Becky's Dreams

Fingers creeping and crawling slower and slower towards heaven, she feels the suction as he closes his mouth to bring her the bite she so longs for and craves so desperately. She feels his teeth drag over her sensitive skin and pull back, she tenses knowing that next comes his angelic bite. Bracing herself, she feels a flood of moisture cascade down her thighs as a spectacular orgasm racks her body. Closer, closer, here it comes. His teeth press into you.

Tap, tap, tap, a knock echoes on the door.

"Becky, are you all right in there?" A worried voice violently disrupts the moment.

She looks into the mirror, but still there is nothing. Now there is not even the outline of hands and the skirt has floated back down to her knees.

"Yes, I am OK." She says with a disappointed feeling washing over her. She smiles softly and gazes at her flushed face in the mirror. Leaning slightly forward, she blows a kiss and walk to exit the door.

******

Lying in her hotel bed, alone and bored, Becky drapes herself across the bed to take a nap. Away at some training for work, she enjoys the quiet solitude and time for herself. Even with the peace and tranquility of not being subject to the constant beck and call of seemingly endless stream of people needing something from her, she can not quite seem to relax enough to take the luxurious nap she has been yearning for. She is having trouble identifying the cause for the restlessness and then it comes to her—she can feel him coming for her. There are a couple of very important parts in that last thought that bother her, as if she heard someone else pointing them out to her; Things so subtle as to be ignored by many, so her subconscious seems inclined to enlighten her.

First is the very fact that she can somehow sense him coming for her, moving closer and closer as he makes his way?

Second is that she can feel him coming at all? Feel, not hear, that idea is disturbing as well. Somehow in the pit of her stomach, she could feel him closing in long before she had the slightest sound to validate the feeling.

The third thing that troubles her was that the inner voice quite clearly said coming for you and not coming to you. Something so simple as replacing the to with a for, yet it made an entirely different change to the context of the thought.

Feeling a unique and heady feeling building to a crescendo in her mind, she realizes that the emotion so completely overtaking her is a mixture of horror and pure, unadulterated wantonness. Feeling his nearness, her breath speeds to a pant, tongue continually flickering along anxious lips and her breasts heaving as if she had just finished a marathon. What is it that she is feeling Dread—Anticipation—Lust—Fear— Desire? A plethora of emotions swarm through her mind and ignite a fire throughout her body.

Now he is close enough that she can hear his boots as he stalks down the concrete hallway; a hollow and echoing click as each heel impacts the floor. In the core of her mind, she knows he is making so much noise in an effort to torture and entice her mind to wander. Closer and closer he comes, finally there is an incredibly soft and gentle tapping at the door. As she walks to the door, her mind wrestles with what might come next. She knows she should run, that locking the door and calling the police is the only logical thing to do. That is what she knows she should do. It is what she knows any sane person would do. But, it isn't what she wants to do, and it isn't what she does. She opens the door.

As the door swings open, she instinctually lowers her head and locks eyes on the floor—her mouth opens and from somewhere deep within her soul she hears a voice—saying meekly "please come inside, Master." She steps back and away from the door, feeling him as he sweeps past and into the room. The door slowly swings shut and the locks click into place with a click, snap, thunk.

Startled, she realizes neither one of them had touched the door or took the action of shutting it. It had just miraculously shut, seemingly of its own volition, but her heart knows whose powers closed the door. Tears well in her eyes; her body trembles and the fire in an already nervous tummy roars into an eternal flame.

Her eyes lift to stare into his. He raises his hand, palm out to her and then she comes to the realization that she is completely paralyzed. Somehow, with the gesture of raising his arm, he had cast a spell or hypnotized her in some mystical way. Now he walks to her—tantalizingly slow—places a hand upon her heaving chest and pushes her back onto the bed. She falls onto her back, eyes staring at the ceiling and feels his knees sink into the bed beside her.

She observes for the first time, that his index finger has transformed into what could only be described as a talon. It slides along the bottom of her jaw and scrapes at the edge of her chin; then it flicks downward and the buttons of her blouse are gone. Her blouse falls open, with the same nonchalant movement he separates the bra in the middle and it slowly slithers off of her breasts and falls limply to each side. His hands slide under her shoulders and he lifts slightly up—drawing her to his chest—as the other hand pulls the remnants of clothing from her shuddering body.

A quick flick of the sharp talon and the pants are button-less, tug and the zipper gives way. A ripping or maybe more like a tearing sensation tickles her and she realizes the razor-like talon is cutting the pants off of her. The jeans make a sort of vibration as the talon slices through the cotton threads. A quick whisk of his hand and her panties join the pile of shredded material that once was clothing.

Straining to raise her head to look at him, she feels his gaze seep into her soul as his burning eyes lock onto hers. There is an almost rhythmic pulse as his eyes seem to throb with color. Not color as most people have in their eyes. A smoldering fire lies in his eyes; pitch black darkness that seems to suck her in, willing or not. Two large orbs of darkness become one and then all is black as reality first blurs and then falls completely away.

She sees him purse his lips and blow—as if I were going to whistle at a pretty girl— and as he does so the lights pop out one by one. Pop, pop, pop, pop. As the last bit of illumination disappears in concert with the final popping sound, she realizes her eyes are already adjusted and can see everything around her in perfect detail. Everything, with one exception, that is. He is gone and no longer kneeling beside her on the bed. She is alone and can sense somehow, that he is not even in the room.

She lays there for awhile, occasionally trying to move, but somehow knowing that though he is away, his grip on her has not loosened in the least. At long last, she hears his boots again. This time there is the scrape and unmistakable dragging sounds accompanying the hollow click of his boot heels. The door swings open as if on its own volition and then she sees his shadow in the door. He steps into the room and she sees what was making the dragging sounds outside. The door slams shut seemingly of its own accord, and she can see and hear a whimpering young woman half sitting and half kneeling at his side, his hand entwined in her long flowing hair.

Wondering what he has in mind, part of her logically thinks this is some act of perversion and he is bringing a third party into the nights frolic in classic ménage a trios. But even as she thinks it, she feels her eyes pulled to his and watches as he bends to scoop her up to place the shivering girl on the bed by her side. Breathless, she watches as his head lowers to the quivering girl; as his lips close on her throat and then she forces herself to stifle a scream as she hears his needle-like teeth pop through the flesh of the tender tissue. She sees it all in slow motion, how the girl's legs stiffen and jerk; how her body seems to convulse, but more like from orgasm than from pain. She sees the struggling body soften and watches in amazement as the terrified girl calms and then seems to melt into him. Becky then notices he has stopped. She feels a dampness between her thighs and realizes how excited she is. Well, not just excited, but, well. What is it? Lustful? Desiring? Anticipating? Oh, wait. No. Now she recognizes the feeling. It is hunger.

Becky watches in total awe as he draws her closer and then offers the young girl's throat like the tantric spoils of war.

"Drink, little one" rumbles his voice, though she knows his lips never moved.

She lowers her mouth to cover the wound left gaping in the delicate neck and without the slightest revulsion begins suckling the blood as it streams from punctured veins. As she laps eagerly at her bloody feast, her mind recalls suckling the baby at her breast and she feels her nipples tighten. It is the same sensation, the same peace. It is an eerie semblance to a suckling child and the bond between mother and infant. The bond is different, the emotion unique, but the underlying chemistry feels vaguely the same. After a moment, she realizes she can feel the heartbeat of her conquest. She can feel it drumming in her temples, throbbing in her femininity. Then she feels very nearly as if her hungry mouth was inhaling the girl's soul. Watching her body grow limp, she senses the life slipping from her prize, like the girl is sliding out of a cloak and stepping towards freedom and release. None of the sadness one would expect, none of the guilt or stomach wrenching horror at what she had just done. It was as if she had done the girl an incredible honor, or perhaps as if she had given her a great gift.

As the life ebbed from the girl's body, Becky could sense the soul pass through her and exit as it re-entered the universe. This was an awakening, she began to realize that there is no death, there is only a continuation of life. A soul merely takes a step from one world into another; the mixing of day into night. She kissed the girl's cooling forehead and thanked her for the gift, then she turned her eyes to meet her Master's. She could see the obvious pleasure in his eyes, but there behind the twinkle of happiness she could also see the roaring furnace of desire building towards release.

She again feels as if she is paralyzed by some magical spell and watches as he leans toward her face. Thinking he is about to kiss her, or possibly rip out her throat, she can not help but feel slightly nervous as his lips reach for her soft skin. Then she feels the stroke of his tongue and the plumpness of his lips pressing into her and realizes he is cleaning the blood from her.

"Mmmmmm, a fine vintage, was she not" she hears his voice echo in the recesses of her mind.

Then his lips travel downward to her chest and cover each breast, smothering them in affectionate kisses. His tongue trails along and slithers to and fro intermittently between kisses. He circles the erect and swollen nipples, kissing and sucking the soft underbelly of each breast. His tongue then dances upward and spirals teasingly around each nipple, first one and then the other. Slowly and softly, he suckles them one at a time into his mouth, swirling his tongue around them playfully. He moves back and forth, sucking, tugging, licking, biting, pulling and sensuously smothering each breast in attention as he lavishes affections upon her. His hands reach down, parting willing thighs as he suckles her breasts and his knowing fingers dance erratically over her skin. Dancing and hopping from location to location, his fingers somehow seem to deepen her enchantment.

Lifting his face from Becky's exquisite breasts, he begins kissing down the middle of her tummy, slowly and sensually. His tongue glides over her clean-shaven pubic mound, and he lifts his eyes to meet hers.

"Maybe later, little one" he murmurs softly and then moves back down to lie beside her.

A low moan escapes her, the anticipation and sexual excitement that was building within her body cries out for release, but she knows it must wait for later. He seems to have other plans.

Taking her by the hand, he gently pulls her to a standing position and guides her across the room. They step out onto the balcony and before she realizes what is happening, he pulls her with him to step out into space. For a brief moment the night air rushes by her face and causes a lump of terror to rise in her throat, surely they are falling.

The dropping sensation lasts for but a brief moment and then they begin to soar as if on magic wings. Holding hands, they glide across the night sky and the lights of the city dim below. Somehow she knows, if he were to let go of her hand she would plummet to a gruesome death. Air rushes over her nude body, she feels as feel light as a feather as they continue their ascent into the night.

Far below the city fades away and the lights dim, then blur and finally disappear. The wind courses over them and its caress on her bare skin reminds her of skinny-dipping on a warm summer night. It flows over her body, tickling and soothing every nook and cranny, as well as the more delightfully exposed portions of her perfect anatomy. The night is pure blackness, with the exception of the moon and the stars. Climbing closer and closer to the moon, she experiences an exhilaration that is impossible to describe. They fly higher and higher, until finally her lungs feel as if they will implode and then they begin a gradual descent to the waiting earth. Ever so slowly, the lights begin to glow brighter, the city comes back to life and the world becomes animated again.

****

Once more, Becky finds herself waking in confusion. Her stomach heaving and cramping, she rushes into the restroom to vomit and torrents— of what could only be blood—gush from her mouth. Kneeling in front of the toilet, she wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, staring at the smear of near black blood left there.

Once the cramping ceases, she rises to her feet and staggers to the sink to wash her face and gargle. Looking into the mirror, she finds herself re-living the previous night and wondering how much was real and what might have been nightmarish dreams.

Mom, a voice calls out to her from somewhere deep in her subconscious.

This voice isn't mysterious or awe inspiring, it is the sweet and angelic voice of her son. His voice rings in her head, echoing in her ears. Conflict rages in her mind. The voice of her son brings reality sharply into focus and she feels the turmoil of chaotic emotions battling for supremacy in her heart.

As she brushes her teeth, images of her son flash through her mind. She can't help but wonder why he is on her mind so much, she travels to schools and seminars often enough and isn't usually plagued with homesickness. Yet, there he is, in her every thought.

Then it dawns on her. Last night's adventures, where are they taking her? Where is this wonderful and exciting new Master leading her? As she replays the night's activities, she feels no shame or remorse. It was oddly beautiful, the taking of the girl's life and in reality she herself had not punctured the delicate throat nor had she stolen the girl away. She relived the euphoric moment when the girl's soul slipped free from her body, the pure glow of happiness in the youth's eyes and the whispered thanks as her soul left this life and entered the next.

No, there was no shame there. When she saw the gorgeous soul floating upwards to the brilliant white light miraculously appearing in the night sky, all she could remember feeling was joy and celebration. She knew the Master had not taken life from some one with a desire to live, but instead had assisted an unhappy soul in gaining it's freedom. She knew the death had been merciful and liberating. She recalled her surprise at discovering that life was so fragile, so beautiful and that there was no real death. Passing away meant just that, passing from one life into the next. No terror, nothing to fear, just moving from one point into another.

What is it then, that bothered her?

Mom, the voice again pleaded in her mind.

Then it came to her. To live the life of her beloved Master would mean abandoning her child. She played no games with herself. She knew what her Master was and what it meant. He was a vampire, an immortal and to devote herself to him would mean leaving her child. The mere thought of this brought pangs of remorse and in her heart, she knew she could never abandon her child.

But, what about him, his feelings, his pain; does it even matter? Would he even let me leave, anyway? Her mind played through countless scenarios as she gathered her thoughts.

She could see him, her imagination held a perfect picture of his face. There was something sad and forlorn about him, though he had never mentioned it, she knew that his was a lonely soul and that eternity took it's toll on even the strongest. Part of the smoldering blackness of his eyes was a haunting, empty loneliness. It lay there, unheeded by most, she was sure. Yet, it was there and she could see it.

"Master, come to me if you can," she spoke aloud, her voice sounding hollow in the empty room.

His voice startled her, it replied so quickly and so very closely.

"Yes, little one." He answered.

Her shocked eyes look up, seeing him standing in the corner and immersed in the shadows of the dimly lit hotel room. His warm smile fills her with joy, her body feeling as if it might float happily into the air. So many gifts this man had given her. There was so much more to discover, places to go, things to experience and unspoken promises yet to be fulfilled.

"Master, where is this going, this thing between us; what is it exactly that you offer me? What sacrifices must I make? What changes? Do I have choices? Am I already past the point of no return?"

She could see the pain in his eyes, as he realized she had been thinking about the consequences of life by his side. She knew that somehow he could see into her eyes and that he too, could see the image of her son so firmly emblazoned there.

"There are no changes, no choices to make, little one. I will not take you away from your son." His voice sounded sad and weary.

"I offer you the joy of friendship. The bliss of ecstasy unleashed and the freedom to escape from your world now and then; that is all. I will not and would not, take you away from a son that needs you more than I. Never would I dream of hurting you or your son.

"I brought you the gift of the girl last night because I wished for you to see with your own eyes, experience through your soul, that what I do isn't always so horrible or murderous. There can be a beauty to it, not all lives need to be lived, some are more horrendous in living than dying. I did not wish you to think of me as a monster.

"I will not lie to you; there are times when it is not so glorious, nor so honorable. Not all souls are so happy to leave. But, for the most part, I try to feed on melancholy souls wishing for the chance to leave this life.

"Mine is a lonely life, I have lived through countless years and have watched generations after generation of friends, loved ones and acquaintances pass from this life into the next. My life is an endless cycle and often it seems I am just reliving the same night.

"Hunger gnaws mercilessly at the hollow pit of my stomach. Ravenous and wild, it churns inside of me with cataclysmic fervor. It is more than mere hunger, more than wanton desire. The need to feed on not only sustenance—but on the very essence of life—causes within my tormented soul an upheaval so monumental as to be beyond human comprehension. Raging like an inferno, inside of my pain-wracked body a storm engulfs me.

"Every hotel I hide in, be it an Inn from the old days or a cheap motel beside an asphalt highway, they are all the same. Only the food the humans eat and the clothing they wear changes. The night itself, is as repetitive as one of the television shows I watch when boredom overcomes me. It is always the same.