by Hall, Ian
He took a rasping deep breath. “That’s okay, Theresa. There’s really no need…”
“Oh, I think there is a need, sir.” I breathed into his face. I began pushing him backwards, towards the closed door. I followed his retreating figure, “I think there’s a huge need, sir,” pinning his back against the door. On tiptoe I leant against him, my mouth inches from his. “I think you need to put your dick into my mouth.”
There was no shock, no protest, no moral outrage; just a quiver of his bottom lip and a slight nod of his head.
“I’m very good at it.” I began to slide down his body, my hands and breasts rubbing as I went. As I loosened his tented trousers, I looked up at him. His eyes were fixed on mine, and the look he gave me inspired my efforts.
In less than a week, I already had my feeder “on the hook”, so to speak. Turned out, the rest of it was much easier than we’d both envisaged. Raymond Cribbens and I met at his house once or twice a week for sex, and at some point in the proceedings, with him strongly under my influence to forget, I fed gently from his neck.
~ ~ ~
I don’t know how I did it, but at my final exams, I did hit a pretty good average, and began to look forward to college again, glad to be away from Amos Blanche’s immediate circle.
Amos guided me in my final choice, and mom and dad were just as happy as clams with any of them. It seems that Amos wanted a presence in New York, so I got accepted at NYU, reading English as my core. Dad said he could afford the tuition, and Amos promised me plenty cash for my running expenses. He didn’t want me working part time though, but available for any “jobs” he could find for me.
I left his office with a small roll of twenty dollar bills, and a smile from the old man. The first genuine one I’d ever seen.
In late summer 1958, I left mom, dad, and Raymond Cribbens behind and headed with Jason’s car for my new campus.
That first semester, under Amos’s orders I turned four guys, all members of the unofficial communist group in College, and had them all trained and behaving properly with ease. Valérie passed the news up the tree, and the report came back with another roll of twenty dollar bills that Amos Blanche had been well pleased with my results. I fed carefully, having my own pet student-friend, and I at times I prudently trolled the docks at night.
In time I received the names of three other vampires in NYU, and established contact, outwardly finding them seemingly ordinary students. We formed a loose team association, and ran together at night doing our errands, sharing our kills; nothing too damning, nothing too bloody. As the semester wore on, Amos began to pass down details of police officers he wanted under his control, and from the word on the street, the usually strong mafia was being pushed around from an unknown source.
I suspected Amos, and it turns out I was right.
We each had a planned escape route in case the shit ever hit the proverbial fan, each vampire moving in a different direction for maximum protection. I thought the whole escape route thing very dramatic, but I swallowed my cynicism as it turned out we needed it.
I sat in my dorm room, actually studying, when I heard a piercing scream on the campus. I knew it was vampire and a death knell if ever I heard one. I raced outside, down the corridor, making for my route off campus, and at the main doorway, I got grabbed from behind by three smelly humans. As my nose railed from a distinct vinegar aroma, I felt something stabbed viciously into my back, and I flailed my arms and fought free, striking the attackers down as I did so.
In seconds I stood on a nearby roof, looking down on the streets, five or six floors below. I can’t really remember climbing the wall, but I knew I’d done it.
I reached behind me, and found a thin sliver of wood projecting from my back. Obviously aimed at my heart, the wood had been thrust into the wrong side of my back, missing the organ by two or three inches. I had indeed dodged death.
It hurt like hell to pull it out, but I bit on my rolled-up shirt and did it swiftly and silently. In no condition to continue, I lay back against a ventilation shaft cover to wait for morning. My wound would heal in hours, and I had no idea how dangerous the streets were.
Sunshine took a long time coming that night. As I took careful glimpses over the small parapet, the streets became increasingly crowded. Police lights pierced the darkness at every intersection. My clothes were bloody, but I knew I couldn’t go back to my dorm yet; it would be just too risky.
The streets had quietened by morning, and I slipped inside the building, finding a payphone in the downstairs foyer. I stood with my bloodied back to the wall, looking outside as the telephone slowly dialed the number. Thankfully, it got answered first ring. “Don’t say your name.” Valérie’s voice calmed me. “Give me a clue as to your identity.”
I thought for a second. “My pet used to be a teacher.” I grinned at my clever subterfuge.
“Are you okay, sweetie?”
“Yeah, I’m fine.
“Home or away?”
“Away. On the street.”
“Okay. Don’t come home yet. Go for a vacation. Get way out of town, and don’t take your car, the plates will be far too easy to trace. Hit the beach or something. I’ve heard that Miami is good this time of year. Give us at least a week, maybe a month, then phone back.” I heard the phone slam down.
I had no idea what had happened, but it must have been a big operation. With a stolen jacket to cover my bloody shirt, I carefully circled the campus. There were cops everywhere, but none as fast as me.
Taking a slight risk, I returned to my dorm room for my essentials, a change of clothes in a bag, and the large roll of twenties. In twenty seconds I had my feet back on the ground, racing away from campus.
I was off. Destination Miami.
Growing Up the Hard Way
Valérie Lidowitz, 1878, Outside Boston, Massachusetts
When I awoke in the darkness of evening, I flinched backwards against the thick post I’d been bound to, my eyes temporarily blinded by a burning torch as it lowered to light my would-be funeral pyre.
Once again the red veil of anger rose in my gut. To this day I can still see every face and hear the initial screams of encouragement; they’d caught their demon, and I would pay the price of capture
One flex of my wrists snapped my bonds, and to everyone’s shock I jumped over the fire, right into the heart of the crowd.
Later as I stood in triumph over the bodies of the slain, a large force smashed into my side. The world lost focus, and I struggled to no avail against my attacker. Carried faster than ever before, my legs and arms flailed in the air, thrown over some saddle or shoulder. I grabbed at my bonds, only to find strong fingers. In anger I struck at the wrists expecting them to splinter like so many before, but the man shrugged off my blows. His arms had a firm grip of me by the waist, and I hurtled through the night, my stomach too buffeted to protest further.
Out of breath because of the roughness of the ride, we came to a stop, near a dark cottage, small and yet somehow imposing.
“Be still,” he said as he dragged me inside, his arm round my waist. I tried to hit him, but it seemed that he anticipated and deflected every blow. I fell in a heap on his huge bed, discarded there like a piece of trash. Many lanterns lit the room, their yellow flames dancing.
Standing before me stood a thin middle-aged man. In amazement I gazed at the creature who had bested me like no other; his slender frame belied a strength within, and with sallow cheeks and a long drawn face, he would never be considered a handsome man, but he had an aura of power that scared me more than a little.
I made for the open door, suddenly laughing out of fear of this man, but my mirth died when he appeared out of nowhere and barred my escape. He lifted his hand to my neck, passing the backs of his fingers around my throat.
“On the bed, girl,” he said, then tore a huge strip of my dress, from neck to lowest hem. He grasped my throat and lifted me up with one hand, throwing me back onto the bed covers. As I recovered,
he walked over to his dresser, where he calmly began to unbutton his coat.
Again I dashed to the door, but once more he miraculously barred my way, ripping my dress again, and sending me flying back onto the soft bed.
I sat, my arms over my bare breasts, panting in shock.
“My name is Amos Blanche, and you are mine tonight, please just give up the struggle.”
“You are no normal man.” I readied my feet for another attempt to flee.
“And you’ve got little enough clothes left for another try at the door,” he said, grinning maliciously, teasing me with the possibility of the escape. “Next time you will lie stripped, and I will feast on your nakedness. Tonight, girl, you are mine, and trust me, I will have you whether you resist or not.”
I looked at the oil lamp and thought of it as a decent weapon. I lay far nearer than he. I leapt from the bed, but he met me mid-bound, knocking the wind from me with a punch to my stomach, and with one stroke completed his promise to divest me entirely.
“Very nice,” I had never seen a person look at me with such longing, I nearly cried out in terror, my arms unable to cover myself completely. His shirt dropped to the floor. I began to retreat, but when my legs hit the bed, I knew I had nowhere left to run. As he advanced to me, I held my hands up in my defense, but he caught them in one strong grip, binding them behind my back.
“Please, no,” I said, my voice breaking and shaky.
Pushed back onto the bed, my struggles were of little avail; he seemed to have muscles of iron. He held me close, his fingers like bands of steel holding my arms against me, his legs twisted around mine.
“You really are an enigma, aren’t you, my dear.” He sniffed around my neck as he kissed and caressed me. “You certainly made short thrift of those yokels at the farm.”
His hand started to caress my breast, drawing an unknown emotion from deep within me; his touch made me nauseous, yet my nipple hardened, making me gasp in angry surprise. “Do not resist me.”
I shook my head in defiance and tried to channel my rage.
Keep calm. Let it happen.
I shook my head against such an instruction, knowing it must be erroneous in origin.
Amos leaned forward, taking my nipple into his mouth, and I surged against him, but I only succeeded in raising my flesh to his touch. He moaned against me, his lips biting, and pains shot from my teat directly to my sex.
It is not pain.
To my chagrin, I agreed, it was indeed a different kind of sensation, but unwanted nonetheless.
Continuing his assault on my body with his lips, tongue and fingers, I fought him at every step of his advance, but his strength surged far beyond my resistance. Again I tried to bring my anger to my assistance, but it would not surface.
“You were meant for this, my lover,” he said when his fingers finally covered my sex, his fingers gently moving through the downy covering. “Do not resist,” he sneered at me, holding my cheek with his free hand as his foot prised my legs apart. Only then did I realize his hands no longer held me.
I grinned, and went to punch him, but my body did not belong to me. I found my arms useless by my side, cruel deceivers in his scheme to breach me. Then a finger entered me, and I screamed, now my only form of resistance. “I will not submit to you!” I roared.
“But you already have, my dear,” his fingers cut deeper, painfully breaching through my maidenhood, making me scream in pain, shaking my head with rage.
Let it happen.
My mother’s voice now mocked me as his fingers thrust inside me.
Then, suddenly, as if a book had been slammed closed, the pain stopped. Amos Blanche lay above me, his naked body poised above, his manhood erect and threatening. With a look which I took as contempt he gently slid himself into me, a little at a time, until his hips rested onto mine.
Let it happen.
Ah! I cursed against my mother’s treacherous voice. “Why?” I moaned loudly. “He is killing me!”
Let it happen.
I felt strength build inside me, not enough to throw him from the bed, but as if my mother lay beside me, holding my hand through my ordeal.
Amos Blanche worked unperturbed by my lack of defense, his attention elsewhere.
This is a fleeting moment. You will emerge on the other side.
Despite the force of his entry, I found my body responding in a way I’d never felt before, almost as if the rage did build, but very slowly. As Amos worked above me, I began to find my own pleasure in the act.
Then he began to build up the speed of his stabbing, holding himself above me, and his mouth opened wide. I instantly knew the meaning of fear. His incisor teeth had grown to a terrible size, larger than the biggest dog. Suddenly he dropped, pulled my head to one side and struck my neck with open jaws. I reeled, expecting pain, but instead gasped in awe as I willed the blood to course through my body towards my neck where Amos sucked so rabidly.
Continuing to plough his manhood inside me, he sucked the lifeblood from my neck, and I enjoyed every facet of the process.
“Oh, you are a natural!” he roared, straining his head above me, the blood dark and black in the lamplight. He took his hand, and tore across his wrist with his teeth, ripping his veins asunder. I looked with astonishment as the blood splashed onto my body.
Then I smelled his blood, and at last the rage within me snapped into full force. I grinned at the prospect of tearing this little man limb from limb. Amos thrust inside me with increasingly desperate strokes, and I could see his face grimace, full of anticipation for some higher level.
At that moment I felt my mother move my hands, grabbing Amos’s wrist and pulling it to my mouth. With the first touch of his blood on my lips, my struggle evaporated. Knowing my destiny, knowing my desire, and knowing that I had bonded with my mother, I sucked like never before, and his thick, creamy blood coursed down my throat like the sweetest honey.
The ecstasy flowed from my mouth, to my body, then to my loins, clutching round his manhood with a grip of iron.
I erupted in pleasure, the feeling flowing from head to toe with my mother still holding my hand.
Amos Blanche roared in unison with me, riding my bucking body, spilling thick liquids inside my sex which only seemed to heighten my passion. Then, with a cry of pain, he collapsed and shriveled inside of me. For a split second, he seemed soft, weak and vulnerable. I seized on that moment.
Clamping his head between my hands, I cracked the old man’s neck easily and pushed the dead body off mine where it rolled to the floor with a pleasing thud. For a long time I remained sprawled atop the cot, wanting the sensations rolling through me to quiet. Instead they redoubled in strength and a surging energy fired in my veins.
His corruption of me had been complete. My body had been awakened to a new longing, falsely induced but rampant nonetheless. I brought my fingers to the place of his intrusion, realizing I lay engorged with need. I took ownership of my craving, feeling both empowered and ashamed.
As I moved myself to another climax, that still, serene voice assured me it was right and good to work the desire through to fulfillment.
I rested back on the pillows and closed my eyes. Never had I felt so refreshed. Hours passed and the sun rose, its white light clashing with the yellow of the oil lamps.
Then an eerie laugh broke through my idyll.
“I can see I made a good choice.”
Before I could react, he stood beside the bed, his fingers wrapped in my hair, held firmly in place by his steel grip.
“You are dead.” I rasped.
“That is only a temporary condition for the likes of us.”
Amos Blanche kissed my cheek gently, showing no antipathy to me after the breaking of his neck. He pulled my arm to his mouth pushed his to my lips. Silently, without instruction, I locked my teeth into his wrist and sucked. With a satisfied grin he took of my blood while I drank from him. Soon our mouths were locked in a kiss of such passion that I could not have co
nceived of the very concept a day ago. He took me by the waist and moved me over him. I swung my leg over his body and joined with him freely, a willing participant in my own destruction.
“Do not hold back, girl,” he told me.
My abuse upon him proved as reckless and unyielding as he had been to me. Any other man would not have survived my ministrations. I watched his agony and we both reveled in it.
Sweating and panting I released everything.
“What am I?” I demanded once we had again calmed.
A pair of glassy eyes stared up at me, unseeing. The back of my hand met his jaw square and the eyes immediately cleared.
“What am I?”
A sickening smile, laced with venom, looked back at me. “You are mine.”
Again I swung. The blow would have crushed another man’s jaw. Again he smiled.
I raised my hand higher. “I have already killed you once. Don’t think I won’t do it again.”
“That which kills us makes us stronger, my dear.”
Amos rolled us over, pinning me at the shoulders. I could feel him already regaining vigor inside of me.
Despite my defenselessness, I sneered up at the man, “Tell me.”
“You already know what you are,” he said soothingly, “you are the creature of nightmares. I have watched you as you watched them; skulked behind you all those years you skulked in the shadows. I have witnessed your lust for destruction, girl, and now I have made you invincible.”
He moved himself inside me, and I lost my resolve to understand instantly. For the moment it seemed enough to hear aloud that I was indeed what I’d always believed myself to be. The cravings, the rage that set me apart and made me different were now acknowledged and even admired. I was a monster. But, for the first time in my life I no longer felt ashamed of myself.
I don’t know how long we stayed in that cabin, feeding upon one another’s lust for both blood and sex. A time of madness and violence when the savage within me took full reign and the man who released that savage proved nearly her equal. I would never say I loved Amos Blanche; to me he lived as a tool to be used for my own purposes.
