A Vampire's Tale

Throughout the centuries he had roamed. Over the course of time he was known by a great many names. He had known a great many people over the span of the centuries. He was confined to darkness. The moon and the stars were his constant companions as he roamed though the countless centuries of his existence. The beasts that were also confined to the night, the cat, the bat, and others, were his brothers, on the hunt like he. He was witness to countless human activities which took place in his night; love, hate, passion, birth, and death. Some met their death by his hands, but there were many more that met their deaths by the hands of their human brothers.

He was human once, although he barely remembered it. He ate, slept, loved, hated, and felt as the humans do; once upon a time. A woman introduced him to the dark; lovely women with gypsy like features. She offered him a gift; her gift was darkness and he readily drank of it. Times were different then, he thought himself a man of the world, and to her he was just a mere infant. He was an artist in his prime, his works were well known to the people of Paris, he had painted the likenesses of kings; he painted churches and rolling meadows. His career was at its zenith and he was at the height of Parisian society. When he was approached to travel to a little known part of Eastern Europe to paint the portrait of an aristocrat, he readily accepted the commission.

The journey was a long and difficult one, the days were short, the nights cold, they rode day and night, but the journey still took more than a fortnight to complete. Their destination was a rural palatial home at the base of a great river, almost as if it were guarding it. The chateau rivaled those of the members of the Parisian court; the outer wall was made of gray stone, bits of ivy scaled the towering wall, wild flowers sporadically took root along the base of the wall. Once inside the gait, the dwelling towered above him, the windows stared at him like eyes, the spires loomed heavenward like arms, the great oak doors were flung open bidding him entrance. The coachman carried his bags through the threshold dropping them with a resounding thud, which echoed throughout the great hall. The sun was setting low in the western sky, its light barely permeating the great hall, making shadows dance along the walls.

A maidservant motioned for him to remove his coat and pointed up a towering oak stairway. He tried to ask her a question, but she replied in a foreign tongue, which he couldn’t understand. He followed her up the stairs without another word. The rough, dark wool of her peasant dress made ruffling sounds as it brushed against the granite floor of the hall. Candles dimly lighted the hallway, they passed door after door until she finally stopped, pushing one of the heavy oak doors open, and she pushed him inside.

The room was lavishly decorated with thick, colorful rugs and wall tapestries. The bed was dressed with fine silks and linens, the bed curtains tied back to tall walnut spindles. A fire danced happily in the fireplace, the warmth chased the chill of the rest of the house away. His bags had already been deposited in the room and had been unpacked, his suit coats hung neatly in an armoire. The maid poured some steaming water from a pitcher into a basin and pointed to a pile of fine linen towels; nodding to him she shut the door behind her.

He inspected his new quarters finding them adequate, all of his belongings had been neatly put away in drawers or in the armoire. He gratefully bathed in the steaming water, thankful to wash away the grime of the road. He shaved and applied talc, dressing in his finest suit; he waited for one of the servants to fetch him for supper. He pulled the heavy draperies away from the window; the glass was tinted from years of neglect. He noted the sun had set and darkness surrounded the land. A rap on the door roused him, it was time for dinner. The servant led him through the labyrinth of the house and sat him at a table laden with food. Hungrily he waited for his hostess to arrive.

“Ah, my Cherie, you must be hungry, please eat.” A woman’s voice said from behind him. He heard the rustling of skirts, smelled the fragrant bouquet of a woman’s perfume, it peaked his senses. She approached him taking a seat next to him. Her hair was dark as a raven’s; it hung framing her face and shoulders in long dark waves. Her dark eyes reflected a golden hue from the fire. Her cheekbones were high; her lips were full and ruby red, her dark skin golden brown and flawless. Her dress reflected her nationality, it was low cut, revealing an arousing amount of cleavage, and the bright colored silks of the dress reflected the firelight, catching it in their sheen. He was stunned; she spoke his language as if it were her native tongue. “My dear, I speak many languages. Now please eat.” She replied as if he had spoken his thoughts aloud. He greedily obliged, devouring the roast chicken and wine, which had been prepared for him.

“I am surprised that you have heard of my art all of the way in these remote parts.” He said in between mouthfuls of wine. “How did you become familiar with my work?” he asked as he wiped his mouth on a finely embroidered linen napkin. The fire behind him hissed and popped sending sparks wafting up the chimney.

She smiled graciously as she replied. “ I have traveled to many parts of the world, love.” She took the napkin from his fingers and dabbed at a speck of food, which had gotten tangled in his cravat. “I found your artistic flavor especially enticing, I knew I had to have you for myself.” She placed the napkin back into his hand, the intimacy of her gesture made him uncomfortable.

He faked a grin and slid back from her, “I meant no offence.” He replied. “ I hope that I can prove myself worthy of your favor.” He dropped the napkin onto his plate and looked up into her eyes. It was forward of him to do so, after all, he was merely little more than a glorified and overpaid servant, fulfilling the whim of his benefactor. He found himself lost in the beauty of the dark eyes, they glittered and gleamed like the night sky, he began to feel dizzy and swoon, his passion building up within him.

The blur of his swoon was broken as she begun to speak, “Perhaps you would like to see where you will be working?” He nodded as she rose from the table offering him her hand. Her hand was tiny, the fingers long and graceful, the nails filed into tiny points, dangerous and sleek as a cat’s claw. Her grasp was firm and strong, the hand was as cold as death. He followed her down a long cavernous hallway illuminated by the glow of the candle she held leading the way. They entered a room, a solarium, the moonlight streamed through the leaded glass, highlighting erotic scented flora, glittering in a fountain which sung and babbled as the water splashed as it fell gracefully down.

The room made a perfect studio for him; he would be able to paint a portrait that would rival all of his other works. The sunlight would stream in highlighting her dark features; he would reveal her beauty for the entire world to see. “No” she said as she sat the candle on a wrought iron table, “We work only at night.” He was baffled by her proposal, he had never painted by candlelight, and he was intrigued by her intention. He begun to speak to tell her what he would need, “Everything has been provided for you, “ she explained pointing to the corner of the room. Taking the candle from the table, he proceeded to inspect his supplies; he found them adequate.

She deftly unlaced her bodice, the skirts of her dress making a hushed whisper as they slid to the floor. She wiggled out of her corset, tossing it carelessly to the side. She stood in front of him fully nude, the flame of the candle making shadows against her creamy dark skin. She smiled unabashedly as she looked at him suggesting that she lay on the chase lounge. He tried not to stare, but she was so comfortable with her nudity. Her heavy breasts with tiny points of honey brown swayed as she walked to the chase lounge. He felt the heat of his desire grow; he could imagine himself deep inside of her, her legs wrapped tightly around his waist encouraging him to drive deeper in.

He positioned her on a chase lounge, he was very close to her, the scent of her, the softness of her skin and hair was making him heady with desire. He could have spent hours caressing and stroking them, but he had a job to do, with a sigh, he began. He had brought several canvasses with him, he had already stretched and prepared them, and he selected the appropriate size and began to outline his subject. The work was going so fast, so smoothly, it was almost as if the portrait was painting itself and he was just the vehicle. The gray light of dawn was filling the room now, She gently whispered to him “Perhaps the artist would like some rest now, we can resume our work tonight.” She rose from her seat and left him in the mid stroke.

He lowered himself onto the chaise lounge, he could smell her perfume, although the impression of where her body lie was cold, he could still feel her there. He thought of her as he slid into the fitful world of dreams. His dreams were filled with her. He lowered her onto the bed, the cool silk bedding as smooth as her creamy skin. They kissed passionately, his tongue gently parting her lips and searching out the sweetness of her mouth. Her body arched against his advances, she moaned in desire encouraging him onward. He lowered his lips to her neck, her cool skin chilling the heat of his lips. He advanced downward to her cleavage, sliding his tongue along the tight lace and silk of her bodice.

Adeptly she untied the laces of the bodice, parting them, giving him full view of her lacey corset. Hungrily he rested his face between her breasts, inhaling deeply of their intoxicating perfume. He ripped the bodice of her dress all of the way open, he stroked the confines of her corset, causing her to moan in desire. He slid the dress down her full hips; he could see her coarse dark hair peeking from under the sheerness of her underskirt. He inhaled deeply of her scent, the musky, enticing, odor forcing him to full erection. He parted her legs, gently sliding his hands along the smoothness of her inner thighs. She pulled at his shoulders and tugged on his hair encouraging him up, raising her hips to meet his mouth.

He slid his tongue in between her wet, slick lips and lapped at her already engorged throbbing clitoris. She moaned in strange words which he had no understanding of, gently she rocked against him. Her taste was sweet and more intoxicating than wine; it made him dizzy with need. He slid his fingers into her wetness causing the walls of her vagina to spasm with pleasure, as he stroked and licked she rocked faster and faster, coming in the palm of his hand, eagerly he gulped it down.

She slid down to meet him, kissing him deeply, her fingers untying the corset, releasing her ample breasts from their confines. Her nipples and areola were a dark brown, swollen and begging to be adored. He lowered his head to them and suckled them the way a newborn babe suckles his wet nurse. She urged him on. She rolled him onto his back and began unbuttoning his shirt and trousers; he could feel the gentle pressure of her weight resting on his cock, driving him mad with want. She stripped him of the last of his garments, his white skin making a startling contrast to her dark, erotic flesh.

She inspected him, his white skin, his smooth firm naked chest, his throbbing prick in its height of erection, his thighs covered in a nesting of coarse dark hair. She stroked the full length of him making his body tense and quiver beneath her fingertips. He attempted to navigate her hips over him, he urged her to lower herself onto him, and she refused stating, “Not yet love, I have something for you.” With that statement she lowered her mouth onto his cock taking the full length of it into her. He was helpless beneath her skillful mouth and hands, trembling with the strokes of her tongue. He could hold back no longer, he came in her mouth with loud gasps and moans of pleasure. “Please more” he uttered barely able to form the words. Obediently, she lowered herself onto him, teasing him with her cunt as she slid it up and down his shaft. Slowly at first, then faster and faster, her hips forming little circles when the full length of it was deep inside of her.

He had taken many a French maiden to the bed, he partook of the comforts that the local brothels had to offer, but he had never known pleasure like this before. She had coaxed him to climax again, he filled her with his spray, she stayed on top and allowed him to remain inside of her, while his member softened, satisfied. He awoke to the soft glow of the evening sun, her words echoed in his head, “I have many more gifts to give you, love.” He awoke where he had fallen asleep, he was fully clothed, it was only a dream, a seemingly real dream, and he could still smell her erotic scent enveloping him. He wandered the halls trying to find his room.

Surprisingly, he dined alone on a splendid meal of roast lamb with cranberry compote, new potatoes seasoned with some type of herb, and a rich red wine, sweet and highly intoxicating. A servant led him down the hall to the solarium where she was waiting. Tonight, she had not bothered to dress formally; she was wearing a dark blue silk dressing gown, which highlighted her full breasts and tiny frame. He felt himself balloon with passion; he blushed, remembering the dream. “I trust you slept well?” she asked shooting him a knowing smile.

He busied himself with preparing paints and lighting candles, he glanced up at her from over the top of his canvas trying to hide his embarrassment. He rationalized with himself, it was a dream, and no one can know another’s thoughts. She couldn’t know of the carnal nature of his desire for her. He was startled by a hand on his shoulder, he didn’t realize she had gotten up and walked over. Protectively, he guarded his work. “I just wanted a taste,” she said smiling underneath her pouting lips. His head reeled, she was so close to him, he could smell her perfume, he could smell her flesh, and he could feel his wanting for her climaxing to a fevered pitch.

The neckline of her dressing gown was fully open, revealing her nude breasts, he lowered his head to her chest, inhaling deeply of her scent, and he could feel himself drift away. She lowered her lips to his neck, kissing him softly, her tongue feeling the bounding pulses of his neck; she was also in deep in desire for him. She took his chin in her hand raising his eyes to meet her stare, “Now we work, maybe later we taste,” she said as she placed a paintbrush into his grip and resumed her seat on the chaise lounge casting her dressing gown to the stone floor.

Diligently he worked, cursing when he didn’t get the reflection of the moonlight in her hair just right or when he over looked some minute detail. Night after night he dined alone on gourmet cuisine, never questioning why she refused to join him. Day after day she consumed his dreams, taunting him with desire. His masterpiece was nearly complete, he only needed just a couple of more nights and he would be done. He was dejected at the possibility of leaving her, he regretted that he didn’t get to inspect the home, the grounds, he could spend a lifetime painting and exploring, but he had affairs to settle in Paris. He had debts to make good on, being a member of Parisian high society took a lot of the one thing he had little of, money. Her payment would be more than enough to reconcile his debts. At long last after weeks of jealously guarding his craft, he was ready to put the finishing touches on it and ready to reveal his masterpiece to her.

That evening shortly after sunset, he ventured downstairs to the dining hall expecting to consume yet another solitary, but succulent meal. She was waiting for him, lounging by the immense fireplace, which roared with a cheery, blazing, fire permeating the room with a warm orange glow. “My heart, tonight we celebrate, tonight we taste!” she exclaimed rising from her lounge and turning circles with her arms flung wide. Her dark hair and skirts swirled in clouds around her. “Tonight you drink of my best wine,” she said as she poured him a generous portion of the red, shimmering, liquid. She handed him a gold and jewel encrusted cup. He took the cup from her raising it in a toast to her; he raised the cup to his lips drinking deeply of its sweet contents. “Come, let me see my portrait,” she said as she took his hand leading him into the moonlit solarium.

The candles in the solarium snapped to life as she entered the room, ordinarily this would have frightened him, but his head swooned from the wine, his senses were tingling, alive. He searched the room for the flask; he wanted more wine to make a toast to her. “More wine later, sweet,” she said taking the cup from him and carelessly tossing it onto the floor. She led him over to the painting “Show me.” She guided his hands to the linen cover, which loosely draped his work; she helped him raise the cover, his work unveiled. She admired the work, her hand to her heart. Her portrait stared back at her, the hues of brown, orange, the blue-black of the midnight background, the rendering of her body, youthful and glowing tan, the brilliant red silk fabric of the chase lounge, her brilliant gold-brown eyes stared back at her, her lips were curled in a knowing, alluring smile. He had captured her very essence on this canvas; he gave her immortality in his work.

“You will be immortal now,” she said embracing him. “You immortality, my immortality has been ensured in this canvas which will exist well past the last judgment, we are immortal. Forever young as we are now, locked together on canvas, you have captured my very soul.” His head reeled; he had not thought in terms of immortality, but it was so, he recalled the great masters, they would exist through their work for all eternity, and so would he. She led him to the chaise lounge and lowered him onto the soft, cool, silky fabric. “You should be a true immortal,” she said as she stroked his cheek. “You will be able to admire your work for all eternity, this is your payment, now I’ll have a taste.”

She grabbed the hairs on the back of his neck in a vice like grip. He felt her lips as they caressed his neck, he felt warm and blissful in her arms. He gasped as she slid the points of her fangs through his fragile flesh. He felt as if he were on fire as she drank, he could hear her slurping and gulping, but he wasn’t afraid. He was lost in a dream world between awareness and unconsciousness; she wandered in this foggy world with him. She walked through the fog, her nude body forming a dark shape in the white swirling mists. As she approached him, her form aroused him. Her breasts swayed with the rhythm of her stride, her long dark hair flowed over her shoulders, gently brushing her nipples, teasing them to full hardness. His eyes lowered from her breasts to her flat stomach and full curving hips, the dark wilderness of her bush rested in between them.

She took him in her arms, kissing him deeply, her tongue teasing his. He felt his desire grow and he became aware of his own nudity as the head of his cock sought refuge in her dark bush. She whispered to him in her native tongue, a language he had previously not understood, he comprehended with perfect clarity. He responded to her instructions, allowing her to lower him onto the deep, lush, green of a meadow. She stroked him and caressed him bringing him to full hardness. She lowered herself down on him, he cried out as he felt the smooth wetness of her walls as they gripped his penis. Wildly she rocked, he grabbed her hips, guiding her, his fingers digging into the flesh of her hips. His heart beat in a strange and terrible rhythm, first very rapidly, then slower and slower, she rocked faster and faster coaxing him to orgasm, with the spurt of his orgasm, his heart had stopped.