The Chosen One

The Halloween competition failed to quench my thirst for blood and some real-life events inspired this story. Horror normally freaks me out so I tried to put a humorous twist on it. I hope you like.

Have you ever had a nightmare when something happens to your sleeping, unconscious body in the physical world and your mind weaves the experience into your nightmare, making them the most realistic, terrifying, disturbing dreams ever? I had a few in my teenage years, and there are two in particular that I remember very vividly.

The first one took place when I was around twelve, when my pet rat escaped from his cage one night and decided to waltz across my snoring face, which my brain transformed into a horrible monster clawing at my face trying to rip my skin off. The blood-chilling scream escaping my lungs instantly sliced through realms, shattering the dark silence of my room; it seemed to ripple on the walls, waking the whole house. I'll never forget my mum's face as she stood in the door in her bright yellow nightdress. Her lips were enquiring whether I was ok, but her exhausted, weary eyes were asking, 'What the fuck just happened?'

It was the last time I ever owned any kind of rodent.

The second one happened when I was about fourteen, at a summer camp where we slept in log cabins in the middle of a dense forest. The windows were very low, and because of the summer heat they were only covered with insect screens. I think a fox or possibly a cat was scratching the net and, in my dream,, I was trapped in a building with a giant Cerberus-dog-type monster trying to get in. When it was about to rip through the window I gave out one of those deafening, blood chilling screams and it seemed to go on in a loop right until one of the teachers came in and shook me awake. Apparently I woke half the camp and people were still talking about it days later. I felt really awkward for the rest of the week and wished the earth had swallow me.

Luckily I haven't had any similar dreams since. At least, not until now.

In my dream we are in a devastated, post apocalyptic world and some sort of chemical-acid rain falls from the troubled skies. I'm running for shelter but the drops hit me and burn excruciatingly painful blisters onto my cheeks and arms. I howl with agony, and this thankfully wakes me. I spring up in bed like a jack in the box.

"Fuck. That felt so real!" I mutter into the darkness, as I rub my arms trying to smooth my still prickled skin back into a calmer state; I notice how damp my skin feels and instead of feeling relieved that the acid rain was just a dream, that realisation suddenly plunges me back into another kind of terror - because it is real. There is something on my skin -- some sort of thick, sticky liquid. I try to reach for the night lamp in vain as the shivers running through my veins render me frozen on my bed. Somehow, finally breaking my ice shell I manage to flick onawake the faint the light on my bedside table, my eyes adjusting to its feeble glow.

My flowery white bedding is covered with red spots; looking up I see that the red liquid is seeping down from the light fitting on the ceiling, trailing down the purple lampshade. In the dim light that permeates the room, realization hits me like a sledgehammer. Oh my fucking god, it's blood! Time slows down and it seems as if I'm hearing things from underwater. My heart is replaced with a heavy rock and I'm pretty sure it just stopped beating. As if fighting for air, I draw in a quick, heavy breath and force myself to think straight.

My ever so logical and realistic brain chimes in on an annoyingly patronising voice; there is a perfectly fine explanation for this. It be anything.

Like what? Fucking ketchup?, the snarky me replies. You think the guy upstairs was having dinner and spilled some ketchup? It IS fucking blood!

While those two are having a heated argument, I see my hand being raised to my face and I stare at the red drops on my naked arm. Involuntarily I dip a finger into it then sniff the substance. Do you want to lick it too? Snarky ass attempts a joke.

It can be rusty water from the bathtub or something similar,. The smart ass voice scorns.

It is fucking blood. We should call the police.

You know you've got a big problem when your voices refer to you as 'we'.

Ohh and what if it turns out to be something ridiculous like red paint?

I often have conversations in my head. Doesn't everyone? But they've never been this extremely loud and arrogant - and at the same time neither have control of my body. Something else does. I find myself getting dressed and head for the door as if it was completely acceptable or wise to investigate such a thing at twenty-seven minutes past midnight.

I'm not a great fan of the horror genre, but even I know that the ones doing something this stupid often meet a grizzly end.

Call the fucking police! Snarky tries to stop me before I shut the door behind me. I'm watching the events from the outside like a movie, as I have no control over my body. The conversation keeps running in my head and there are a million reasons why I should stay the fuck away and not climb those stairs to the third floor... and yet that is exactly what I find myself doing.

One of the voices tells me that once I reach the floor, I will just look at the closed door and turn back because it's not like I can just knock on a stranger's door at this hour, but as I reach the top of the stairs I find the door of 4/B ajar. Soft music is seeping out.

"Hello?" I call out hesitantly, sticking my head through the door.

It is real life. Grow up. There's nothing out of the ordinary here.

When there's no reply I enter on unsteady feet. The soft disco music is louder, other than that, I hear nothing else. I walk towards the source of music which seems to be the bedroom. The flat obviously has the same layout as mine.

Now I seem to hear a low moaning sound. Maybe someone is in trouble. I've read somewhere a few weeks ago that a guy fell face down into a glass cutting his face and eyes and he had to use Siri on his phone to call for help as he was temporarily blinded. Maybe something like that happened here. Heartened by that thought of possibly saving someone's life, I step into the cream carpeted bedroom.

The sight I walk in on seems like a couple just doing the deed: a guy on his back in the middle of the bed, a black-haired girl straddling him, hunched over his body with her back towards me. She has a black vest top on but apart from that, they are both naked. I'm backing out when I notice the pool of blood staining the pastel carpet. I draw in a gasp of air and try to turn and flee but the girl turns towards me and the next thing I know she is standing in front of me, blocking my way out, pushing the door shut with her shapely ass. Oddly she's now wearing a pair of skin-tight, black leather pants with half a dozen zippers and pockets. Oh my god, those thighs! Pure muscle and strength, sculpture of a huntress as she wedges them between me and my escape door.

My mouth is still open, ready for a scream, but she opens her captivating, midnight red lips and curls them into a 'you better not' smile. Pressing her finger against my lips she cocks her head, closely studying my face.

"I was hoping you'd join me," she purrs on a low raspy voice.

I smell blood on her fingers and I suddenly crave a taste of it, crave a taste of her. My eyes are locked on those lips. I can't decide whether they are red or black and I wonder whether they taste like overripe, dark, gypsy cherries. She is without a doubt the most beautiful girl I've ever seen, but only if that scale includes otherworldly, edgy beauty. Her raven black hair is straight with a fringe that almost covers her thin contoured eyebrows. She has eyes that swallow you like a depth of a bottomless well, and her arms are extravagant pastel-white canvasses for some Japanese art.

When I manage to take my eyes off her I try to gather my thoughts. "You could have just knocked on my door. A girl like you is always welcome." I hope she appreciates my attempt at humour and flirting. I tend to become childish and silly when faced with someone so out of my league.

"I prefer theatrical entrances," she shrugs. "Now, that you have seen it," she (nods her head towards) the guy on the bed, "I either have to turn you or kill you."

"Turn me?" Let's just pretend that I haven't even heard the other option. I'm only 25, don't wanna die yet.

She rolls her murderous eyes, her long heavy eyelashes fluttering in slow motion. She waits for me to catch on with a heavy sigh. I get what she means, alright, she is obviously a vampire. But hold on, vampires don't exist.

She smiles at me again in that restrained, forgiving way, as if hearing my thoughts. "You are so cute and innocent." Her soft voice seems to float around me, filling the air like sweet perfume, making me light-headed. "By the way don't feel sorry for that pig," she gestures towards the dead guy again. "Fucking scum, a rapist." She turns slightly and spits towards him. It splatters in a red patch on the floor in a way that I find bizarrely erotic. I always knew I was slightly twisted, but this is a bit beyond that.

"A rapist with a small joke of a dick," she continues with a grin. I look at the body, disinterested in the fact that he is very obviously dead, and take in the sight of his tiny penis.

"Maybe it was a grower," I smirk. This whole scene is so surreal that my comment doesn't seem out of place at all.

She chuckles in a very honest, adorable way. "Your sense of humour is one of the things I've chosen you for. It's a grower no fucking more."

My obvious question should be, "Chosen me for what?" but instead I find myself asking, "What are the other things?"

"Have you ever looked in the mirror, darlin'?" I have no idea what she's on about. If she's a ten, which she undoubtedly is, then I'm not even a five. She senses my lack of understanding, and continues, "Not only you are fucking hot, but you are the complete opposite of me. And I like opposites," she declares with thick confidence of a spoiled brat who can have absolutely anything she wants.

She pulls me in front of the mirrored door of the wardrobe. Pool of blood behind us, dead guy to the left, only a few steps away. I try not to look at him. Before I focus my eyes on our reflection, I notice that the mirror is also stained with blood spatters. "Not looking forward cleaning this up," she sighs, then talking to her reflection, she adds, "You are such a messy girl." As she smirks at her own joke her deadly razor-sharp fangs flash for a fraction of a second.

She covers her mouth with her palm as if she had just burped. "Oh, pardon me," she chuckles, fangs now disappeared.

"I kinda like them," I admit with a cautious laugh, watching her in the mirror as she takes a position behind me, her hands on my shoulders. She was right, we do look like a centrepiece on a table of wet dreams together. My approachable, girl next door face with my soft blonde curls tones down her cruel, 'don't fuck with the devil' look.

"I always liked a bit of danger," I whisper narrowing my eyes.

"I'm very dangerous, not just a bit," she scoffs, play-biting my neck. My pussy throbs painfully with surprise and anticipation. She seeks out my gaze in the mirror, flash of fury in her dark eyes.

"Did your mamma not teach you about playing with fire, Grace?" She shakes her head in a cynical slow motion.

"She has tried... how do you know me name?"

"I know effything, ma chérie." Her exaggerated French accent is sexy and adorable.

"I thought vampires don't have reflection in the mirror," I muse.

She giggles. "That would be a bitch. How the hell would I do my make up? So," she adds after a brief pause, "have you decided? Do you want a pair of these?" she flashes her long, pointed canines into the mirror again. She gently rakes the side of my neck with them while her palms seek out my tits, and by squeezing my nipples she keeps me teetering on the deadly cliff of pleasure.

"Come on... I want a sexy playmate for ever." The promise of immortality is both thrilling and terrifying... but she is licking me neck and I know I couldn't stop her even if it's gonna be the end of me. "It will be fun," she purrs.

I close my eyes and grind my butt into her, then a sudden thought cuts through me. What if I'm still dreaming? For some reason instead of pinching myself I decide to rub my sensitive button as if that would make me wake from a wet dream. Nothing changes and I open my eyes.

She raises her eyebrow, "What did you do that for?"

"To check if I'm dreaming."

"That's an interesting way to check."

She spins me in front of the mirror and when I come back after the 360 spin I stand there completely naked.

"Mmm mmm, I've watched you many times, but you are even more irresistible now that you are in my arms."

"How did you do that?"

"Undressing you?"

"Yup."

She giggles. "There's not much I can't do."

She puts a finger on the mirror and it goes black. I feel her warm body briefly leave mine and now she's naked too. She's like art, and not just because of the beautiful ink covering her body. She's death and resurrection, and not just because of what she is.

I want her like I never wanted anybody in my life. I want her to have me, to own me, to destroy me if she so pleases. Her expression turns slightly worried and she cocks her head as if she was contemplating something. Then suddenly remembering it, she apologetically exclaims, "Shit, I forgot that you are being compelled... let me try something." She draws a circular line over and under my breasts, around my body, over my arms and I watch in the mirror as ropes appear around me, following the tingle of her touch. My legs are soon bound in the same fashion, my thighs pressed together securely. My pussy tightens as skin is pressed to skin and I'm suddenly immobile and vulnerable.

She touches my lips, which become covered with grey duct tape. "Don't freak out," she whispers into my ear. "I'm going to remove the compelling spell. She kisses me over the tape on my mouth. "Just in case you'll look at me differently."

Should I be worried? What if I find her repulsive after?

"No. It will just tone down your lust," she answers, confirming that she can indeed read my thoughts. "Look into my eyes in the mirror," she instructs. As I do so, I see a black lightning in her eyes but nothing changes. "You okay?" she asks, with a hint of nervousness. "Can I remove the duct tape?"

I nod. "I feel no change."

She smirks, "Excellent. Let's go to yours. This place is making me sick."

Within moments, we're in my flat, next to my bed, and I'm still tied. "I suppose I should remove these?" she asks looking at me; then tracing the rope over my tits, she muses, "I sort of like how these cut into your skin, though. I guess, I kinda want to hurt you a little."

I want you to hurt me a little. No! No! Shit, shit, she can hear that! Oh, what have I done? She looks at me with a smile of a chubby cartoon cat, about to put her giant paw on the little dumb mouse. I grunt deeply, accepting my fate and feeling my pussy moisten with anticipation between my still tied legs. I want her to touch me, to play with me even if it means she will hurt me... a little... or probably a lot.

"Are going to kill me then?" I gulp audibly.

"Sorry." Her lips straighten but her eyes tell me she's not sorry the least. "I want you," she comments matter-of-factly like the spoiled girl she so obviously is, about to lose patience and throw a tantrum. I love the way how she forces her mouth straight and her eyes narrow. It turns me on. I wonder what happens if someone really pisses her off.

"I think you are bluffing. You won't turn me unless I agree."

She steps away and starts slowly pacing the room, her arms folded. They keep her perfect tits from bouncing up and down. Then she looks at me sternly. "Grace," my name sounds like an interstellar adventure on her tongue, "you are testing my patience."

"I don't even know your name."

"My name is Sive." She gives me a sideways grin. "Now, I can kill you?"

"How old are you?"

"Two hundred something. Does it matter?" With a shrug of a shoulder she gets rid of the ropes as she continues "Okay, you're right. I won't turn you without your permission, but I've been following you, wanting you for months..."

"You don't have to turn me. I keep my mouth shut. And we can still have fun."

"Whatever," she grins, "just let me touch those gorgeous tits, for heaven's sake.

She fondles my breasts, her movements hurried and impatient. I close my eyes and feel her warm breath on my neck as she's licking me.

"You're right, its much more exciting if it doesn't happen just yet. I like suspense... I will savour your blood later. Nothing can stop me tasting you in other ways," she murmurs suggestively, kneeling between my legs. She pushes them further apart and explores my folds, manoeuvring her tongue like a virtuoso . She's quite adventurous, pulling my lips apart to blow gentle kisses on them. She slowly enters me with a few digits before removing them so she can taste my nectar on her fingers.

"I could live with this," she moans, holding her glistening fingers against her puffy, deep red lips before provocatively plunging them into her mouth, drowsily finger-fucking herself orally. When she catches me watching her with hungry eyes she dances the tip of her tongue on her index finger. I drop to my knees and kiss her, her piquant finger between our embracing lips, feeling the irresistible urge to bite those sexy, fat lips.

She gathers my hair around her fist and tilts my head sideways fucking my mouth now with her juicy fingers. "You're such a player, come and let's play then," she grits her teeth pushing, rolling me onto my back. My sex it swollen and moist, as it has been ever since I first saw her straddling her victim. She folds in my outer labia as if closing a book and gently strokes it with her silken touch.

"That's fucking nice," I moan an approval loudly.

"One picks up a few tricks in two hundred years," she purrs before letting out a soft chuckle. She taps her fingers on my now concealed pages; trapped adventures throb beneath like the Jumanji board. She's using one hand to stretch the soft skin around my clit and continues drumming a rhythm on my button. It's a completely different sensation compared to rubbing it.

I only came like that once before, when Miss Watson, my science teacher, used a ruler on me. I forgot how amazing that felt, a clit spanking orgasm. My button swells with excitement as she plays with the unbelievably sensitive hood. I pant heavily with need. Please don't let her stop. Ever.

I know she's smiles even though I cannot see her face between my legs.

My clit unveils itself for her like a rosebud, and underneath my swollen hood it feels like she's touching my with a sharp pin, pleasure and pain interchangeably edging me towards the clifftop. My breathing becomes ragged as I wordlessly beg her to push me over the edge. Entering me with a slick finger, she expertly seeks out my G-spot, keeping her digit on it like a trigger while her tongue pierces that tiny electrostatic speck on the tip of my clit. I come on those sexy fucking lips like a bolt of lightning, sparks flying in my head like fireworks.

When I come round after a few moments, I push myself up onto my elbows. "Your turn?" I ask, beaming at her like a toddler who just got off the merry-go-round.

"Later, baby," she responds, wiping her slightly smudged lips on the back of her hand. "I'm satisfied for now... and we have a body of a small-dick-rapist to get rid of."