We Wouldn’t Dare

This story is the third instalment of my ongoing vampire series. Before you read it, check out Part 1 and Part 2 if you haven’t already. CW: all three stories contain much blood, murder, and other gloriously gory things.

Goddammit, I hate being in this frigging club. Black’s is one of those places that’s too shiny for me. Everywhere you look there’s silver metal, black glass and red crystal. Velvet upholstery that matches the red drapes that match the oval rugs that stand out like beads of blood against gleaming black marble floors. Which is exactly what they’re supposed to look like. It’s as if the card holding members aren’t already fucking ravenous enough in club owner, Bartholomew Black’s opinion.

The poles on the podiums are shiny, the bodies that swing from them are shiny, and the dazed eyes of the non-members unlucky enough to get past the red rope at the door are shiny, too. Fuck every inch of this glitzy shit, it’s rotten behind its glamorous façade. Give me a few neon signs, a bar stool with its stuffing poking out the side, a pool table, and a bartender who knows that every bottle of beer ordered comes with a shot of scotch and I’m content.

Keeping one eye on Eamon and the other on the goings on around me is hard. Especially when they keep getting distracted by fans of black hair brushing against bullet-esque nipples up on the podium. Yeah, staying focused is hard. Not as hard as my cock, but still hard enough to have me grunting with displeasure every five minutes.

I know why we’re here, though, so every time Eamon drags his eyes away from round ass and jiggling titties and looks with no small amount of sacrifice at the door, I just motion for him to watch on. He needs to be here. I mean, where he should really be is in lockup, and the one to put him there should be me, but it ain’t happening. Yeah, he keeps draining people, but it isn’t his fault. It’s mine.

A woman wails a few tables away from us. I try not to look. If I look at em, I gotta book em, and I really can’t tonight. But I look anyway. The sounds she makes when she’s coming are so hot my dick insists that I see what she looks like.

Oh, good girl! You’d be surprised how few humans wear white when they come here. You’d think they’d figure out that the very thought of their blood staining the fabric of their clothes in such a striking way makes them ten times more attractive to us. And this one…a river of red flows from her right tit all the way to her crotch. The guy who bit her didn’t even bother exposing her nipple, he just bit straight through the dress.

I’m momentarily mesmerised by the way he rubs his finger around the hard swell, encouraging the blood to keep flowing. But I quickly come to my senses and send a wave of disapproval in the wasteful little shit’s direction. He feels it, shudders, looks around wildly. One look from me and he picks up a champagne flute, exposes the tasty looking titty and proceeds to fill the glass.

With each eruption of orgasmic sound, my cock springs around in my pants. I accept the flute of blood but hand it straight to Eamon. The scent of it brought a growl from his lips so he needs it more than I do if I’m to have even a half-peaceful night. I brought him here to feed and feed he will, but I’ll teach him to do it discreetly and discriminately even if it kills me.

Oh! What…hmmm, this is an unexpected development.

The scent of the blonde’s… I sigh… the dead blonde’s blood has drawn more than a hungry sound from my lover. It’s brought the jet-haired beauty in front of us away from her pole, off the podium, right to the edge of the stage.

I lean back in my chair, spread my thighs a little. The bulge of my cock squirms around near my pocket but I refrain from putting my hand in there. Eamon has only half emptied the glass. He’s still wiping blood from his lips as he hands the flute to the stripper. Both of our gazes follow the roll of motion that carries the greedy gulp she took down her throat. Fuck, the way her Adam’s apple twitches pulls my hips forward with such urgency my ass leaves the plush seat.

The glass shatters on the marble floor. What will Eamon do now? I’ve seen him fuck dozens of humans in the past couple of weeks, but so far, I’m the only one of his own kind he’s been brave enough to touch. Plenty have offered, in the most literal sense of the word. He’s had ass cheeks held open for him, holes smeared with blood, the most tantalising of lubes. But every time the opportunity to fuck a vamipire presented itself to him, he turned around and presented himself to me. And every time, I’d fucked him. Naturally.

The woman on the stage – her name is Angel – is suddenly half the height she was before. Eamon’s fingertips touch the stiletto heel of her shoe. They skim over her instep, brush her ankle, smooth over the black stockings until they reach the tops. Black lace dotted with red hearts. My eyes follow every movement those damned fingers make. I’m suspicious of her, nervous for him, horny like you wouldn’t believe. He can’t hurt her, she’s more than three times his human age, but if he oversteps she might hurt him. If she has a death wish.

Even though the sounds of feeding, fucking, coming and dying thunder around the club, I still hear Eamon suck in a surprised breath. I’ve seen Angel’s act a thousand times but I’m still compelled to raise an eyebrow. She’s doing the splits, right at the edge of the stage, and dangling over the side is her eight-inch cock. That’s eight inches soft. Angel is a grower.

I can’t help but smirk at the brassiness of the red-headed young man who just sidled up to the stage. One minute his eyes are all over the firm tits that defy gravity just above Angel’s corset. The next, he’s gawping at her cock like it’s the most daunting meal he’s ever been faced with. If he’s gonna give Angel head he’d better be good, cos a dick that big could kill him if he’s not careful.

Ah, she’s reeling him in. Bouncing her ass softly against the stage floor, making her dick slap against the side. It gets longer first, then fatter, then harder. Eamon gives me a cheeky side-eyed glance, then he’s crouching below Angel, sucking on the tip of her dick. The human moans, grabs his bulge, goes momentarily blind with lust as Angel draws his lips to her nipple. She holds him close, almost as if she’s hugging him.

That surprises me. She doesn’t usually…ah, I see. I hear skin splitting, oh so slowly. Fuck, I want someone, anyone, to suck me off. To climb on and fuck me. Human blood trickles down Angel’s belly. My eyes are glued to it, following its lazy journey right to its destination. Do it. Fucking do it, Eamon, take all of that cock in until…

I feel it when his lips touch the blood at the base of Angel’s cock. The kick in his chest is like the beating of a gong in mine. This is the part I hate. The part I love. The part when Eamon…

The poor human’s scream cuts off abruptly. I’m four feet away but his blood still sprays over the bottom of my trousers. Angel is off the stage, Eamon is on his knees, his pants are torn and his ass is swallowing the entirety of that monster cock.

I should call this in, I should take him in. I should take him out. But I’m caught up in the stench of blood, the noise of fucking, the excitement of not knowing exactly when the human’s hummingbird heart will flutter to an inevitable stop.

His blood calls to me. I lick my lips, jerk my hips in my seat. Angel’s mouth works at the human’s throat and Eamon…Eamon looks like he’s just blowing him but he’s not. He’s drinking his blood, drinking the come that pours out with it.

I’m on my knees now.

Shit, I can’t do this!

I’m crawling over the floor.

I mustn’t let myself lose control if I do every other vampire in the place will follow suit and all hell will break loose. Not a human in the place will stand a chance.

I reach Eamon and Angel, pull the barely alive human from their grip, drag him behind them and hover his face over Angel’s ass. The taut skin of his throat opens so easily with just a drag of my fingernail. There isn’t much blood, but what’s left spots Angel’s ass cheeks, trickles between them and onto her tight little hole.

My dick sinks home. Angel fucks Eamon, I fuck Angel, the human dies at my feet, and a collective hiss shakes the bottles in their optics. One by one, every human in Black’s begins to die. Their blood pools, spreads, mingles and becomes a carpet that reaches from wall to wall. Vampires laugh, scream, moan, fuck. They – we – writhe in the wet life we’ve stolen from our victims. They will keep going until I stop.

And, quicker than even I expect, stop I do. Not because I come to my senses. God forgive me, but I’m too far gone for that. And not because I’ve come, though I have, twice, deep in Angel’s ass and then all over it. I stop because there’s a sound, strong above all the others, that I shouldn’t be hearing. It confuses me enough to break through my bloodlust, enough to make me look around and seek it out.

There! Standing at the bar with a wine glass in her hand. A blonde with Shirly Temple curls and blue eyes. She’s wearing tight white dress, and there’s not a speck of blood on her. It’s her I can hear. Her heartbeat is so robust, she looks so appetising, I can’t fathom why nobody has touched her.

“Why?” I ask the room. I don’t care who answers, but an answer I will have.

From somewhere behind me I hear someone say, “We wouldn’t dare, nobody here is stupid enough.”

Again I ask, “Why? What’s so special about her?”

Angel straightens and my cock slips from her ass with a wet plop. She looks over her shoulder at me and in a hushed voice says, “She belongs to Joshua Katz.”

**To continue reading this series, click here**

Week 209

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