New Children of the Night

Lilithara slowly pulled her lips away from the bite mark on Rina’s breast. A thin thread of blood still connected her mouth to the girl’s pale skin. Rina hung limply in her arms, eyes half-closed, her freshly transformed face already covered in an unnatural, porcelain-like white. Her new black hair flowed like silk down to her now fuller buttocks, her lips plumper, her breasts heavier—a perfect, dark version of her former innocence.

The vampire queen leaned in and kissed Rina deeply, greedily. Her tongue invaded the girl’s mouth, tasting her own blood on Rina’s new fangs. Rina responded weakly but instinctively—her tongue, now longer and more supple, returned the kiss with hungry curiosity. Lilithara pulled back with a soft, satisfied sigh, licked the blood from her lips, and smiled wickedly—a cold, triumphant smile that flashed her sharp teeth in the red emergency light.

“Welcome to eternity, my first child,” she whispered.

Then she closed her eyes for a moment. Her thoughts extended like invisible tentacles, searching and finding the two bouncers at the entrance of Eclipse. The men with cybernetic eyes still stood motionless, trapped in her hypnotic grip, faces blank, bodies stiff as puppets.

Close the doors, Lilithara commanded telepathically, her mental voice cold and unrelenting. No one enters. No one leaves.

Without a word, the two turned. With mechanical movements, they pushed the heavy metal doors of the club shut. A dull click sounded as the locks engaged. The neon lights outside flickered once, then the entrance was sealed. No one inside noticed—yet.

Lilithara straightened, gently lowering Rina to the floor. The newly transformed girl sank to her knees, her red eyes already hungry and vacant at the same time. Lilithara stroked her black hair once, almost tenderly, then turned away.

With slow, predatory steps, she left the dark alcove and returned to the main hall of Eclipse.

The room was bathed in dim, dark light—violet and deep blue spotlights blended with pulsing strobes. About 80 people were still here: some danced wildly on the large floor, bodies glistening with sweat; others leaned against the long bar sipping glowing cocktails; still others stood in small groups, laughing, flirting, kissing in the corners. The disco lasers bathed everything repeatedly in vibrant colors—toxic green, electric pink, deep indigo—that danced across bare skin, skimpy outfits, and sweat-drenched faces.

The women wore gossamer tops, sheer dresses, tiny hotpants, and crop tops that barely concealed anything—breasts bounced to the rhythm of the music, stomachs glistened, thighs flashed when the light caught them. The men were just as revealing: tight tank tops, open shirts, leather pants, some bare-chested, muscles rippling beneath the skin, tattoos glowing in the laser

[light.

No](http://light.No) one noticed Lilithara at first.

She stood at the edge of the dance floor, her raven-black hair swaying lightly in the breeze of the fans, her tattered black silk dress hanging like a shadow around her body. Her smile widened, her red eyes glowing in the half-darkness.

She raised one hand—a small, almost tender gesture.

And then she began to scan the room.

Her thoughts reached out again, searching for the strongest life lights, the hottest pulses, the most receptive souls.

The club was sealed.

The night now belonged to her.

And she was hungry.

Rina rose slowly, her new red eyes glowing hungrily in the dim light. Her body felt different—stronger, more sensual, driven by an insatiable craving for blood and flesh. Lilithara stroked her cheek, a final possessive smile on her lips. “Go, my child. Feed. Let them all feel what you are now.”

Rina nodded silently, her full lips curling into a predatory grin. She stepped out of the alcove, back into the main hall of Eclipse. Her steps were silent but magnetic—her black hair swung with every movement, her fuller body in the crumpled dress drew eyes, even though most of the partygoers were still obliviously dancing.

Her gaze swept over the crowd. About 80 people—men and women laughing, drinking, rubbing against each other. She could smell them all: the sweat, the blood, the arousal. Her first victim caught her eye—a young man, mid-20s, with an athletic build, in a tight black shirt and jeans, leaning alone at the bar sipping a drink. His pulse throbbed strongly, his skin glistened with sweat, and his eyes held a hungry loneliness.

Rina glided onto the dance floor, her hips swaying seductively. She positioned herself in front of him, began to dance—pressed tightly against him, her full breasts brushing his chest, her rounder ass pressing against his crotch. She rubbed against him, slowly, circling, her hands sliding over his arms, her nails lightly scratching his skin. The man gasped, his eyes widening as he looked into her red eyes—a hint of hypnosis holding him, making him hard. Rina laughed softly, throatily, turned around, and rubbed her back against him, her ass pressing against his growing erection as she moved to the rhythm of the music.

Suddenly she knelt down, right in the middle of the dance floor, surrounded by pulsing bodies. Her hands opened his belt, pulled down the zipper, and freed his hard cock. She licked her full lips, her longer tongue darting out, circling the tip before she took him deep into her mouth—sucking, licking, pumping with her hand while her black nails lightly scratched his balls. The man groaned loudly, his hands clawing into her black hair as she greedily blew him—her tongue swirling around the shaft, sucking hard, until he trembled.

Meanwhile, Lilithara intensified her power. She stood at the edge of the dance floor, raised her arms slightly, and her red eyes glowed brighter. A wave of invisible energy spread out, hitting the remaining visitors and staff like a fog. One after another they fell into a kind of trance—their eyes glazed over, their movements slower, more sensual. The uninhibitedness began: women pulled off tops, rubbed against strangers, kissed wildly; men tore open shirts, grabbed, pressed against each other. The bartender dropped glasses, pulled a waitress to him, kissed her greedily. The crowd became uninhibited—clothes fell, hands wandered, moans mixed with the music. The club turned into a chaos of lust, no one noticed the sealed doors.

The sexual tension exploded further. At first it was only kisses, touches, a few hands under skirts and shirts. Then it grew more intense: A woman pulled off her top, pressed her breasts against a stranger who immediately pushed up her skirt and fingered her while she rubbed against him. A man lifted a dancer, pressed her against the pillar, and thrust deep inside her, her legs wrapped around his hips as she licked and bit his neck. Couples turned into threesomes, threesomes into groups—a woman lay on the floor, two men fucked her simultaneously in mouth and pussy while a third woman licked her clit.

The bartender now took the waitress hard from behind over the counter, his thrusts clapping loudly as she bent forward and licked an older visitor who sat on the counter with legs spread, kneading her own breasts. Another man rammed his cock into the older woman’s mouth while she jerked the bartender at the same time. On the dance floor, a young dancer was taken by three men simultaneously—one beneath her in her pussy, one behind her in her ass, one in front of her in her mouth—their bodies pumped in time with the bass as she whimpered and moaned, her eyes glassy with trance and lust. A fourth man jerked off beside her and came over her breasts while she was still being fucked through.

The orgy reached its climax. Clothes fell everywhere, bodies merged—women rode strangers, men fucked each other, groups formed spontaneously on the floor, on tables, against walls. Moans, screams, the slapping of skin on skin, the wet smacking of pussies and cocks—all blended with the pounding bass into one single, animalistic frenzy. The air smelled of sex, sweat, and arousal, the lights bathed everything in a chaotic sea of colors—red eyes began to glow in some faces, first fangs flashed.

Lilithara laughed softly, her eyes scanning the crowd. Rina brought the man to climax—he came with a loud moan in her mouth, his cum pulsing in hot spurts over her tongue. She swallowed greedily, then bit—not into his neck, but directly into his throbbing, still-hard cock. Her sharp fangs pierced the sensitive skin of the shaft, tearing the veins open, and warm blood mixed with his cum. The man screamed—a cry of pain and **** pleasure—as Rina greedily drank, sucking the blood in long gulps while his body began to twitch beneath her.

His skin grew paler, lost all color, turned porcelain white and smooth. His muscles swelled—shoulders broadened, chest bulkier, arms thicker and more defined, as if an invisible **** was pumping him up from the inside. His cock, still in Rina’s mouth, grew thicker, longer, harder, stretching her lips further until she had to moan with lust and greed as she continued drinking. The veins on his shaft and arms stood out, then darkened bluish before receding, leaving his skin even colder, even more perfect. His eyes flickered red, his fangs broke through with a painful crack, and he grabbed Rina tighter, flipped her over, took her from behind while simultaneously biting her neck—a cycle of blood and lust that nourished and transformed them both.

Lilithara stood in the middle of the pulsing chaos of the hall, surrounded by moans, the slapping of skin on skin, and the pounding bass that throbbed like a second heart through the club. Her red eyes glowed triumphantly as she raised her arms slightly. With a slow, almost ritualistic motion, she extended her long black claws—sharp as blades, gleaming in the laser light.

Without hesitation, she sliced both wrists open. Dark, thick blood welled up, running in heavy drops down her pale skin and falling to the floor. She smiled darkly—a cold, knowing smile that bared her fangs—then began to walk slowly through the wild orgy.

Her blood dripped like a poisonous rain. Every drop that touched bare skin immediately seeped in, burned through the pores, flowed into the veins, and reached the heart. The infection took hold—fast, unstoppable, merciless.

A young woman being taken by two men at once caught a drop on her shoulder. Her skin turned pale within seconds, losing all youthful pink. Her breasts swelled, became fuller and heavier, the nipples stretching dark and hard. Her pelvis widened, hips became curvier, her ass rounder and fuller. She cried out—half in pleasure, half in pain—as her nails turned black and long, her lips plumper, her tongue longer. Her eyes turned red, and with a painful crack, fangs broke from her jaw. She spun around, grabbed one of the men, bit into his neck, and drank greedily while continuing to take the other inside her.

A man in the middle of the dance floor, fucking a dancer hard from behind, caught blood on his chest. His body changed before the others’ eyes: muscles swelled, shoulders broadened, chest bulkier, arms thicker and more defined. His skin turned porcelain white, his eyes glowed red. His cock inside the woman grew thicker, longer, harder, stretching her further as he roared animalistically. His fangs broke through, and he bent over the dancer, biting her shoulder and drinking while continuing to thrust into her.

Everywhere in the club the transformation spread. A waitress, bent over the counter and taken hard from behind, caught blood on her back—her breasts grew explosively, her waist narrowed, her ass fuller. She laughed throatily, turned, and bit the bartender while continuing to ride him. The older visitor, fingering herself, caught a drop on her breasts—her curves became more voluptuous, her skin pale, her eyes red. She grabbed the next man and drank from him while riding him at the same time.

The orgy grew wilder, more brutal, more animalistic. The newly transformed immediately fell upon the others—biting, drinking, fucking on, while their bodies completed themselves. Red eyes glowed everywhere, fangs flashed in the laser light, bodies turned paler, more sensual, more dangerous. The crowd—once ordinary partygoers—was now a nest of vampires, feeding on and using each other in a cycle of blood, lust, and eternity.

Lilithara walked on through the chaos, her blood dripping like a dark blessing. Her laughter—deep, dark, triumphant—echoed over the bass.

The club was no longer a

[club.

It](http://club.It) was her realm.

And the night was giving birth to new children of the night—faster than any human could ever have imagined.