This began in 2005 as part of a character application at Seradus, but took on its own life. It’s the first erotic story that I’m actually pleased with.”The Book of Ruth” contains graphic images of sex and blood, masturbation and homosexuality.
If these things disturb you, perhaps you should be somewhere else.
You Have Been Warned.
It was a Sunday afternoon and unseasonably hot. Nothing in Portland was air conditioned. At least not anywhere Ruth could afford to live. The cats had stretched out to their full length, luxuriating in the heat. Watching them, the young woman envied their hedonistic pleasure in simply being warm.
“Little monsters. You wouldn’t last a minute in real heat.” Only one reacted, and that one only to lift his head from the floor, look at her, and yawn cavernously before lowering it back to the floor. His long, pointed teeth resonated with something usually kept well-hidden within her. “Hmm.”
Wearing only a t-shirt, a pair of boxer shorts and white socks pushed down around her ankles, she was still sweating. On an ill-defined whim, she padded into the bathroom and peeled the t-shirt off, looking at her breasts in the mirror. Her cream-coffee skin was dotted, here and there, with small, much darker moles. As always, the left one was noticeably smaller than the right. Not that that’s saying much, she thought. They’re both small. Cupping one in each hand, she lifted them a little and let them fall, watching the way they move as the settle back into place.
“Mmm.” Ruth’s small, dark nipples were very slightly crinkled. It would be too much to hope for to be cold, even cool is out of the question. But the tiny breezes in her apartment did lift a little of the sweat giving a sheen to her skin. Leaving her t-shirt crumpled on the floor, she went into the bedroom and squatted down in front of the bookshelf. There we go. Best Lesbian Vampire Erotica. Oh, yeah.
The bed hadn’t been made since she washed the sheets last; Ruth pushed the blankets aside and flopped onto the bed, bouncing slightly. The book almost fell open of its own accord to her preferred place. Holding the book in one hand — fortunately, it’s a trade paperback; a hardcover would be too heavy for this– she put the other between her breasts, feeling the warm skin slick with sweat, not quite feeling the heart beating beneath skin and bone, and began to read.
“I’ve been watching you,” the human girl said. Her name was Sarah, or Susan, or something like that. She’d told me, but I couldn’t remember. They say the memory starts to go eventually, but I’m much too young for that. It’s just not that important. As was my habit for the past few decades, I was looking rather butch. Salt-and-pepper hair clipped down to a shaggy Caesar cut, charcoal gray men’s suit just slightly too large, starched white band-collar shirt, with French cuffs down almost to my knuckles. My jet cufflinks are older than this city. It’s all camouflage. For the hunt.
She was still talking, looking at me with those big, dark eyes, leaning towards me, so earnest. I could taste her arousal, and her fear. Her voice dropped to a whisper. “I know what you are.”
There wasn’t nearly enough fear.
“No, you don’t,” I told her, my voice flat and slightly chill. “You don’t have the slightest idea of what I am. If you did, you wouldn’t be talking to me right now.”
Deep breath. Ruth inhaled, her chest rising, relaxing on the exhale. “Ahh.” Her hand, just brushing her skin, curved under her breast, fingertips tracing slow spirals centering on her nipple. Another deep breath pressed it up against her cupped palm. She kept it there, pressing harder, feeling the aureole beneath crinkle, the nipple harden.
For the first time, she moaned. Not loud — it was more of a whimper, really, a small sound in the back of her throat. She thumbed through a couple of pages and smoothed her hand over the curve of her belly to the waistband of her shorts. “Damnit,” she muttered, putting the book face down on the bed, using a fold of comforter as a bookmark. Its spine was cracked anyway, from repeated readings.
Wriggling, Ruth pushed the shorts down over her hips, tucked her legs up to get them off completely, and dropped them over the edge of the bed. She still had her socks on, but nothing else. Letting her breath out in a huff, she fell back into the bed and reached for her book again.
The alley near the nightclub was not well lit; only the sodium-vapor streetlights down the block cast any light into it at all. It was almost perfectly suited to our little transaction. The human girl’s fear and arousal jumped as we turned into the darkness. Rather, it was dark for her — I could see perfectly. (Incidentally, her name was Susan. I had overheard one of her friends wishing her a good night as we left the club.)
None of the human detritus that typically inhabit such spaces were present here. I made sure of that. After several of the creatures simply disappeared, word spread that my alley was not a good place to sleep if you wanted to wake up. Every once in a while, one of them, more stupid, more mad, or simply ignorant than the others, would huddle behind the dumpsters wrapped in their layers of dingy flannel. They didn’t stay long.
There was a chill to the place, to those sensitive to such things. The very young, the mad ones, the drunkards and other addicts. The spoor of a predator. The masses, in general, felt nothing but the mild revulsion granted all such places.
Of course, the human girl felt it as well. For her, though, it was simply a delicious frisson, adding to the mood. “It’s not quite the romantic setting the Victorians imagined,” I murmured. “But that age is long since passed.”
“Were you alive th-?” Embarrassed, Susan cut her question short by biting her lip. The flush that rose to her cheeks was rather fetching.
I laid a fingertip on her lips. “Shh. It is a natural enough question, but to answer you, no, I was not. I was born the first time during that period, but in this country. I had no direct experience with the era, and by the time of my death and second birth, it was over.”
Sighing, she relaxed. A little; back to her previous state of fear and lust. “Oh,” she said. “I thought you were older than that.”
Impatient, Ruth thumbed through the next page without reading it. The good parts were farther along. Pressing hard against her skin, her hand slid down her belly to the tightly curled, coarse hair between her legs. She gasped, taking in a sharp breath as her fingers curled over her pussy, pushing hard against the pubic bone with the heel of her hand and her fingers pressing flat over her still-closed lips. The hair in the middle was very slightly moist already, just starting to seep out. Her hips lifted from the bed, rising to meet her hand; she pushed them back down with a soft grunt.
Oh, yeah. There we go: the good stuff.
At the end of the alley, far away from even the dim light at the mouth of it, I pushed the human girl back against the rough bricks of the warehouse wall. Not hard enough to do any damage, but enough that she felt it, enough that if it weren’t for the cushioning of hair between the back of her head and the wall, it would have hurt quite a bit.
For us, this was foreplay. Her pupils dilated further, desire opening them past their need for more light. As her breathing quickened, her chest heaved. Very nice. One hand flat against the wall next to her ear, one hand on her breastbone, I held her there and kissed her, hard. A willing girl, Susan’s soft, warm lips parted easily under the pressure of my rather thinner, cold ones. The pointed tip of her tongue stole into my mouth, searching for the fangs.
She was not disappointed. The canines of a vampire are, of course, quite sharp, and retractable, like the claws of a cat. Mine had extended fully with my own hunger. She nicked her tongue on one, just a little, causing her to gasp and rewarding me with the bright, hot taste of first blood.
According to human cliché, blood tastes coppery. It does not; it tastes of the ocean, salt and filled with life. Though perhaps it does taste of copper to them. My memories of my time as a mortal are dim, compared with the bright burning of the second life. Much of the time, when I am not playing at being human, I do not breathe. First blood, though, rekindles old reflexes; I gasp and shudder with it as well, and suck her lower lip into my mouth, hard enough to bruise, though I draw no more blood yet. It will come, in due course.
“Shit,” Ruth said, her voice low, throaty, eyes rolling upwards to the back of her head. With an effort, she brought them back down to focus on her reading. Her middle finger slipped through the tangle of hair, parting her lips to expose the soft, warm, wet folds beneath them. “Oh, God yes.”
She turned to the next page, having to rest the book on the bed to do it. Her back arched as her fingers slipped into her cunt, curling up hard, pressing against her clit from both sides. Another moan. It was difficult, now, to focus on what was going on in the story, imagining that cold, hard mouth on hers, the so-sharp fangs trapping her tongue and lips there.
I reached up under her skirts to find her panties already wet. This one was enjoying herself, for certain. As was I. Clenching my fist around them, I ripped them away. The waistband parted under protest; it would leave a mark for some days. The girl stifled a scream. Three of my fingers slipped inside her sex; my thumb pressed against the flesh near the pearl of her pleasure. Holding her so, I lifted her so that her toes just touched the ground, and pulled the neck of her dress down, baring her breast. “Oh, god.” Her voice was pitched low, purring her satisfaction.
Another common misconception is that vampires prefer to feed from the jugular vein. This is almost rarely the case; it is far too easy to puncture the carotid artery. The flood from that vessel is too much for even the most ravenous to consume. Only a little is drunk; the rest is wasted. Some prefer the bend of the elbow, others the wrist.
For myself, I prefer the veins of the breast. In most women, these run close to the surface, and are easily found. And there is the sexual aspect. My lusts are no longer entirely human ones, but a hunter must know the habits of her prey.
My mouth, wet with my own desires, sucked at the soft flesh of her breast. Her nipple hardened as I took it between my teeth. Above me, Susan moaned as I bit down harder. “Yes,” she whispered, repeating the single word over and over, breathing it into my hair. “Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes.” Her hands clutched at my short hair, wrapped around my head, pulled my face into her breast as she pressed hers into the top of my head. I was able to fit my entire hand inside her, curling it into a fist, gloved in soft, warm flesh. My other hand went to the small of her waist to help support her weight as her hips rocked against me.
It got really hard to keep hold of the book. Every so often, Ruth had to put it down, let her hand drop to the bed, as tremors rippled through her body. Shaking, she lifted the hand at her cunt to her mouth, licking the taste of her from them. A small sound, a whimper escaped her as she slid the hand down her body, back to her pussy, leaving trails of her wetness that quickly dried on her skin.
Though no one was between them, her legs spread wider apart as her fingers sought and found her clit, pressing down hard. She moaned, louder this time, and pushed her hand down so that the tips of her fingers were just at the mouth of her cunt.
It was time. Susan let out a strangled cry as my teeth punctured her flesh. Skin makes a crunching sound as one bites through it. As her blood flowed into my mouth I stiffened, transfixed by my own pleasure.
“Fuck!” Ruth dropped the book over the side of the bed. Rolling onto her stomach she put both hands between her legs and pressed hard. Her clit, swollen to almost half again its usual size, pressed back, while her cunt opened to the slightest touch. Rising to her knees and forehead, her back arched like a cat’s.
Images from different fantasies flashed through her mind. Long, sharp teeth bite into her throat. Many hands hold her down on a pool table in a crowded bar. Naked. And being fucked where everyone could see. She struggled and cried, but it did nothing to stop it. Kneeling, hands clasped behind her back, at the feet of a strong woman. Her words gone, she moaned, panting for breath, fucking herself until she finally came. She nearly bit through her lip trying not to cry out loud.
Hands still on her wet cunt, Ruth knelt there, chest and shoulders heaving as she gasped for breath. After a little while, as her breathing slowed, she rolled over to lay on her back, staring up at the ceiling without really seeing it. “No wonder I can’t keep a girlfriend,” she muttered. “God, I’m fucked up.”
It is always a struggle, ceasing to feed before the vessel is empty. But it is a poor hunter who kills every time she feeds. Not only is it wasteful — a living human will replace the blood taken, given time — but it is also dangerous. A trail of corpses is too risky to leave leading to one, in this age of technology. And it is not difficult to find willing donors.
Susan was spent from loss of blood and repeated climax. There was a wet, sucking sound as I take my hand from inside her and lower her to the ground. She could not support her weight at that moment; my arm around her waist kept her upright. I licked my hand clean. This fluid does not nourish the way blood does, but it is something to savor nonetheless. It mingled well with the taste of her blood.
“Oh, shit. That was fucking amazing,” Susan breathed, having found her words again at last. “Thank you. Thank you thank you thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” I looked at her again, her eyes heavy-lidded and unfocused. “Close your eyes a moment,” I told her. Nicking the tip of my forefinger with a tooth, I drew a sigil on her forehead with the clear fluid that flows through my veins. It will be visible to me, and to others of my kind, marking her as part of my herd. It is a warning. And it will also encourage her to conflate what happened this evening with fantasy and dream.
When the time comes, she will see me again.
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