by Baker, Alex
Using those emotions against her, she had her mother sit in one of the large easy chairs. Constance sat in her lap and stroked her hair before biting into the flesh of her neck. The woman had attempted to cry out, but anticipating such a thing may happen, the effort was met with a hand clamped tightly over her mouth. Oh, the look of panic and bewilderment that crossed her face. It was classic.
The dad was just as easy. It was just a matter of sneaking quietly into their bedroom and latching onto his back while he slept. Sinking her teeth into him before he knew what was happening, a solid hold on the sheets and mattress were all that were required to subdue him until the deed was done. Unfortunately, the action did have consequences, with Constance’s heightened sense of smell being subjected to detecting the trace amounts of semen and bodily fluids that had been left behind. At one point she was sure she was going to vomit up all of the fresh blood she had just taken in.
As disgusting as the image of her parent’s sexually satisfying each other had been to her, she had accomplished what needed to be done quite effortlessly. Both were incapacitated, far too weak from blood loss to do anything. Easy pawns and nourishment.
Coming home had other benefits, as well. She was back in her own room, in her own bed, and sleeping on soft sheets, not in a hole in the ground or in the back of an abandoned car. Well, the owner of the car did not be need it any more anyway.
Yes. It was good to have her things back around her.
Speaking of around her, the teen that had a double hand full of her breasts had wrapped his legs round her waist. His zipper was now etched into the skin at the small of her back. She decided he had been given enough time.
Constance turned around to face him, sitting on her knees. Running a finger down the middle of the young man’s Deadpool t-shirt before stopping to pinch the irritating zipper slider, an idea that seemed like fun came to her. “Take your pants off. I want to go down on you.”
The male appeared almost too caught up in fumbling with the hooks of her corset to notice the demand. “How do you get this thing off? It’s like a bra on crack or something. Help me out here because I really want to suck on your nipples.”
What? Does he have mommy issues, too? Do I need to breast-feed him now? No. She had wasted enough time playing with her food. It was time to clean the plate. Constance knew what she wanted to do next, and he was going to comply. Her hand made its way back up to his head and, running her fingers through his hair, she grabbed a handful and yanked his head back again. Leaning in close, almost enough to touch noses, she concentrated her emotions and stated, “I said, take your pants off. That would satisfy me. You do want to satisfy me, don’t you?”
The familiar glaze came over the young man’s eyes, and he followed her orders saying “yes” while beginning to disrobe. Constance still wasn’t sure what she was exuding, but she was quickly learning how to control it and use it to her advantage. Practice makes perfect. The sweet boy had been first. It had come easier since then.
Sweet boy. His taste had been intoxicating. She took in a sniff of the one that was currently sliding his pants off. It took a moment for her to place the smell, but when she did, it seemed too obvious: peanut butter.
This one reeked of peanut butter. Well, not like he had smeared it on himself, but he might as well have. Something about him was so similar to the creamy spread that it was hard to tell apart. Not exactly a turn-on, she decided, but Constance was determined to suck the jelly right out of him despite how unappealing his aroma may have been.
Naked now from the waist down, except for a pair of white ankle socks, the male sat waiting for the next command. Constance pushed him back on to the pillows, and sliding further down the bed on her belly, she took his penis in her hand and rubbed up and down gently. It wasn’t about getting him excited. No. He was perfectly erect. This was all about her now. Constance was past ready to have fun, gripping snuggly, she had total control. Just like playing a game, with built in joystick. Fun achieved.
The tip of her tongue made its way teasingly around the head, before escalating into hot licks up and down the shaft. The young man moaned and grasped at her hair. She was going to need to do something about those hands, Constance thought and planned out her next move. She didn’t need any unexpected issues interrupting her mood. That meant freeing up both of her hands.
Placing her lips on the tip of his penis, she slowly let it slide across her tongue and fully into her mouth. The words, “Oh God” hung in the air. No. Oh me, Constance thought smugly.
His fingers entrenched firmly in her dark brown, wavy hair, she slowly entangled her fingers into his, giving him something else to latch on to. He was all too happy to oblige, just as she figured. Probably thought I was trying to share the moment with him. Won’t he be surprised?
She began maneuvering her legs into place. It was the final piece of the lead-up. His had been on the outside, so one by one, she repositioned hers, using them to pull his in. Once done, arching her back, she tucked her feet under his calves. It was time.
His male part fully in her mouth, Constance sucked on it as it glided slowly back out over her tongue. The male teen gave a loud sound of approval, squeezing against their tightly locked hands; her legs locked in around his even tighter. Turning her head slightly and allowing his penis to fall and lean to one side, she opened her mouth and licked the tips of her two razor sharp protruding teeth.
Hesitating just long enough for the saliva to drip from the corner of her lips while he begged for more, Constance let the feeling ripple through her body. It was part sexual, part hunger, part control, and all desire.
Teeth sank into flesh, piercing through to the artery. Her victim reacted in shock, struggling against her hold, but it was futile. She had him bound, and the more he fought to break free, the tighter she constricted and the harder she sucked. Sounds of anguish and fear mixed with pleasure.
Her head came back, allowing Constance to do more than drink in his life force. She drank in the moment. With every race of his heartbeat, deep red fluid rushed from the two gaping holes.
Moving with a purpose and with passion, she took his whole penis back into her mouth, letting it fill. Biting down again, Constance sucked relentlessly, gorging herself.
The young male’s strength faded. Between the garble of moans, he begged for her mercy, which only succeeded in driving her intensity, and despite it all, he came.
Constance let the fluids mingle in her mouth, allowing the tastes to linger briefly before swallowing it all and renewing her consumption with increased vigor. The fight had totally left her prey, and his life was following close behind, as words came in short wisps from his mouth in-between gasps for air.
Allowing herself to relax, the young huntress released his hands and grabbed his testicles. She wanted him to know with his dying thoughts and realizations that she had been in charge – that she owned him. She was in control.
The last pulse came and went. With her acute hearing, so sensitive to the most subtle resonances now, the sound could be heard like a lone drum beat. It made her smile.
Only long enough to change positions and sink her teeth into the femoral artery in his leg, though. She wanted every last drop peanut butter boy had to give. She wanted all that jelly.
Satiated, Constance sat up and looked at the TV. The movie had long since ended and given way to some infomercial for a cheap product that one could supposedly only buy if they acted right away. She changed the channel to the Cartoon Network’s Adult Swim programming.
Licking the salty, coppery taste from her lips and catching a glimpse of herself in the mirror attached to the dresser, she said, “Damn, I’m a mess.” Grabbing the rumpled bed sheet, she wiped her mouth and neck. “Damn. Now they’re a mess.”
Rolling the lifeless body off onto the floor with a thud, Constance jerked the sheets off the bed and headed for the stairs with a bounce in her step.
“Oh Mother,” she called out, “I have a chore for you.”
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10
Heavily treaded boots fell in a slow, methodical pace on the stained concrete floor as the lone figure crossed the room. Stopping momentarily to pick up a small, wooden table that lay toppled, the man continued until he reached the center. There, he sat the table upright and placed upon it a single candle, which he lit with a match. Breathing in deep, he allowed the sulfur smell of the smoke from that match to fill his nostrils. It was a smell that he found soothing.
However, it was not the scent that Ambrose had come for.
Fresh warm light from the flickering flame danced faintly on the concrete walls and fought a losing battle to chase away the shadows. Removing his fedora and dropping it to the floor, Ambrose scanned the area. It had not been that long ago that he had laid out his trap in the abandoned service station, and little had changed.
The car that Roofy had driven through the garage door had been towed away for investigation by the police. That same garage door opening, as well as all of the windows and entrances, had been boarded up, not that it had prevented his entrance. Some markings left by the forensics unit still littered the floor. Overall, everything else remained the same.
Little had changed outside of the building, as well. His attempts at killing the demon had been thwarted, and the creature still roamed free. It could easily have been construed as a failure, but Ambrose chose to think of it as a minor set-back and learning opportunity. It was not the first such event he had experienced in his long life, nor would it be the last. Of that, he was sure. None of the pitfalls he had experienced had ever stopped him from plodding onward in his mission, though. That would also not change.
Peering around once again, a hint of light reflecting off a surface on one of the walls caught his attention. Despite the dark visual conditions, Ambrose’s eyes easily identified the mounted medicine cabinet. Approaching it, he noticed the mirror was cracked, with a few pieces of glass missing. Probably used for storing aspirin, band aids, and such. A case of items used to treat the ailments of humans, something he had not concerned himself with for quite some time.
Looking into the broken mirror, Ambrose studied another item that had changed little: his face. It was something he spent very few instances viewing anymore. Gray had penetrated his almost black, wiry, shoulder-length hair at some point, and that same color pattern carried over into the stubble that covered his square jaw and lower face. Age lines accented his pale white skin, as did various small scars.
All qualities of any typical middle-aged man, he thought. Except, Ambrose was far beyond middle-aged, and there were two characteristics that were anything but typical: his eyes and teeth.
Nocturnally shaped pupils were highlighted by intense yellow-green irises, and Ambrose’s tongue rubbed over the two sharp, extended canine teeth. There had been a time when both of these features amazed and mortified him. Of course, that time had been so very long ago. They had come with the hunger; part of a hellish package deal.
In the calm quiet of the desolate building, Ambrose’s memory wandered back to a time in his life that he normally kept locked away in the dark recesses of his mind, where it smoldered with a never ending rage.
There had been a woman and a child. He had a family once, and together they had occupied a small cottage in an equally small village near a river. He had fished and hunted for his livelihood. It was hard work and sometimes a tough existence, but he recalled happiness and beauty. His family had preferred the lifestyle over moving, like many, closer to the smokestack littered and smog filled cities that were budding due to the industrial revolution.
One of the younger men in the hamlet, though, had begun acting strangely and appeared to suffer from an unidentifiable disease. He had been raised by just his mother, a strange occurrence for that day and age, and little to nothing was known about the father.
She had indicated that her mate had died before she moved to the area. However, Ambrose had learned from a traveling buyer that he sold his wares to that she had fled her previous dwelling after accusations of conversing with the dark forces.
Ambrose dismissed it as dramatization and mob mentality. She had appeared harmless and caring, and her child quiet and well-mannered. So he decided to keep the news to himself. It was a decision he regretted when the boy grew in age and the sickness manifested.
As the ailment grew in intensity, the symptoms became more erratic and, at times, sinister in nature. Talk of witchcraft permeated the gossip of the small community, and as things worsened, a priest was called for from one of the nearby towns.
Upon the holy man’s arrival, Ambrose informed him of the woman’s history and the possibility of the involvement of evil forces, but it was too late. In the evening hours of that cool March day, as the preacher prayed with the troubled family, that which had been trying to manifest itself through the young man finally burst forth. Screams of pain and agony wrecked the silence.
Ambrose remembered well the sound of the demonic laugh that echoed through the village. All of the townsfolk had heard it.
Men armed themselves with pitchforks and any other instruments with the potential for causing harm, and they gathered in the center of town, while the women huddled with the children. Ambrose had carried a machete into the battle, if it could be called that. More a slaughter.
Bodies littered the ground, and blood ran everywhere. Standing dominantly amongst the carnage, the dark, grotesque abomination of what once was a young man appeared to revel in the death it caused. As the few remaining men attempted to fend off the beast, Ambrose remembered it saying there could be no witnesses left.
While the creature busied itself with slaying them, Ambrose managed to overcome the fear that had almost paralyzed him, and he snuck up behind the menacing figure. Striking with all the might he could muster, he ran his blade through the possessed young man’s chest. Sure he had hit the heart, or at least very near it, Ambrose expected him to go down.
He did not. Clearly the thing had been mortally wounded, but with strength and endurance far beyond what any man could muster, the dark figure managed to remain standing. Turning the gaze of his burning eyes on Ambrose, the abomination bellowed. It demanded to know if he understood what he had done and if he had any idea how long it had taken to gestate to a point where it had enough power to finally take over the body it was in.
Confused and terrified, Ambrose could not speak. Bleeding profusely, the evil being said it was not going to kill him; that it had a special kind of suffering in store for him. With that, the thing had grabbed him and bit hard into the base of his neck and upper shoulder area. There had been an overwhelming pain, followed by darkness.
Ambrose awoke to the sounds of his wife’s voice. Sweating profusely, he strained to come to his senses as his mate helped him to their house. Appearing to suffer from delusions and fever, apparently he had been unconscious where he had fallen for hours after the attack. She had cleaned and bandaged his wound but did not possess the strength to move him.
When asked what had become of the evil young man, she had informed Ambrose that the wounded figure had hunted down all that remained living and killed them; all save for three. It had spared her and their son, as well as one other woman. The latter had been carried off into the woods until her screams disappeared in the distance.
Trying to make sense of why his family had been spared and what they should do, Ambrose became aware of a growing sensation deep within him. At first he dismissed it as some sort of symptom caused by the wound that had been inflicted upon him, but he quickly grew concerned that it may be more. Was it possible that whatever had possessed the young man had been passed on?
Fear of that possibility did not have time to be realized before the changes inside of him became too much to bear. His senses were going haywire, so sensitive that it threatened to drive him mad. But there was more than that. There was a need; a burning desire that needed to be quenched. It was a hunger like he had never known before.
Ambrose had fought it with
every fiber of his being until he finally snapped. His wife, who had tried to comfort him, was first. Like a crazed animal out of control, he fed upon her flesh, ripping and tearing at it in large mouthfuls. Her screams resonated in his ears and were recorded in his brain, but he could not stop himself; not until every drop of blood had been stolen from her body.
It did not help. Still needing to be satiated, and in a frenzy, Ambrose turned on his child. The cold realization of what he was doing had not even been enough to stop it.
That was the suffering the dark figure had left him with. It had turned him into an animal; a hunter of men and a thing hunted by men. He had earned many titles since then: blood-dealer, man-beast, creature, inhuman, and night-stalker. He was a blight on humanity and an abomination, and he would have taken his own life many years ago if not for one thing that drove him on: vengeance.
It would be some time before he knew that the thing he hunted was a demon. That knowledge came from finding others like himself. From them he learned of the twisted circle that bound the two types of creatures together.
Demons were always looking for a human host to manifest themselves in. Although it was uncertain as to when this chain of events started, it was common knowledge that had been passed down amongst the others like Ambrose that this was done by seeding. A female would be impregnated by a possessed male. The demon seed was passed along in the infant. As that male child grew so did the dark spirit inside of him until it finally gained enough power to take control. It then used the human vessel until age or bodily damage forced it to breed to a new host.
