Women of the Dark Streets

by Radclyffe

  Cleo would transform the act of feeding for me from a duty to an act of giving, offered fully from my heart. If she would change, not only could I serve her, but I could sustain her. She could live off my life blood and I could feel a certain security of knowing that the demon I’m bound to is also my mistress. That would be the ultimate act of submission for me. I trust her in ways I have never trusted anyone before. And she loves me as much as any human can love another. That love is the foundation for our arrangement. She wouldn’t take these demands from any other girl. But this part of her life—her vulnerability, her human nature, her family, and her faith—are things she’s not willing to part with.

  From the way she describes him, I think her father might be indifferent, but her mother will never accept the fact that Cleo is gay. As a Baptist preacher, her mother would never accept us as a couple, forget what we really are to each other, that I am her pet. She would never take her only daughter as a demon and she would never give herself as a feeder to become part of the larger family Cleo and I will have one day. Though Cleo knows the reality of our universe, her beliefs remain intact.

  It’s the possibility of damnation she fears along with the loss of her mortal family. When you know the Divine exists, you fear its counterpart, but I’ve explained to her many times that she has nothing to fear. Only those vampires who cross Dalhem risk true damnation, and I know she won’t break any of his rules. I won’t let her. If she changes, she will be one of Dalhem’s children. Nothing can touch her. Her heart is too pure. She is shrouded in good. She doesn’t believe me. It doesn’t change the way I feel. I want her.

  I look at her hand, now on my thigh. I should go.

  “Trust me,” she says. “I’ll take care of you too. Just stay.”

  I want to argue, but I don’t. “Okay.”

  Cleo leans over to whisper in my ear. On camera this looks normal. We are best friends, and girls whisper. “I want you to watch and think about all the things I’m going to do to you tomorrow,” Cleo says. She licks me before she pulls away. “Do you want me to remind you?”

  We have somewhat of a routine, but Cleo always has her surprises. “Yes, please.”

  She sighs and leans back against her headboard. “You’ll be in your room at three.”

  “Yes.”

  “If you’re good tonight, I’ll kiss you.” Another joke. She always kisses me. “I’d tell you the rest, but Camila doesn’t walk that slow.” If she bothers to walk at all. “Is the kiss a good enough reason?” Her finger strokes my ankle through my sock.

  “Yes.”

  “Good. Stay.”

  I don’t say the words very often, but I say them now so she knows I trust her.

  “I love you,” I say plainly. No bitten bottom lip or sentiment.

  Cleo grins.

  There’s a knock on the door and a moment later Camila enters. She is strikingly beautiful. Three-quarters Mexican, a quarter Scots, with full lips and wide hazel eyes that shimmer when she laughs and glow when she feeds. Her hair is cut short, nearly shaved in the back, spiked up elegantly in the front. She’s in jeans and one of her usual black tank tops. All curves and perfect proportions, she is shorter than Cleo and I both, but her power is a physical thing.

  You feel it in her presence once you commit to the bond. I can’t explain this connection. I love Cleo. I will marry her when she’s ready, whether she’s mortal or not, but for now we are both bound to Camila. It is a blood bond, one of the strongest in Heaven and on Earth, and even when Camila is close, it makes me crave the touch of our vampire queen. This is the bond I want with Cleo.

  Camila has pure demon blood in her veins, and Daddy tells me that makes our bond even stronger. Not a drop diluted by human weakness, but she is gentle and so kind. I am eager for our next feeding, though I would never admit it.

  “Hey. Am I interrupting?” Camila asks with a smile that shows the sharp points of her canines. Her voice is lovely too. Rich and smooth. Ginger, her human girlfriend, is very lucky.

  “No,” Cleo says.

  “Not at all,” I add.

  Camila approaches the bed, and almost as if she commands it so, we both crawl to the edge of the mattress on our knees to meet her. She kisses us both, me softly on the corner of my mouth as she gently cups my cheek. I would only let my demon touch me this way. My demon and Cleo.

  “How are you?” she asks with a sweet smile that makes my heart stutter. It’s the bond. I can’t help it.

  “I’m good.” She draws a smile out of me.

  “Good.” She turns then, butts heads with Cleo and lightly kisses her lips. It’s a friendly kiss, but I wouldn’t mind if they’d skip it.

  “Hey, shithead,” Camila says.

  “’Sup, bitchface. Cool if B stays?” Cleo asks.

  Camila blinks in surprise. She knows how I am. “Of course. Are you okay with that?” She can read our minds, but she doesn’t unless it’s completely necessary. This isn’t one of those times.

  “Yeah. I don’t feel like going back to the dorm,” I say. “It’s cold out.”

  Camila laughs. “It is.” She turns her focus back to Cleo. “Let’s do this so I can get out of your hair. Should we lie down or would you like to sit?”

  I take my feeding sitting with Camila behind me. The drawing blood from the wrist takes much longer and there’s a risk of eye contact. And I feel less comfortable offering a feeding face-to-face. It’s harder to control the movement of my hips.

  Cleo glances over her shoulder. “Hmm, let’s lie down.—Come on, Benny.” She nods for me to follow. The three of us climb up on the bed. I sit up while Cleo lies down, Camila between us. I know exactly what will happen next. There are plenty of ways to get creative during a feeding, to add to the sensations, which is actually redundant if you’re attending to the real purpose of the transaction, but there are certain things Camila must do.

  Cleo watches me again, but my eyes are on our Queen. Camila props herself on one elbow and leans over my mistress. Her other hand slides deep into Cleo’s thick afro and grips the back of her head. She’ll move regardless. At some point it’s likely she’ll try to jerk from Camila’s grasp. Though she’d be quick to heal her, Camila won’t risk tearing the artery. She holds my head steady the same way when we are together. Usually my eyes are shut and I think of being somewhere else, with someone else.

  I dream of Cleo setting me at the foot of her bed. A real bed with sturdy posts in a house far from this one with no cameras and no prying eyes. She’ll bind me naked at the foot of the bed with my hands behind my back and my knees on the floor. I’ll have to watch her undress slowly. She’ll talk to me the whole time as she pulls her shirt over her head and unclasps the bra that holds her heavy breasts with their dark tips. She’ll tell what she has done during the night while I am sleeping. She’ll tell me of the other human blood she tastes so she doesn’t drain me. I’ll be jealous, but now she’ll know. It makes me desperate to please her. She’ll tell me how much she wants me.

  She’ll approach me and waste no time bringing my head between her legs. I’ll lick her, suck her off until she is growling, and then when she can’t take anymore, she’ll feed. She’ll lift me from the floor, but my hands will stay bound. She’ll kick my feet apart and fuck me with her fingers while she drinks from me. And I’ll come over and over again. It’s all I think of when Camila and I are together.

  Cleo takes a deep breath and closes her eyes, then she is watching me again. I meet her gaze and for once I’m afraid of what she is thinking. She slides her arm under Camila’s body. I tense for the embrace that will bring their bodies even closer, but Cleo touches my fingertips. I think of what this feeding would be like if I wasn’t in the room and I consider how far things would go if Cleo and I weren’t together, and suddenly I want to leave. I start to shiver instead. To hide the goose bumps on my skin I pull the red and black blanket back up to my chin. My shuffling has Camila looking over her shoulder at me.

  “Sorry, it’s col
d,” I lie to her with a hint of a smile. The heat is on full blast. She rolls in my direction, uncertain.

  “Are you sure? We don’t have to do this.” But I do, I tell myself. Cleo’s made a demand of me. I can’t let her down.

  “Yeah. I’m fine.”

  “Okay. You stop me if you need to.”

  I appreciate the suggestion, but if I interrupt we’ll only be here longer. “I will.”

  Camila scoots back into Cleo’s arms, closer this time. I imagine their breasts are pressed together. They are careful to keep their legs apart.

  “Are you ready?” Camila asks softly as she grips Cleo’s thick curls again. I flinch as she licks my mistress’s neck, searching for the perfect spot to pierce. She asks for herself; once the blood hits her tongue she is more demon than queen, much more animal than human. She has the strength and the practice to control herself, the internal cues to keep from killing us, but for a moment she must let go. It’s in her nature. She licks Cleo’s skin some more, then settles her movements. She is ready. Her shoulders are tense and a low growling purr emanates from her chest.

  Cleo’s reply is strained. “Yeah. Do it.” But she keeps her eyes on me.

  “Next time, wash your neck. You smell,” Camila jokes. Cleo smells amazing, like cherry blossoms and vanilla. It’s the lotion I gave her.

  She laughs, then reaches for my hand again. Her eyes focus on my lips. “You’re smelling your own breath, asshole. Just do it.”

  Camila chuckles lightly, then strikes without warning. Cleo’s eyes squeeze closed and her grunt is loud. The mechanics of the bite are simple. Camila’s teeth penetrate deep to create the puncture, then recede slightly, holding the feeder in place, but allowing a small amount of room for the blood to escape. The feeling is pure ecstasy. The icy slice of our Queen’s fangs through your skin cools the incision, but the rest of you becomes fire. You orgasm instantly, no building up with a slow burn or thrusting charge barreling toward a finish. You come, instantly, almost painfully. Your clit twitches violently and your pussy convulses—at first. You feel her tongue as she encourages the flow faster to the surface and then you come, again.

  Cleo orgasms once more, cursing this time under her breath as she grips my hand tighter. Her eyes are still closed. I imagine how she is feeling. I imagine her wet pussy and I think of all the things standing in our way. I want Cleo to know how I taste. I want my blood to sustain her.

  We all have a unique flavor. I imagine Cleo’s is rich and dark like the rest of her. I don’t have to imagine that Camila enjoys it. Their bodies are even closer now. Though layers of denim and cotton separate them, their legs have become intertwined. Cleo is forceful. I imagine Camila used to love being fucked by her before our freshman class came through and changed things.

  Cleo moans. The sound tears through my heart. If she did talk, I’m suddenly worried about whose name she would say. Still my body responds. Dry heat threatens to close up my throat, but saliva pools in my mouth. My breasts ache now. I hold still so my nipples don’t rub along the fabric of my shirt. I’ll come a little if they do, but not enough. My thighs press together, though my clit needs more than Cleo’s promises for attention some hours in the future. It’s torture, but I stay and continue to home in on things that I shouldn’t, like the sounds Camila is making. She echoes Cleo’s whimpers and pants with shudders and growls. She makes the same noises when we’re together, but then again, I pretend she’s someone else.

  The feeding goes on for a while, probably only a few minutes or so, but it feels like hours. Their bodies move together eventually, following the pumping rhythm of Cleo’s hips. She can’t help the reaction she’s having, and I can’t look away. Cleo holds my hand even tighter. Her nails will leave marks on my palm. I don’t mind because the small pain is the only proof that she hasn’t forgotten that I’m in the room.

  Eventually Cleo’s heavy sigh lets me know Camila is finished. She will seal the wounds with a few drops of her own blood that she’ll harvest with her fangs from the side of her tongue. Then Camila will leave. If they were still lovers, she would stay. Cleo would go down on her, maybe. Or maybe they would kiss.

  I am off the bed before Camila completes the ritual. “I have to pee,” I offer as a pathetic excuse before I slam the bathroom door behind me. I hate to consider what Camila must think of me now, almost as much as I regret sticking around in the first place.

  I’ll need a few minutes to myself, even after Camila is gone, but Cleo doesn’t care. She is through the door a few moments later, closing us in. She’s breathing heavy. I stay calm.

  “I’m sorry. I can’t do that again,” I tell her.

  “It’s my bad. We won’t do that again. I swear. Camila’s going to delete the tape. She doesn’t care,” Cleo adds before I can react. But I do care.

  She locks the door leading to Danni’s bedroom.

  “Wait—”

  “Danni’s not here.”

  “We can’t—”

  Her body crushing mine against the sink stops my words. “Yes, we can.” She kisses my cheeks and my eyes. She grinds her thigh between my legs. She’s so close I feel the heat come off her skin.

  “Do I have to remind you who’s in charge, Bunny B?” she whispers to me.

  “No,” I say when yes is what I mean. Gently, I nudge her back a step. “You didn’t watch me.”

  “But I felt you.” She gently traces the skin on my neck. “I think about it, B. What it would be like to have you here.”

  “No, you don’t.” I jerk my head away before she can kiss me. She pulls me back. Her brown eyes are dark.

  “Listen to me. I do.”

  Her arms surround my waist and she draws me to her. I don’t resist this time. I kiss her back, even though I’m breaking my own rules. We promised to be honest with each other, to admit when we are in pain or when our limits have been pushed too far, and Camila has shredded my limits tonight. I can’t think clearly. I can’t find my resistance.

  Cleo’s hand is busy between us. My jeans are undone and my underwear invaded, but when I close my eyes all I see is Camila with her lips on what is mine, her fangs coming between me and my mistress in a way I wish wasn’t necessary.

  I start to pull back, but Cleo kisses me deeper, urges me to let go. Her fingers flex inside me, searching for something I am too stubborn to give. I hold out as long as I can. I fight, praying that one day Cleo will give me what I really need.

  I shiver helplessly as her lips move to the slope of my neck. I don’t want to give in, but when she bites, I come.

  Away with the Fairies

  Lesley Davis

  Rhyannon stifled a yawn behind her hand for the second time in as many minutes. For heaven’s sake, who knew vampires were so boring, she thought as she was forced to listen to the handsome vampiress, Zofia, extol the virtues of life as an immortal. Again. Blah blah, ancient lineage, yadda yadda live forever. Rhyannon only just managed not to roll her eyes as Zofia started up again on all that could be gained from just one bite. She had long since stopped really listening as the woman started in on the sacred blood rituals. Just the mention of them, quite truthfully, made Rhyannon’s stomach roll. She resisted the urge to pull her hood further over her face to block out her companions. She was grateful for its concealment and the deceptive lightness of the fabric in the cloying heat of the tavern. For a moment she let herself soak in the atmosphere, reaching out to the timbers and pitch that moulded the tavern’s walls. The tavern was old, very old, with a history all its own. It stood as the centre point on a patch of land that marked a neutral ground between three local factions—all very different cultures and creatures, all preternatural, and all existing uneasily with their neighbours. Rhyannon knew that out of the three, the vampires and the werewolves were the ones most prone to violence. She had long heard tales of their bloody histories as they tested their strengths against each other. Though observing the women opposite her now, all she saw was arrogance and indifference. She couldn’t h
elp but wonder if time had mellowed their need for war and dominance. She hoped so.

  “I could offer you endless nights of passion. Undead lust is very powerful.” Zofia leaned across the table, her voice rumbling seductively.

  Rhyannon wondered if that tone was supposed to draw her into the vampire’s thrall. She saw Zofia’s face register surprise when she wasn’t moved in the slightest. Thrall or not, Rhyannon balked at the whole idea of being with anyone not entirely living. She admitted Zofia was attractive, in an unusually pale kind of way, and her face bore a regal austerity that was oddly appealing. She obviously dressed for seduction. Her pale chest was flagrantly on display through her shirt. Rhyannon had been hard-pressed not to laugh, though, every time Zofia let her fangs show. The flash of the pointed canines had captured her attention, but probably not in the way Zofia hoped for. All Rhyannon could wonder was how she stopped from piercing her bottom lip every time she let those fangs drop.

  Obviously realising she was losing her audience’s attention, Zofia changed her track. “Of course, should the thought of living for eternity not be what you desire, you could always try Fuzzy here.” She flipped a thumb in the direction of her drinking companion. Rhyannon recalled she was named Wallace. They’d only been introduced briefly before Zofia had dominated the conversation. This woman was larger, broader, and seemed constantly on alert. The slightest noise in the tavern made Wallace’s head shoot up and her keen eyes sought out the cause.

  “Admittedly,” Zofia drawled, “you’ll probably spend most of your time trying to rid yourself of all the hair she sheds.”

  Wallace shot the vampire a sour look, then turned her attention back to Rhyannon. “I can’t offer you eternal damnation like you’d get if you got stuck with my friend here,” she said, “but I’m a great hunter. You’d never want for food.”