Mental Blackout

A warning: This story is for adults only!!!
Rating: NC-17
Genre: Horror fiction
Note: Since English is not my native language; I guess there will be some mistakes in here. So please bear with me.
Special note: I dedicate this story to my favorite muse.
Author & Copyright: The Storyteller’s Garden

Moaning softly I raised my head. Tried to get up and to orientate myself in the shadows of the flickering candlelight. I slowly regained consciousness and managed while standing up to recognize the silhouette of the almost obscene, ancient wall painting, which obviously represented angels and demons in a sinful orgy.

I just could not resist a cynical smile when I realized I was in the salon of the old lecher Giacomo, who had invited to the masquerade ball at his palazzo at the Piazza San Marco on this icy February night.

The air was thick with an irresistible mixture of blood and lust, while the quiet sounds of the violin quartet were accompanied by music with a variety of lustful sounds. Every year, on the occasion of the carnival, it was an age-old custom among us vampires here in Venice to invite mortals to a ball with us to take pleasure in them.

Which reminds me of the young woman below me, who had succumbed to my charm this night and had paid with her life for this weakness. She lay before me in all her beauty. The full breasts exposed, covered with bite marks and blood smudged. Lost in thought, I dipped my right index finger in a small pool of blood and licked the now cooled lifeblood then slowly and pleasurably from my finger.

She tasted really delicious. Unfortunately however I had realized too late that she had already been indulged the alcohol significantly and that she was so drunk that her blood was so intoxicating that it had robbed me of my senses for a while. How clumsy of me.

Meanwhile I had completely raised and just smoothed down my clothes as I was embraced by two strong arms from behind. The hands instantly found their way under my shirt, where they immediately began to caress demanding over my chest, while a familiar, seductive voice whispered into my ear: “Looks like you had previously a rather intoxicating night, what my Sweetheart?”

His hands knew exactly what they were doing and instead of an answer escaped me a lustful moan, followed by a slight nod. I was putty in his hands. He knew and enjoyed it. Urged his body rhythmically against mine so that I could clearly feel his excitement before he struck his fangs into my neck and slowly but enjoyable started to suck my blood. When he shortly thereafter desisted from me, he whispered softly “Let’s go!”
I didn’t mind.

~ The End ~


About The Storyteller's Garden

Creature of the night ₪ ø ιιι ·o.
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