by Christa Wick
DADDY'S IMMORTAL VIRGIN
by
Christa Wick
SMASHWORDS EDITION
* * * * *
PUBLISHED BY:
Pomegranate Girl on Smashwords
Copyright © 2011 by Christa Wick
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EXPLICIT SEXUAL CONTENT - ALL CHARACTERS 18 AND OVER
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DADDY'S IMMORTAL VIRGIN
**********
There were five of them -- weak for their kind but still stronger than any human. Desperate, they threw their bodies against the boarded up windows and doors of the house we sheltered in. With each hit, they shrieked in hunger and pain. Their attack was uncoordinated, the need for human blood driving any rational thought from their minds. Had they stuck to one entry, attacking in turns, they could have entered en masse and my stepfather Ray and I would have died in that house, our corpses turned to bloodless husks, our limbs torn and littering the wooden floor.
As it was, they entered one by one through different rooms, enough time passing between their breaches for Ray to deliver a true death to the intruder and brace for the next attack. Machete in hand, Ray moved like the ex Navy SEAL he was. Blade met neck, head separated from body, one more bloodsucker down.
Except for that last one, the one that was smart enough to hold back just a fraction of a second longer while its companion burst into the room through a shattered window and lunged at Ray. That left Ray with his back exposed to an open bedroom door.
Once those fuckers get their teeth into you, it's all over. Your will evaporates, overwhelmed by some kind of paralyzing ecstasy. I'd seen it happen to my mom when the outbreak was just a week old. My half-brother Mike was dead before the end of the first month. Whether it was family, neighbors, or strangers we saw on the road as everyone fled Dallas, the bite had the same effect. The victim immediately stopped fighting and started moaning, but not in the oh-God-I'm-dying way. Some of them started stroking themselves...down there. Mom did.
So did Daddy Ray when that last one got its teeth into him.
The machete dropped to the floor. His eyes glazed over and his head lulled back, exposing more of his throat. One hand cupped his cock, which had gone instantly hard and was bulging against his zipper.
That was all in the first five seconds before I unfroze from the panic that gripped me and scooped up the machete. Vampires are most vulnerable when they are feeding. This one was no exception. Mouth locked on Ray's neck, he stared at me with one baleful yellow eye that flashed silver when the light hit it. He kept on sucking while I stepped behind him and raised the machete over my head. The thing had time enough to kill me a couple times over but he couldn't stop feeding.
I brought the blade down low on his neck, afraid that I'd chop straight through and take Ray's head off, too. The blow severed its spinal cord but it wasn't enough to kill it and the wound started healing immediately, bone re-knitting, gaping muscle and blood vessels straining toward one another to reform. I brought the blade down a second time, cutting clean through and into Ray's flesh.
They both dropped to the floor, the vampire's head rolling to a stop at my feet.
I sank to my knees next to Ray, examining his upper back. It was a nasty wound -- about an inch deep and eight inches long. I rolled him on his side.
"No, no, no!"
His throat was ravaged, so much blood gone from his body the wound wasn't even bleeding any more. I pushed him onto his back and put my head against his chest as I listened for any sign that he was alive.
"Please, daddy!" I clutched his shirt, pressed myself tight against him as sobs began to wrack my body. "Don't leave me, daddy. I can't lose you, too."
One second I was holding him, the next I was pinned hard against the wall. Ray's hands gripped my shoulders, his stare feral and hungry. He pressed his cheek against mine and I heard him inhale.
For a second, I thought everything was going to be okay. Yeah, he was injured badly and clearly in shock. But he'd just inhaled and the dead don't breathe -- not that anyone can tell, at least.
But they do scent.
That's what he'd just done -- scented me like I was dinner.
"So thirsty, baby girl..."
Nineteen is too young to die. I swallowed hard and slowly shook my head. "Daddy, no...please, please, please."
He pulled back a little at the sound of my voice, studied me and raised his curled hand close to my face. I had half a second to recognize the new danger. It was just like when that guy outside Albuquerque tried to steel the truck from us. He'd put his pistol through the window and ordered daddy out.
Told him to stick his hands up.
I shook my head again, pleading with him. "Don't, daddy, please."
The strike to my temple came too fast to see. One second I was standing on my own two feet, begging Ray not to kill me. A heartbeat later, I was unconscious.
**********
I woke in a clean bed, with satin sheets covering my naked body. The dirt that had caked my skin in our boarded up hide out was gone. My hair was freshly shampooed. For a second, I thought I'd just woken up from a very long and very, very bad nightmare.
But the bed and the room were unlike any I'd ever seen outside of a magazine. This was a rich man's room. The whole place screamed money, from the four-poster walnut bed with its velvet drapes to the huge dresser with a plasma television and mini-bar on the opposite wall and on to the marble-tiled bathroom I could see through the open door.
Head throbbing, I slowly sat up, the sheets falling to pool around my hips. Upright, neither my ears nor my eyes wanted to function. All I could hear was something like the muted drone of a huge engine. My vision would clear for a few seconds and then everything would start swimming together again.
Sinking back against the mattress, the pain ebbed. Gingerly, I touched my temple, felt the small lump and tried to remember how I'd gotten it. All I could remember was the house, daddy with his machete, three bloodsuckers newly dead and one of them shattering a boarded up window.
I had to find Ray. He'd tell me what the hell was going on.
Memories coalesced.
Ray...the bloody machete falling from his lax grip.
Ray...
No-no-no.
Whatever it was, I didn't want to remember, not yet. Closing my eyes, I pushed my hands under the blanket, my fingers gently traveling over my flesh in search of injury. Reaching the to
p of my thighs, I gasped. Not only had someone washed me, they'd shaved me, too. My mound was completely smooth, the silky blonde hairs gone.
I opened my eyes, my sight slowly adjusting to normal. Above me, secured to the ceiling, was a mirror. At least I still had a reflection. That was something to be thankful for and I'd take whatever I could get.
My relief was quickly shattered by a loud moaning. The sound was a thousand miles beyond wrong -- kind of like mom and Mikey and Ray once those bloodsuckers had gotten hold of them. But the throat these moans issued from clearly wasn't human.
That's when the feeding noises started.
Shredding.
Growling.
Slurping.
The moans intensified, their rough edges smoothing into words.
"Fuck me."
"Drink me."
Shit-oh-shit! They were feeding on each other!
I looked around the room, frantic for some kind of weapon. There was a lamp turned on beside the bed, but it looked like the only light in the room. Unlike bloodsuckers, I couldn't see in the dark and I couldn't afford to lose the illumination by smashing it. I got up, stumbled to the bar and found a wicked long corkscrew.
"Yes, yes, drink me, fuck me!"
My stomach clenched and I skittered across the carpet, sprawling head first toward the toilet bowl. A splat of vomit hit the rim, then another. Food too scarce for there to be anything left in my stomach, dry heaves followed until even those stopped.
Standing, I turned on the faucet, scooped a handful of water and drank it. Looking up, I saw my gaunt face in the mirror and, behind me, a pair of pants.
Just pants -- like they were being held up by nothing but the air that filled them.
Fuck, it was done feeding on its own kind and I was desert!
I spun around, gaze scanning the floor for the corkscrew I had dropped or anything else I could use. I screamed, the word half prayer, half call for rescue. He just had to be close by, had to be alive. He promised he would never leave me.
"Daddy!"
"I'm here, baby girl."
His voice, right there in the room with me. But it couldn't be. There was just me and...it.
I shook my head, refusing to look up. "No. Not you. Not one of them."
"Jess, don't be afraid, honey. Look at daddy."
I couldn't stop shaking my head. Couldn't stop repeating those words over and over. "Not you..."
The thing in front of me raised its hand to offer the corkscrew, the spiraled end about half a foot out of reach. "You were looking for this?"
My gaze crawled up the makeshift weapon to the hand holding it. Strong, masculine. A familiar scar started at the protrusion of the wrist bone and traveled up and over a tattoo of an eagle perched on an anchor, its claws clutching a trident.
A flick of his hand and the corkscrew landed neatly in the trash can. He bent, part of his torso coming into view as he reached for something alongside the door frame. I didn't have to look up to know this couldn't be Ray, no matter what the voice sounded like or that scar and tattoo. We'd spent the last few months living off of scraps, always on the move. The body in front of me was sculpted muscle.
"This will do you better, Jess."
The thing was holding the machete by the blade, the handle close enough I could take it.
A little cry broke from me and my knees went all rubbery. I grabbed hold of the towel rack to steady myself, aware, all over again, that I was buck naked. I was frozen between grabbing the towel on the rack or the machete.
He flipped the weapon so that he had hold of the handle once more. He brought the flat of the blade up under my chin, forcing me to raise my gaze.
It was him. Daddy. Unharmed. Alive.
I gasped, feeling like I'd just been punched in the face. Not alive, but not dead. He was one of them now. Fear flooded me. My hand shot out, wrapped around the machete's handle and jerked. He could have kept me from taking it but he didn't.
"You can kill me any time you want, Jess. I won't try to stop you." He backed up a little from the door's threshold.
Behind him on the bed I could see a freshly placed robe. Short, slinky, the blue a close match to my eyes. Not much but better than a towel or being naked in front of daddy. I moved a little closer to the door but couldn't bring myself to step over the threshold until he backed up a little more.
"I brought you a robe. We'll find more clothes for you later." His gaze drifted down over my body, stopping for long seconds at my breasts and again at the top of my thighs.
Shock was fuzzying up my brain and I realized that he'd bathed me, shaved me, placed me in the bed naked. And then he'd had dinner while I slept -- draining one of them.
Ray took one step back, his hand gesturing at the robe. I moved forward, tried to sidestep him. He blurred and I remembered what had happened back at the house after he'd turned. He'd hit me, knocking me unconscious.
He didn't hit me this time. He spun my body, one arm wrapping around my waist and lifting me while the other took the machete from my grip and tossed it against the wall. He set me back down on my feet, his chest against my back, his arm still holding me in place. He ran his fingertips up my arm and then his hand closed around my throat.
"Daddy, please."
"Don't you understand, baby?" He was whispering in my ear, his lips touching its rim before brushing up and down against my hair. "You smell so good, Jess. Like cinnamon rum."
I don't know if I was shaking before, but I was shaking pretty hard at that point. He was going to bite me. He had cleaned me all up like a Christmas goose and now he was going to drain me.
"Daddy, please don't eat me."
That produced a chuckle. "What an odd choice of words, Jess. That's exactly what I'm going to do."
His hand left my throat to travel down over my collar bone, coming to a stop at my breast. My nipples were rock hard. Fear does that. Can make a woman wet, too. Or so I've heard. And I was very, very wet by then.
"I love you, Jess. I don't ever want to hurt you." He stroked the nipple, then cupped the breast in his palm and gave it a gentle squeeze. "I want to save you. Do you believe me?"
I nodded. Daddy Ray had risked his life over and over these last six months. Mom, Mikey, me -- he would throw himself in front of a bullet or a horde of vampires to try to save us.
No, that wasn't right. He had thrown himself in front of a bullet and a horde of vampires. But it hadn't been enough to keep us all alive. One by one we had fallen and now he was one of them and he couldn't save me.
I turned in his arms and looked up at him. "If you hit me once, like back at the house, but harder."
I didn't want him to bite me, didn't want to dissolve into some moaning freak that stroked her pussy while he drained the last of my life's blood from me.
"You want me to kill you?" He advanced inch by inch and I retreated in equal measure until the back of my knees butted up against the bed. "No, Jess. I'm going to turn you. I couldn't save Clare or Mikey and I can't protect you while you're human...not from them."
His gaze dropped, something awful passing over his features when he looked back up. "Not from me."
"You want to turn me into a killer?" Trying to back up some more, I landed on the bed. He was on me in a second, lifting me and placing me smack in the center. I looked up, over his shoulder to see my body and the pants struggling in the mirror.
He planted a hand against the center of my chest and forced me to turn my head and look at him. "You can't kill what's already dead, Jess. But we can send them to their true death, we can live off other vampires."
He reared back, his butt resting against his heels as he stared down at my naked body. "I've already fed from three tonight. I couldn't trust myself to come near you again until the hunger was gone."
Leaning closer, he threaded his fingers through my hair to hold my head still. His top lip curled up a little and I saw the white flash of his fangs for the first time. Keeping his weight on his elbows, he stretched h
is legs out and slowly lowered himself onto me. The cloth of the pants still separating us, I felt the hard press of his cock against my pubic bone.
Ray dipped his head, his teeth lightly grazing my mouth. Razor sharp, the fangs sliced a shallow line in my bottom lip. The surrounding skin began to warm and I sucked a deep breath in as fire spread across my limbs.
Daddy sucked at the thin ribbon of blood, his tongue darting out to part my lips and stroke the inside of my mouth. The tingling spread and my pussy started to throb. My nipples, already hard, started to ache and I gave an impatient whimper.
He kissed my throat and I felt another small slice, one so shallow it was just a minor abuse of the capillaries. Still, the sensation of hot, wet need spread like a flame across my skin, down my breasts. I arched against him, slowly losing my mind.
Kisses fell like raindrops along my collarbone. He smoothed his palm down my chest, stroking a nipple before tracing a fingertip down the center line of my stomach, straight to my clit. He stroked the hard spine of my sex as he pressed a long kiss against the underside of my chin.
The smallest bite there, just enough to draw blood. He licked the wound, his tongue and finger moving in synchronicity. "Are you feeling it, baby?"
There was just enough of my mind left to offer a hot little moan. "Yes, daddy."
"Do you want me to kiss and lick you down there, baby girl?"
A jolt of need shot through me and I raised my hips up in offering. "Fuck yes. Lick me, suck me"
Ray slid down the bed. His strong hands spread my thighs. He looked up at me one last time for permission, the silver discs reflecting in his eyes reminding me that he was no longer human.
It didn't matter. I was dead without him. If he drained me dry, I would at least die happy. "Please daddy, do it."
His eyes fluttered shut and he drew in a deep breathe, his tongue slowly unrolling from his mouth. The tip parted my labia, took a little flick against the swollen dangle of my clit. I jerked, already on the edge of coming. Slowly he moved his mouth up and down, the fangs gently scraping, more of my blood drawn and mixing with his spit.
