Kiss of the Vampyre Ch. 02

She wished she was back there, doing it all over again, doing it more naturally, less stilted and uncertain. She had done it once, so she could do it again -- she could do it better. Maybe later, when Elly was awake, she could sweetly seduce her and play with her body again, and maybe try some new things that Elly might like.

The elation in her chest had turned to a sticky heat as her mind wandered, and she wondered if it was just arousal at her memories or the start of another hormonal attack. Her insides didn't feel so sore after a night's rest, and she was no longer itching after her wash -- whatever the reason for her sticky heat, she could think of no reason not to do something about it.

She leant back against the cold wall, shivered as icy condensation drove into her spine, pushed her hips outwards until a lance from the shower brushed directly over her little patch of curly hair. Her hands worked down her belly, played with that patch, pushed and pulled at it, indirectly pulling on her lips and stimulating her growing clit.

Her nipples began to ache and she played with them for a while, rolling them between her fingers with her eyes closed and her mind wandering over memories of Elly's body, how it had moved and perspired and twisted around her probing fingers. Soon enough her clit was throbbing with an ache to surpass that in her nipples and she abandoned them for it, both hands homing in across her glistening wet belly, converging on her lips, pulling them apart and exposing her aching nub to the lance from the showerhead.

The fine warm spray took her breath away as it danced over her clit. Her back arched and she fought her rebellious hips to keep them still under the jet, for every slight movement took her sensitized nub out of its path and into cold, tortuously still air.

She wondered if it was possible to orgasm from the spray of water alone, and whether she'd drive herself crazy waiting to get there. The hot treacle feeling in her chest was intense and the ache in her hips signalled her increasing urgency to reach orgasm; it was another hormonal attack, both pleasurable and painful at once, a sex that she daren't interrupt, lest her clit explode from the pressure within.

Already she felt her body marching up the familiar climb to the summit of ecstasy, marching one step further with each heartbeat, not stopping for a minute, not even for her own internal tide, which usually waxed and waned throughout any masturbation session until she finally made herself come. It was almost as if her body refused to let go, couldn't tolerate the option of not reaching orgasm and wasn't even prepared to let her catch her breath first. She tried to adjust her position out of the shower spray but the urge was too much; even as she withdrew and pressed her buttocks against the wall, her legs closed together beyond her control and her thigh muscles began to tense rhythmically of their own accord, squeezing her clit and forcing an unexpected orgasm up out of her lungs.

She almost lost her footing as she came, knees together, clenched fists upon them, feet apart, buttocks pushed into the tiles and eyes firmly shut. Her jaw remained clamped shut to stifle her ecstatic voice but a few moans forced their way past her lips, echoing dully around the steamy room. She quickly quieted herself, opened her mouth, took some long gasped breaths as the last rhythmic spasms of her orgasm subsided and became erratic, intermittently shocking up through her body and threatening to topple her from her unsteady feet.

She stepped back under the spray, washed a fresh sheen of sweat from her skin, then turned off the shower and climbed out of the bath, dripping water onto the lino. She found a towel from the door hook, wrapped it over her cooling skin and rubbed herself furiously dry, feeling oddly energised and yet deeply relaxed and contented after her experience. Perhaps it was getting easier, for intense though it was, her orgasm hadn't hurt her like it had the previous day.

She dried quickly despite the steam in the bathroom, an old extractor fan buzzing lazily overhead but doing little to suck out the cloudy vapour. She hung the towel on the airer, combed her fingers through her hair, wiped some mist from the mirror. Her hair was still purple.

It should have washed out in the shower, but it hadn't. Hadn't Elly said something about that? About it not being dye? She'd thought she'd misheard, but perhaps not -- her hair did indeed seem to be purple. Not just the cheap, lifeless wash-out colour that her parents had let her use for the Hallowe'en party, but a deep, shimmering, radiant colour, as deep and luxurious as Elly's green locks. It really was quite beautiful.

She let her hair go, looked around for Elly's green toothbrush. She'd let Becca borrow it before she went to bed, but there on the sink was a new brush, unopened in its plastic blister-pack. Where had Elly managed to get a new toothbrush -- purple, she noted -- in the middle of the night? She applied a little toothpaste, began to brush, stopped when she felt something unusual in her mouth. A tooth wobbled, came loose with a sucking sound, fell from her mouth and clattered bloodlessly into the sink.

Becca picked it up, bared her gums in the mirror, saw a gap where her upper canine should have been. She reached for the other, gave it a prod, felt it wiggle before it too popped out into the palm of her hand.

So she really was changing.

She left her two teeth on the ledge at the back of the sink, finished brushing, towel-dried her hair once more and finally left the bathroom, crept back into Elly's bedroom. She felt tired and deliciously relaxed after her orgasm, despite having lost two of her teeth, and the darkness in the room seemed to invite her back into the warm bed where Elly still snoozed.

She climbed in as carefully as she could, shifted up close to Elly, close enough to feel her breaths on her arm but not close enough to touch and inadvertently wake her. It seemed a futile gesture, as Elly's eyes blinked a few times and opened, revealing deep green pools of light in the darkness, and her face formed into a wide smile.

"Happened again?" She mumbled tiredly, her smile not fading.

"Yeah." Becca whispered.

"Sorry I wasn't there to help you out."

Becca felt herself blush. "I managed." She said, her voice a little slurred. It would take her a while to get used to speaking with two missing teeth.

"You've lost your teeth."

"Yeah. I found my toothbrush. Where did you get it from?"

"Twenty-four hour petrol station." Elly mumbled. "Vampyre's best friend."

"Oh. Thanks. Sorry if I woke you up."

"It's OK. Give me a kiss." Elly said, and Becca obeyed, leaning forwards to plant a delicate peck onto her lips. "That's nice."

Becca smiled back as she withdrew, pulled the duvet up to her chin. "Go back to sleep." She said.

"You've got damp hair." Elly replied. "Don't catch chill."

Becca blushed once more. "I'll be alright."

Elly's eyes flickered and drooped closed, and after a few moments she began to breathe sweet breaths through her nose. Becca was left alone with her thoughts, which at first were content in the aftermath of her orgasm and her deeply relaxing shower, but which gradually turned sour as the noise of the city droned on outside the window.

Thoughts and worries began to spin round and round in Becca's head until they tied themselves in knots. Minutes turned into hours, and hours plodded onwards, and sleep failed to come with its respite. The only thought that she could capture among the swirling maelstrom in her head was that Elly expected her to drink blood. Would she die if she refused? She wasn't sure what she was more afraid of -- drinking a stranger's blood, or dying because she refused to do so.

She tried to recapture those happy feelings that she'd felt immediately after her shower, but the harder she tried to grasp them, the sooner they slipped away. Endless hours of breathing, turning over, adjusting the pillow and turning over again passed, and Becca tied herself up in the duvet as her thoughts wrapped around each other and got tangled into a mess, so that she couldn't be sure if she followed a thought that it wouldn't get muddled with another one half-way through. Sleep was a long time coming, and when it came, it brought feverish and unusual dreams that she could barely remember.

* * *

Becca opened her eyes. They had been open for a full three seconds before she felt the sinking, dreaded return of a twisted pain in her chest. Only in sleep had she found respite; in waking, she had to deal once again with the real world and the anxieties that it brought. Sleep hadn't lessened her fears. If anything, they had worsened in the few hours of sleep that she'd managed to capture. She'd let her defences slip. The pressure had been lifted from her heart while she slept, only for it to be relentlessly crushed again as she awoke, before she could remember to brace herself for the falling weight of worry and confusion.

She brought herself to her senses. The bed was empty, but a pale evening light still filtered around the edge of the heavy curtains, painting the room with dull pastel shadows. Sounds of movement came from somewhere in the flat, and Becca dragged herself out of bed, feeling more tired than when she had climbed into it. She found her clothes, pulled them on, located a brush on Elly's dresser and pulled it through her purple hair a few times until it behaved itself. She shouldn't have gone to bed with wet hair; it had gone frizzy and creased, but she didn't really care. She had more important things to worry about.

She found Elly in the kitchen, wiping and putting away last night's crockery. Becca said nothing, but stood near the doorway, leaning against the frame, staring at the floor, waiting to be noticed.

"Hey." Elly said, when she turned around. Becca didn't reply. "Did you sleep well?"

"No." She mumbled, deciding that Elly would have to dig harder if she wanted a conversation, for she was determined not to have one, or at least to have one with one-word sentences. She felt too low to talk.

"You want something to drink?"

"No."

"You should drink something." Elly smiled thinly, an expression that Becca only just managed to capture from the corners of her down-turned eyes.

"Not thirsty."

Elly turned away, swung the tea towel over her shoulder with a little more vigour than was necessary. "I'm afraid you can't eat anything just yet." She continued, as if she was intent on making one side of a sensible conversation and wasn't prepared to make concessions for Becca's missing half. "You'll have your first feed soon, and it's not good to take blood on a full stomach. I'll have to prepare the feeding room while we wait for Euwan to arrive with the donor."

Becca shrugged, sniffed loudly. Her spine quivered at the words Elly spoke, but she tried not to let it show; her depression and pain was turning to anger, and an angry girl shouldn't show fear.

Elly finished wiping the last glass, put it away, closed the cupboard and tossed the towel into a basket on the table that overflowed with linen. She turned to Becca, walked briskly towards her, placed a strong hand on each shoulder and pushed her gently but firmly backwards so that her head was forced to rise. She lowered her head, peered under Becca's brow with inquisitive eyes. "This is important." She said, her brow creased and her lips pursed as she fired the words at Becca.

Becca turned her head to look away from Elly's green eyes before she got lost in them again. Something tickled her soul when she looked into them, but this time it wasn't a pleasant tickle -- it mocked her, showed her how weak she was.

"You're afraid?" Elly asked, raising an eyebrow, her voice softening.

Becca's face contorted briefly into a snarl of anger until she forced it flat again. Her spine quivered once more, and this time she was sure Elly would have felt it through her shoulders.

"There's nothing to be afraid of. Come on, I'll show you the feeding room."

She let go of Becca's shoulders, grabbed her hand, walked briskly across the lobby to the one door that had been kept closed since Becca had arrived. She tried to resist, but Elly's grip was too strong and her pace too rapid. If she had remained rooted she'd have been pulled to the floor. It irked her that Elly could be so cruel, to be so rough when she was wearing her pain clearly on display for her to see; couldn't Elly see that she needed sympathy, not coldness? She quelled her anger in spite of this, before it became strong enough to demand that Elly let her go.

The door swung open, revealing a room as white as a clinic and cold as a morgue. A white plastic sheet covered the carpeted floor all the way to the walls, which were painted thickly and had been scrubbed until they gleamed. A standard light fitting hung above, but a high-power bulb and a reflective lampshade made the room burn brightly. Oddly enough, it seemed not to hurt her eyes.

"UV filter." Elly explained. "Special bulb. We get them from a local specialist lighting supplier. I don't know what it's made for, but they work well for us. Plenty of light to work, without the burn of a halogen bulb." She let go of Becca's hand, stepped into the room, her feet crinkling the plastic sheet into the carpet, and stopped beside an old table that had been draped with white cotton sheets. There was a pillow at one end, some black webbing retaining straps, and a stainless steel surgeon's trolley that sparkled in the light.

"That's where I put my tools." Elly said, pointing to the trolley. "It's quite straightforward. I lie the donor down, make sure she's comfortable, and immobilise her with webbing straps. She'll be reassured that everything is safe and clean and that we will only take what she can afford to give. I find a good site on her wrist, usually the ulnar artery, which is very easy to find, then I use a razorblade to slice into it. It's a delicate operation, and I need utter silence to concentrate. A slip could be too deep for me to heal, and she will need emergency treatment. The hospital is a five minute drive away and Euwan will have a van running outside, just in case.

"We must feed on arterial blood, which is what makes it such a delicate operation. The blood is allowed to drain into a sterilized bottle, which will fill quickly. When we've taken our share, I tie a tourniquet to reduce the blood pressure in her artery while I use a cyanoacrylate to cover the wound, which sets quickly. When I remove the tourniquet, the artery should be fully sealed. Her bonds will be untied and she is allowed some time to recover. Euwan will take her to a safe place, where her blindfold will be removed and she will be paid for her services."

Becca swallowed. She was no longer angry. The fires of her anger had been doused by the bubbling swamp of her fears. She felt her hips quivering, shaking her spine as if it was a bamboo cane in a galeforce wind. Her mouth was dry, and remained so, no matter how hard she worked her tongue to draw up saliva. Suddenly she wanted that drink that Elly had offered, but couldn't be sure that it would stay in her belly for long.

She turned away wordlessly and headed for the bathroom when a very base and human urgency began hammering at her swimming mind. She hadn't drunk anything since her mid-morning excursion to the kitchen, but her bladder had filled itself rapidly and suddenly demanded to be emptied.

She washed her sweaty palms under the cold tap, splashed some cold water onto her face, took a few breaths. Her heart was settling at last.

Elly was waiting by the door when she emerged, took her wordlessly into a tight and enveloping embrace. "It's alright." She whispered into her ear. "This is a natural part of life for me and many others. It's as clean and safe as it can be. I have never had a donor die or be seriously hurt. I've been doing this for over a decade. There is absolutely nothing to be afraid of. In an hour's time, you'll be wondering what all the fuss was about."

Becca sniffed, pulled away from Elly's embrace, comforting though it was.

"I still have to prepare." Elly said. "Go and sit in the lounge and try to relax. I tell you what, when it's over, we can do whatever you want. Anything you say, we'll do it. It'll be dark by then, we can go out somewhere."

Still Becca remained silent, although no longer in anger. She wasn't sure she could speak if she wanted to: her throat felt so tight that it might choke her words as they tried to escape. She made her way into the lounge and perched awkwardly at one end of the sofa, drew her knees into her chest and leant lopsidedly against the armrest.

Light still played around the curtains, a dull winter shade. There were no clocks in the lounge, but it was perhaps thirty minutes before sunset, maybe earlier. Becca began to wonder if Elly had deliberately arranged her first feed so early in the evening so that she could not contemplate escaping from the flat unless she was to take her chances with the dangerous rays of the winter sun; she had no choice, she was trapped in the flat until the sun went down, and soon Euwan would arrive with some innocent person whose wrist Elly was going to slit, whose blood she was going to drink.

And she would have to do this every five days?

Time passed slowly. With every second that elapsed, Becca felt the shivering in her spine increase. She went back to the toilet three times in the uncounted minutes that followed, although she drank nothing. Her bladder seemed to be as small and hard as a walnut and working overtime.

Becca was curled up on the sofa, eyes on the carpet and mind on her imminent future when a harsh buzzer rang, making her jump almost from her skin. She was thankful that she'd just paid a visit to the bathroom, as the same buzzer three minutes previously could have been embarrassing.

She listened as the door to the feeding room opened and Elly's feet padded to the buzzer, where she spoke quietly into the handset. Her footsteps creaked on the floorboards near the door, and moments later some heavy boots echoed on the staircase outside. The door opened, and the creaking intensified as two figures walked in, their shadows playing on the floor outside the living room door.

"Elly, this is Chelsea." A man's deep voice said. It sounded like Euwan. "Chelsea, you're standing in front of Elly, who is going to bleed you."

"Hello, Chelsea." Elly said. "How are you feeling? You're ready to go ahead? Has Euwan told you there will be two of us tonight? Good. I have to ask Euwan a few questions, and then we'll get you comfortable on the operating table."

There was a hint of some girlie mumbles and squeaks from whoever Elly was addressing, but Becca couldn't discern any content from them.

"She's eaten today?" She heard Elly say. Euwan grunted an affirmative. "Her blood pressure is OK? No health problems? No alcohol, drugs or painkillers in the last twenty-four hours? OK, how much can she give?"

"One pint." Euwan stated. "She was bled recently, she's a little ahead of schedule, so that's her limit."

"That's more than enough. OK, can you wait in the kitchen until the feeding room door is closed? You can use the lounge once we're inside. I think Becca's a little scared of you." Elly said. When she continued, her voice was brighter, clearer, and, Becca couldn't help noticing, a little more fake: "Alright, Chelsea, we're going into the operating room now. Step carefully, you'll feel the plastic sheeting." Becca heard the crunch of feet on the floor of the feeding room. "Now give me your hands, and there, you can feel the table. Steady yourself, I'm going to lift you onto it. OK, now roll over, carefully, feel for the edge, that's it."