This is the first chapter of my novella about bi-sexual succubus vampires:


Chapter 1

It’s one-thirty in the morning and I’m drenched in sweat. How does so much heat get trapped inside this city? Do the monster buildings keep it all in? The humidity claws at me, burning my flesh, teasing me as it tries to penetrate my body. But the fervor is only skin deep. It’s more irritating than anything. It’s our tempers that are hot this time of year. I’m walking on a road that runs through Central Park. I am almost completely alone besides a shady fellow here and there.
“Where are you going?” asked my concerned husband, as I walked hurriedly out the door.
“To look at the fireflies,” I replied.
“Then I’m coming with you.”
“No, I want to be alone.”
“It’s not safe.”
“You know I can defend myself. If you come along I’d have to defend both of us.”
“Yes, my cunning Linda. You’re so calculating,” he smiled.
I walked out, hiding my anger. It’s not because he called me calculating. The first time he called me that, I showed him what I would do if a man attacked me. I was once a champion in Karate and Jujitsu. At the age of fifteen, I had beaten men twice my size and won the national hand/fist Karate tournament. Pierre never took martial arts and he didn’t understand how specific these techniques were, or how long and hard I had practiced in order to perfect them. He is a lover, not a fighter. He was shocked by my planned out strategies. But it didn’t bother me at all. It gave me a sense of superiority and reminded me of my glory days. What bothered me was that he called me perfect. I didn’t want to talk about it. He would have just laughed. It should have been a compliment after all, but it bothered me, so I walked out. After four hours of passionate lovemaking, I had found myself in the perfect state of blissful satisfaction. It was perfect. He told me I was perfect. Why didn’t I like that?
The fireflies rise up amongst the bushes, little dots of hovering light. They dance and flash, appear and disappear. It is calming and different to see light so close to the ground and not glaring above my head like the street lamps. The road loops and I’m in the upper west part of the park. I go off the road, and walk towards the lake. It can never be completely dark in this city, with the city lights in the distance. The lake is black, shimmering with silver highlights. The buildings form a surrealistic backdrop for the park, as if I am in an encased nature experiment within a concrete city. The bridge curves over the lake, leaving a sense of perfect serenity. Ah, that word again: “Perfect!” Why does it annoy me so much? At times like this, I examine my life to see what is wrong. Why don’t I feel content? What needs fixing?
Just as I am on the edge of identifying my problem so I can fix it for good as I have with every complication I have ever faced in my life, I see a lady strolling out of the brambles. The fireflies completely surround her. They seem to like her. She emerges from the dark wilderness and steps across the inlaid tiles that surround the lake. The little dots of light retreat back into the bushes and blink on and off. They hover there once again, a mere fraction of the light they were a moment ago. This is hardly the place for a beautiful woman to be walking at this time of night. But who am I to talk? At the company party, I was voted blond bombshell of the fifth floor.
I am fascinated by the way she glides over to me. She looks up and sees that I am watching but doesn’t seem to mind. Her movements, her muscles are unusually alive and aware. Not one part of her slouches. Her every step is steeped with awareness as she moves like a jungle cat stalking its prey. She is slender, but toned. Her skin is pale, yet flawless. Her long brown hair is not styled, but wild. She wears it loose and wavy. As she approaches me, I see her slink past a lamp and notice that, under the light her eyes are red. Perhaps they are auburn, but red in the light, blood red with a pitch black pupil in the center. She wears tattered jean shorts and a white cotton tank top that is thinning with age. The cloth clings possessively to her loose breasts. It is her movements that enchant me. There is a kind of innocence in her eyes, but hunger as well. It is so unlike my own self-possessed sophistication, which many find attractive.
Lately I have been looking at women differently. Once Pierre made love to me on the floor, right next to our full-body wall mirror. He made me watch how my buttocks bounced and ebbed while I rode him. He made me note the way my breasts moved and softened when pressed against his firm chest. He put my hands on the curve between my buttocks or breasts and made me notice the softness and the delicacy of the slope. He taught me to love the intimate curves of my womanhood, and I learned about the mysterious sensuality that comes from my femininity. Pierre and I have looked at naked photos and paintings of women. There is such a mystery in those lines, such a dark beauty that is so impenetrable by anything concrete. We have teased each other with fantasies of bringing a woman over and making love to her, of making her watch us make love to each other to see what she thought. I have wondered what it is like to watch another woman shake in the agony of pleasure, the same as I do. I’m not gay. I love to feel the tree trunk harden inside me and I crave the company of men, but I am fascinated by this idea of beauty.
We have never been able to make this fantasy a reality. Pierre is a dreamer and is satisfied with keeping his fantasies nothing but that. My dreams become goals and I learn to make them real. He can get any woman he wants, so I think the only reason he hasn’t found one for me is because he doesn’t think I will really enjoy it. He will tell me from time to time I should try seducing one myself. Then I suddenly lose my confidence.
She is standing next to the lamppost as I stand on the other side. I have that nervous feeling of being in some situation with another person as if I should be doing something or acting a certain way but I don’t know what. I look over at her again. Her eyes are a bright scarlet under the lamp. She is gazing dreamily at the water. She looks at me and I can feel my heart drop. I am no doubt making her uncomfortable. She doesn’t snarl. She smiles instead, but it is a half smile. She is hiding something, an imperfection. There is something about her teeth, the sides of them, she doesn’t want me to see. I am fascinated by this unseen flaw. I want to know what she is hiding. Perhaps this is what is missing from my life, some mysterious flaw that I won’t want to correct.
“So, what is your excuse for being here at such a lonely hour?” she asks languishingly. There is a very slight accent in her voice. Is it Eastern European? I can’t place it.
“I came to watch the fireflies,” I reply. She smiles more fully now, but she turns her head and I lose my chance to see her teeth.
“I love them too. Do you know why they light up like that?”
“It’s a call for sex, right? A mating call.”
“Mostly, yes. But some females are not here for mating. They are here to eat. They send off little messages with their lights, like Morse code. Each species of firefly has a different code. Some of them learn to mimic the code of a different species. The male of this species is drawn to them and approaches them for mating, but they are outdone. Once the female has lured him in, she eats him in. The males have learned many different ways to avoid this fate by only approaching the female if she responds in a very specific way or only mating during times when there is less flesh to prey on. Of course, it brings their chances down quite a bit.”
She explains all of this with such passion and intensity that I am just plain delighted by it. “Well, it sounds like a hard existence,” is all I can say. I guess we have it easier than we thought. Imagine not knowing if you are going to get fucked or going to get eaten? You’ll either find pleasure and fulfill your reason for living by procreating, or you’ll die a painful and carnivorous death. But then again, I’m sure there are men out there who wouldn’t know the difference. I smile at myself and she smiles back. She looks me in the eyes and I am entranced by hers, by their translucence, like red cellophane sparkling in the lamplight. She hugs the pole playfully then runs her fingers through my shimmering hair. “It’s beautiful,” she says.
“Thanks,” I respond, “I take good care of it. I use this shampoo which is just superb. It‘s called Sheer Luminance and it‘s so amazing. Just look at this shine!”
She flashes her half smile again and laughs silently under it. She doesn’t seem interested in the shampoo, which is a disappointment because Sheer Luminance is one of my clients. I use their product because I know it works and that is how I’ve been able to bring in the numbers for them. I understand the product more than they do. I find myself sighing. Usually my pitch brings on a giddy conversation between women but she is not impressed. There is something mysterious about this woman. She wears no makeup and she is casually dressed, but she has to be one of the most beautiful women I have ever seen in my life. Maybe I’m taken by her eyes. I’ve never seen red eyes before. There is also something about the way she moves and the way she holds herself. Her skin is flawless, so pale that it almost glows in the moonlight.
Could she be interested in me? Is she a lesbian? Is this my chance to take a woman home and prove to my husband that it isn’t as hard as he always made it out to be?
Who am I kidding? I’m a woman, and I intimidate myself. Women are secretive and complex. Men are always trying to impress them, so they are rarely impressed. They have layers and masks and little spots you need to find in order to please them. Men are happy if a beautiful woman simply notices them and delights in them. Women appear strong when they are really weak and weak when they are really strong. When I think of all the men I have rejected in my life, I wouldn’t dare make a sexual advance toward a woman.
“What’s your name?” I ask out of sheer curiosity.
“Natasha,” she replies a bit hesitatingly as if she has forgotten her own name, as if she was a bit annoyed that I would ask her such a trifling question. She looks me over. I feel her eyes searching my body. Then she looks away, gazing past the rippling darkness of the lake. Without turning her head, she speaks to me again.
“If you think the fireflies are beautiful, you’ll love the nymphomites.”
She looks at me for a reaction but I say nothing. I don’t know what to say. So she continues. “They hide between the rocks in the deeper areas of the park. They are quite beautiful. I can take you there if you like.”
“Right now?”
“Right now.”
“Okay, show me,” I say. I’m in the mood for some kind of adventure. I feel the full moon on me and I am restless and alive. I am not as anal as Pierre thinks I am. I’m quite daring when I see an opportunity, and Natasha is an opportunity. An opportunity for something new, something to add to my sexual experiences.
Not that I am dissatisfied at all with my love life. Pierre is the quintessential Latin lover. He’s funny and smart and interesting and thoughtful and romantic. He has the best body. Sure, he has the usual bulging biceps and toned chest that we expect in a good-looking male, all due to fifteen years of playing soccer nonstop since he was five years old. He has a uniquely well shaped ass that cannot be compared to any other. He has a thick penis with a full head that gives me hours of pleasure. He can pound and thrust and gently glide it. He can shoot it like a machine gun and he gives the greatest oral pleasure I’ve ever had. Pierre serenades me with romantic songs in three different languages, just like Julio Iglesias. If I’m cranky, he brings me chocolates and provides me with endless massages. He is never angry, but can be feisty enough in bed to bring out my wild side. Yet he can be soft and sensuous, teasing and sultry. He is loyal. He worships me. Pierre’s well, perfect. Ugh, that word again. Maybe I want to rile things up a bit. If I bring in another woman the result may not be as hot as I have imagined it. It might add strife to our perfect world. Maybe that’s what I want. It would give me something to work on, something to fix.
We walk together, through the many paths of the park. After a while, I have no clue where I am anymore so I rely on her to lead the way. Pierre will be worried. No, Pierre has probably fallen asleep by now. I can imagine the look on his face if I actually succeed in taking Natasha home with me. It would be worth the wait for him, and the thought of seeing the look he will give me urges me to trudge on and not look back.
“Up here,” she says and proceeds to climb a series of rocks up a hill. She is wearing nothing but flip-flops yet can spring from rock to rock with the grace of a mountain lion. I feel awkward in my cloggy sandals and the little black dress which I threw on just for my night walk. “Over here,” she says as she waits for me to catch up.
“I don’t see anything,” I respond.
“They are only attracted to certain things. Sit down with me and I’ll show you how to call them over.”
She pats the rock next to her and I awkwardly lower myself onto the seat she has made for me. I feel awfully close to her and can actually feel the heat and energy emanating from her muscles. Suddenly, I feel her grab my silky hair and pull my lips towards her. Her lips are full and luscious, like two of the softest cushions I have ever felt. Her tongue is long and slithery as it probes every section of my mouth. I cannot resist her. Am I cheating? Pierre is nowhere in sight. She’ll meet him eventually. This is a good thing.
She skillfully runs her strong soft hands over my breasts, arousing me in that sensitive area. I find myself moaning, surrendering to the dexterity of her fingers. My nipples grow harder and she pinches them in a way I have never felt before. Where am I? I don’t know where I am. She has me trapped here. What is going on? “I thought we came here to see some creatures,” I gasp.
“They are coming. They only respond to this. Surrender. Surrender. I can take you to places no one else has ever taken you. I will shatter your world,” she whispers, almost hissing in her intensity.
She kisses me aggressively and presses me against her round, free breasts. Her right hand creeps down my abdomen and down my inner thigh. She rubs it gently and reaches higher and higher. I feel myself pushing my hips towards her, wanting to rub myself against her in any way I can but she shoves me hard against the rocks. She gently sneaks her hand into my underwear and inserts her finger inside me. I immediately squeeze my walls around her. She removes her wet finger and starts to pinch and rub my clitoris. I can feel the wetness of her finger. It is soothing and hot. I feel the heat rising in me and I start to throb within as she rubs me faster and faster. My eyes are closed now but when I open them, I am in the midst of an orgasm. She is glowing brighter than ever. Maybe it is just the result of my state of sexual climax that makes me think so, but I swear she is glowing. She is in some kind of trance as I throb uncontrollably. It won’t stop. I want more. I can orgasm hundreds of times while having sex. I know it’s a girl thing but I’ve been told that I do it more than most women.
In the midst of my moaning I do not hear them, but now I see them appear. They also glow with pale flawless features. Their red eyes are wide with hunger. They gaze at me but keep their distance. Natasha looks up fiercely. She hisses at them and they step back. They are beautiful with wild hair and they all move like she does. I climax harder as I witness the sight of these women. They all look highly aroused but they hesitate to come close.
Then I look up at Natasha and I see the flaw, that unknown flaw that has teased me since I first saw her smile. She opens her mouth and I see her razor-sharp canines, but before I can think anything else, she sinks them into my neck. I flinch at first but my love for her overrides my fighter reflexes. The pain of her bite only fuels my throbbing organ and I can feel the wetness drip all over my thighs as she rubs me. Just when I think I have climaxed, she brings me even higher and I stay here, lost in a world of psychotic bliss. I am screaming now and the others approach. She is busy drinking my blood, sucking with all her might. She continues to rub me enthusiastically as I come and come again and again.
Now one of the others is on me. She rips my dress with her strong hands and sucks on my nipples. I can feel her tongue slither over them. I can feel the sharp edge of her canine teasing me with the promise of pain to come. With her fingers, she pinches and rubs my nipples while her mouth travels down my arm and to my wrists. Another rush of pain surges through my body and I can hear the women moaning with excitement as they drink of my flesh.
Then another one comes over and crawls towards my thighs. While Natasha rubs my clit, she sneaks her snakelike tongue into my hole. It is long and it seems to have the ability to grow as it searches my orifice. She pushes with it and I feel the strength of it slithering up and down inside me. I squeeze it, wanting more of whatever she can give me. I cannot stop screaming and throbbing. The two women or whatever they are who are drinking my blood are glowing fully now, blue and beautiful and frightening. Then the fiery redhead who is drinking my juices bites my inner thigh again, adding pain to my pleasure. I cannot stop coming and as I come, my blood surges through me, nourishing them, making them glow brighter and brighter than the moment before. They grow stronger and more virile as they drink. They continue to titillate me with their hands my nipples, my clit, my vagina.
I start to feel an electric sensation, as if a current is buzzing throughout my body. It is unbearable now and the pleasure has transformed into torture. I feel the electricity growing more and more intense and I can even hear the buzzing of the currents inside of me. I feel as if my soul is on the brink of leaving my body or that I want it to leave just so it can feel some relief, but the sensation only grows stronger. I want it to stop but I want to go on. I want to retreat but I want to be shattered. I will be shattered, I know it. I understand what she meant now. And as I think this, I am flooded by an unbearable blinding light and I feel nothing but utter helplessness, a merciless loss of control. Then everything shifts.

I find that I liked this.

It took me a little while to get into, but once I did it kept my interest. It could use some editing, but I am sure you already know that. Good work!

Thanks Midieval Fantasy. Where do you think it needs editing? Too late. I already published it. Alas, I had several friends look at it and I even paid someone to proof read it due to my bad grammar but it doesn't seem like enough. It's my first publication and I'll definitely do it differently next time. Professional editors are really expensive so I paid a friend to do it. Oh well. Guess you get what you pay for. I paid to have it published. I was going to go to lulu.com but the content guidelines said no pornographic material. I kinda regret looking elsewhere because I've heard of many people who published with yhem or through Kindle who also wrote erotic vampire stories. Yet they all have the same content guidelines.

A good start if you ask me tough it can use a small amount of work. I can't wait to see more.

Thanks Seth!
Here's Chapter 2

Chapter 2

I awaken and find myself in some kind of dark cave. I feel a heavy tiredness and nausea. I have no energy and can barely move. I’m afraid I will die. My head is turned towards the rocky cave wall and my eyes close again. I can see Pierre’s perfect face. It no longer bothers me that he is perfect. My life flashes before me, and I see everything I’ve accomplished. I see all of the events of my life up until this night. I guess it was meant to be this way. I had it all but I wanted more. It wouldn’t be a bad end if I died now, but I still don’t want to. With all my will, I manage to turn my head. I see her there. Her eyes meet mine, fierce and hungry. Then they soften as if she is glad to see me alive, glad to see that I have managed to move my head. I sense a quick movement and realize that she is massaging her clitoris enthusiastically. She is naked and sweaty and overflowing with pleasure and as she starts to climax, she raises her arm and brings her wrist to my mouth. “Drink,” she says.

She shoves her wrist into my mouth and forces my teeth into her flesh. I can taste her blood and feel it trickling down my chin. It tastes like the sweetest nectar, not at all the way I remember the way blood should taste. I find myself sucking on the puncture wound my teeth gave her. I suddenly feel better, hopeful. I drink and drink as she climaxes. With each one of her screams, I feel more life rush through me. Then she stops me. She snatches her arm back and walks away. I cry like a baby, begging her for more, to come back, to sustain me. She picks up her shirt and pushes it on her wound. “That’s enough for now,” she says with a concerned and accepting tone in her voice. “I’ll be back later tonight. I’ll bring more for you. You’ll be better in no time.”

Then she walks away, leaving me with my sickness. I can move. I feel less nauseated and I’m thankful for that. But I know I have not fully recovered. When I try to sit up, I feel dizzy and faintness washes over me. I find myself back on the floor again with no choice but to wait for her. I hate her now, not for making me sick but for taking her wrist away. Then I lose consciousness again. My last thought is that I hope she will be back.

I am awakened by the sensation of flesh on my mouth. Then I feel a wetness that suddenly excites me. It is blood dripping all over my mouth. I suck at it. It is a wrist, another wrist. But it isn’t hers. I drink and drink and I feel strength flowing through me, even a faint electric current like the one that knocked me out the night I was shattered. But this current is soothing and comforting. When I have enough strength to look, I see Natasha drinking the juices from between the legs of a delicate woman who is screaming in agonizing pleasure. She has a glazed look in her eyes and doesn’t seem to care that I am drinking her blood. I drink and drink and I find myself biting her wrist more so I can get more blood. I am so hungry and thirsty for this woman and her screams only make me hungrier. Then I see Natasha crawling over to the woman’s other wrist. She works her magical fingers to this woman’s clitoris and rubs it the way only she can. Then she bites and we both drink of the pleasure that is this woman’s pain. We drink and drink as the woman climaxes. She climaxes for a while, but not nearly as long as I could. Then she stops completely. There is nothing left of her. Her blood suddenly tastes bitter and old to me and I reject her right away. Natasha checks her pulse and shakes her head with disappointment. She lifts the woman up with a strength I never expected from someone her size.

“Where are you taking her?” I ask.

“I’m going to bury her,” she replies bitterly. “She’s dead.”

I can’t help noting the fact that having my feast end so abruptly bothers me more than the thought of me killing this woman. I look at my hands. They are glowing, but the light that emanates from my skin starts to fade. I feel much better. It is easy to lie here but as I try to get up I feel a bit weak. No, I’m fine. I’m lacking in energy but I feel changes in me. My senses are especially sharp. I look through the opening of the cave and realize how dark it is. Yet I can see as clear as day.
I run outside, looking for her. I feel as if she is my one light, my only hope, the answer to all the questions of my life. We are in some park, some protected piece of wilderness. I find her, shovel in hand, in a clearing between some oak trees. She works fast and methodically, digging a hole for the body that lies stiff and soiled next to the pit. I am shocked by her strength, her speed and agility. With no problem at all, she lifts the body and drops it in the hole. With equal speed and ease she covers the pit with soil. She flattens out the dirt, and then does something that truly amazes me. She puts her hands on the earth and glows as I have seen her glow only while I was climaxing. As she glows, the earth seems to gravitate towards her hands and anything that touches her hands is also glowing. Grass starts to grow all around the dirt she disturbed with her digging. It grows right before my eyes, weeds and all. One may never have known that the ground was ever touched. She looks at me, at the awe in my stare, and walks towards me.
She hands me the shovel. “You look well,” she says. “Take this and use it when you need to. Don’t look for me. You’ll be fine on your own from now on.”
“What? You’re leaving me? Who are you? What is happening to me, to us?”
“Don’t bother going back to your old life. Just eat. You’ll be fine as long as you eat. I’d stay but we are not social creatures. I’ve done more for you than any other, I swear. But you have to go on your own now. The blood is not what you feed on. It’s the energy. They have to be climaxing. It’s the life energy. I can’t explain it. You’ll find a way. You are a survivor. I could see it in your eyes the day I met you. I knew you were special.”

She puts her strong hand on my cheek and touches it gently, affectionately, as a mother would her daughter. Then she turns her head painfully and starts to walk away.

“Wait!” I call out, wanting to hold on to her for another moment before she goes. “Is that all you have to say to me?”

“No,” she responds. “There’s one other thing. Don’t waste your energy on men.” With a blink of an eye, she is gone.

I don‘t know what else to do but cower in the cave as I clear my thoughts. How can I not go back? Was it not just the other day that I was musing to myself how perfect my life is? How perfect it was? And even then I wasn’t satisfied until I did something to perfect it even more. Within three years, I achieved my five-year plan, just in time for my world to be shattered and for all my humanity to be taken from me within the span of an orgasm. But it doesn’t matter. I know deep down inside that I can’t go back. My instincts tell me I don’t need anyone, that I am better off alone. I don’t even want to go back. But I do need to eat. I still feel a bit weak and I am overwhelmed by a growing sense of hunger.

I step outside the cave but the sun is rising over the trees and the light is blinding to me. I stagger back into my cave. I have to wait it out until the sun goes down. It is a long day. I try to sleep but I grow hungrier with each passing second.
Finally, I feel a burst of clarity. The light that beamed through the cave opening, that left me to cower in a shady corner has cleared. It was like a dense fog but it was light and it made me frazzled and foggy. Now the light has gone and I can see everything as clear as day, even though it is actually nighttime once more.
It is another beautiful night, but the air is cooler than before. I realize that I couldn’t be in Central Park anymore. I don’t recall there being any caves there nor do I recall the dense growth of trees that seem to go on forever as they do here. But I feel at home in this natural environment as if everything is right and comforting. I have no fear of the night, or of the unknown, or of the creatures that live here with me. The fireflies hover among the bushes and weeds. With my heightened sense of hearing, I can even hear the buzzing of their lights. Their codes blink on and off but they do not surround me like they did Natasha. I realize how tired I am, completely sapped of energy. I also realize that I am completely naked. Those other nymphomites (I think that’s what Natasha called them) ripped my dress up. I remember now. It would be easy to seduce a man being completely naked, but I wonder how I could approach a woman this way. Women require more tact than men. And why did Natasha tell me not to bother with men? I trust her with every inch of my being without even knowing why and I believe her. Still, I think it is a shame. I like men. I like feeling the rod harden and grow. Suddenly, I remember how one of the tongues of those creatures felt crawling up inside me. It was slithery at first, like a snake, but it grew and pressed against my walls with amazing strength, even better than a man could. I stick out my tongue. Yes, it has changed. It is more flexible and can stretch. I can flick it here and there, curl it and straighten it. I touch my fingers to it and find that my sense of taste is especially heightened. I can taste the saltiness of my fingers, the unique and soothing flavor of my flesh. My tongue swells up a bit from touching my fingers, as if by instinct. But I am too tired to see how much I can make it swell or stretch or curl. I need to find a woman. I need to make her climax, and I need to feed right now.

I walk and walk, through the trees, the bushes and the weeds growing out of the ground. I climb over hills and rocks. I’m scraped by thorns and branches. I feel my breasts bounce with every step. I’m not used to being braless. Then again, I’ve never gone hiking completely nude. I use my instincts to guide me towards some sign of civilization. I think I hear the engine of a car. The sound fades away. There must be a road nearby. I turn towards the sound and continue. There is definitely a highway, though it isn’t very busy. After all, it is the middle of the night.
When I finally reach the open road, I feel a bit vulnerable. My body is open and uncovered. The road is wide and endless and my private parts are in full view. The cars speed by quickly. A few seconds or minutes pass between the moments when the cars come and go. Many don’t seem to take any heed of me. Some honk and whistle and make comments but do not stop. Finally, an old Winnebago comes into view and starts to break as soon as it catches the sight of me. It may have braked too suddenly for a car of its age and make as it skidded a bit and let out an irritating high pitched squeal. There are little blue and pink flowers tastelessly painted on parts of the vehicle. The rest of the paint job is old and fading. It makes the job look unfinished. When the vehicle stops in front of me, this figure of filth and nakedness, I look inside to see a couple smiling amiably at me. They are amused by me and not at all disturbed by the shovel I hold.

“So what’s your story, pretty lady?” asks the beaming man who sits in the passenger seat. He looks too at ease. There is uncertainness about him. His eyes droop slightly. Perhaps he’s tripping on E or something else that is mild but has given him this desired effect. He has a rugged earthiness about him that appears more worn than handsome. The woman at the wheel turns to me, also a bit dazed but not as much as the male. “Do you need any help, sweetheart?” she asks. She looks concerned yet delighted. Her hair is straight and falls over her shoulders. I see no end to the length of it. It is a sandy brown color. Her face is pretty but sunburned and a bit damaged. She doesn’t wear any makeup and doesn’t need it. They are both wearing Native American ponchos which causes me to wonder where they have been.

“I could use a ride back to civilization,” I say, though what I really need now more than ever is a strong multi-orgasmic woman to feed on.

“Well, hop on in,” responds the man festively.

“Is there anywhere you need to be?” the woman pipes in before the deal is sealed.

“No,” I respond. “Just get me away from here.”

The man turns to the woman and smiles triumphantly. I attempt to open the back door and feel it almost falling off its hinge as I do it. “Oh, you gotta watch out for that,” says the man. “You kinda have to hold the door. Cradle it and make sure it’s aligned right before you close it ‘cause it may just break off if you don‘t. Just be gentle.”

I do this. As I sit, I feel the worn leather upholstery sticking to the bottom of my thighs. The man seems contented and in pure joy to have me in the back of the car. He cannot stop staring at me through the rearview mirror. The woman is tranquil yet inquisitive. The car reeks of smoke and sage. I tell them I have amnesia. They are both concerned and intrigued at the same time. They are an adventurous couple who decided to drive up and down the countryside for the week just to see what would happen. They hit a few pow wows and camping sites on their way. I am innocent regarding my amnesia. I tell them that I don’t even remember who I am. I don’t want them to be alarmed. I don’t want them to think I’m some kind of murderer roving around, so I play the role of the victim and tell them how terrible it was for me having to roam the wild in search of someone, anyone to help me. The other cars just drove by. They were the only ones who stopped for me. God bless them.
My ruse earns the woman’s sympathy and the man’s delight. I’m sure he has no fear of me. I’ve been told that my body is intimidating but I doubt that anyone is threatened by it. I don’t blame him for staring at my busty yet athletic form. After all, I worked very hard on it.

Throughout the ride, they tell me the story of their journey. They are at the end of their vacation and are still giddy from the memory of it. They talk of the people they meet and gossip about who ended up in a different tent than when they started. They talk and laugh about things that are only funny to each other. They never say anything intelligent. But it’s fun to listen to. They do everything they can to make me feel comfortable in my nakedness. At some point, the man offers me his poncho and I feel like a fool hiding under it. They tell me not to be ashamed of my amnesia. They tell me that if I never remember anything, I’ll at least remember the kindness that they showed me. They tell me they don’t believe in judgments. They only want to help. They want me to remember this if I don’t remember anything else.
At some point in the journey, I notice the woman moves her rearview mirror so she can catch a glance at me. I look up at it and notice her turn away. Why am I so apprehensive? No, I’ve never seduced a woman before but I seem to have some kind of hold on this couple. They are drawn to the animal in me. They are attracted to danger. From the stories they tell me, they’ve met all kinds. They like people who teeter on the edge of insanity. Perhaps they too are bored with their lives. Perhaps they are searching for someone to shatter them as well. I sense this from the woman, a desperate need for someone to come along and awaken her. Why can’t I be confident in this new power of mine? I feel the surge strong within me. But as I watch the trees and street lamps whiz by, I can also feel my old self fading away, and the faintness of my hunger. I’m not human anymore. I am not one of the people sitting here in the car. I am predator. They are prey. I’m trying to accustom myself to this notion.

Finally, they find a hotel at a rest stop. They want to buy me a hamburger but I refuse. They are concerned that I might be starving but I tell them the thought of eating nauseates me. They assume I’m a vegetarian and offer me fries. The fries seem staler to me than the woman who died while I was sucking her blood. There is only one thing I can eat. I stare at the woman hungrily as I think this. She is a bit uncomfortable but somehow I sense she’s turned on. I guess it’s another change in me, part of my heightened instinct. This gives me hope. I will have her after all, and before the night is done.

Back at the hotel, they are short on funds and cannot afford a room with more than one bed. I tell them not to sweat it and that I’ll sleep on the floor. After all, they have been much too kind. “I’ll sleep on the floor,” says the man. “The two of you can share the bed.”

By now, they have given me a long jacket to wear but I am still naked underneath it and I wonder if the woman would mind if I slept with her in the nude. Why would they? They didn’t mind picking me up in the nude.

“I can only sleep naked,” I say. “I simply can’t sleep with clothes on.”

The two of them look at each other. “You know yourself pretty well for someone who has amnesia,” says the woman suspiciously. I feel like a fool all of a sudden. I was certain I could seduce her faster if she had me naked in bed with her. But she never questions me about my so called insomnia after that and lets me have my way after a much needed shower.

We all take our turns at the dingy shower. I shower first. Then the couple showers together. I can hear them whispering while they are in there. They have a lot to talk about. The towels the hotel provides are small and barely cover my torso. My buttocks protrude from the bottom of it. They both come out of the shower wearing towels as well. They do not change into their night clothes, perhaps to make me feel more comfortable. They look different. They are fresh and vibrant with glistening wet hair. The man wears his towel around his waist. He has curly brown hair on his chest. He is thin and lanky. The woman is also thin and lanky. She is taller than I am but less curvaceous so the towel falls better on her and is successful in hiding her privates.

“I wonder,” says the man as he pulls his towel from his waste and uses it to dry the woman’s long hair, “if your obsession with staying naked has to do with the amnesia. Maybe you’ve forgotten why society has forced us to cover up.” Inside, I am laughing at this comment but I dare not show it. I see his penis is erect and do not wish to ruin the moment. “After all,” he continues, “it is perfectly natural. Why should anyone be ashamed of it?” I wonder now what the couple was discussing as they showered. They were wary of me yet they did all they could to keep me comfortable. They need me, I think. Of course they do. You need me, I say in my mind as I gaze at the man. I think I see his penis grow another half an inch. You need me. I direct my thoughts to the woman now, who gazes at me intensely as the man caresses her hair with his towel. She isn’t as comfortable with being naked as him. But she wants to be. She wants to overcome her fear. She wants me to be the one to help her with this. She cocks her head to the side in a shy manner but she cannot keep her eyes off me. I find this endearing about her.

As if to suddenly break the tension of the moment, the man pulls the towel off the woman. Her hair is still a bit wet and sticks to her bony shoulders. He runs his fingers down her hair and presses himself along her backside. The woman is aroused yet afraid. She doesn’t know me but she wants me. This will be easy, I think. Although I have not conquered my fear of seducing a woman, the man does all the work for me. “Isn’t she lovely?” he says as I watch his hands ease down to her breasts.

“She certainly is,” I reply. “The loveliest thing I’ve ever seen,” I lie. Though I am very aroused by her, she does not at all compare to Natasha. She likes that I have said this about her and she watches hungrily as I slowly take off my towel. My breasts are larger than hers but I like the perkiness of hers. I like the vulnerability in her form, so small, so innocent, and so easy to break.

With the man’s encouragement, I walk towards her. “That’s right,” he says, “don’t be afraid of each other. You are both so beautiful.” I kiss her slowly and can feel her shudder under me as I do this. I can feel a power surging from me, though I am weak. My need for life sustaining energy has forced me to put what strength I have left into this kiss and seduction. I can tell right away how satisfied she is to finally have me in her arms. Her lips are thin, unlike Natasha’s. But she uses her tongue well and I too am most aroused by the way she searches my mouth. I find myself inching my way down her neck with my tongue which seems to have a suction of its own. It sticks to her skin as I move it down to her breasts. I lick and suck her nipples, hearing her moan. She falls back a bit but the man is there to hold her up. I take my fingers down to her clit and massage it slowly. All is done slowly. She likes it slow. I can sense this. I want to get the most orgasms out of her so I give her what she wants.

At this point, the man is overcome and slips his member inside her. This causes her to bend forward and gasp. I am surprisingly irritated by this. The man is interrupting my work, impeding my plans. That’s all right. Maybe I can get an orgasm out of him too. Suddenly I am enthusiastic about the thought of killing him. I have avoided the thought of death up until now. I have only been focusing on the seduction.
The woman is obviously lost in a trance of pleasure. I move down to my knees and stimulate her clit with my tongue. I move it up and down her vulva, sucking it, pressing it, slithering my new monster organ and using it as I would a new toy. I hear the man moan. He shoves his member further inside her. “Slowly,” I command. “Keep it slow.” He obeys and moves it in and out so she can indulge in the length of it. She likes it better this way. I can tell from the gasps and moans and the way she pushes herself harder against my tongue. I can tell she is already having small orgasms. I notice the way her thighs are attached to her torso, how her vagina rests so sweetly between them. I grab deep inside her inner thigh with my hand and subtly nick a bit of it with my teeth. She jumps a bit. I then smooth my tongue over the small cut and taste the sweet blood. Yes, she is throbbing and her blood is full of energy, but she has a long way to go. Feeling energized from this taste, my confidence grows. I pull her away from the man with a sudden jolt of strength. This does not take away from her pleasure as I thought it would. Instead she seems more excited.

The man watches in awe as I throw her on the bed and do my work on her. Gradually I trail my fingers down her naked body. Her flesh is soft and delicate, unlike Pierre’s, which is thick and firm in constitution. Her eyes are closed. She indulges in the sensation. The man watches, transfixed. His member is solid and erect. His eyes are wide and dilating. I gently tease her nipples with my thumbs as I lick her flat belly. I hear her moan as I trail my tongue towards her vagina. There, I continue to lick her sensually. I draw my tongue up and down her swollen lips. I can feel her throb and grow. Her scent strengthens. I hear her pant. It excites me, being hungry for so long. I find the small cut I gave her and suck on it some more. I clutch both her thighs in my hands, grabbing as much of the thin, delicate flesh I can. She starts to scream in excitement as I suck harder. Her legs kick and her body squirms but I hold down her thighs. My heightened auditory nerves pick up the sound of her man masturbating as I do my work. “It’s so amazing, I’m gonna come right now,” he says.
Immediately I put the woman’s fingers on her clit so she has something to occupy herself with as I pounce on her man. Suddenly he finds himself lying on the floor as I insert him inside me. I feel a pull inside me that was never there before. I’ve sucked Pierre’s verge inside me, but never like this. I feel muscles within the walls of my sex organs that were never there before. They throb and flex and grab at his member. I squeeze my vagina and clamp on to him. My inner muscles actively move him deeper inside me. He screams as I squeeze and pull. Then I sink my teeth into his neck and drink the energized blood. The screaming stops and the blood grows stale. I feel fed, a bit more energized, yet unsatisfied.

I return to the woman to find that she is already in the midst of a long, drawn-out orgasm. I sink my teeth into her neck and suck. My fingers squeeze one of her nipples as I help her along. Her stiff fingers move faster and faster up and down her clitoris as her screams grow louder. “I can’t take it,” she pants. “I just keep coming.” I move my fingers down to her clitoris. My other hand still lingers on her breasts. Her hands are in a frenzy. She doesn’t know what to do with them. At one moment she is pushing my hands harder against her, the next she is trying to move them away. She pulls me against her. She screams that it is too much but she wants more. She loses complete control of her hands, rubbing and grabbing whatever part of her flesh she can. Her legs kick, so I grapple the two sticks between my strong thighs, pinning her down. The blood is warm, electric, intoxicating. My clitoris rubs against her thigh as I pin her down. Everything is wet with sweat and cum. I spread it around as I fondle her, and create more as I rub my vagina against her thigh. I hear the sound of her hands scratching the sheets as the pleasure overwhelms her, until it becomes too much for her. Then, silence.

Her eyes roll up the top of her head. The blood grows stale and all signs of life vanish completely. It was a grand meal but it could have been better.
I look at the man lying limp on the floor and I sigh. His orgasm was so quick and fleeting, like a grand explosion that simmered as soon as it happened. Hers was long and insanely overwhelming. I regret ever leaving her on her own to take what I could from her man. Who knows what I missed, how much more energy I could have gained from her. I understand now what Natasha said about men. I resolve from now on to take her advice.

I look at the woman, a mess of shimmering sweat, cum and blood. I do not need to examine her to realize she is dead. The man who took the initiative to save a strange naked woman from the dangers of the woods is also dead. Pity, such sweet creatures must die so I may live. I refuse to remember that I was ever one of them. I don’t have it in me to bother with such thoughts. I step into the bathroom and take a shower and as I soap my wet body, I can feel it changing. My skin glows faintly but I can see the light is fading. I move my tongue around, a long muscle that can undulate and flex at every angle. My muscles seem denser, more developed. My breasts are firm, full and energized. I feel strong, alive, and lighter than ever.
I look through the woman’s knapsack to find some clothes for me to wear. They are nothing like the fabrics I would have chosen when I was human. Her blouses are loose fitting linen tops, white or faded green. I know I could never fit into her long fitted jeans. I don’t bother trying to hoist them up my obviously rounder buttocks. But she has some one size fits all hippie skirts. I put one on, not at all impressed by its brown and yellow paisley pattern. I have never dressed so slovenly in my life. But none of this matters now.

I approach the woman, recalling her willingness to open up despite her shyness. She has half dried off and the fluids take on the look of a white salty substance. I attempt to lift her up. I am shocked at how light she feels. I realize that nothing I lift seems to have any weight to it. Everything has become so effortless and I wonder what I really am capable of lifting. I am able to throw her over my right shoulder. I squat over the man, who looks more content in his death than a sleeping newborn. I lift him with both hands as I balance the woman on my shoulder. I easily sling the man over my left shoulder. I grab my shovel with my right hand and turn the door knob with my left. The hotel complex is just a handful of little shacks and it appears that everyone is asleep. Carrying the bodies, I sprint towards the woods and leap up a mountain. I am surprised at my nimbleness on the uneven soil and rocks. I run as far as I can until I feel a sense of complete solitude. I dig quickly, surprised at my agility, and throw the couple into their new home. They appear to embrace as they land at the bottom in the dirt. I convince myself that they would have wanted it that way as I refill the grave with dirt. I don’t bother trying what I saw Natasha do. I can’t see myself bringing life to the soil so there is no point in trying. I just want to leave as quickly as possible. I run back to the hotel. I change into another hippie skirt and blouse. I find the man’s keys sitting by the sink. I grab their luggage and leave.