Five course diner

Amuse-bouche et entrée

I sink my fangs in the girl’s ass. She quivers in discomfort as I start to drink. Of course, it will not last long. It never does. I mentally smile as she starts to moan. It never does…

The room fills with the scent of the girl’s secretions. I like it. Her blood is rich and musky, a bit thick too, clear sign of dehydration. It was to be expected, with all the drinks she downed at the bar… I slip a finger in her pussy. Wet, hot, subtly smelly, exactly how I like them. My fangs tend to do that. I take a few drags. She has this peachy aftertaste, delicious. I slide in a second finger. She arches her back, moaning a tad louder. I withdraw my fangs and sink them again, just for the kicks of it. She appreciates. I drink a bit more. My fingers are now coated in thick white cream. Her delicious blood has taken the edge off and I cannot stuff myself on this one.

Tonight, I have a five course menu and I should pace myself. So, I slowly withdraw the fangs, enjoying her shivers, and give the four holes I just granted her a quick lick to accelerate the healing process. Over her black thong, over my mark, I pull her tiny red skirt down. Briefly, I waver whether to uncover her perfect ass again or not. An urge to give a gentle lick to the glistening slit that just disappeared under the fabric, has taken me, but that would lead to another bit of fang play and would leave the other four waiting. I let her snore out her drunkenness on the bed, mind filled with pleasant dreams of me. I stand and exit the small room wiping her blood from the edge of my lips.

Sniffing the girl on my fingers, I step in the living room. The place is simply furbished but with a certain flair for esthetics. Three more morsels are waiting for me in the living room. Two on the couch, the third in the kitchen behind the counter that separates the two living spaces. The fourth, a smoker and the tenant of the flat, must be on the small balcony which door is slightly ajar. I hesitate for a second and finally settle for the third one, the one in the kitchen. I will keep the whole threesome act for after. As I step by them, I run my long nails against the face of the one closest to me, a brunette with magnificent blue eyes. She interrupts her discussion with her friend to close her eyes in submission and delight. I can feel her eyes burning a hole in the back of my head, both girls’ eyes.

The kitchen is small as it is to be expected for a working girl of this age and position.

My next bite is bending over, inside the fridge, giving me a beautiful sight of her round ass. I might destroy it at some point, but not right now. It is one of the perks of early dinner, the sun does not meddle with my plans. I have time, all the time in the world, to follow my whims. She turns around and jumps when she sees me. My control over her has loosened and she might have forgotten me, but I get a grip of her mind again as soon as our gazes meet. I smile.

“Oh, it’s you,” she says almost casually.

Almost because, I can see behind her eyes, her desire for me grows anew.

“It’s me,” I simply reply, smiling.

Me? Who am I to them? No one. Maybe the vague memory of a guy at the bar who sat at their table and offered a round of drinks. A round of drinks they accepted against all reason, and got them into something much scarier than they had planned for their night out. Well scarier… Even though I am a monster by all accounts, and I have had my fair share of killings, always pleasant for my victims, mind you, over the centuries, I have learned moderation. Not moderation, untrue. Tonight, after all, I am going after the blood of five cuties, but caution, rather. With the development of modern forensics, leaving corpses here and there, riddled fang marks and properly exsanguinated, is a guarantee to have people chasing you after week two of your arrival in town, even when the town is as big as this city.

“How is June?” The crop-topped, short-skirted, auburn-haired beauty asks me vaguely pointing towards the bedroom.

Who is June? The girls did introduce themselves after that first round of drinks but, for the life of me, I would be incapable of remembering who is who. I turn toward the direction she is pointing at and, finally identifying June, smile looking back at her.

“She’s alright, she might have had a little too much to drink. I’m pretty sure that, in the morning, she’ll be fresh as a daisy.”

A severely hungover daisy with a slight case of anemia but she will live, definitely.

“Can I pour you somethin’ big boy?”

Big boy? If I am not mistaken, there is a sexual subtext to her wording. I look deep into her eyes. Yes, there is. Beyond the lust induced by my presence, my control, my nasty little mind, this one is interested. Most probably, I could have gone for her without even bothering to mesmerize her. But since I wanted her friends as well…

“You sure can,” I say, closing the gap between the two of us and wrapping an arm around her waist.

This one smells like strawberries. It seems that my dinner is going to be fruit themed tonight. I grab a wine glass from the open shelf above the sink.

“Do you mind?” I ask wrapping my long fingers around her wrist.

Lips curled, letting her get a good sight of my extending fangs, I sink my oversized shiny marbles into her wrist. A hiccup of pain, I take a few sips, definitely strawberry. In no time, her eyes fill with delicious wetness. From the perfume that surrounds us, her eyes are not the only part of her anatomy that have just been moisturized. I let her go; a few drops of her blood run down my chin. I hold her bleeding hand over the glass. She looks at me with fascination. I smile through my bloody lips.

“Oooh,” she says in a hazy voice, “what… what did you just do to me?”

“Taking you on your offer darling.”

“Oh…”

Submission and obedience with a hint of freed will. I can lift barriers, boundaries, I make the unacceptable, acceptable, I make them free from themselves, from the harsh shackles of society, free of consequences and morals. I can also make them forget, if I want to. It comes naturally to anyone with my condition; it makes us the perfect predator, one against whom the victims do not fight back. It also makes us the stuff of legend, something lurking in the shadows, something hidden, something that can hardly can be documented but remains in the subconscious of the species as a good reason to fear the dark. It is a powerful gift, a talent that got me out of uncomfortable situations countless times. Literally countless. I tend to put myself in delicate predicaments, myself of course, but mostly my condition with its unescapable urges.

As I watch her blood slowly fill the glass, lost in my thoughts, she closes the gap between us even more. The fingers of her free hand have slipped between the buttons of my shirt and they are mingling now with the hair on my chest. I smile down at her as I put down the glass by the sink and leave a quick kiss and a quick lap on her wrist. The blood flow dries up. Strawberries and a hint of leather, I think, tasting her for the second time. Her hand has moved down my chest, unbuttoning it as it goes down. She slips into my jeans and into my boxers. Good girl, full of initiative, I think, as she grabs my cock. I am hard, I just fed and I am about to feed again, multiple times, so I am hard and she likes it.

“Is it me who is making you like this, Mr. big teeth?”

“Maybe,” I say over my breath, enjoying the firm grip of her phalanxes over my hardness, “maybe you and all your little friends here.”

“I like that,” she says lowering herself to her knees.

My fly is opened, my pants pulled on my calves, my cock freed. She pulls on the shaft unhooding my organ. Her lips are warm against my cold flesh. I take the glass back from next to the sink, and a sip. She kisses me, first the tip, then the shaft, through her fingers, and, finally, the balls. I can feel her hunger for me, for my flesh, the same way I feel hunger for her, her and all her little friends’ blood and bodies.

Finally, she swallows me. I love how the sexual revolution of the seventies and the broad dissemination of pornography has turned every single girl into a proficient partner. I do not love the new generation’s tendency to go back on that immense progress. After centuries of teaching prude farmer’s daughters on how to please a man, it frustrates me a lot to see this happening. But this young lady seems to be sort of hippy friendly and quite sexually active, which is exactly what I was looking for the opening of our little ball. Her lips wrapped around the top of my shaft, she gently suckles on the glans, running her tongue around the bubbly head of my cock. It feels good. I take another sip of her delicious leathery blood.

Over the counter, sitting on the couch, the other two girls have stopped talking. They are looking at us with a mix of envy and disgust. I smile showing them my bloody fangs, making it clear that they should prepare to be next. The disgust increases, alongside a good serving of fear but, at the same time, so does their lust. I make sure of that. The one on the left, the one with dark hair and blue eyes must be a repressed lesbian, or at least bi with hots for her colleague because without me interfering in that direction, she slides her hand between the other one’s thighs. With a slight pression on the other’s mind, I encourage that line of proceeding. They look at each other, hungrily. I smile taking another sip.

Now that she has taken my shaft in her mouth, the auburn haired girl at my knees is doing an amazing job. Not that it was not amazing before, but I have always loved feeling my cock being pressured between the tight walls of a warm throat. I lay a hand on her head, petting her gently.

The girls on the couch have started kissing. The brunette is more than eager, eating the other one’s mouth as if she had fasted for weeks, digging below her counterpart’s flannel shirt like a Saudi prince looking for petrol in the desert. The aforementioned other one, a cute little redhead with short hair and a cute round face, pushed into a bottomless pit of lust by yours truly, is reciprocating with all the courage and determination of a handful of men in a Texan fort facing one thousand five hundred Mexicans, but with pretty much the same results, brave failure and defeat at every turn. I was there at the time, I know. I smile and take a sip, before realizing the glass is almost empty.

I look down, curl my fingers against the girl’s cheek and have her stand on her feet. She looks confused, happy but confused, confused by what she just did to a total stranger, right there in her colleague’s kitchen. A string of saliva is running down her chin, above it, her red lips are glossy and covered in spit. I dive in and give her a kiss. A deep, bloody one, a fanged kiss. If I am careful, I can perfectly kiss without hurting my partner, but in this instance, I am everything but careful. Literally biting her lips, I mix my pre cum, her spit, with more of her deliciously strawberry flavored blood. I push her against the bar. A hand on each side of her face, pressing my cock still lubricated by her drool against her exposed belly, I slowly drink the cocktail that pours out her mouth. I also drink her breath, harsh, hoarse, excited, bordering on panting. I drink her for a short while and, after releasing her and tearing her skirt and undies out of the way, I lift her leg and dive my cock into her.

How pleasant it is to feel so welcomed. Warm and tight, perfectly lubricated, I slide in easily. She accommodates me gladly with a loud moan. I start to work her. First pussy of the evening for my cock, so I do not go gently. Hammering her, I dive in and out, violently. Lifting her against the counter with each battering, treating my organ like a nail I want to see disappear into the plank of her flesh, she lets her head bounce on her shoulders, screaming the pleasure out, air bursting out of her lungs with each blow.

For a second, I pause, just long enough to send her top the way of the rest of her clothes. Below, I find a pink laced bra. Smiling nastily at the girls on the couch, I snarl letting my fangs extend beyond the necessary length and sink them into her breast. I resume my assaults, this time, feeding harshly, sucking deeply on the breast of the poor girl with the strawberry and leather flavored blood. She bites her lips to be able to hold in as much of the pleasure I give her. She barely manages.

I come.