Blood's Kiss

(Author's Note: This is my first attempt at writing an erotic story, and my first Literotica submission. That means it is IMPERATIVE that I receive your votes and feedback. Otherwise, this new and amazing fount of talent will dry up, and I'll not want to write any more chapters. If all goes well, I do plan to write more in other categories...so here's hoping!)

I first saw her amidst the harsh, glaring pyrotechnics of a club. Her skin flashed at me in colours of red, green, and yellow. Her limbs seemed disjointed in the strobe lights, magically moved in time to the steady bass thrumming of a techno-rock tune.

She looked ageless in the ever-changing atmosphere. She was enchanting, like a pixie of the lost age dancing with abandon amongst the mortals that pulled her wings and tortured her body. I liked the way her golden hair fell, untouched by the usually searing dyes the youth of today wore. It lay across her backside as thick as a blanket; long, uneven, and tickling the back of bare thighs.

I saw, when the lights ceased their frantic movement, that her skin was uniformly white. It was a carefully crafted hue of pearl, sustained only by years of studiously avoiding the sun. Now, it gleamed wetly under sheen of sweat. She was tired, I noted, and parched from the dance.

Clearly, now, I saw her face. It held with her pixie-like attributes, fair and narrow and with lips that seemed to harbor a perpetual pout. She was a delectable treat. I could see myself feasting upon her with abandon. I could see the blood course over my lips and tongue. I could smell the sickly sweet perfume of her life as it drained away.

Excuse me; did I not say I was a Vampire? I am. I have lived and loved a thousand times over, and now I saw the one I would love next, though her life would be a mere breath upon my existence.

She maneuvered through the hard press of young bodies, of women who laughed prettily as they swung their hips, of men who reached with curious fingers to caress the flesh exposed by small tops and tight jeans. She and her posse left the dance floor. They retreated to the relative safety of a half-dozen chairs haphazardly grouped around a too-small table. Hands, large and small, sought out bottles of open and flat beers; or else stopped a passing waitress to request more inebriating liquids.

I took comfort in the fact that my flawless skin would draw no notice; that the sunken darkness of my eyes would seem like nothing more than stage makeup. I dressed as any young adult from this era would, simply because I had removed these clothes from a male victim mere days before, and he was as slight and narrow in build as I was. I was thankful to God above (because, through the years, I had seen His proof and knew myself to be damned by Him) for blessing me with beautifully androgynous features. They might have been a bane at my creation, but they have served me well through the years.

With a bravado garnered through years of hunting, I advanced upon the mortal group. My outward thoughts were tranquil, and so the group looked upon me with favor. They smiled as I invited myself to join them; they pulled up another seat and ordered me a beer. Not by accident, I sat beside my fair-haired prize and draped an arm casually around her shoulder.

."What's your name?" She begged me prettily.

"Fallon," I answered. My smile was carefully contemplated to hide the telltale point of my teeth. "Yours?"

"Elle," she told me. My mind flashed upon her memory. Ellie-Mae, it was what they used to call her, at home in the South.

"Beautiful," I said. She knew that I did not speak of her name. She was such an enticing creature!

These other mortals, they crowded around us in the spirit of drunken revelry. One girl, across from me, she was a curvaceous treat. She was dark, and plump, and her skirt was so short that one could make out the cleft of her sex, open and available betwixt her spread thighs. Her brown eyes were smoky under the influence of alcohol and lust.

I watched, riveted, as a man placed his hand upon this girl's bare thigh, as his fingers snaked upward until they stroked, slow and smooth, along her inner folds. How I loved the youth of today, in all of their passion!

They were so much like me, these youths. They delighted in flesh, in warmth. I, myself, enjoyed the embrace of a warm body. They were the intellects; they loved to rhapsodize about twenty-first century ideals. More importantly, they tackled life with the belief that they could never die. As one who could not die, I appreciated the sentiment.

I believe Elle was jealous, for she grasped at my arm and pulled me against her. Firm and sure, she placed her lips to mine and razed her tongue against my lower lips. Her breasts were small, yet full. I could feel them straining through the sheer fabric she wore, plump against my palm.

She was shivering when she broke away. A blush of stimulation darkened her lips. Her nipples stood prominent against the diaphanous shirt she wore.

"You're so cold," she complained bitterly.

"You've warmed me," I replied. My smile was practiced, and it hid the sharp points of my canines.

Her bare arms snaked around my neck, her breath washed over my ear. "Come home with me. I need you, Fallon."

Even I, with millennia of experience, could not refute the plea of a beautiful maiden.

We left the club, just the two of us. Lovers ensconced in a conveyance of metallic black. She insisted on lowering the car's top, a request that I politely declined.

"Please," I said. "My eyes are sore from all of those lights."

She did not fight me any further. With shrill laughter and much touching, she carried me from the club, to her home.

She lived alone, which was something unexpected. Her years were young, perhaps not even peaking the twenties. In my experience, these young folk oft lived together, perhaps three and four to each tiny apartment. They were like the covens of old: It was another reason I felt so in tune with them.

I questioned her with a glance, and her mind made itself available with a stunning clarity. I saw a picture of southern geniality. I saw money. I saw grace and charm. I saw a middle-aged woman on a couch, her eyes glued to a daytime soap. She let out a girlish squeal and cried out, "Oh, Lordy! Eustace, look, they done and killed Barbara Finch!"

These thoughts passed by in merely an instance. When they were gone, Elle was staring at me in a kind of wide-eyed wonder. Her hand was on the doorknob and the door was ajar.

I grasped her suddenly and crushed her soft body to my unyielding frame. My lips sought hers with fervor, and my hands ran over the slope of her backside, kneaded her ass with a wanton selfishness.

"Will you invite me in?" I inquired, after ours lips had broken apart.

"Yes, of course. Come in," she answered, 'twixt greedy gasps of air.

Our limbs remained entwined as we crossed the threshold of her doorway. My heel kicked the door shut, my fingers parted from her flesh long enough to engage the door's lock. Then I returned to the heady scent of her skin, where blood pulsed hotly just beneath the surface.