by Barbie Wilde
* * *
Valeska spotted her prey almost as soon as she entered the trendy nightspot where she often went hunting. He was perfect for her. Handsome, powerful body, clean looking, and well dressed. He had an aura of prosperity about him and a smugness that came from being either a lawyer or a stockbroker. In other words, he wouldn’t be missed.
After Valeska had selected her man, she put out her scent for him, a special perfume that emanated from her vagina. She aimed directly at him, so no other males could be contaminated. He was at the bar, talking to a blonde, when it hit him. He spun around in an almost comical manner and spotted her. He didn’t bother to apologize to the blonde, but made a beeline over to Valeska, who was waiting patiently for him, holding an untouched vodka martini in her hand.
He was captivated, as they all were. They made meaningless small talk, but he couldn’t wait to take her home with him. It was almost getting too easy to pick up men, but she didn’t care. She was hungry.
They grabbed a cab back to his place, a two-story warehouse apartment in a newly gentrified part of town. Valeska studiously looked away from the CCTV cameras as they entered the lobby of his building. His apartment was very impressive, but soulless. Ridiculous modern conceptual art on the white walls. Nice parquet floor covered with uncomfortable-looking furniture. It was the opposite of her cozy apartment, with its original fixtures and baroque touches.
His name was Philip. He made them a couple of Grey Goose martinis and invited her to sit on the sofa. He sat down, but she remained standing. He looked up, puzzled, then a wide grin cracked his face as Valeska put her drink down and in one graceful movement, whisked her dress over her head. Philip laughed and she joined him, but their motivations for merriment were quite different. She took the drink from his hand and placed it on the unpleasantly angular glass coffee table. Smiling sensually, she slowly undid his belt and unzipped his pants. He helped her eagerly. Soon his Calvin Kleins and pants were puddled around his shoes. She removed his tie and he was so excited he ripped his shirt off. She knelt in front of him and caressed his arms, chest and legs; slowly massaging her way to his penis. He slouched back into the couch and she leaned over and began to suck.
At first, Valeska did it the human way, to get him in the mood and allay suspicion. He was responding well. He moaned with pleasure and gently placed his hands on either side of her head, mumbling little encouragements under his breath. She playfully used her tongue and worked on him for at least ten minutes. He tried to pull her up so he could enter her, but she begged him to let her continue on in her oral way. He shrugged and smiled and relaxed back. She then gently massaged the area just behind his penis with her gloved fingers, moving slowly towards to his anus. Philip got really excited then. She knew that he was going to come any minute. She stopped and said, “Come in my mouth, I love it, come in my mouth.” He groaned and shot his load—and that’s when she had him.
She changed tactics and sucked his cock again, but this time it was with her Seminal Strength. He cried out in shock and his body spasmed. What was going on? What was happening to him? But it was too late. As soon as she had got the first taste of his semen in her mouth, Philip was a goner.
He nearly blacked out with the intensity of new sensations: an almost cosmic pleasure; a hollow pain in his pelvis as if his very being was being sucked out; and a growing lethargy. Whatever was being taken from him was being substituted by some kind of opiate. He wanted to struggle, to throw the woman off, but he was too weak. He could do nothing but sit there and feel the essence of his life draining away.
Valeska stopped suddenly. She stood up and looked at him. Even in his half-dead, paralyzed state, Philip admired her magnificent body, thighs like a dancer, perfect breasts, tiny waist. Even though he knew he was going to die, he worshipped her for her beauty and her power.
Valeska smiled. She saw the adoration in his eyes. She could hear him breathing his last, quick gasps. She straddled him and gently lowered herself on his still hard penis. Philip couldn’t believe it. What was this creature? Why was she doing this to him? Valeska became more excited. In these circumstances, she could come very quickly, especially with a human’s new energy inside her. He came again, for the final time, which sparked Valeska’s powerful unworldly orgasm. The power of her Seminal vagina now came into play. Her internal muscles contracted and drew out every last bit of semen and life essence from him. He had just enough energy to moan, but it was quickly stifled by Valeska’s eager tongue thrusting deep in his mouth.
Philip died but his penis remained hard because of the process. She continued on, having multiple orgasms for at least twenty minutes afterwards. She never cried out, just silent screams of pleasure.
A very satisfying meal, it had to be said. Necrophilia is so good for the soul, even if you don’t have one.
* * *
Afterwards, Valeska rested for a little while, but as soon as she stood, she was all business again. She had to clean up and be out of the apartment as soon as possible. This urgency was practical, the longer she stayed at the scene of a Feed, the chance of capture was greater. She removed some soft absorbent cloths from a ziplock bag in her purse. They had been pre-soaked in bleach to destroy any trace of DNA at the scene. She replaced her leather gloves with surgical ones and then went to work with a supernatural speed: vacuuming the living room, washing their glasses, wiping down any surfaces that her skin may have come in contact with, including the rug where she had knelt down to consume her evening meal. Her last job was to wipe the human down with the bleach-soaked cloths, paying special attention to his penis and the inside of his mouth.
All the used cloths were placed back in the ziplock bag. She didn’t trust the toilet to flush down evidence. Things could always get stuck or come back up. Valeska would leave nothing for the police to find.
After she finished cleaning up, she got dressed and had a last look around. She went back to her victim’s body to admire her handiwork. Philip still looked very handsome and virile, a perfect vessel for her feast.
When she left Philip’s apartment, Valeska used the same routine as she did to leave her own: carefully looking out the peephole and listening for a long time, before opening the door. She had already noted the exit to the stairs. She walked down the five flights briskly, with a new energy.
She went all the way down to the basement and found the back door, avoiding the security cameras. She was soon out on the street, breathing the tainted, moist air of the city. It was raining, which pleased her. Valeska liked walking in the rain. It cooled her off and calmed her mind. She started strolling back to her apartment. She never took cabs in these circumstances.
Ten minutes later, Valeska sensed a presence behind her. Not human. Definitely someone like her. She directed her vaginal scent to him, a little friendly warning to back off. He still followed, which annoyed her. The last thing she wanted to do was to talk shop. She needed to get home and clean up.
A voice whispered close to her ear. She whirled around, instant hate flooding through her veins. How dare he get so close!
“Don’t be so skittish, my dear. Have a nice dinner?”
“I don’t know you. What business is it of yours?”
“I’m always interested in the progress of fellow travelers.”
She saw him now in the gloom. Tall, dark, handsome, dressed in black, the usual combo. Valeska found most of the male members of her kind rather tedious. The males took the business of feeding far too seriously, as if it was some kind of high art form, or philosophical lifestyle. To Valeska it was just food and sex. No need to make such a fuss about it.
“I know you,” the stranger said.
“Do you now?” said Valeska. “I don’t know you, so fuck off.”
“So much irritation at such a late hour. You should be happy. You have a full belly.”
Valeska was instantly wary. Normall
y her kind kept to themselves. Only monthly meetings to keep track of everyone’s movements, so there would be no accidental impingements on hunting territories. What did this one want?
“Tell me, are you Sanguine or Seminal?” he asked.
“None of your business.”
“You’re obviously out of touch. Haven’t you heard the news?”
“What news?” Valeska asked.
“War,” the stranger replied.
“Oh shit.”
“Exactly. Yakov the Supplanter has declared war on all Seminals. He managed to convince the High Council that Seminals are ...”
“... the whores and hookers of our kind, I know.” Valeska’s new acquaintance couldn’t immediately tell whether she was Seminal or Sanguine and she was giving nothing away.
“What’s in it for him?” Valeska asked. “Don’t we have enough problems in this fucking world without going to war with each other?”
“Exactly my thoughts,” he said. “I figure it’s some kind of power play. The Seminals always were contemptuous of his leadership and this is his revenge now that he’s got a whiff of power.”
“This is bad.” Valeska kept her eyes on the male, but she still felt anxious. She could take him, she knew she could. One secret that the Seminals kept to themselves was the knowledge that they were physically stronger than the Sanguines. Maybe that’s why Yakov had declared war. Although the Sanguines were weaker, there were more of them, simply because both male and females could be Sanguines, but only females could be Seminals.
It was too late when she realized that someone else had moved in behind her. Valeska attempted to turn around, but a crushing blow at the back of her neck sent her to the ground.
* * *
It was a bad year for humanity in 1348. Famine, lousy weather, war and high taxes had weakened the population for years, so when the Great Pestilence came, few people could resist its ravages. Millions died and there was death and corruption everywhere. Rulers feared that their lifestyles might decline, so instead of giving their suffering populations a break, they just raised taxes. The doctors and priests who might have helped combat the disease were the first to succumb to it. Spread by the fleas living on rats, the cities were the worst hit, especially since the ignorant blamed witchcraft for the Plague and set about eradicating one of the few creatures that might have helped the situation: cats, whose reputation for being familiars of the Devil made them more repellant to the God-fearing than the rats who were actually causing the problem. Good hygiene was unknown, medicine was just magical thinking, the concept of germs centuries in the future. There was no cure and no way of knowing how the disease was spreading—so humanity didn’t stand a chance. Worldwide, 75 million people were wiped off the planet, over 25 million in Europe alone.
Of course, there were too many people in the world anyway, so it wasn’t such a great loss. More food for the rest, if you were in the fortunate percentile that survived. If one possessed lucky gene CCR5 Delta 32, then you were laughing. Not only would you not catch the disease, your descendants would be immune from future horrors like HIV, smallpox and other plagues.
The best place to hide out from the effects of the disaster was to live in one of the hidden mountain villages in Eastern Europe. Strangers had always been treated with suspicion in these places, now more than ever. It was common to kill those wanderers who were Jews, or Gypsies, or lepers, or even those with an unfortunate skin disease like acne. These travelers were never particularly liked in the first place, but now the mistrustful villagers could execute them for a good reason.
It was into this world that a new subspecies of human was born; one created out of necessity and famine; raised up by a ruthlessness of purpose—the primary source of which was to survive—survive at all costs. It began in a small village called Nitra in Moravia. Although spared the brunt of the Plague, it still suffered from the consequences of a remorseless shortage of food. What little was left of supplies was rotted by the incessant rainfall. Ergot fungus infected the main staple of rye bread and many townspeople suffered from the resultant hallucinations and the painful burning sensations of the skin brought on by Ergotine poisoning. One survivor compared it to being burnt at the stake. The people were in despair and there was no one to help or advise them.
One night, a woman called Tasya Renenyko was trying to feed her infant. Her breasts were shrunken and starvation had dried up her mother’s milk. Her child cried feebly and Tasya was desperate. She took a knife, carefully sliced across one of her veins and dripped her blood into the child’s mouth, open in greedy readiness like a baby bird. The infant suckled her wrist and then stopped after a while, seemingly satisfied.
When her husband Petyr came home, Tasya told him how she had fed their child. He was horrified. He quoted Deuteronomy 12:23 at her: “Only be sure that thou eat not the blood: for the blood is the life; and thou mayest not eat the life with the flesh.” Petyr threatened to go to the local priest and report her as a witch who was trying to turn their child into a vampire.
Tasya said, “Which is better: a starving child, or a child that drinks blood? What does it matter, as long as our child lives?”
Petyr retorted, “It matters if the child loses his immortal soul! Better he should die than that happen.”
Tasya looked at him and realized that he had become insane with hunger. As far as she was concerned, God (if he existed at all, which she was beginning to doubt) took care of those who took care of themselves. Petyr was heading towards the door to inform on her when Tasya made a snap decision that was to save her life and the life of her child. She grabbed a heavy cast iron pot and with all of her strength, brought it down on the back of Petyr’s head; stubborn, stupid, fanatical bastard that he was.
Tasya made sure that he was dead and then went to work. By the end of the day, she had prepared his flesh; preserving, cooking and salting enough of it so that Tasya and her child could survive. She drained his body of blood first; putting the liquid in every available jar she could find and then stored the jars in the cool, dark cellar. She later mixed Petyr’s coagulated blood with spices and buckwheat to cook up a delicious, kishka-like sausage. She boiled his bones and scrapped off the last remaining bits of meat. She even cracked open his bones and extracted the precious protein-rich marrow. Tasya then waited until dark, wrapped up the bones in an old blanket, and buried them in the forest.
Petyr was gone, but in a way, he lived on in the most useful way possible, as food for the baby and herself. It was finally quiet around the house and she felt as if a huge weight had been lifted from her heart.
Few people asked about Petyr’s whereabouts. He wasn’t a popular man and if anyone did query his disappearance, she just said that he had run away, deserting his loved ones for fresher pastures.
Tasya shared some of the precious liquid and flesh with her family and friends and they were terribly grateful. She mixed the blood into soups, so no one could detect the real origins of the protein that was making them feel stronger. Even with Petyr’s store of fleshy protein available, she would still open a vein every night and give the baby a sip of fresh blood.
Slowly and surely, Tasya brought those closest to her into her confidence. She explained to them that it was a matter of survival. What was the good of following the Bible and going to Church if you died of hunger or disease? The Lord had deserted humankind, that much seemed evident and they were all on their own now.
It was a secret that they all shared. And it was agreed that when one of their number died, they would divide up his or her body and make the best use of it.
There was some talk in the village. Why was this particular group of people doing so well, when everyone else was suffering so badly? Tasya was well aware of the rumors. She called together her group of thirty or so individuals and told them that the best thing they could do was move some place even more remote and un
inhabited, where they could go about their business without comment.
* * *
And so the group of blood drinkers quietly packed up their belongings one night and left Nitra, heading east, deeper into the mountains and dark forests, far away from the prying eyes of the clergy and the suspicious townspeople, as well as the ever-present dangers of the Plague. They made a pact where they all agreed that they were the most important people in the world. All others were expendable. They were allowed to do anything to survive. They were the chosen ones—the Sanguine—following a difficult path of blood worship—perhaps taking Christ’s words a bit too literally—enjoying the blood and flesh of their personal saviors in the guise of passersby, travelers and merchants that they met on the road.
Following the lead of Tasya, they lost their faith in a higher power and relied only on each other. They examined each newborn child carefully, noting worrying defects, and killing and feeding on the infant if it was weak and prone to illness. They didn’t feel that this was cruel, as a matter of fact; they felt they were doing the child a favor. In such a pitiless world, there was no point living if one was weak and helpless. Each child of the Sanguine was raised to be self-reliant and to use their ingenuity.
Members of the order were sent to the cities for a few years in the guise of priests to acquire knowledge and bring back books so the growing populace could be educated. The common practice of the time was to regard all knowledge that wasn’t in the Bible as dangerous. The Sanguine believed the opposite. They felt that they had to explore and find out as much as they could. Living in ignorance was too dangerous.
