I tried to convince her to let loose a bit. She had such lovely skin and cleavage, and surely it's not improper to let loose at a party etc. She blushed, and was reluctant. I knew however, that she craved attention, and I was intending to make her the light of my life...at least until I was done. I picked up a few tricks in social coercion on a level nobody who lives in shit should have...but it's useful to deal with things in a way that don't always entail breaking someone's face.
She claimed to be a madame of a whorehouse after all, such coyness should have been a rouse. She's a passionate kindred, and I understand that the Toreador find pleasure and intimacy to be a good balm to stay the savage Beast.
I convinced her to dance for me, she was obviously a beginner, but I saw her trying to please me, and I felt I should return the favor...I clapped out simple beat and sang a song appropriate for a intrepid beginner into the ancient exotic art of tribal dance. She was horrible...
I knew I was interested...I had to share this joy with others, it had been so long for me...
My brothers and sisters got to witness this Rose's lovely charms...and I believed that her ability to see more than skin deep should be rewarded. Again and again I expressed my desire onto her, and I could tell this little filly enjoyed rough play. I come from a more staid time, but I was there to please, and to be pleasured. We kissed and suckled. She was an libidinous inferno of passion. I treated her like the blossom she was, enjoying even the thorns, and she proudly wore the marks of my own love on her neck. I fed her both wine and rose blossoms...My brethren made a tape, for underground eyes only. I sang to her songs of love "You are so beautiful to me." By Joe Cocker.
I tell her I'll be back, and sink into the shadows...
"The camera is amazingly steady. Maybe this guy had shot amateur porn, an AV geek probably. You see a beautiful Kindred, laying on the bed her fine, but daring clothes torn apart in great passion. Her fine pulchritude is soaked with a light sheen of crimson sweat, as well as the putrid oozings of phlegmy bile that looks like the hawked up death rattle of an emphysema sufferer.
The exquisite creamy soft form of the wanton Creature of the Night looks like it's gone through the ringer, but she obviously isn't complaining...in fact, she's writhing in ecstatic abandon. A deeply intrusive set of hickeys wreathes her neck. All the erogenous areas of her body look as if they've been slapped, kissed, bitten, caressed and ravaged in a way that would have made a romantic a masochist and a masochist a romantic. You see the backside of a Nosferatu's frame, strong and solid, but riddled with what looks like late stage leprosy. At least a few superficial layers of skin have sloughed off.
"Yo-yo-you are s-s-s-so beau-beau-beautiful!" He says, his eyes gleaming predatorily, the stuttering grate of his voice a contrast to her heavenly beauty.
Writhing on the bed, the Nosferatu kisses her, you can see from the angle that his nose is missing, in its place a greyish pink glistening orifice, resembling something uncomfortably reminiscent of female genitalia drools out greyish snot on her rich cherry lips, her tongue wet, dabbing at it moistly, like it was some delicacy. Her eyes widen, almost as if she can see bits of her lovers true face, and she does not care...particularly, when her ghoulish, garish Amour crouches down and brings her to a hoarse, thunderous orgasm by engaging in the most passionate of intimate kisses...which the Sewer Rat savors like brandy distilled from angel tears.
He then mounts her...scarred, poxy-ridden buttocks thrusting, eliciting further cries of passion from the Beast's captive Beauty. The camera shakes and jars...as if it's user is trying to escape a telling paroxysm of laughter.
This does not dissuade the lovers, the Nosferatu stutters in a shattered French...(Proper linguistics would tell you "Yo-ou-ou re-me-mber this, M-y-y loo-luscius Je-je-zebel! Th-th-theo gave you "Th-the Little d-d-death!")
The facade of tenderness was gone, the Nosferatu used the hideous strength in his dead, jointed twisted muscles to pummel the hapless, helpless, wantonly moaning Toreador into unconsciousness, a cry of passion from her and a grunt of angry, bestial exertion caused her to lay spent, exhausted, knocked unconscious from the coitus that would have broken a mere human lover.
When finishing, the Nosferatu pulled out, his member grayish choked with livid blue and purple a sick, and turgid dagger of flesh that while in full mast, obviously had not been spared the leprosy that riddled the rest of the wretch's tortured frame. It now stood at attention, as something that never should have been made erect was made so. It's wrongness fitting for a union of flesh that should never have been.
The accusing cock throbbed and glistening with both the juices of her passion and the oozings of his putrescence. In a snapping jerking shudder he loosed a crimson brand of clotted sanguine spend upon her supine form, a puddle coagulating in the still quivering hollow of her perfect stomach, secondary spurts so mighty that it splattered the tortured and satisfied visage of her exquisite face like some kind of sexual abattoir. Nothing was spared, her lips, nose, eyes and cheeks... even up to the brassy fire of her flame kissed hair.
In the haze of the camera, other twisted forms could be seen, but only hazily...one, walking in a way that seemed to indicate she was mimicking the rutting Nosferatu Lover, threw cold water on the beleaguered Rose, bringing her to. The grossly naked Monster returned with a washcloth, a rose, and some wine, and a bag of some sort. The camera briefly panned down to why the reason why he could not stride with confidence, his gait was awkward, the one sock reinforced by a trash bag he wore over his foot did not hide the garish clubbed half-foot that was saturated with a wet pus, not unlike that covered the lush Muse in a patina of filth.
