were just going to expose me for my lack of sexual mores!”

She reaches into her clutch bag and pulls out a piece of paper. Unfolding it, she slides it across the table. I look down at the picture upon it. Sure enough there am I, standing just off centre of a group of Victorian businessmen, the club behind with a much more imposing entrance than the one it has now. Gas lighting frames the upper corners, the scene obviously at night.

I snigger slightly. “No caption with the photograph I assume?” She nods, raising an eyebrow a fraction. “Because if there had been, the gentleman that you assume is me would be listed as James O’Neill.” I pause for effect. “My grandfather.”

The waitress arrives with fresh drinks for us. I pick up the paper.

“My Ma always said I took after him,” I say, looking closely at the picture. “The others must be James Kelly and Robert Stephenson… Tumblety, Kosminski… and… Chapman, George Chapman. I have the original deeds somewhere upstairs; I could show you if you like, with the list of shareholders too. I never even knew this picture existed.” This is very true, or it would have been destroyed long ago. I look up at her, ignoring the crestfallen face, and ask, “May I keep this?”

“It’s only a copy anyway, feel free.” She is starting to blush again. “What a fool you must think of me.”

I can tell she isn’t completely convinced, and if the print had been more detailed I’m sure I would never have convinced her otherwise. “Not at all, though for a seasoned ‘journo’ to jump on the idea of immortals walking the streets of London, well, you got to admit… it is sorta funny!”

Then it strikes me that she obviously must have found some corroboration, she wouldn’t have come here and she wouldn’t have believed it on the strength of a single old photograph. She doesn’t just think me an immortal; she thinks I am a vampire. She is good, very good at her job; it will be a shame, once the night is out, that one way or another, this talent will be no longer available to the outside world. She will be dead or immortal.

“Oh my…” I look suitably taken aback. “You didn’t just think I was immortal, did you? You thought I was a vampire!” Her face blushes as I reach forward and take her hand, and she flinches momentarily at my touch. I turn her fingers to rest on my pulse.

“See! Flesh and blood… just like you!”

I gently stroke the back of her hand with my thumb as she feels the beat of my pulse. The last part of her conviction falls from her face as she accepts that I am indeed human. All those years we have been building up the myths pay off handsomely at a point like this.

“You thought I was Nosferatu?”

She nods, her eyes still watching my thumb stroking the back of her hand.

“You were right.”

It takes her a moment to realise what I have just admitted to. She opens and closes her mouth a number of times but cannot find any words to use.

I stand up, screwing up the photograph in my right hand, and lead her away from the table. She follows without hesitation through the middle arch and down an elaborately decorated corridor with various painting on the walls, all showing fornication of one sort or another. I lead her into a room on the right, closing the door behind us, and move to a paneled wall, placing the ring on my finger against it. The panel clicks open and exposes a keypad behind. I enter “1595” and the wall opens to reveal an elevator. We step in, Susan staring up at my face the entire time, not uttering a word.

The lift rises automatically, no buttons on the inside, till a few seconds later it opens onto another corridor. I lead her to a door on the left and step through.

A panoramic window looks out across Soho. The dark blue drapes are drawn right back. In the centre of the room a very large low bed stands, covered in pure white Egyptian cotton sheets.

Susan breaks from her trance, looking at the couple fucking on the bed. Is’, my Nubian lover, is straddled across Susan’s blindfolded photographer, grinding herself down hard onto him; she looks up and locks eyes with Susan. Is’, sweat glistening from her body, places one dark hand on his pale white chest and the other on his knee and drives herself down harder, twisting her hips as she does. She screams “FUCK!” as her orgasm overtakes her. As it begins to subside, Susan’s’ friend begins to buck beneath her as he shoots his cum deep into her cunt. Is’ reaches up and pulls the Celtic cross from her neck; a short blade appears, and she drives it into his neck. She leans quickly down and fastens her mouth to the wound, sucking his lifeblood from him.

Susan gasps and takes a step backwards, but her eyes remain locked on her thrashing friend. Is’ holds him easily as his blood and energy desert him till he finally stills. Drawing the very last remnants of life from him, Is’ lifts herself from his limp cock, licking her lips, and steps off the bed. She takes hold of his ankle and drags him easily off the bed. She stops as she passed me and kissed me deeply, the fresh taste of blood on her tongue. I pull her hard against me, and when we break I whisper into her ear, “Thank you for waiting.” She smiles back at me and then smiles at Susan and proceeds to pull the corpse out of the room through a side door.

I kick off my brogues and remove the Sgian Dubh from the side of my right calf, tossing it onto the bed before removing my woolen socks.

Susan stands totally still as I walk round barefooted in front of her. “There’s always a price to pay,” I say quietly. I pull my tie from my neck, dropping it onto the floor. Her eyes are fixed on the five or six red spots drying on the bed. It’s unlike Is’, she normally never spills a drop.

I pull off my dress jacket. “Only two kinds of people ever willingly come to see a vampire,” I say, and she looks back up into my eyes. “Those who have a death wish or those who want to live forever.

“So either you wish to be bled or you wish to be blooded.” I begin to slowly undo the buttons on my shirt. “But if you decide you want immortality you should know what you are getting into.”

Susan is shaking slightly even though the room is warm, smelling strongly of sex and the ferrous scent of blood.

“I was born in the year of our lord 1560 in a small Irish town. Thirty-five years later, war was raging and I was helping hound an English general named Bagenall. It was when I returned home I found my farm wrecked. I heard the screams of my wife and rushed into the barn, where I found a ‘devil’ in a cursed English uniform tearing her throat out with his teeth.” My eyes moisten at the bitter memory. “He turned with amazing speed and rushed at me. I was still carrying a pike from the battle. He ran right onto it, the weapon slamming into his stomach… I tore savagely at him till I had almost cut him in half… and only then did he fall.”

I undo the last of my shirt buttons. “I hacked his body to pieces in a frenzy. When I was finished I collapsed to the floor and sat there staring at the charnel pit my barn had become. I was covered in his blood and I guess some must have gotten into my mouth or one of my wounds from battle. I was still sitting there as darkness fell and my entire body was wracked with fire. It seemed to last for an eternity.  It was the next afternoon when I awoke. I burned my homestead and left. I wandered for weeks, gradually getting weaker, till the bloodlust appeared and with an instinct not natural to me I took my first taste of human blood.” I pull the shirt from my shoulders, dropping it on top of my jacket. “I don’t know who he was, I only know from that moment on I had no choice but to be a ‘devil’.”

On my left arm there is a series of deep scars. I rub my fingertips across them. “These are the last permanent wounds, from that very battle, that I have suffered in over four hundred years. We heal very rapidly, are immune to all poisons, diseases and holy water. We’re faster, stronger than you. We breathe, eat, drink and our hearts beat strongly but we need your blood to survive. We don’t like sunlight, but we don’t burst into flames. Our bodies, when they do die, decompose just like yours.”

I unbuckle my sporran, letting it clatter to the floor. “Tonight Susan Fielding dies. She won’t be going back to her life… but you never intended to. You already cut yourself off when you brought your ‘friend’ into this.

“If you go through with this, when my blood takes hold, your body will be consumed with pain, you will wish you were dead and if you ask me to, I will dispatch you quickly and as painlessly as possible.” I unfasten my kilt and let it drop around my feet, standing naked in front of her. She looks down at my hardness. “And I will drink your veins dry.” She clenches her fists at her sides, biting on her bottom lip, as I stepped towards her.

I reach my hands up and push her dress gently off her shoulders and down her body. It falls to join my clothes on the floor. I move closer, my lips brushing her neck directly over her carotid, the pulse strong and fast, and my cock touches her abdomen. As I reach around her to unclip her bra, my hardness slides up to her navel, leaving a trail of pre-cum in its wake. I pull her bra off as I suck on her neck. A gasp escapes her lips and I can feel her hard nipples press against my chest. My hands slide down her back, tracing her spine till they spread over her lace-covered ass. I pull her tight to me as I squeeze her buttocks, my mouth moving up to bite on her earlobe. She groans deeply as she wraps a leg around my waist, rubbing her damp lace-covered mound hard onto me.

I trace the curves of her ear with my tongue as I lift her ass, and her other leg moves around. She crosses her ankles behind me. I carry her easily over to the window, and she gasps as she feels the cold glass against her bare back. Her juices now soak her lacy panties against my member. I see Is’s reflection in the glass; she is standing at the door, the fingers on her right hand sliding along her slit as she pulls on her left nipple. I grasp Susan’s knickers and rip them from her. She groans deeply as my hard cock presses along her wet slit. Pushing her legs down from my hips, spreading her thighs with my feet, I lick down her neck, across her collarbone and down her chest towards the swell of her breasts. My hands run slowly down the outside of her thighs. I take her hard left nipple into my mouth, first sucking then biting it, her hands in my hair as she sighs deeply.

My hands begin to rise up between her thighs; spreading her legs further apart, trembling, as my lips slowly kiss their way down across her abdomen. As my tongue flicks through her dark pubic hair my thumbs lightly brush alongside her wet lips. I feel a shiver run through her as I part her lips and drag my tongue across her engorged clitoris. I hum deeply against it, glancing up her body to see her gripping her breasts hard, the nipples squeezing through the gaps between her fingers. I push both of my thumbs up inside her, feeling her tight cunt stretch around them. As I curl my thumbs forward to press against the inside of her pussy wall, my fingers slide across her tight rear hole. Sucking on her clit, I feel her muscles twitch within her. Her pussy starts to spasm as her orgasm approaches, and her juices run out over my hands. I suck her clit hard between my lips as she bucks her hips against my face.

I drink down her flowing juices as Susan grasps her breasts tightly, biting her lip as her body shakes, her legs quivering, leaning against the glass for support. As her orgasm subsides I stand up, Susan breathing heavily. I move over to the bed to pick up the Sgian Dubh and walk back over to her. She glances nervously at the small dagger in my hand.

“Turn around,” I tell her, and she turns, her eyes lingering on the knife till she is facing the window. I move up close behind her, my cock resting between her ass cheeks, and she rubs back slightly. She jumps as I slam the dagger into the wooden post of the window.

I put my hand into her hair and turn her head to look down on the streets below. “Look at them. All those people living their stunted lives, with no idea of the power behind history. Your friends are down there, your family. Are you ready to leave it all behind, to slip between the cracks, to become a ghost in the machine?” I whisper quietly into her ear, rubbing my hardness up and down her ass. “You realise that they will no longer be people, they will be food, your cattle, to drink off as you will!”

Her breath mists the glass. I can see a tear running down her cheek, but her eyes are strong and defiant. Her decision was made before she even entered the club; she hungers for life without end. “You will drain their hearts to satisfy your need, is that your desire?”

She licks her lips and pushes herself back against me, her hand reaching between her legs to pull my erection between her thighs, up against her wet mound. “Yes…” she breathes.

I step back and turned her once again, lifting her by her ass, and her thighs wrap around my hips once again. The head of my cock nudges her opening. I look into her eyes and let her drop down onto me while slamming her against the window. She groans deeply as I hit the top of her cunt, and I groan myself as her muscles clamp down on me. Her heels dig into the sides of my legs. I see Is’s reflection once again in the glass: she is sitting on the edge of the bed, legs spread wide as she fingers herself, rubbing the heel of her hand against her clit. Susan looks across my shoulder, eyes riveted to Is’s fingers.

I buck my hips three or four times, gaining a groan each time from her lips, and lift her right hand up to rest against the wooden pillar. I place my left hand over it, threading my fingers through hers, and pull the Sgian Dubh out with my right. Again I look into her eyes. She gasps as she continues to pull herself down onto my cock, and she glances at the dagger and nods.

I slam the Sgian Dubh straight through the back of my hand, through hers, and into the post. I grunt as she screams, my cock jerking within her as her pussy clamps down hard on me. I hold still as she pants heavily. She looks to our impaled hands, seeing my blood mixing with hers, feeling the heat of my blood spread through her hand and down her arm.

I hold her hand firm as I start to fuck her hard; she bites down on her lip, her heart racing as the change races through her. Harder and harder I fuck her, and her free hand scratches deeply into my back as a drop then a trickle of blood runs from her lip down her chin. Pounding her cunt, I lean forward and lick the blood from her lips. She opens her mouth and I kiss her deeply. My tongue attacks hers as I taste the blood in her mouth, and slamming into her, I can feel the window shake under the onslaught. She throws her head back and screams, her cunt spasming around my hard cock as she cums.

She looks into my eyes as the infection flows throughout her body, tears beginning to roll down her cheeks as the agony of ‘turning’ begins.

Still riding the wave of her orgasm as I shoot my seed deep into her quim, she whispers, “Forever…”

Within an instant I grab the Sgian Dubh, pulling it out of our hands, and slash deeply across her throat, her blood spraying out, covering my face and chest. An arterial spray shoots across the wide window. She stares in horror into my eyes as I feel Is’s tongue and mouth on my flesh, drinking down the red fluid. Within seconds her body goes limp and the light fades from her eyes as the last of my semen empties inside her. I hold her against the window, Is’ diving to suck the blood from the right side of her gaping neck as I drink from the left. Pulling out of her rapidly cooling body, I let it drop in a heap at the foot of the window. Is’ smears her hand in Susan’s blood and wraps it around my cock before sliding her mouth down my length, swallowing me whole, licking Susan’s blood and juices from my cock as well as my cum.

I lean against the window, revelling in the sensations flooding my body. Looking down, I watch the cattle walking the streets below unaware, licking my blood-smeared lips.

There’s no such thing as monsters.

The End

~ by ftfagos on February 26, 2011.

4 Responses to “Curiosity”

  1. This was the story that started me on your work if I remember correctly… and one of my favourite vampire stories I’ve ever read. I always thought it wild how you take the old legend, and rather than make it a curse… have made it a.. well what you made it. Makes your vampires just seem more real.

    Mister Talent… you really have a page turner here.

  2. […] one of those selected for ’Curiosity’ but a damn fine looking woman (she could oh so bite me if she wanted […]

  3. […] of you know my Vampire and even though I twist it about to engender a sense of realism I’m fully aware that others […]

  4. […] published. Those self same also know that it is based on the short story within these pages called Curiosity which turned out to have a life of its own… at least within my mind. If anyone cares for a […]

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