The Tavern Ch. 1

The Hessian dismounted and walked slowly towards the young woman standing defiantly with her hands wrapped around a long saber. As he got within an arm's length of her, he snatched out, prepared to grab her arm, but came up with nothing but air. Damn, but she was a fast one. He reached to her again and heard the slash of metal through flesh. She'd cut him, the little bitch. He reached for his sword, but found it pained him to touch the hilt.

Alora glared in fascinated horror at the man's terrified expression. She'd slashed her sharp sword right through his hand, lopping it off, and he hadn't even noticed until he reached for his sword. She was good and getting better at this sword-fighting. The Hessian attacker toppled into a faint and she spun to meet the next man, a grinning, brute excuse for a soldier. He came at her quickly, but not fast enough for her tastes. A low slice and his guts rained to the ground before he fell atop them.

A growl escaped from the third man's throat, "Who are you? A demoness? A witch?"

"My acquaintances and enemies call me the Black Angel, but you may call me your executioner," Alora answered darkly. She'd made that up on the spot, because she didn't have many enemies she hadn't killed yet. On reflection, while she waited for the man to make up his mind to run or fight, she had only one enemy left. The Silver Demon, a man she'd never seen, but he had disgraced her family.

Suddenly, the man charged and she instinctively blocked his downward cut, her own blade rising to meet his; the impact of the swords coming together numbed the man's fingers and his blade fell to the cobblestones with a clang. He gasped and turned to run, but she slit his throat painlessly, a splash of warm blood skittered into her mouth and she tasted the metallic flavor of it, spitting in disgust.

*****

A shadow passed over Lord Damien of Blackhaven's face as he looked out his window onto the street. He hated these visits into the small German town, and the scene he'd just witnessed had made him like it even less.

A woman with hair of flame had just slaughtered three -admittedly worthy of punishment for their deeds- soldiers.

He doubted she'd worked up a sweat. A worthy challenge for him. Few conquests gave him any pleasure on the field, and he found he grew tired with his mortal mistress' antics; but this voluptuous woman with a skill his own men would envy would make a wonderful challenge in both bed and battlefield.

Damien made his way onto the street and found the man who she'd only cut the hand off of. The soldier was barely alive but was conscious.

"What was her name, man?" Damien demanded.

"Something..... about Black Devil....n-no...Angel," the man forced out.

"Black what? Speak up, man!"

"No. ... Black.... Angel..." And he was dead. Damien rose and licked the blood off his hands. He needed something to eat. Following the trail of the murderess, he went in search of a hopefully middle-aged, drunk meal.

*****

Alora took off through the alleys towards the tavern she was living in. That man had licked blood off his hands willingly! As she rushed through the streets, she could've sworn she saw a bat following her from a distance, but then it was gone.

She burst through the clean doors of the Dirty Pig Inn and rushed into the kitchen.

"What's all this, luv?" the rotund cook said with a smile on her face.

"I just saw a man who drank blood willingly and then... he... he looked straight at me!" Alora gasped out.

"Come now, child. You didn't see anything, I'm sure. Have some stew." She handed Alora a bowl full of steaming sludge, that Alora had been dubious to try at the start of her stay, but knew now that it would taste good. She went back to the main room and sat in a shadowed corner to watch the clientele and eat her sludge and bread. The inkeeper's three daughters served as bed-warmers, and fortunately, their mother made the best baby-prevention potion in the whole of the country.

One sister, Millie, the youngest, shortest and skinniest, was curling her slender legs around the waist of a fat patron who's pant laces were undone, his shaft long and pointed, straining toward Millie's uncovered privates that were barely visible under her skirts. The man grunted as he thrust in, Millie squealing in genuine delight at the penetration.

The coupling was going on in front of the fire for everyone to see. Millie sat gracelessly atop his lap as he thrust short and hard into her, still grunting like an animal. Suddenly, Millie squealed again as she reached climax, bouncing in a quick tempo to stimulate herself more. The patron couldn't handle it and he lurched off the bench as he emptied his seed into Millie.

A number of half-drunk patrons were openly jerking themselves and the other two sisters, Josephine and Carla, were fingering themselves with horny enthusiasm.

Alora watched with humor in her eyes as three men picked Millie off the dazed patron and carried her to a table that had seen the likes of what was about to happen before.

A fat, bald man pulled Millie's hands behind her back as she settled herself, spread-legged on the table with a skinny, blond man under her. The blond had his cock already out of his pants and was stroking it to full hardness. The fat man slid his wide cock around in Millie's juices before trying to work the head of his cock into her ass. A third man, not much more than a boy shoved his rod into Millie's mouth and promptly came into it. She licked off her lips happily and turned her head down to French-kiss the man underneath her, who had shoved his cock into her cunt and was taking his sweet time in her.

The fat man was still working his dick into Millie's ass when Carla walked over with her bosom hanging out and jiggling lewdly, and shoved the fat man into Millie, who burped, much to Alora's humor.

Again, with the pull and shove of the two men in her nether-holes, Millie orgasmed; the man in her ass was stretching her to distraction.

As usual, there began a full-fledged orgy, including the innkeeper and his wife. Josephine was sucking three men simultaneously while she was dually penetrated, and Carla was being eaten out while getting it also in two holes. A single female patron- other than Alora- began whoring herself with the men as well, being used for her mouth, bosom, and anywhere else a man could shove himself.

Alora, reflecting upon the scene in front of her was glad she sat in the shadows. She needed to keep her precious virginity for her husband, if she ever got one, the way she killed off all the men who wanted to fuck her.

A wholly drunk man had begun ass-fucking another man and the orgy came to an incomplete stop as everyone watched. The drunk patron was screwing the boy-man that had come in Millie's mouth, and the child was softly yelping, but the yelps became softer as the boy grew accustomed to the sensation.

Millie, probably the most intelligent of the three sisters, wedged herself under the young man and started to rock back and forth on him as the other man butt-fucked him. The poor boy got the hang of it and began to thrust in fast, short strokes in Millie while the man in his ass was using long, slow strokes.

Alora was absolutely transfixed as the boy-man had three successive orgasms, all into Millie, who had one as well. The drunk man jerked into the boy's ass as he came also.

The orgy resumed it's slow fuck, the boy-man sleepily stroking his come-covered dick with a slender hand, Millie walked up to a stranger who'd just walked in, letting a cool breeze fan the flames of carnal appetite.

Millie rubbed her chest against the man's through his cloak. He wrapped his arm around Millie's waist and drew her to the other shadowed table right next to Alora's. Millie sat on the table that rested against the wall as he pulled out his prick, already fully hard. It was huge: a foot long, with thick veins snaking around it, and two inches wide, except at the head where it flared tantalizingly to two and a half inches in diameter.

Millie was perfectly happy to accommodate this monster of a dick, she had experience with most sizes and shapes of cock.

The man rocked slowly into her, shoving in the head slowly, stretching the whore to ecstasy. Then, he began kissing Millie's neck as he fucked her slowly. Millie squealed as he nipped her sensitive neck; she arced straight off the table as the man pushed finally into her, the two climaxing together and his mouth still fastened to her.

Alora, aroused by the proximity of such passion, was very attuned to the noises he made, a mix of a growl and a groan. Then, much to her horror and surprise, she heard him whisper to Millie, who lay, panting on the table, that her blood was the sweetest he'd ever had.

And then, even more to her surprise, he turned toward her, looking straight at her. She'd noticed he was tall and muscled with coal-black hair, his eyes were a hazel-gold with enough mahogany in them to seem that they glowed red. It was the man from the street! She knew it now, he was a Vampire. Her mother had told her stories of them as a little girl. They drank the life-force of others, draining them of the will to live, or even die. They were monsters that lived forever.

But Alora could not be horrified, he seemed too human to be a monster.

"My lady," the Vampire nodded, his voice was low and silky. Alora was swamped with a keen desire to screw him.

"My lord," she managed to choke out. His fingertips brushed across her cheek as he settled himself into the chair beside her, his softening phallus rested out of his pants as if he'd forgotten it.

"I would like you to come and work for me," the demon said.

"I shall not be your mistress," Alora said softly to him as she watched Millie sleep on the table behind him.

"I did not ask you to be. I know you are waiting for a husband," he said. Alora's gaze jerked to his. "You'll find one with one of my men, perhaps. I would like you to train with them."

"I know you are a Vampire," she said, as if that would deter him.

"Yes, I am. I am older than your grandparents' grandparents. And you are but twenty."

Strangely, Alora could come up with no good response to that, and somehow not being able to see another answer, Alora said in a conspiratorial whisper, "If you wed me, I will train with your men and… and… come to your bed." The Vampire grinned, showing the pearly set of long canines.

"Could I turn you into a Vampire?" It seemed to Alora he was toying with her, but somehow she could not object to his scandalous request.

"I don't see why not, as long as I am no old crone when you do so." Damien smiled inwardly, this woman-child certainly had pride, and not a small amount of vanity, but she was incredibly malleable for someone who lived in the heart of a German port town.

"Could I let my men have their way with you?"

"Mein Gott, no!" Alora gasped. It was one thing to be a Vampire, it was something completely different to be gang-banged and raped. A few of the patrons looked in their direction, but seeing nothing noteworthy, went back to fucking. Millie moved a bit on the table and sighed as the Vampire reached to her clit and rubbed it.

"Very well," he said, turning back. "We shall wed by proxy on the morrow and I'll have a carriage come and fetch you."

"Tomorrow? But…"

"You do want to be turned into a vampire before you become a crone, do you not?"

"Well, yes, but I never meant-"

"I know what you meant," his canines flashed again. "I will sent my carriage for you…. Unless you'd like to ride there yourself? I can see from your attire you ride." Alora glanced down at her old and filthy riding boots and her loose boy's clothes.

"I'll ride. Where did you say you lived?"

"I didn't. I am Jarl Damien of Blackhaven... and you are the Countess Alorania-Dagmar of Falkhearst." They both winced at her atrocious birth name. "Your family was killed a few years back by my sire. By sire, I mean, of course, true birth and Rebirth father (it's quite a long story)." Alora stared at him. He knew so much, and must be deeply involved in her past and her impending revenge.

"But how are you the lord if your sire was also a Vampire?"

"My sire was extinguished the same night he killed your family. From what I know, I've come to believe your mother was a witch, and she must have bound my father with invisible cords to the ground on a hillock before she died, and the rising sun did him in."

"Oh, what an awful way to die," Alora said, feeling bad for this monster.

"I never did like him much; and it was his time to be gone from this place, anyway... Why don't you suck me off?" Alora could only stare at him. He motioned her to kneel on the floor, and she did. Suddenly, she felt as if his fingers were roaming all over her body. Alora jerked her gaze to his and saw the lusty gleam in his glowing eyes. She felt helpless to resist, and began to stroke his prick with her small hands.

"I saw you kill those three guards," he said as he reclined to enjoy her stroking.

"I know," Alora grumbled back. "I saw you lick the blood off your hands."

"I thought you did," Damien said. He was fully aroused and wanted to throw this delectable woman onto the table and ravage her, but knew that she would be incredibly dishonored and might even try to kill herself. She was tall and shapely, with breasts he could enjoy forever, and long, slender legs toned by walking far. He nearly came when he felt her soft mouth encircle the head of his cock and suck ever-so-softly.

Damien began rubbing Alora's breasts through the coarse tunic she wore. He felt her moan more than heard it, and he was even more aroused by her reaction. Alora was giving him the best head he'd ever had from anyone, even the most experienced prostitutes in Amsterdam.

He knew Millie was still asleep behind him, because he had drained her of much of her blood, but a patron had approached and was pounding into her with ferocious grunts. Damien felt her conciousness pulse at each inward thrust. She was enjoying it, even though her lack of blood left her unconscious.

His mind was brought back to Alora as she began unknowingly grinding her pelvis against his leg. He realized he could not wait to screw this deadly vixen, so he lifted Alora in his arms, her weight meaning nothing to his superhuman strength, and carried her to a chamber above the main tavern where the orgy had begun to wind down. He could tell by his internal clock that he had five hours till sunrise.

He laid her on the clean bed and removed her trousers and tunic. He removed his own clothes, showing the faint scar of a cross on his chest where his own mother had branded him in his first un-dead year.

Alora writhed on the bed and looked up at Damien as he stood over her, gloriously naked, the flickering candlelight dancing lovingly over his skin the way sunlight never could. He was muscular from fighting all manner of battles with his men and seemed to loom unimposingly over the bed, his member perpendicular to his body. Alora felt the hands-everywhere sensation and closed her eyes to enjoy it. Suddenly, she felt a real finger at her most private entrance and her eyes snapped open to see Damien kneeling on the floor next to the bed because it was not long enough for him to stretch out on, being between her legs.

"I... You... we cannot," she sighed, but did not mean it. He smiled and stopped. Alora's body immediately arced toward his finger, bringing it into her more. Damien saw the innocence in her movements and stopped, eliciting the same reaction and a small growl.

"You are correct, Countess. We cannot until we are wed on the morrow," Damien said, his clothes appearing on him as he stood. He retreated towards the door, but changed his mind. He sent Alora into a sleep, and left a magical imprint of a running horse on her pillow. Then he left to find another meal before he returned to his own resting place: the largest crypt in the town's decaying cemetery; it was clean enough, but nothing like the sumptuous comfort of his own lair.