Extorted Blood Whore

All characters 18+

*

It had only been a few days since I put the ad on Craigslist. "SWM seeks F vamp to receive blood donation in private setting. Possible repeat." I was expecting an email, but she skipped straight to ringing my doorbell 30 minutes after sunset on Friday night.

"I'm Alva," she said. "I saw your Craigslist ad." She didn't seem nervous or even cautious. Of course someone like her would be accustomed to the lifestyle.

She wasn't how I'd pictured someone responding to my ad. She wore downscale office clothes, including full-length loose pants and low kitten heels, plus a baggy windbreaker zipped all the way up and even a knit cap on her head from which no hair escaped. But her pale eyes pierced me hungrily like an authentic vampire's, and she was beautiful enough to get away with having extremely sharp and severe facial features.

"Come in," I said.

She swept past me, but not far into the house. She just leaned against the entryway wall with her arms crossed. "Shut the door."

I did. Instantly I was pressed shoulderblades-first against the wall by a slightly chilly hand on my chest, with another hand in my hair pushing my head over to one side so far and so fast I thought my neck might break. I know a vampire's fangs are an inch long at most, but the pain of penetration seemed to lance down to my stomach.

There was no accompanying reflex to move or escape. There was no fear. The bite effect suppresses those things. Clinically, I knew what to expect, so the localized rolling sting around my jaw and collarbone didn't surprise me, but if it had, I don't think I could have done anything about it. When she swiped her tongue over the punctures to spread coagulant, it was so fast I almost missed it.

She stepped back, completely physically disengaged. I gingerly straightened my neck, and despite myself, I touched the wounds probingly like the first-timer I was. In the time it took me to do that, she had left, even locking the front door before she closed it from the outside.

I felt a little faint, but also calm and confident. This too was an effect of the bite. Stage one: response to pain suppressed, inclination to hold still induced. Stage two: enzymes on the vampire's tongue encourage clotting around the wall of the blood vessel. Stage three: false sense of security (but in cases of dangerous or fatal feeding, stage two is skipped and stage three sets in before the vampire is done).

The average bloodbag in the scene is after that stage three feeling and thinks of it like a drug high. It's a fashionable alternative to certain recreational drugs. Some say it's easier to live a normal life as a bloodbag than on heroin. It's definitely cheaper if you can find partners. Some bloodbags even get paid.

Other bloodbags are in it as a fetish. To them, some or all of the process is a paraphilia. They might reach sexual climax simply from being fed on, but more often they have to touch themselves afterwards or arrange to be stimulated during. Vampires look down on these people, or so the stereotype goes, but they're so convenient that they can get what they want.

I was not in either category. I washed down two multivitamins and two vitamin C tablets with a glass of orange juice. With the right diet and a limited feed volume, you can safely v-donate as often as every four days. I put band-aids on the fang wounds — obvious as hell, but I didn't care who knew a vampire bit me. I definitely felt calm and confident, and it wasn't just from the effects of the bite.

When nobody had contacted me about the ad in the next 48 hours, I checked it and discovered it was gone. I wondered if it had something to do with Alva's ability to find my address. Maybe she worked for Craigslist and had decided to keep me for herself. I had mixed feelings about this. It wasn't according to plan, but it would make the plan more manageable. Still, I had been more ambitious. Goodbye, my dream of juggling six vampire women!

It was almost a week later when Alva reappeared. I didn't even know how she'd gotten inside my house. I was watching TV when suddenly the TV went off and I was lifted off the couch. "Wait!" I said.

I wasn't sure if it would have an effect, but she responded, setting me down on my feet and stepping back in a very measured way, like a duelist.

"I got a DNA test recently. I have a rare genetic condition. NUR-CLK3-B. This makes my blood addictive to vampires."

"Really?" said Alva.

"Yes, and withdrawal is pretty bad. The testing service said I should tell vampires before we did anything."

"Show me what they sent you."

I pulled up the email on my phone and handed it to her.

"'Inform v-partners before exchange of fluids,'" she read. "This is from two weeks before you posted your ad."

"Yes," I said. "I knew. What happened to that ad, by the way?"

"I had it removed," she said. "If you supplied anyone else, you could not keep up with me."

"How'd you remove it? How'd you find my address? Do you know someone at Craigslist?"

"No. I work for the government." She switched topics. "You deliberately addicted me to your blood."

"Yes."

"Now there is something you want from me, or else I'll go into withdrawal. You don't expect me to kill you, because then I would have no source of addictive blood. Also, the security camera on your porch recorded me, and it's a remote-upload model, so police investigation of your murder would be easy."

"We understand each other perfectly."

"How do you know I don't already have another source of this kind of blood?"

"I'm rolling the dice on that one," I said, wishing I could have done this part after a bite so the confidence would come more naturally.

"You are in luck. What do you want?" I was impressed with her poker face. Even in the middle of getting leveraged like this, she remained outwardly completely calm. Probably normal for all but the youngest vampires, and I got the feeling she was on the older side too, but still remarkable.

"I want a vampire girlfriend who does whatever I say to please me and get her fix."

"Huh." For several seconds she just looked at me. Then she licked her palm and pressed it to my forehead — another formal movement with seeming ritual significance. "Deal."

"Let's start small. Get on your knees and suck me off. You can feed when I'm finished."

I had expected argument. My ex-wife wouldn't have responded well to a request like that, and my ex-wife wasn't even a vampire. But Alva was on her knees immediately, undoing my belt with ease. Her first touch on my cock was with her mouth, capturing the head in her lips. They were cold, but not cold enough to stop me from hardening swiftly.

"You'll swallow, of course," I said.

"Mmm," she murmured, her mouth full and busy. She clamped her hands on my ass and fucked her own face on my cock. Her movements were mechanical and repetitive, but still very effective. I could feel myself getting close, and the fantasy of dominating a vampire was helping, but for that fantasy I wanted more control.

I pulled off her cap and her hair spilled out. I had expected black hair, or possibly white, but her hair was every other color instead. It was several shades of natural red, several of brown, and a wide range of blondes from dirty to strawberry to golden to platinum. The colors varied from strand to strand in such a thorough mix that it couldn't possibly be a dye job, just her natural hair color. The hair was rich and thick, glossy, very clean, with a slight wave that gave it a lot of volume. It went all the way down to her ass.

She didn't miss a stroke as I did this. I could definitely come if she kept it up, but I wanted to finish deep and show her who was in charge. I pushed my fingers through her beautiful hair and moved her head as I desired, setting the pace of my rush to orgasm. There wasn't the slightest resistance or hint of complaint from her. At the final moment, I pushed her down to the root of my cock, and her flawlessly swirling tongue milked my load into her throat.

She kept sucking until I pulled her head away. "That's a good little cocksucker," I said, when I had the breath. "You can drink from me here too." I guided her lips to the inside of my thigh, where the largest blood vessels are closest to the skin.

The entry of her fangs had a new dimension to it, tying nerves in my dick and balls in knots. Was it the location, or that she'd just gotten me off? Could someone in my position develop the bite paraphilia simply by association? I hadn't considered it, but for me it would be a win/win.

Her hair felt incredible on my bare, soft, wet cock. When she dragged her tongue across the bite, and I could feel stage three making me calm and confident, those knotted nerves pulled out their knots and a distant, dreamy second orgasm sent a single, long pulse of come into her hair. I had never ejaculated without a hardon before, and didn't even know it was possible.

"Good little blood slut," I said. "Your hair's dirty."

"That's fine," she said, tucking it back under her cap as she stood up. I didn't know why someone with such gorgeous hair would ever hide it.

"You know the way out," I said. "When you come back here, I want you dressed more traditionally. And let me know half an hour before you arrive. Say 'Yes, master.'"

"Yes, master," she said, and let herself out the front door, locking it behind her. I went straight to the vitamin cabinet. There was no way I'd let myself be unready to donate blood the next time she visited.

Five days later I got a text from an unfamiliar number late in the day. It said "This is Alva. I will be there." I switched the hot tub on and glanced in the basement to make sure everything was in order. I drank juice and took vitamins and tried to remain calm enough that I'd be able to act like a dom.

It crossed my mind for a moment that it would be nice to have another vampire to bite me to get me ready for her. But that was a stupid idea. I didn't have that much blood to go around.

When the doorbell rang I resisted the urge to look through the peephole, and forced myself to count out five seconds before opening it. Alva stood there with her hair loose, wearing a leather corset and miniskirt. Her PVC gloves went up nearly to the shoulder, and her PVC boots with six-inch heels went up nearly to the miniskirt. She was also wearing a studded leather choker, and a very sheer quarter-mantelet veil that breathed a little additional mystique over her milky shoulders and deep cleavage. Her purse was so tiny it couldn't have held much more than a phone and a credit card.

I stood aside so she could come in. "How big are your tits, bitch?" I said.

"C to D," she said. "Is this the kind of traditional dress you had in mind?"

"Yes," I said. "It's perfect. Take it all off."

She was very deft at undoing corset buckles. She also had an easier time getting out of long, skin-tight boots and gloves than I would have expected. She made a neat pile of her clothing on a chair and stood naked before me.

Her body was so impressive that it was unreal. Her skin was perfect, of course. Her boobs were world-class, with little barbells through her pierced nipples, although they'd lost the breathtaking depth of cleavage they'd had with the corset forcing them into place. Her shoulders were sexier than most women's tits or asses. Her fine muscles perfected the lines of her limbs and stomach. I had mixed feelings about her bald cunt. The smoothness looked like it would feel great when lubricated, but her magnificent hair had left me with a curiousity about her pubes that I wouldn't be able to satisfy.

"Turn around," I said.

She turned to face the wall, and I admired her peachy ass and the tautly-muscled backs of her legs.

"Move your hair," I said.

She moved a hand across her neck, shifting her hair to spill down the front of her body. I was glad I made her do it, because her back was a serious contender for her best feature, rivaling her tits. It was a perfect organic pattern of flesh and muscle, an anatomical ideal more suited to a statue than a living body. I ran my hand up from the small of her back to the nape of her neck as much to make sure it was real as for the experience of doing it.

"Go out back," I said. "Get in the hot tub. I'll join you."

I undressed as fast as I could. I was hard already, my dick nodding from side to side as I walked out to the tub. She was just lowering herself in, backlit against the tub lights, unconsciously showing off her legs and ass. I hadn't gotten the best look at her pussy before, but now I saw the fantastic swell and pout of her moon-pale fuck lips, which renewed my resolve that tonight I would have her.

I might have sat on the opposite side of the tub, but I reminded myself that this was not a date. I owned her perfect body. I would be fucking her before another hour passed. I eased myself into the water next to her, casually groping her tits under the waterline, tugging the piercings in her nipples. On my way down, I noticed her glancing at my hardon, the first possible sign that she might have a sexual interest of her own.

Her hand drifted to my cock and began working it with vigorous, twisting strokes — like her blowjob, a complex movement repeated perfectly every time. I had to grab her wrist and pull it away. "Not yet, slut," I said.

"You are bedwarming me, then," she said. Her hair spread out in the water around her, wet and flattened.

"What's that?"

"You are raising my body temperature so that I will be at your own level of heat when you fuck me." She lounged against the side of the tub, unbothered by my hands freely exploring her body.

"Yes. Do people do that a lot?"

"Sometimes. The interest comes from... desiring a vampire, but not at the vampire's own temperature. Someone with a well-developed fetish for vampire encounters would simply revel in a colder body. But you are different, for now."

"For now?"

"Such things develop. A vampire learns to enjoy the bite. You are learning to enjoy the teeth and draining."

So it was true — I could develop a fetish for her bite by allowing her to feed on me and exploiting her sexually. "Vampires have to learn to enjoy biting?"

"Yes. It's only after several times that the stages begin to develop. You know about the three stages of being bitten?"

"Immobility, blood clotting, and calm euphoria? Yes."

"'Unmoving, unbleeding, uncaring,'" she said. I didn't know the source, but it definitely sounded like a quote. "We have our own three stages. First, the urge to bodily restrain the victim, grasping limbs and so on. With inexperience it's very likely the victim's arms will be hurt. Second, the urge to drink. Third, the urge to lick, and a rush of energy and guardedness. 'Pinning, feasting, retreating.' All adaptive, of course. All contributing to a successful attack."

"Except in the case of a lethal feeding."

"That's different, and rare. An ordinary meal isn't even a pint. But yes, in the case of a blood kill, the third stage arrives sooner for the victim and is deferred for the hunter." She leaned her head back on the edge of the sunken tub. "Such an erotic conversation, casually discussing the bite with the bitten. And you know a bit about it, too."

"How much... sexual sensation do you have left as a vampire?" I asked, sliding my fingers through her pussy lips.

"It lies buried by the bite, most of the time. But for someone who makes a habit of mixing the bite and the fuck, it can be dug up again, the same way the bite grows to put the fuck under the skin of the victim." She shot me a glance from the corners of her eyes. "I've noticed your cock is uncut."

"Yeah."

"Most American men are cut, aren't they?"

"I don't know."

"I think they are. The influence of the English, of course."

"Really?"

"Yes. The English have rotten hearts. They built their empire on the self-destruction of others, then destroyed their own power, and now destroy themselves. Their whole culture is decay turned inward. Their famous sense of humor is pure sickness."

"I thought circumcision was Jewish."

"I haven't met many Jews. But I know the English."

"I hope this isn't your best dirty talk."

"I'll save that for later. I'm sure you have some lines for me. For now, I suggest three-quarters of an hour to bedwarm me."

"We might not wait that long," I said, slipping my middle finger inside her to the second joint and running my thumb up and down her asshole. Her pucker was so smooth and tight that I thought it might have atrophied to a surface feature only, with no anus behind it, but a couple of pokes with my thumb suggested that the channel could be reopened with enough force. My other hand continued to maul her amazing tits. "So you don't like the English. Where are you from yourself?"

"France."

"Of course. But you don't have an accent." Her pussy was a very comfortable place for my finger to slide around. I didn't plan on removing it even if she complained.

"Learning a language means learning the proper accent. If you don't, you'll be nothing but a funny foreigner."

"Some people think French accents are sexy."

"Then they can hear them in French." And she said something lengthy in French that I didn't understand a word of. My hand took a break from her tits to see if her shoulders were as soft and smooth as they looked. They were.

"I don't speak French."

"Perhaps not, but you hear it. How do you like the sound?"

"It sounded nice. But you have a nice voice in English too, I guess. If you hate the English so much, how come you wound up speaking English?" I probed a little harder at her asshole and got the first joint of my thumb in. Her anal ring of muscle was frighteningly tight. I might have to wear a wide cock ring for protection if I butt-fucked her.

"The American Revolution. Up to that point, this country was just a possession of the English. Then it became England's worst enemy. At the same time, they recruited energetically. From the beginning, America has been the best country in the world for vampire jobs. I hate boats, but I swallowed my bile and sailed the Atlantic."

"What's so bad about boats?"

"They just feel strange." Was that a hitch in her voice as I fingered her? She didn't seem as responsive as a normal woman, and as always she had an undefeatable poker face, but she definitely had internal muscles and they were working at my finger and thumb. Her nipples also seemed to be hardening. But there was no flush in her face or along her collarbone, and no ordinary rise and fall of breath in her throat and breasts — a real shame, with such breasts. She only breathed as necessary to speak.

"This hot tub doesn't count as running water, does it?"

"No. All that business about running water and bridges and invitations of entry came from observing rules of engagement. There would be orders from the employer about which parish to operate in, and whether to enter buildings, and whether to enter residences..."

"So a vampire's job is something like a commando, then."

"A commando, yes. I suppose. A scout, perhaps."

"And before the American Revolution, you worked for France?" I was almost positive her anal squeezes had a sexual rhythm now, but my thumb was so sore from the grip of her sphincter that I had to reluctantly pull it out. I continued to tweak her balloon knot, and tease it with prods of my thumb as if I was going to plunge back in, but that ring was just too tight for now. Perhaps I would make her wear a plug...

"Oh yes. Before that it was the Seven Years' War."

"How'd France lose that one with you on their side?"

"Pff. Someone like me is only parsley in the soup of war. A war is decided on the farmer's field before the battlefield. Even the workshops and counting-houses do more to determine the outcome." She smiled slyly in private amusement, looking up at the night sky. "Perhaps even generals and politicians."