wanderingsoul
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Blood and Lust
Ok... first warning: NC-17 and slash.
This is a vampire story with a sensual/sexual twist. The sex is part of the story and is not gratuitous.
I originally started writing this with someone, but I am opening it up for anyone to continue from the perspective of the vampire's "victim."
To show where one writer ends and the other begins, i have put in *****. Hope it is not too confusing.
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And by and by my Soul returned to me, And answered "I Myself amd Heav'n and Hell"
from The Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam as translated by Edward Fitzgerald
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7/30/2003, 2:35 am
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wanderingsoul
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Re: Blood and Lust
A warm summer breeze blows the curtains on the windows of the bedroom. The moon outside is high and bright--a full moon. It shines through the windows, its light falling softly across the bed--a spotlight illuminating the bed's lone occupant. His head rests on the pillow, his dark hair damp from sweat, tousled as if from tossing and turning. The comforter is half on the floor and he is lying on top of the bunched up sheets. His body--clad only in a pair of boxers--glistens, little beads of sweat on his chest looking like little drops of moonlight. It is a hot night, a restless night.
But it is a beautiful tableau, as striking a picture as ever graced a canvas. I pause at the window, looking in, admiring. I hear a sound behind me and climb quickly through the window into the room. I stand silently for a moment, waiting to see if my sudden arrival has disturbed his already restless sleep. It has not.
I turn back to the window and look out, looking for the source of the noise. I had remained outside the window, visible to any passersby for much too long. It had been careless of me. I was not usually careless. But it was such a beautiful picture that I had been struck still.
I hear rustling outside the window. My sharpened senses detect the sound of breathing. My eyes narrow as I see movement in the bushes. "Meraow!" A small furry head peeks out from the leaves, looking up at me, eyes glowing in the moonlight. It is a cat! I laugh silently. A cat. My carelessness had not cost me tonight. I smile, exchanging a look with that other wanderer of the night before turning my attention back to the cause of my carelessness.
I approach the bed carefully, silently. So many years of moving stealthily have trained my footsteps well. I stop just short of the bed, my breath catching slightly. My God! He is beautiful! His face had been turned slightly away from the window, the moonlight casting some of it in shadow. Now that I was closer, I could see his face more clearly, could see the long dark lashes lying softly against his skin, so long they seemed to brush his cheekbones! His lips are a gentle pink, like a rose petal--and look as if they would be just as soft. I lick my lips slightly, reacting instinctively to the unspoken invitation that their slight parting seems to extend.
He is young--far too young, maybe 16, maybe a little older, maybe a little younger... It is difficult to tell. I had long ago lost the "feel" for such things. They were ageless, timeless, their lives captured for a moment by my eyes, preserved for eternity by my soul... And why measure them in years? Rather measure them in terms of the sensations they gave: warm to the touch, sweet to the taste... But he is young. His cheek wears a slight flush, the blush of that same rose that touched his lips. I reach out to touch that cheek lightly. I sigh silently, seduced by the softness of his skin. And it is so warm. I touch his forehead, brushing his damp hair from his eyes, feeling the cool droplets of sweat pass from his skin to my fingertips. I put my fingers to my lips and lick them, tasting the salt.
He stirs in his sleep, his head turning on the pillow. A small moan slips through his lips and his brows knit in a slight frown. My entire body prickles at the sound of that little moan. My breathing increases just slightly as I think of the soft moans of pleasure I could give him--and the sweet moans of pain.
Reluctantly, I pull my gaze from his perfect face and glance down his body. His is a body in transition--still retaining some of its boyishness, yet clearly revealing the man that is emerging. My lips twitch slightly as my eyes fall upon his boxers. It is clear that man is emerging right now, giving rising evidence of pleasant dreams. Another soft moan from his lips supports that evidence.
My hand reaches out of its own accord and touches him, my fingers feeling the heat from him right through his boxers. I catch my breath sharply, feeling desire welling within me. But it is not the desire for what I have come for that I feel. It is a desire older and deeper even that that. It is sexual desire--raw and pure. And rare. I allow it to ripple through my body, touching nerves I had thought long deadened. I close my eyes and take a deep breath, breathing in his scent. I sigh deeply, my head thrown back, my own lips now parted slightly, my razor sharp teeth catching a glint of the moonlight.
Tonight I will allow myself time, permit myself the luxury of being unhurried. Such an unaccustomed delight should not be rushed, each sensation should be slowly savored.
I open my eyes and look down at him once again. Never taking my eyes off his beautiful face, I quickly remove my clothes and carefully climb onto the bed, sliding my body easily against his. He stirs once more, but only slightly, another soft moan touching his lips. My face is only inches from his now and I can feel his breath upon my lips. It is warm and sweet and I feel myself drawing closer to it, seeking its source. As I draw closer to his lips, I feel his body turn slightly towards me, seeming to welcome me to him. I smile at the unconscious wantonness of the gesture. Clearly he is dreaming of a lover. I lean down and press my lips softly against his, brushing them gently, not wanting to awaken him just yet.
*****
My dreams seemed dull, but instantly something inside me came alive. The real passion I was dreaming to have was emerging, rolling out in front of my very eyes. I force myself closer, closer to what I had been dreaming of for so long, feeling warmth on that side of me. My hand lingers for a moment then instinctively moves to touch. Warmth is what I feel. I move my hand up, gently moving it up the warmth, till I reach what seems to be a mouth, admitting my tongue in. Feeling the supposed mouth move from my tongue's entrance.
*****
As my lips touch his, I feel his hand touch me. I catch my breath slightly as his hand moves slowly up my body, even as he presses himself closer to me. My skin tingles where he touches me, as if it were being touched by electricity. I know he is responding to his dream lover, not to me. But I want it to be me, want him to be touching me. And I wonder, fleetingly, with a touch of jealousy, who it is that he loves in his dreams.
But it is only a fleeting thought, erased from my mind as soon as his fingers touch my lips, as soon as his tongue slides into my mouth, seeking my tongue hungrily. I feel my lips smile at his obvious hunger, his desire. But I don't want to rush, don't want to bring him that quickly to passion. I slide my tongue slowly along his in a sensual caress, not responding to his hungry seeking. Surprisingly, his tongue instantly changes its movements, slipping into a sweet, slow dance with mine.
He sighs against my lips and his sweet breath fills my mouth, sending shivers of warmth through my body. He is intoxicating! I feel my desire for him growing more intense. But there is time tonight, and I will take it.
I pull away from his kiss, from that sweet breath that by itself, nearly quenches my thirst. He whimpers softly in his sleep as I pull away, pull the warmth of my body from him. I look down at him, look at his beautiful, perfect face. I caress his cheek, once again marveling at the softness of his skin. I run my fingers over his neck, feeling the strong, steady pulse there. I lick my lips instinctively, my breath quickening. It has been a long time since I have felt both desires war within me. And my fingers linger there, feeling that rushing of the blood through the artery. My thirst for the sweet source of life that flows through his veins is strong. It is what brought me to him tonight. I start to lean toward that pulse, my senses swimming, my own pulse throbbing in my head, urging me to yield to that desire, to sate my thirst.
But his hands reach for me, touching my shoulders, running down my arms, to my sides, slipping around my back, trying to pull me closer to him. A groan of desire tinged with frustration escapes my lips. And I yield, not to the desire for his blood, but to the desire for his body.
I move my body over his, his arms still around me, gently pushing his thighs apart to kneel between them. I feel his breath quicken, yet I sense that he is still asleep, though perhaps not as deeply as before. I lean forward, allowing him to pull me to him, to pull my body down on top of his. I slide downward slightly, not wanting my lips to be that close to his throat, not trusting myself to be able to keep my teeth from sinking into that soft, sweet flesh. Instead, I run my tongue over his chest, tracing a small circle around his nipple. I feel him draw a sharp breath as my tongue flicks lightly across that hardening nipple, and I begin to suspect sleep is losing its hold on him. But at this point, I do not care. I will take him whether he sleeps or whether he wakes. Either way, he will be mine.
*****
The picture is so clear in my head and the warmth only increasing that picture. The heat--heat from his body is on mine, my skin alight from the passion of him. I want to yell out, to wake to see his face as it is before me, but I can not wake. My mind races, trying to find a way for me to wake but it wont. My face shows this endless battle. It looks as if I am being tortured, and that is exactly what is happening. I see and feel what I desire most, yet I can not reach it! I tighten my grip on him trying to make my eyes open but they will not. The battle is over and I am exhausted from the struggle. This battle was lost.
another to come.
*****
I run my teeth lightly over his nipple, biting softly--not hard enough to pierce his skin. He starts slightly and draws another sharp breath. I pull a little away from him, my teeth tugging at his nipple then releasing as I raise my head. His eyes are scrunched tightly, his head turning from side to side as if being tossed about by an internal struggle. Apparently sleep is not quite ready to release him. I watch him for a moment, fascinated by the range of emotions his sleeping face is able to convey. I wonder how he would look at this precise moment, with my body pressed against his, my lips kissing his chest, my tongue tasting his nipple--if he were awake. Surely his conscious face would be even more expressive. I sigh, my breath caressing his chest, thinking once again how very beautiful he is.
His tossing slows and your breathing relaxes. Apparently his internal struggle has come to an end--for now. I brush my lips against his chest once more, my tongue tracing a path from his nipple down to his stomach. I feel him shiver slightly as my tongue licks lightly around his navel. I slip my hand inside his boxers and he releases me, flinging his arms out to his sides, his hands grabbing at the sheet. I glance up at his face as I slowly slide his boxers down over his hips, down his legs, throwing them carelessly on the floor. He is fully exposed to me now, and I take a moment to savor that sight. So obviously young, still a boy, yet so wonderfully a man. I kiss the tip of his swollen erection, taking it just a little into my mouth. As the heat from my mouth surrounds him, he moans deeply and one of his hands finds its way to my head, his fingers tangling in my hair. It is clear that even in his sleep he knows what he wants. I pull my mouth from him, and he whimpers slightly, his hand trying to push my head back to him. I am surprised by the strength in that hand, evident even as he sleeps. But is he still asleep? I pause, my tongue easing his whimpers by licking slowly around the tip of him, and listen to his breathing. It is more shallow than before, less regular. Sleep barely caresses him now. Soon he will awaken. Soon he will know who touches him, who kisses him, who makes love to him. Soon he will know who now claims him as his own.
*****
*I focus on the lovely being within my sleep and I move toward it, sleep slowly slipping from me. I stop and think for a moment, what happens if I open my eyes? Will I be alone and cold within my room, or shall I be with the one I have been and was dreaming for. I sigh at this thought and smile into my pillow turning slightly, moaning softly. My fingers run gently through his hair and caress what skin my fingers can touch, wanting to grab, but just touches with the tip of my fingers along his skin... slowly.... ever.....so.... slowly
*****
His fingers on my skin send waves of heat through me. Such a small thing, his fingertips brushing my cheek, but somehow it ignites me. I take him deeply into my mouth, my tongue sliding along the length of him as he touches the back of my throat. I feel him throbbing against my tongue and I am nearly overwhelmed by a desire for the blood that courses through his swollen flesh. I nearly succumb to that desire, pulling my mouth almost off of him, ready to sink my teeth into the vein that feeds his erection. But his soft, sweet moans filled with unmistakable desire forestall me and I pause. His breath is quickening and his color deepening. I see a small smile playing about his lips and it comes to me that he are no longer asleep. Yet he does not open his eyes. Curious. But I sense no fear in him, only desire--a desire for the pleasure I can give.
And I decide at that moment to give him the pleasure he seeks, before satisfying my own desires. There is pleasure to be had in the giving as well as in the taking. I slide my lips up and down his shaft, slowly, letting my tongue caress him with each stroke. My fingers massage that beautifully sensitive area between his balls and his ass, and I am rewarded for my efforts by the feeling of him squirming beneath my touch.
I smile with satisfaction as I realize I can sense his approaching climax. It has been so long since I had given--or received--pleasure in that manner. Yet my senses were still sharp enough to detect the ever so slight tightening of his muscles, to smell the rush of hormones as his body prepares to come. But even if my senses had completely atrophied after all these many years, his parted lips and short, hot, gasping breaths would have told me the same thing. And if any doubt had remained, the moans that passed through those sweet lips, seeming to come from the very center of his being, would have eliminated them.
I marvel once more at the incredible beauty of him as I take him deeply into my throat, surrounding him with a hungry moan of my own.
Last edited by wanderingsoul, 6/6/2004, 3:49 pm
---
And by and by my Soul returned to me, And answered "I Myself amd Heav'n and Hell"
from The Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam as translated by Edward Fitzgerald
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7/30/2003, 2:36 am
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MarkL15
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Re: Blood and Lust
Ok Luc not sure if your still intrested in this but it is way to good to stop writing, so i'm going to add.
.I had finally won the battle sleep had lost its grip on me, I expected the warm body to be gone but I could feel the presence above me.
I was curious, who would be here, who would want me? would they leave if I woke, I dare not open my eyes for fear that would happen. So I clenched my eyes shut and tried to control my breathing, wishing he would touch me again.
No sooner had that thought left my mind but I felt his warm mouth surround me, I moan as his mouth devours me, I have never experienced the touch of another, my own hand is all I have ever known. His mouth is glorious as it moves over me drawing my orgasm nearer.
As I draw near I dare to open my eyes slightly taking in the sight before me, the full moon cast light over the glorious figure, and all I wanted was to see him then in that moment I needed to look into his eyes as I neared the end of this pleasure.
As I felt the end near my eyes were wide open unable to pretend anymore.
---
And I don't want the world to see me
'Cause I don't think that they'd understand
When everything's made to be broken
I just want you to know who I am
Goo Goo Dolls - iris
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9/20/2003, 12:15 pm
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