This story depicts a fictional, fantasy scenario between two adults who JUST SO HAPPEN to be twins. Viewer discursion is advised on that front. But I'm posting this to the Incest category so, like, what did you expect in the bag labelled "Dead Dove Do Not Eat?"
Also involves a form of corruption/mind control so HEADS UP if you don't like consent being messed with. Oh and a lot of cum fetish stuff in general.
*******************
The first thing Maple did when she woke up from the longest night of her life was check the damage in her bathroom mirror. As she shambled over, a yawn cut short by a sharp pain in her temple, she mentally prepared herself to see just about everything. Smeared makeup, lipstick marks, hickeys, maybe even a degrading word or two in sharpie. She did like bodywriting oh so much.
What she was not prepared to see was no reflection at all.
Dumbfounded, she turned the lights on and off. No, that wasn't it. She watched in a dazed, hungover confusion as the light switch visibly moved according to her motions in the mirror. But her body did not appear. Mirror must be broken, she decided with a resigned shrug, then stumbled back to bed. Maybe she needed another ten-
"WAIT, WHAT?!"
She bolted back into the bathroom and stared, wide eyed, at a completely empty bathroom reflected in the vanity mirror and realized, with a slow, growing horror, that something was definitely wrong. She pinched herself, looked down at her body, did a little jump, all things to prove that she wasn't in a dream. But she was not. This was real...it was just unreal as well.
It was then she felt the welt on her neck. Feeling around for it, she'd first assumed it was a hickey. Then a bite mark, she was into that kind of thing when she got going. But as her shaking hand found the marks, she didn't find the round indentations of a set of teeth. No. Two equally sized puncture wounds, adjacent to her carotid.
"Oh fuck...I think I might have slept with a vampire..."
***
The previous night was a haze in her mind. As she struggled to get dressed amidst the panic in her heart, she ran what events she could recall in her mind.
She's met an absolutely gorgeous woman, she remembered that. Tall in a way that drew attention, but with striking cheekbones and a neckline that would have done that regardless. Her eyes, it must had been the club but her eyes looked like they'd glowed on the dance floor. She smiled readily, but it never touched the corners of her eyes. Like this woman was playing a role. Like those around her were beneath her, and she was lowering herself just to be in their presence.
In retrospect, there may have been some signs that her date hadn't been normal.
What they did after they left the club was hazy, but she definitely remembered making out. And she definitely, definitely remembered sucking her off. With a blush, Maple realized she hadn't caught her name. She'd drained a woman's balls who she knew less about than some of the people she played frisbee golf with.
There was no evidence she'd ever been there. Must have left super early. As she rummaged around for the clothes she wore and her purse, thinking there might be some info in a note or a memo on her phone, she found a strange rectangular object. To her confusion, it was a letter. Like, a paper letter, the kind her grandmother used to send. Addressed to her, even. It had been covered by her sheets when she'd climbed out of bed.
Tearing the envelope open, she found not a greeting card with $20, but a handwritten message in printer paper. It was then that Maple realized the envelope had been hers too; one of the pack of 20 she'd bought and left by her printer in the one (1) time she'd needed to send a form in by post. The curving script was gorgeous, though she had to read slowly. Been a while since she'd had to parse cursive.
Dearest Maple,
To answer the question likely dancing at the tip of your (delicious~) tongue right now, yes I am one of the Living Dead. One of those crudely sketched in your popular fictions as 'Vampire'. And yes, I did drink your blood during our amorous encounter last night. But, rest assured, I did not transform you into one of my kind. Not quite.
You see, a peculiar thing happened while I was drinking your blood. An interaction happened that I was not aware of. Now, as you may or may not remember, we began our amorous encounter with your delightful offer of oral relief, something I was only too glad to take you up on. Somewhere along the way, however, a portion of my seed must have stayed in your mouth while I was draining your blood. An auspicious occasion! Moments into my feeding, your blood changed. Your body changed, in fact, into an entirely different creature altogether!
You are a Feaster, my dear. Not quite a Vampire...but no longer human, either.
Maple laughed. What the fuck was she even reading? Vampires weren't real. She put the letter down...her laughter getting more and more desperate as the ache on her neck made the proposition difficult to fully dismiss. She returned to reading, if only to get to the punchline of this sick joke.
I apologize for this oversight. A Feaster hasn't been born in generations, and I genuinely forgot it was a possibility should the right body and situation arise. Magical semen in the mouth, coupled with my saliva and fangs, creating a hybridizing effect. I don't quite understand this, but Feasters were once the origin of the Medieval (hate that word) myth of the succubus. Succubi exist of course, but they certainly don't drain your soul through your cock...but I digress.
You'll retain some of our powers, namely our ability to compel with the spoken words and induce hypnotic trance. Enhanced senses, too. But you will find no supernatural speed or strength. In addition, you have some, but not all, of our weaknesses. You lose your reflection, I'm afraid, though you still show up in digital photography. Don't ask me why, you just do. And garlic is strictly out of the question. The exception is sunlight! You are free to walk amidst the lilies, should you prefer. Sunbathe once in a while for me, would you? I miss the glow on my skin ever so much.
The other major detriment is, of course, your namesake. Feasters must feed. But you do not feed on blood, my dear. Oh no. You'll be dining on the very sustenance I provided you during our amorous encounter.
If I am a bloodsucker, then Maple, my sweet, you are a cumsucker.
Maple reread the words over and over, looking again for where the joke was supposed to be. She felt around for any fangs in her mouth, and didn't find any. The thought that this letter wasn't some cruel prank began to take worrying shape in her mind.
I must apologize again. This was not my intention! But life, as the kids say these days, comes at you fast. For your own sake, please seek out a stable source of mortal semen as soon as possible. The consequences for going without seed for too long can be quite...monstrous. But I'm sure that won't be a problem. You were exceptionally convincing even without hypnotic powers last night. If you get into trouble, just use your gorgeous voice on them. And if that doesn't work, your lips ought to do all the convincing you'll need.
I beg your pardon for leaving so early, but as you might have surmised, the Sun and I aren't exactly on great terms. Take care, and I wish you many happy nights.
Kisses,
Carmilla
Post scriptum: strictly speaking, you don't have to ingest the semen through your mouth. Have fun, sweetie~
Maple crumpled the note and tossed it against the wall. She began to hyperventilate as the sheer perverse absurdity of her situation set in. It couldn't be true. It couldn't! There was no way she was a cum vampire! That was just something some disgusting hack pervert writer might come up with!
Normalcy. She needed normalcy. Maple stepped out of her bedroom into the kitchen/living room, humming a tune. Everything was fine! Her whole world wasn't turning into some sick, perverted joke. She decided to settle the matter entirely with a meal. Vampires couldn't eat real food, right? So this'd prove she was fine, and that the mirror, the bite mark...that was all some kinda hallucination.
Her quickest, easiest meal was instant oatmeal. A favourite from her childhood, shared with her twin. Aspen was gone, likely at work. Good. The last thing she needed was to explain what was wrong, and why she was beet read while nuking some breakfast. Milk, oats, heat for two minutes, serve. She inhaled the mix of brown sugar and cinnamon, her tummy grumbling. But when she moved to push her spoon into the bowl, there was something...missing.
Maple took a bite, and it all felt wrong. It felt so...empty. She swallowed a few bland, vile mouthfuls. As she ate, she tried to figure out what was wrong. It was too sweet, needed a little bitterness. Maybe a little saltiness. Her mind wandered, and she started imagining the meal getting covered in a thick glaze of salty, bitter icing. And when she looked up, it wasn't a piping bag dispensing the creamy fluid. It was a thick, juicy-
"Fuck!" she cried, shoving the bowl away so hard it flew off the counter and smashed onto the floor. It couldn't be true. It had to be that her mind was making it real. She cleaned up the mess she made, shoveling the unappetizing mush into the garbage.
This was going to be one hell of a rest of her day.
***
A few more minutes spent in front of the mirror convinced her that, at the very least, she should entertain the idea that the note was real. That she'd really transformed into this "Feaster" creature. She thought about going to a Doctor, but what would she say? And if she proved it was real, how did she know they wouldn't lock her up and send her to some science lab to study? She'd need to find Carmilla again, but in the meantime, she needed to survive. That absence...that lack of satiation, it was only growing the longer the day became. She was an attractive woman, more or less. She should be able to find some quick dick to suck. It was all a matter of-
Keys jangled in the door. Shit! She sprinted to her bedroom and threw on some concealing clothes. A loose turtleneck to hide her bite marks and comfy pajamas, trying to look for all the world that she'd just spent the day hung over and sleeping in, rather than strung out and spiralling.
"Home, Mapes!" Aspen called out. Even after all these years, he still looked like her. Same blond hair, same soft features. He was taller, wider at the shoulders, and more athletic. Thinner, too. Where she'd cultivated some pleasant chub, he couldn't seem to put on weight no matter how much she baked for him. He'd biked home, as he usually did, and his undershirt was visibly damp around his neckline. Sweaty. So sweaty...
A dark, sinking feeling slid into her like a spectre. An amoral hunger assuming control. Powerful. Evil. The moment he walked in, she could smell him. His sweat oozed an orchestra of pheromones that almost made her swoon. Her salivary glands sprung forth like dancing sprinklers, making her have to duck and mop up a rogue wave of drool. Cock. Man. Cock.
Her remaining doubts of her condition evaporated in a mortifying instant. Whatever this curse was...it didn't care about anything. Not even that the man she was smelling was her twin.
"Hi Pen!" she called out, using the matching pair of their joint nicknames. Nobody called them Mapes/Pen but them, and they liked it that way. Whenever anyone else had tried it out, it had felt...weird.
"Late start?" he asked, stowing his helmet and his shoes by the door.
