Feasting on the FourthbyScottishChieftan©
Ah yes, the fireworks were spectacular, but the exhilaration of them ignited an inferno deep within my soul and awakened a hunger that has been dormant for far too long. As the celebrations abated, I turned my eyes, heart and mind towards prey and satiating this hunger burning so intensely in the pit of my stomach. When I saw her, I knew my fast had come to a close and the time to satisfy my yearning was at hand.
She had been walking to her car, in a somewhat shadowed part of the street when I noticed her. Silently, I stalk her, waiting patiently in the inky black heart of the shadows. Focusing my mind elsewhere for a brief moment, I allow her to pass by without allowing my carnal intent to send out psychic vibrations that would have no doubt alerted her to my presence. There is an odd link between prey and predator; hunting through the centuries has taught me this and I know that if I wish to feed on someone I cannot anticipate it or be too intent upon it as I strike; lest they feel me and flee before I reach them.
She glances over her shoulder as I approach, eyes widening, partially in fear and even more so from the erotic sensations paralyzing her lithe body. I use the force of sensuality, eroticism and that light, fuzzy sort of burn low in a woman's belly to my advantage, twisting it with my mind to create a paralytic dulling of the senses. Through psychic "tweaking," I manipulate it to my will and overpower the fight or flight instinct, leaving my victim with no choice but to await her fate—hell, even to yearn for it.
Hunger and a yearning for excitement, drives me to through caution to the wind. I walk quickly to capture her from behind, just as she reaches the cars and where the embrace of the night is darkest, deep in the shadows of covered parking.
Hey, I am hungry, what can I say? Sometimes there is simply nothing else to do, but satisfy the "itch" that torments us.
I turn the force of mind onto her pathetic little brain, ruthlessly battering down any resistance she may have offered and in less than an instant, knew she was mine.
Her eyes lock on mine and her body sags in limp submission. She melts back against her car, grinding her hips against my groin.
Though hunger is my driving force, other desires instantly spring to life and I feel the throb of it pulsating through my core. I lean in to kiss her and she responds with incredible passion. Thrusting her hips against me, she leans back as if offering her breasts to me. She arches over backwards and throws back the silky mane of hair that originally captured my attention. Exposed like a beacon crying out to me, her soft and delicate throat glimmers with a milky white sheen to it in the flickering shadows, the sweat of a July night and from her body's mounting desire, glistening and further intensifying my hunger.
My hand reaches out and I take her by the chin, tilting her head back further and without further ado, I sink my teeth into her throat. There is a soft tearing and gurgling sound; a glorious symphony of taste, sound and scent that always electrifies me to the core of my soul—but makes her eyes widen a bit, realization mixing with her own euphoric bliss.
Blood gushes out of her puncture wounds and cascades down my chin, dripping onto her heaving breasts and tricking down through her cleavage to form a rivulet flowing over her tummy.
She sags lower and her body falls totally limp. I lower her gently to the ground, never releasing my mouth from her throat. She emits a moan that is half pain and half orgasm.
Her body convulses and twitches; the shock of the loss of body fluid mixing with violent throes of a deeply intense orgasm. Her eyes flutter open and she stares at me. To me, this is sort of a sacred and sensual communion, our souls intertwining in harmonious sanctity; thoughts intermingling and an intense sort of bliss that is far too complex to convey to one that has never experienced it.
I love this. There is a purity to the act; a union of body, mind and soul. The taking of life in such a way is beyond description, it also quite often amuses me in a humorous way. It nearly always surprises me, even after countless centuries of taking lives to satisfy my appetites.
Here I am, draining every ounce of her life's blood and her reaction is to reach down and grab the pulsating shaft straining against my clothing. She strokes it through my jeans, hands grabbing at me with greed and desire. She is dying and all she can think about is a way, any way at all, to pull me into her and complete our union in the flesh, as well as the soul.
This is one of the parts of the "hunt" that thrill me to this very day, even after scores of centuries of feeding on these lowly humans. It really is fascinating, if you stop to think about it. Their minds are so tightly wrapped around their ever present sexuality that even in death, they cling to the joy and ecstasy of their sensual desires.
I wish I had the time, or even the inclination, to take this girl off somewhere and let our little dance last awhile longer, to please myself and draw out our little foray awhile longer.
The truth is, I just don't care to. She is a tasty treat to be sure. Her blood is good and pure, she is of a fine vintage, but I am simply not drawn to her. Even with the pleasure of her hand stroking me as she loses consciousness and the soft tickle of her blood trickling down my mouth and chin. She is a fine feast, but lacks something that I need in order to ignite the furnace in my soul.
As the light of life fades slowly from her eyes, I leave her there on the street. But, before I leave her, I lean over her slender form and kiss her on the forehead and whisper softly to her.
"Thank you little one, for the meal and the grope."
A weak smile twitches from the corner of her mouth, even as the light of life dims from her eyes. I seldom stay and watch my quarry pass from this life. I give them time to gather their thoughts, free from the grasp and control of my mind as they slip into the next phase of their existence.
I turn my mind to the coming night's activities and walk slowly away.
©2009 J.L. Day