The Power of Blood - Sex Stories

The Power of Blood

... Griselda has hitched up the front of her skirt and rubs her full pussy. It’s shiny with moisture, and it looks incredibly yummy. Tiny, squishy sounds betray her arousal. The hunger surges, but I can’t, mustn’t. It isn’t what I need. “I’ll be back in the morning,” I tell her and slip on the dark robes. It’s only two miles to the clinic, two miles through a nighttime forest devoid of humans and temptation. The shrubbery flies by, as clear to my eyes as if it was bright daylight. The hunger does that to me, heightens my senses - but not for long before it becomes overwhelming. I have to hurry. I jump onto the stone wall and crouch down. There are no guards, but you never know when a patient feels like walking outside in the middle of the night. It’s quiet. The crickets have burrowed deep into the earth again, hiding from the chilly fogs of late autumn, and the few lights behind the windows are dimmed. My heart begins to beat faster and I slide down onto the grass to make my way towards my meal. The old oaken door with its interwoven ornaments swings back easily, to easily for a human hand. I’m not human, not completely. Not anymore. Not for centuries. Through these centuries, I have learned to move without sound, to close doors without anyone becoming the wiser, and in the blink of an eye I’m at the bottom of the basement stairwell. Behind the door to my left, I smell excitement, arousal, and my hand starts to tremble, but I turn right instead, like I always do. She’s waiting. ...

... Naked, beautiful, imposing, that’s how she appears, tinged in the soft, warm light of the dimmed bulb she resides on the massive wooden chair like on a throne. She didn’t care about all that, in the beginning, she just did it to please me, to play to my needs, to bind me to her. Now, though, as she sits like a goddess waiting to be worshipped, black, sleek hair falling down to her waist, eyes and lips painted dark, her nipples are erect and her chest heaves. I can smell her arousal so intensely as if I was bathing in it. There is no need for words. I fall to my knees, the iron door snapping shut behind me, and the need pulls me towards her on all fours. I moan, whimper, and my eyes focus on the object of desire, on the clean-shaven slit between her thighs. She spreads her legs wide in anticipation, and we both shudder with want at the same time. “Beautiful,” I whisper through a throat that constricts and feels like sandpaper. “So incredibly beautiful!” A tear born from unfathomable desire streaks down my cheek. She still doesn’t speak. She doesn’t need to. I look up into her eyes while I lean close. Her lips are parted in an impatient pout. Her fingers dig into my scalp and tighten. It hurts, yes, but so good. I extend my tongue. My body trembles all over. Now! I lick a slow trail upwards through her rosy, wet, warm folds, feel the blood rush underneath that sacred place, and my heart tries to burst. Her arome coats my tongue and the monster in me roars to life with such power ...