Cake is served

With a long synchronized hiss and baring of fangs, we moved swiftly across the table.

I caught Olivia by the shoulders while Alessandra descended on Scott. The compulsion held them in place, but their bodies trembled with anticipation and terror.

"Alessandra," I said calmly, "keep Scott occupied. Build his anticipation. Don't let him finish. I want him ****."

"Yes, Raul," she purred, understanding immediately.

She pulled Scott to the far end of the curved booth, away from us. I turned my full attention to Olivia, who sat frozen, breathing rapidly, eyes locked on mine.

I could read her so easily—years of sexual frustration, of being the responsible one, the controlled one. That uptight exterior hiding a **** need to submit, to be taken, to lose herself completely.

"Olivia," I said softly, my voice layered with compulsion and seduction. "Look at me."

Her eyes met mine—and I pushed into her mind fully. Her pupils dilated, her breathing slowed. The red glow of my eyes reflected in hers.

"You've wanted this," I murmured. "To let go. To be desired so completely that nothing else matters."

"Yes," she breathed, the word escaping without her permission.

"You're going to do exactly as I say. And you're going to love every moment of it."

"Yes."

I smiled, fangs gleaming in the dim light. "Turn around. Knees on the cushion. Present yourself to me."

She obeyed immediately, moving as if in a trance. She turned, lifting herself onto her knees on the booth's cushion, facing away from me. The position put her ass at perfect height, her body displayed for my pleasure.

"Lift your skirt," I commanded.

Her hands trembled as she reached back, gathering the fabric of her skirt and pulling it up over her hips. She wore simple black panties, already visibly damp with arousal. Her ass was full and round, skin practically glowing in the dim light of the booth.

"Remove them."

She hooked her thumbs in the waistband and slid her panties down to her knees, fully exposing herself. I could see her pussy glistening, dripping with need, her inner thighs already wet.

"Good girl," I praised, running a cold hand up her inner thigh.

She gasped at the temperature difference, her whole body shuddering. Goosebumps erupted across her skin.

I positioned myself behind her, admiring the view—her ass raised, back arched, pussy exposed and waiting. I placed both hands on her ass cheeks, squeezing firmly, spreading her open so I could see everything.

She whimpered, her body trembling with need and nervousness.

"So wet already," I observed. "So **** for this."

With vampiric strength, I shoved the table away from the booth—it scraped loudly across the floor but no one in the frozen bar noticed or cared. The space opened up before us, giving me room to maneuver.

"Stay exactly as you are," I commanded. "Don't move."

I slid beneath her, positioning myself on my back on the booth's seat, my head directly under her exposed pussy. I looked up at the perfect view—her glistening folds, her swollen clit, her thighs trembling with anticipation.

"Lower yourself," I ordered. "Sit on my face."

She hesitated for just a moment, then began to lower herself slowly. I gripped her hips impatiently and pulled her down the rest of the way, forcing her wet heat against my mouth.

I groaned at the taste—salt and sweetness and pure arousal. My tongue immediately went to work, lapping at her folds, circling her clit, then plunging inside her to taste her more deeply.

"Oh god," she gasped, her body jerking at the sensation.

I devoured her hungrily. My tongue explored every fold, every sensitive spot, learning what made her gasp, what made her moan. I sealed my lips around her clit and sucked hard while my tongue flicked rapidly against it.

Her hips began to move instinctively, grinding down against my face. She couldn't help herself—she rode my mouth, seeking her pleasure, using me. The pressure of her body weight on my face was exquisite. She was completely lost now, inhibitions shattered.

"Oh fuck, oh god, don't stop," she moaned, grinding harder.

Her thighs clamped around my head as she chased her release. I didn't need to breathe—the advantage of being undead—so I simply continued my relentless **** on her clit, sucking and licking and consuming her.

In the background, I was vaguely aware of Alessandra with Scott. She had his cock out, stroking it slowly, keeping him hard and **** but never letting him get close to release. Every time he got close, she'd stop, kiss his neck teasingly with her fangs barely grazing his skin, then start again. His frustrated moans were music.

But my focus was on Olivia. I slid two fingers inside her pussy while continuing to work her clit with my mouth, pumping them in rhythm with her grinding. She was close—I could feel it in how her body tensed, how her movements became more frantic and less coordinated.

I curled my fingers to stroke that perfect spot inside her while sucking her clit hard.

"Fuck, fuck, FUCK!" she screamed.

She came violently, her whole body convulsing. Her pussy clenched rhythmically around my fingers as she gushed into my mouth. The pressure of her weight on my face increased as she lost control, grinding down hard as wave after wave of pleasure crashed through her.

I drank her release greedily, not wasting a drop, my tongue continuing to work her through every aftershock until she was gasping and oversensitive.

Finally, she went completely limp above me. I guided her gently to collapse onto the seat beside where I lay, helping her shift so she was sitting properly on the cushion. Her legs fell open, splayed wide, completely spent. Her chest heaved as she tried to catch her breath, her skin flushed and glistening with sweat.

She looked utterly exhausted, eyes glazed, mouth slightly open as she panted.

I sat up slowly, my face wet with her arousal. I licked my lips deliberately, savoring her taste while maintaining eye contact.

"Delicious," I murmured. "But I'm not finished with you yet."

Before she could respond or even process my words, I grabbed her inner thigh and spread her legs even wider. She was too spent to resist, too lost in the aftermath of her orgasm.

I leaned in close, my face inches from her still-glistening pussy. I inhaled deeply, taking in her scent—arousal and sweat and pure sex. Then I shifted my focus slightly to the side, to the soft, tender flesh of her inner thigh, just inches from her sensitive folds.

"What—" she started weakly.

I struck without warning. My fangs sank deep into her inner thigh, piercing the delicate skin and the femoral artery beneath.

She screamed—a raw sound of shock and pleasure and pain all mixed together. Her back arched off the seat, her exhausted body suddenly flooded with new sensation.

Her blood flowed hot and rich into my mouth, even more intoxicating than her arousal had been. I drank deeply, greedily, one hand gripping her thigh to hold her still, the other sliding back to her pussy almost automatically.

"Oh god, oh god, what are you doing to me?" she whimpered, her voice breaking.

I pulled back just long enough to answer, blood coating my lips and chin. "Claiming you completely."

Then I returned to feeding, my fangs buried in her thigh while my fingers found her clit and began to stroke it slowly, gently, building her back up despite her exhaustion.

Her body didn't know how to respond—it was spent, drained, overwhelmed. But the combination of my feeding and my touch on her most sensitive spot was undeniable. A fresh wave of arousal began to build despite everything.

"Please," she gasped, though whether begging me to stop or continue, even she didn't know.

I drank more deeply, feeling her life **** flowing into me, strengthening me, energizing me. At the same time, my fingers worked her clit with increasing pressure and speed.

Her hips began to move again, small involuntary jerks. Her breathing became ragged. Against all logic, against her body's exhaustion, she was climbing toward another orgasm.

I felt her heartbeat slowing, growing weaker as I drained her. Just as she reached the edge, teetering on the brink of orgasm and unconsciousness simultaneously, I pressed down hard on her clit.

She came with a choked cry, her body convulsing weakly, pussy clenching around nothing as a small amount of fluid leaked from her. At the same moment, I took one final deep pull of blood.

Then I **** myself to stop. I pulled my fangs from her thigh and licked the wounds slowly, my saliva beginning the healing process. The puncture marks would close, though they'd leave faint scars.

Olivia collapsed completely, barely conscious. Her eyes were unfocused, her breathing shallow and rapid. Blood trickled slowly down her inner thigh from the healing wounds. She looked utterly destroyed—pale, trembling, spent in every possible way.

I sat back, wiping blood from my mouth with the back of my hand, and admired my work.

Across the booth, Alessandra was still working Scott into a frenzy. His cock was purple and leaking, his whole body tense with **** need. She'd stroke him almost to completion, then stop. Kiss his neck. Grind against him. Then start again. He was whimpering, begging.

"Please, please, I need—"

"Shh," Alessandra cooed, clearly enjoying her power over him. "Not yet. When Raul says."

I smiled at her control, her instincts. She was going to be magnificent.

I reached for the glass of my blood, still sitting where I'd left it. It was time to complete Olivia's transformation.

"Olivia," I said softly, lifting her head. Her eyes tried to focus on me but couldn't quite manage it. "Drink. Accept the gift."

I pressed the glass to her lips and tilted it carefully. The thick, dark blood flowed into her mouth. She swallowed reflexively at first, then with growing awareness and hunger.

The transformation began immediately.

Her skin blanched further, becoming true porcelain white. Her features sharpened—cheekbones becoming more pronounced, jawline more defined, lips fuller. Her body filled out, curves enhancing—breasts swelling against her disheveled blouse, hips widening slightly, waist narrowing. Her nails extended into elegant points.

Her eyes snapped open, blazing crimson.

"Fuck," she breathed, her voice completely transformed—deeper, sultrier, dangerous. She looked at her hands, watching her new claws extend and retract experimentally. She ran her tongue over her teeth, feeling the sharp fangs that had replaced her normal canines.

A slow, predatory smile spread across her face.

She looked across the booth at Scott, who was watching her transformation with wide, terrified eyes even as Alessandra continued to edge him mercilessly.

"Well," Olivia purred, her new voice sending shivers through the air. "This changes everything."