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This is a work of fiction that portrays its characters engaging in sex and sex-play. Everybody in the story is old enough to do what they're doing - if you're not, come back later.
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This tale is about a male with multiple female lovers. If you're not sure that type of story is for you, please try one of my other works.
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Version 2 - This story has been updated to fix some technical issues with the girls' ranks.
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Prologue
The Russian president, Grigori Orlov, blamed the west for forcing his hand. He launched hundreds of missiles. The allies intercepted most of them. The few dozen, which got through, hit areas of lower population. They landed across Europe, North America, and Southern Asia.
No one even knew the virus had been released until it had spread beyond the world's ability to combat it. One airborne particle was enough to infect a person - and every person's symptoms were different - which made it hard to tell (at least initially) when they had contracted it. Every exhaled breath of an infected person released more and more particles into the air. Regardless of how well a person's body fought the virus, the pathogen seemed to be cumulative. With enough exposure, or time, every single body succumbed. The basic symptoms were nearly universal: fatigue, lethargy, attention-deficit, lung-congestion, cough, rashes, and open sores. The virus (at least so far) didn't seem to kill a person outright - it just weakened their body and made them more susceptible to injury, infection, and disease. Global health organizations estimated that 80% of the earth's population was already infected - only isolated people-groups remained untouched - but it was simply a matter of time until it reached them as well. Casualty rates were difficult to calculate - by nature of the fact that it wasn't the virus that killed the person. When anybody did release numbers, they were always really high - or really low - depending on the agenda. As yet, there was no cure; scientists were still trying to figure out just what it was that they were fighting. So far, nothing they had tried had had any effect.
There was, however, one small group of scientists in the world that thought they had found something to combat the pathogen. Those scientists were not sharing their data, however, because - first of all - the numbers were hard to quantify - and second of all - because those scientists were either vampires - or members of a vampire's brood - and releasing that information would bring a whole new twist to the drama - and complicate their research.
For millennia, the vampires of the world had worked hard to keep their activities "under the radar". Legends, ghost stories, and old wives' tales - regardless of how inane - can have a powerful effect on a mass of people - and transform them into a violent mob. Any vampire that wanted to live long - and who didn't? - avoided being recognized as something different. That is still true today.
Regardless of the vampire communities' attempt to contain the information, rumors had begun to circulate that the blood-suckers were real - and that they weren't getting sick.
In light of this new world-wide threat, the critical discussion - making its way through the network of known vampires - was how to use their immunity - or (at least) resistance - to save the most people.
Vampires have, throughout time, worked to cull any "bad actors" from their ranks. The battles are intense - and are often harder on the innocent bystanders than on the combatants - destroying buildings, infrastructure, and lives.
The biggest question - then - became who to "turn" and who to accept as a brood member. Turning the wrong person simply created one more problem to be dealt with - and broodlings needed to be fed.
A vampire has to be strong enough to keep his (or her) brood nourished at all times. A broodling can be fed any of a vampire's body fluids - blood, sweat, tears, saliva, milk, or ejaculate - but the vampire needs to be able to feed each brood member at least once a week. Of necessity, the size of the brood is limited by the vampire's ability to regenerate the fluids needed to keep the broodlings' appetites sated.
Food and drink contribute to the vampire's ability to regenerate - especially if the food is raw meat - and the drink is blood. As exercise increases metabolism, so orgasm seems to speed the rate of regeneration. The blood of a broodling will provide basic sustenance to their host - but sex (to a lesser degree) and sexual climax (to a much greater degree), boosts the vampire's recovery - which, in turn, boosts their ability to feed the brood. This allows them to either increase the size of their brood, increase the frequency of the feedings, or increase the amount each broodling is fed. As already mentioned, increasing the size of the brood carries with it, the risk that the vampire will deplete themselves (trying to feed their brood) - or will have to choose members to sacrifice (to restore their ability to adequately feed the others).
By nature, broodlings bond with their master and feel an obligation to please and protect them. The symbiotic relationship - of the brood members feeding on the vampire - and the vampire feeding on the brood - tends to strengthen those bonds - and can create acolytes who willingly sacrifice themselves to serve - or preserve - their master.
The virus made people tired - but people were growing tired of being tired. They were also tired of the funerals, tired of trying to be careful not to be the next funeral victim, tired of listening to the news (especially when the news never changed), and tired of being told what they could or couldn't do. The tiredness was turning into anger. Nobody knew who to be angry at - but the fuse was lit - and it was only a matter of time before the powder-keg went off.
Birth of a Brood
Present day. North America. Central US military base.
"Major, what are your orders?"
"Gather your squad, Captain. We need to talk."
"Yessir."
Captain Parker took three steps before she turned back to her superior.
He raised an eyebrow at her.
She looked into his eyes and thought she already knew the answer to her question. He wasn't coughing; he had no visible rashes; his skin color was normal. He was immune to the virus. She turned and headed to obey his command.
Within 15 minutes, she and her squad were assembled in front of him.
He looked over the group.
Parker was a good kid - and kept her squad of specialists from squabbling - not always an easy task for an all-female team.
This group, he thought, was different than most, though. They focused more on their jobs - and their skills - than they did on pecking orders or relationships. They always seemed content to let each of the others contribute to the overall success of the group - which (he believed) just served to make their group more successful.
Major Johnson's mind, wandered, briefly - calculating the likely advantages, challenges, and conclusions - if he decided that he needed to turn the Captain.
Realizing the women were still standing, staring at him, as he calculated outcomes, he got back to the task at hand.
Of all of the captains under his command, Parker was the smartest. Of all the squads under his command - male, female, or mixed - C-Squad was the best.
Captain Parker's specialty - besides being a strong leader - was battle tactics.
Gunnery Sergeant Schmidt was a student of stealth and hand-to-hand combat.
Staff Sergeant Martin was their firearms specialist.
Sergeant Jimenez managed anything that could be driven - or flown - or peddled. The Major had once seen her on a unicycle, juggling tactical knives, riding through a minefield.
Sergeant Nordahl handled communications and electronics. She spoke eight different languages like a native.
Corporal Basso was the master of explosives and artillery.
"Ladies," he greeted them.
"Sir," they replied - almost in unison.
They were not standing at attention - so he didn't bother to tell them to chill.
"You are a good team - one of the best I have under my command. I can say that to you because - I know you already know it - and yet you continue to act like you don't believe it - and you tirelessly strive to prove - again and again - that you deserve to be here."
He looked from face to face.
"You have, no doubt, heard the rumors that a certain type of person is resistant to the virus the Russians dumped on us. I don't know for certain but - so far - at least - I appear to be resistant - if not immune to it."
The squad members remained silent, knowing he hadn't called them together for idle conversation.
"I am a vampire."
"What are you saying, sir?" Parker asked.
"I'm going to make you an offer. It is not an order. It's not even a strong suggestion. That being said, I'm not telling any other teams this information - or - at least at this point - making them this offer."
"We're all ears, sir," Jimenez said, looking at her companions, who nodded.
"From what I've heard from others like me, I can bring you into my brood and this will give you at least some resistance to the virus."
"But," Martin hedged.
"You will be tied to me - you'll depend on me to live - to feed - for the rest of your life."
"How long?" Schmidt asked.
"Easily double your normal lifespan."
"How old are you?" Nordahl asked.
"I have taken part in every major conflict that has been fought in this country since even before this nation claimed its independence. I was turned in 1622 - just after the Jamestown Massacre - by a gentleman who recruited me to build a team to defend against the attacks by the confederacy of native tribes."
The women stood, mouths agape, stunned.
"You're 400 years old?" Parker asked.
He thought for a minute, doing the math, "Yeah, I guess I am."
"I'll do it," Basso said.
