Depravity's Daughter

But then, instead of waking to a new afterlife, there was a different sensation to wake me from the dark slumber. It started as a scent, something that was sweeter than anything on earth. It smelled like the purity of water when one is near death in the desert. It tasted like the nectar of the gods when one has paid the dearest price for eternal life.

Astarte's blood flooded my mouth and the sensation of my body slammed back to my awareness. I lifted to that taste and drank it while my cruel, terrible Mistress of the dark cooed over me with such depraved laughter. I would only remember one sentence she said.

"Take of your eternal punishment, little lion, and bask in the glorious pain of the insatiable sins that will never cease their cries for more."

And then there was nothing but terrible hunger.

————

I had taken to visiting Mr. Lott often during the days when he was searching for my tarot cards. I wanted to study the soul bonds and spiritual seasoning done with those cards specifically, for my own black magic purposes. My paranormal interests involving any kind of bond had grown far more aroused with my demon roiling through my blood. It had always been clear that there was some bond between he and I that was strange. Holding a demon was not something easily done and yet, I was managing to do so for millennia. Of course, some nights he would demand I take a guilty female, demand I rip her apart with my cock so that her blood dripped on my thighs even while I drank from the font in her neck. He was a demanding little fuck in my body at times, but he was worth the price of the sickening acts I had to commit.

Far more sickening acts had been done to me all those years ago. Grant you, I was a guilty soul as well.

But he was mostly quiet now after so long in my body and he fueled my interests in things like bonds to tarot cards. And Lott was more than amenable to a vampire companion, so long as he could ask me questions every now and again. I had considered this deal of his with the thought of a business perspective. His time was valuable for a human's timeline, and should be bought. What information was it worth to be able to study his collection of artifacts, to be able to make sure he retrieved my cards and fulfilled his pact?

Not overly much, actually, I decided. My demon would let me know if he failed and there was a contractual timeframe set. "You may ask me about my life and experiences, excepting secrets of demonism and dangerous magics. I will tell you some of the lighter magics if it applies to your questions, however."

My life was not a secret, but the fact that I had a demon basking in my blood was, as was the knowledge of how I killed my Mistress. But I would pay the price of some light information to combat some boredom for the time being.

Lott thought on it. "None of the big secrets, then, I'm assuming. Alright, deal. How old are you?"

"2,500 years, give or take a few decades," I answered easily, as we drank more of his expensive alcohol. I leaned back in his lounge chair, grinning when his eyes widened.

"Holy shit. That's why even I, as a human, can feel your presence. Did you know that? You have an aura about you that is black and vast and..." He looked away as if to deliberately break his focus on whatever my "aura" was. "It's terrifying. You're the oldest I've ever met, then."

I considered my words carefully. "My particular lineage of vampire is not well equipped to hide our presences. You may find that you come across another of my kind who is older, and you won't notice a thing besides a slight madness behind their eyes." It was somewhat true. The real reason was that it was my demon who made my presence so terrible. But arguably, my demon made me a new lineage of vampire altogether and I had not procreated since assimilating him. Whenever I went to try to create companionship for myself, something strange happened to my anatomy. Vampires felt a tug to procreate in the same way humans did. I wouldn't know, but supposedly it was intense pleasure. It was even pleasure to feed a fledgling, to have them take nourishment from our veins.

And yet, when I went to create, the interest left me and I ended up murdering instead. It was as if I had two biologies to sate in making a creation and the demon was not satisfied. As to what would draw his interests, I wasn't sure yet. Either way, I wasn't exactly lying. I was all there was of my "lineage".

Lott nodded thoughtfully. "Yes, I have heard your kind speak of bloodlines before. I did not consider it then, but I assume that means different forms of power or aura would come with each."

I inclined my head. "Just so. Although I doubt you're interested in the politics behind it. Vampires have nothing but time and are very, well, boring about their pettiness."

As I had planned, he leaned forward. "Tell me."

I did, gladly and without fight. If he was asking these questions then there were no secrets in them. They were like his trinkets, useless bits of knowledge for him to possess, and harmless to tell him. In that way, I paid for the right to accompany him through his nighttime business. He would command me away in the earlier hours of the morning and I would go to find other pastimes to occupy myself, which was not difficult. America was my favorite country, especially during the turn of the century. It was a country founded on rebellion. Hell, there was an entire genre of music created out of rebellion, one that had ruled Woodstock music festival. You could protest anything in this beautiful place. It was so easy for a vampire like me to make a little background chaos, to cause a little turmoil. All it took was one wrongful whisper in the right politician's ear, one terrible little nudge to a city boiling with tension, and I could spend the next few nights with my hands in the pockets of my blue jeans, walking through streets filled with riots, enjoying the scents of fire and looting and fear. War was a joy of mine as well, and it was really too bad that it was never done on American soil. No one had to kill up close and personal anymore and I could whisper in the right ear that all it took was a trigger pull.

So I found things to get into at nights. Then, I spent the days safely reading and painting in my secluded manor. By manor, I mean that it was really more of a very large house. Think upper middle class, but the location had been the real key to my home choice. Once upon a time, long before the Indians that the British conquered, there were different kinds of Indians and these were far more depraved. The land had been untouched and unknown, so demons had found such fertile ground to encourage things like human sacrifice. We had learned that if human races and tribes were in a large span of land without enough water to separate them, like Africa and the Middle East, they would find each other. This was a better scenario for us to have them murder each other. But the isolation of the Americas? The barbarism of ancient societies? My demon purred inside my blood any time I so much as considered it. Depravity. Such a delicate word, with an artist's touch to the genesis of it. All it took was that first snap of temptation and something beautiful was born.

Anyway, all that is just to explain that my land was desecrated. To the human eye, nothing would grow there, but to my demon hybrid eyes, the ground breathed sin. Lesser demons couldn't handle my home. It sickened even them to suffer the stench too long. To them, it smelled strongly of boiling blood and burning sulfur, all the delectable things of their real home.

Depravity was strong. We delighted in it. I could even open my windows and bask in the sunlight, within the safety of that patch of land. I knew not what had happened in that place, only that it must have been terrible because there was no hope for redemption. It was wonderfully secluded and I had every manner of protective magic around that place. As soon as anything so much as disturbed my daytime rest, I would know.

It was one of those nights, though, that Lott and I were speaking. We walked through his house and I was powerless to harm any within his residency, excepting in my own self defense, but I never worried. He was far too curious and I had too much information for him. In between his phone calls, he would look to where I read one of his books, in one of his armchairs, and spout off another question for me. His mind never ceased and I was happy for some company that knew what I was.

That specific night he was sitting with me, got the phone call, and politely disengaged himself. Normally, I tried to not listen. It truly wasn't fair to have supernatural hearing and it was just rude to eavesdrop.

Just kidding. His business actually bored me to tears. What more do you want from me? It could have been a selfless reason that made me refrain, though.

But then I heard his frantic voice, speaking denial in Italian. And I heard my tarot cards brought up, which earned my interest. His heart rate was thundering in terror, his voice was discordant with distress, his eyes were dilated. He argued. Oh, how he argued with whoever was on the phone with him.

When he hung up, however, he did not have the appearance of someone who had won that argument. He had the appearance of someone walking to the gallows, instead. "Problem, Lott?" I asked it softly, gently even.

It took an immense amount of courage to do what he did next and I had to respect him for it. It was the moment that let me know that I would be kind to his first born. I wouldn't torture them or kill them. I might drink, perhaps, from a fresh supply of the blood they would offer, but I would be kind.

Because he swallowed and sat on equal level to me. And he did not try to lie. He spoke true. "Your cards were taken from the men I sent to retrieve them. They won't say what stole them and they won't go after them. I will not have it to you in the agreed upon time." His voice shook and he had to force the words out, but he did so with all the honor and courage of men far better than he.

I inclined my head. "Don't worry about it then." There was no point. The demon pact would seal the fate of his unborn child. "I am sorry that our business went wrong. You have been good company and I thank you."

He swallowed, eyes wide and wild with terror when I stood. But he got to his feet. "I can send your money back to you."

"Don't worry about it." I repeated it softly. Because he would pay me back. He likely didn't remember that fact and he knew nothing of demons anyway, didn't even know I was one. I didn't say that reason out loud. Instead I said, "Consider it a gift for any future run-ins we may have together. A peace offering of a kind. Have a good evening, Lott."

The demon snickered with the feeling of having a human in his debt. He licked his lips and flexed his magic, powerful as it was. I knew before Lott did as soon as his seed took hold in his wife. I knew as soon as she conceived. It woke me from a nap and I blinked in interest. Of course, this would technically not count until the child was born, hence the language first born and it would not belong to me just yet. I would have to wait for the birth and then another 18 years after that.

But it was almost as if the magic was a doctor, of a sort, and this doctor considered it my right to know about the possibility. This life was my potential possession. I lifted my hand up to rest my head on it, smiling at the ceiling where I lay relaxed on my bed.

My demon was pleased. He was excited.

————

Before the demon's company, I had her horrible company. I quickly learned that my Mistress was a terrible creature. As soon as I woke, that curse of my kind fell upon me. We called it the Compulsion.

Newborn vampires would have rampaged if given half a chance, would have harmed their food source of blood as well. Nature, or divinity - whichever one a man chose to believe in - had an answer for this. A vampire's Sire held absolute authority over their children. The Sire's word was law and could not be disobeyed in any capacity.

I learned that very well and very harshly. Within a week she had taken me, traveling at night, to an underground nightmare of a place. It was a crypt she had used for safety during the days and she smiled when she had me there. "This is where you'll stay for a time, little lion. Stand right here against this wall." She pointed to a place that was the safest of the crypt. Even if there was a collapse, I would have been shielded from the sun's rays. "Now, I have a meeting to keep and I don't need a fledgling following me to it. You are to stand exactly as you are until I return and release you, understood?"

I had already started to realize that my body obeyed her no matter what my will was. It happened without my thinking about it, that obedience, and I hated it more than anything already. "Yes, Mistress." I intoned the words respectfully, as she had also commanded.

She left with a nod of satisfaction and she did not come back for days.

I would never know how long it was. My vampire muscles cramped from standing straight for so long when the newly born strength was dying to be used. But I barely noticed that fact at all because I quickly had all of my attention taken with something else.

Hunger. Thirst. It ruled every part of my being. It was the worst thing I had ever experienced, an insatiable hole in my stomach. My teeth elongated in animal need, my eyes burned, and I was blinded, snapping my teeth. I tried to focus on anything besides that terrible feeling, but there was nothing else to focus on. I could not sleep through this suffering, couldn't so much as move from that wall.

I could smell her when she finally approached the crypt and the scent of my Sire's blood made me salivate, made me pant with frenzy. She grinned when she saw me and I snapped my teeth.

"Hello, little lion. You won't be needing those murderous intentions for a while yet, pretty boy. You'll be at my vein for a long time. Now, I imagine you would like some of..."

I groaned as soon as she slit her wrist, using one of those nails of hers, and held it over a glass. The scent was so strong, so desired by my body, that it hurt me to smell it, actually hurt me. But I couldn't even think straight enough to beg. Astarte laughed at my suffering. "Look at me, little lion." I was forced to turn my gaze and attention to hers, as broken as both were. Even when she held the glass to my nose and I choked on bile and my mouth went dry as a desert, my attention was compulsively forced to her. "You have to earn your food. Every drink you have will come with my permission forever. Every second of relief is a gift from me. You will learn that. Now, you are going to show me that you understand by stripping naked and kneeling as my sexual slave. We are going to have a nice, long session where you eat me out and we fuck a few times. If you service me well, I will allow you the glass to drink. If you impress me, I will even offer you another glass. But if I don't feel your hunger in every stroke of your cock and every thrust of your tongue in my cunt, then I will leave for another meeting and who knows when I will be back? Kneel and thank me for my kindness."

I was forced to obey, near to tears. How had I fallen so low in that one night, what felt like eternity ago? How had I gone from being a death toll that rivaled a small plague to that?

I begged her to let me worship at her pussy and her asshole and it was more than heartfelt. The sooner she gave them to me, the sooner I could pleasure her and slake some of the eternal thirst in my being. I thanked her when she finally graced me with her sex on my face while I knelt.

I worked her for everything I had and it turned out that starvation for a vampire was even more of an incentive than the pain she had given me as a human. I fucked her on my tongue and I did every trick she commanded as soon as she commanded it. She came, crying out above me, over and over on my face.

And she used a riding crop on me when she had me fuck her from behind, like an animal. She smacked me with it, hard bites of the cruel leather, as if I were a prized stallion. "No orgasms permitted when you're earning food, fledgling."

By that time I didn't even care. My cock turned to that impossible hardness where I was trapped in the state of being about to cum and unable to achieve it because her word was law. But the pain was almost a slight distraction from the thirst. And she tapped the crop back against me cruelly. "Harder, little lion. I know you have more in you."

I obeyed. And I earned both glasses, though it was only just enough to take the edge off my hunger madness and nowhere near enough to satisfy.

The thirst ruled me, constantly, as per her commands and starvation diets. I ate her cunt more than I drank blood, and was never allowed to orgasm for the longest time. Everything became agony and I very quickly learned a self control that would become a monumental asset for me one day. Her cruel commands forced me to control. When she switched or whipped me, I was not permitted to fall and my muscles shook. But it turned out that it didn't matter how much pain she gave me. My body had the capability to stand through it and it did. It was knowledge that I locked in my head, along with the knowledge of hunger having no end and being a way to control a vampire, along with the fact that my body healed remarkably and the healing process increased my need for blood as magic repaired me. She would often whip me until the cuts wouldn't heal anymore and the flesh would just be laid bare, bloodless and agonizing. And then she would claw her nails across those marks so that I howled in torture.

The dungeon would change with our travels and I wouldn't even notice. I locked myself in a safe compartment of my mind and I don't know why that was, except to say that it was probably a basic self preservation instinct. I would have quickly gone mad in her dungeons if I hadn't. As it was, I kept that secret self locked up and stored little bits of hope and knowledge. I didn't know how I would get out of her grasp, but there had felt like impossible moments in battle too, so I would do so if it killed me.

I did something I wasn't good at. I bided my time and waited. I won't sicken you with all the details, except to say that I thanked her for every second where my pain was lessened. Starvation and torment became friends of mine in her dungeons and I learned to think through the pain, learned how to focus and not go absolutely feral under the hunger. I learned a great many things when it came to pleasing a woman and she did at least like it rough, so I got to indulge in that. There were silver linings. Small ones, but they were there.

I faded, with that one part of my mind safely locked away for the day when I could use it again and I let myself sink to the suffering, lest it destroy me. Every sentence out of my mouth ended with the word "Mistress". She would have me worship her asshole for hours, while she cropped my shoulders with instructions and called me her little lion. There was never any affection in the nickname, only degradation. At times, she would collar me with a cruel device that pierced into my neck and let my blood onto my shoulders so that I would have to smell it in my hunger, would have to feel the waste of such a precious fluid that I never received enough of.

And of course I learned her pussy both inside and out. I learned the way it looked spread around two fingers, the way it looked spread around my fist. I learned the way it pulsed and flowered apart with her arousal, the lips thickening and reddening and falling open to accept more. I learned the way her clit turned engorged and swollen to better allow me access to tease it.