Tales of the Mumbai Coven – Chapter 4

Someone once speculated that Jack the Ripper was a vampire. Well, of course he was. His horrific acts of violence were exactly what might have been expected from an untutored and abandoned newling. And would it surprise you to know that, in life, he had been a deeply religious man, a traditionalist, a fatalist? His inability to assert any self-control was proof of his profound belief in heaven and hell, in salvation and damnation. He saw no point in trying to impose any morality on his desires; he was so completely convinced that the creature he had become was irredeemably consigned to perdition.

This wasn’t speculation on my part. I knew the man who put him out of his misery, intimately. Calum McNeill was my maker.

The Clinic

Daniel was in the living room, dressed for the evening’s outing in a long black linen shirt with a Nehru collar and loose matching trousers. As he stood in front of the open French windows, his posture said, ‘my patience is being tested.’

Ben and Katarina faced each other across the old mah-jong table, playing as if big money rode on their game. They each looked up and gave me a cursory greeting before returning their attention to the little ivory markers on the table. Latika was nowhere to be seen; she’d gone off to do a little hunting of her own, I assumed.

“Thank you for waiting, Daniel. And for inviting us.” I stood on my toes to kiss his cheek. It felt slightly hollow. He hadn’t fed in a few days.

“Where’s the boy, Marta? Did you wear him out?”

I laughed. “Not in the least. But he came down in jeans and a t-shirt. I sent him back up to change into something more appropriate. I told him that you expect your guests to dress for dinner.”

I wore a midnight blue silk shell and skirt. It was full and allowed for movement, like the leather sandals on my feet. There was nothing quite as maddening as trying to hunt in uncomfortable clothes.

“So, he’s preening for you?” Daniel teased. His hand found mine and squeezed it amicably.

“No. I’m pretty sure he’s preening for you, actually. You intimidate the hell out of him, but he desperately wants you to like him.”

Daniel’s eyebrows rose in feigned surprise. “How delicious! And what a shameless piece of flattery.”

On cue, Stefan entered wearing a maroon, button-down shirt and a pair of light beige Dockers, hands stuffed in the pockets. “Is this better?” he asked, fishing for approbation.

I nodded and gave him a wink, but Daniel surveyed him more critically, his attention settling on the tan trousers. “Oh, dear! I do hope he’s not a messy eater.”

At first I thought Daniel was teasing, but then it struck me that if Daniel didn’t know, then he’d never taken Stefan out to feed before.

“Who,” I asked, looking over at the pair playing Mahjong, “has taken him out hunting?” No one spoke. Stefan looked awkward and stared at his feet.

“No one has taken him out?” To my surprise, my voice had turned belligerent.

Benjamin looked up from his game. “Well, we thought we’d wait. You know, until you returned. We just made do.”

“With order-in,” chimed in Katarina.

I glared at both of them, but they studiously ignored me and returned to their game. Lazy, selfish fucks, I thought. Neither of them had stood up for me when Daniel banished me to the ‘hole’ and now, it appeared, they had done the absolute minimum to help Stefan adjust to his new situation. Order-in, my ass; they’d been hand-feeding him.

“Daniel?” I rounded on him. “You’re all joking, right?”

Daniel shrugged his broad, angular shoulders. “We thought we’d reserve the pleasure for you. Marta. You *know* how newlings get after their first hunt.”

Of course I knew. They were usually half-mad with adrenalin, shell-shocked by the experience, stoned on the feed and vulnerable as hell. But most of all, they were sociopathically horny.

“I promised we’d keep him for you. And it would have been uncomfortable for me” he added, his gaze sliding down Stefan’s body, “to keep my promise to you with him in *that* state.”

Oh, God forbid Daniel should ever suffer discomfort, I thought bitterly. I turned back to Stefan. The boy was still looking at his feet, his expression guarded. The realization of his complete inexperience, his innocence, was still sinking in. He had said that they had ‘taught him things,’ but they’d left the hardest part of his education for me. Now I understood what Daniel’s magnanimous invitation was all about.

I brushed Stefan’s cheek with my fingertips. “Are you ready for this?” I whispered. “Has anyone explained this to you?”

Stefan bobbed his head, but he wouldn’t meet my eyes. It was obvious that his youthful pride wouldn’t permit him to show anyone the fear he must have been feeling. I had been the same way with Calum. Once the moment swept you up, the instincts took over but, until then, there was an awful, claustrophobic sort of dread.

My own making had been as close to a kindness, a moral act, as anyone could hope for, but turning Stefan had been unforgivable. There hadn’t been any excuse for my appalling weakness. I’d chaffed at the punishment Daniel had imposed. On reflection, I had deserved much worse. He should have shoved me out into the sunlight.

Fuck it, I thought. There was no undoing what I’d done – only taking responsibility for it – and that included initiating Stefan as gently and considerately as I could. Pondering this, I felt a surge of excitement. I hadn’t hunted since I’d turned Stefan, and a steady creep of adrenalin, like a mild frost, anesthetized my skin.

I gave the boy another caress, trying to push away the mix of guilt and exhilaration I was feeling. “Don’t worry. Daniel will take care of us both, won’t you?” I turned to Daniel. “Got something special in mind?”

Daniel’s smile was broad and he held his arms wide, stepped behind us and draped them over our shoulders. “I have a marvellous adventure planned. A visit to a clinic!” This last sentence was delivered in a tone one might take with toddlers.

He nudged us both towards the open veranda and down the steps into the garden, heading for the gate that lead to Gabriel Road.

“We’re going to a blood donor clinic?” whispered Stefan, sounding confused and just a little uncertain as we walked along.

I slipped my arm through his and smothered an urge to snigger. “Not exactly.”

* * *

We walked through the Mahim district, a leafy, residential enclave squeezed between the brash neon of Candy Beach and the Victorian drabness of the Matunga rail yard. Beyond it to the east was Mumbai’s largest and darkest slum, Dharavi.

Almost every imaginable atrocity has been committed there. Murder and rape, of course, but also more inventive cruelties: new young wives burned alive once their dowries had been secured, children bought and sold for every kind of agony, animals tortured for sport, virgins infected for money, female foetuses detected by ultrasound and aborted before birth.

Tonight we were off to visit the organ thieves who did a lucrative business, mostly in kidneys, but sometimes in stranger things, too. I considered explaining this to Stefan, but decided that was Daniel’s prerogative.

As we plunged down one of the narrow alleys that led into the endless maze of the slum, people parted and flattened to the wall at Daniel’s approach. He could pass for high-caste Indian, with his dark hair and olive eyes, but he was Spanish by birth. I never understood exactly what they thought of him, with his Indian style clothes and hair that fell past his shoulders. Perhaps it was his eyes that made them move, or the faint glow of his skin. Perhaps they knew at some intuitive level that death was passing by.

A cacophony of cries rose up as we walked through one of brothel alleys. The whores on the upper floors, with their brightly coloured saris catcalled to us. The ones that crowded the street’s doorways reached out with henna decorated hands, their fingertips brushing us as we passed.

The sensory barrage overwhelmed Stefan, who tugged at my hand to slow me down. “Why not here?” he shouted over the din, looking up at the women and transvestites. We should have taken a different route, I thought.

Whether he could feel his newborn instinct remapping the world or not, I could see the hint of its icy ruthlessness in his eyes. “No. Not here,” I replied, pulling him onwards. “Never, ever here.”

“Why not?” Hunger sharpened his voice. He glanced around like a cat in a room full of birds.

The explanation would have to wait until later. As we followed Daniel through a dozen more twisting passageways, he turned and grinned. “Almost there.”

Down one of the quiet, dead-end alleys, the clinic was a grubby, tin-roofed, two-story house hemmed in on three sides by other dwellings. A sliding lattice grate barred the threshold, but the doors were opened to catch the night’s cooler air. Beyond, a couple of men sat around a battered office desk, smoking and sharing a bottle of Kingfisher beer. A TV set bathed the men in ever-changing, varicoloured light, its speakers squawked out a Bollywood production number.

Daniel rapped on the metal grate to get their attention. One of the men, the thinner and taller of the two, got up, came to entrance, and glared through the bars. “We’re closed. Go away,” he barked over the music.

Daniel fixed him with his eyes. “Manish sent me. He says that you have something to sell me – for my wife.” Stefan and I were standing behind Daniel and he twitched his head in our direction. “She’s not well.”

“What blood-type?”

“O negative.” He pulled a thick fold of American hundred dollar bills out of his pocket and held it up. “Manish said $2000.”

The man shouted something into the back of the room, and a woman’s voice responded.

“Okay. But you’ll have to take it to the hospital yourself. We’ll supply the ice for another twenty dollars,” said the man. He unhooked the latch and pushed the metal gate aside with a squeal. “Come in. ”

* * *

“Take Stefan into the back,” whispered Daniel, as he waved us ahead into the shabby front office.

I grabbed Stefan’s hand and moved fast. The shorter, fatter man began to struggle to his feet, but I shouldered him hard as I passed him, pushing him into the wall and feeling a few of his ribs crack. He grunted as the breath left him. Without stopping, I headed for the open door that lead to the rear of the establishment.

The woman whose voice we had heard earlier was coming towards me, a look of anger and surprise on her middle-aged, jowly face. I caught her under the chin with my right hand, feeling my fingers sink in around her doughy skin, and kept pushing until I’d pinned against the far wall. Her head hit it with a dull thud and, for a few seconds, she was still. Then flailing weekly, she began to fight for air as I gripped her throat in my hand.

The room was lit with a single fluorescent strip and, beneath it, a naked body, back exposed, lay on a long metal table. There were parallel, open surgical incisions on either side of the body’s spine, stretching upwards from the top of the buttocks. Below the table, pools of glistening, coagulating blood covered the dirty linoleum floor. The room smelled of copper and decay. A neat line of plastic coolers stood along the baseboard of one wall. The paint above them was spattered with old blood.

“Oh, my God! What is this place?” muttered Stefan. He took in the surroundings and, with a glint of panic in his eyes, put his hand to his mouth and dry-wretched.

“Never mind. Come here and hold her for me, darling,” I said in a calm and deliberate voice. The smell of blood and the sensation of the woman struggling to breathe under my hand were gnawing at my self-control. “Come on,” I coaxed, tugging him closer. “Hold her, just as I am doing.”

The boy retched again, but then came to my side. I guided his hand over the one I was using to hold the woman.

“That’s it. Good boy. Got her?” When I felt his grip take over, I carefully released my own. “Hold her. Feel her struggle, Stefan.”

I was fighting to control my mounting hunger. My gums itched maddeningly as my canines emerged from their recesses. Behind me, in the other room, I heard Daniel grunt and begin to feed.

“What is this place?” asked the boy. His voice shook, but he was doing very well for a first time. He had a good grip on the woman, but wasn’t paying much attention to her.

“They kidnap people and bring them here, and take out their kidneys. Then they sell them on the black market. By Mumbai Coven rules, it’s a free fire zone, unless we find any live donors.”

I walked over to the body on the table and pulled up a shoulder to look at the victim. A female, young, maybe only sixteen or seventeen, and painfully thin. She had died quite recently. Her corpse was still just a little above the temperature of the room.

“Is…is it dead?” Stefan asked. His gaze flitted from me to the woman and back again. Despite his horror, despite his disgust, his eyes were changing. Any pity or compassion they had once held was ebbing away. They’d begun to sparkle with hunger, and his fully extended fangs nestled into his lower lip.

I edged up beside him; delicious streaks of electricity raced up my spine and over my scalp. The woman he held was still struggling despite the lack of oxygen. “Now ease up a little on her throat and look into her eyes, Stefan. You’ll feel a tug and then a click, like a magnet meeting metal. Let her see you, let her come to you.”

“But she’ll run. Won’t she just run if I let her go?” The woman’s eyes were bulging, and her face was almost purple. She looked at the boy with a sort of desperate pleading.

“She won’t. And if she did, you could catch her easily,” I soothed, easing his arm away from her. The woman slumped a little against the wall.

Stefan took deepening breaths. He was still scared – still freaked out – but I knew his instincts were taking over. He fixed the woman with his gaze, and she whimpered. The air whistled through her partially crushed windpipe.

“See? Perfect. You’re doing great,” I purred, letting my fingertips trail up his back, feeling the soft cotton shirt. Beneath it, his back was rigid, his muscles twitched with hunger. I stepped behind him and pressed my body against his, wrapping my arms around his chest, feeling the feral need steal over him. “Take her, my little lamb. Take her now,” I whispered into his ear.

A groan forced itself up from his throat. He grabbed her shoulders, raising her to his height, and pressed his mouth into the side of her neck. I heard his teeth breach her skin, felt his body jerk as the fountain of blood erupted into his mouth; I couldn’t see it but knew, absolutely, that he had found her artery on his very first attempt.

A base wave of pride washed over me and then, as I listened to him suck greedily, a more familiar feeling overtook it. Stefan’s hips began to move, pressing into his prey with each needy draw. My nipples came alive and stiffened against Stefan’s back. Wetness trickled down between my thighs. Blood joy – that’s what Daniel called it. Stefan repositioned his jaw and bit down again with a satisfied grunt. A thin stream of crimson coursed past his cheek and over my shoulder. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see the individual ruby droplets, sparkling like little jewels, clinging to the strands of my hair.

“Careful. Don’t move too much,” I panted, trying to maintain my sense of responsibility. “Otherwise, it gets messy.”

Stefan moaned and continued feeding. Pressing my ear against his back, I listened to him suck and swallow, over and over, losing myself in its rhythm.

A polite cough snapped me back, and I turned to see Daniel standing in the doorway, delicately dabbing the side of his mouth with a dark handkerchief. “There’s some out here for you, Marta. I couldn’t finish both of them.”

Usually, a single feed every four or five days was enough to sustain me nicely but, after the long month of punishment and abstinence and despite the earlier feed, courtesy of Latika, I was still hungry.

“Will you keep an eye on him?”

“It would be my pleasure.” Daniel smiled. His teeth were still streaked with blood; his face was flushed with it, too, and the erection his feeding had prompted strained at his trousers.

Brushing past him, I returned to the front room. Ever the neat freak, Daniel had tucked the heavier man discretely in the far corner. The thinner man was on the chair; his upper body slumped over the desk. He gave a weak whimper, hardly perceptible over the music still blaring from the television speakers.

I bent over and bit into the same side of his neck Daniel had chosen. The small wounds had partially sealed with some help from Daniel’s saliva, but blood still oozed from the holes. I pushed my fangs into them, breaking the seal, and began to drink.

On the whole, male vampires love the point of puncture. For them, it’s the most erotic part of feeding. For me, and for most of the females I’ve known, it’s the flow – the hot, surging gush – that gives us the most pleasure. This one was half-gone already – his heart was weak – and something of a disappointment. But this wasn’t my big night, I reminded myself. I took the rest of what the organ thief had to offer and fed until his quivering heart stopped.

When I rose, Daniel and Stefan were waiting, more than a little impatience registering on both their faces and their crotches.

“I thought that went well,” said Daniel. His delivery was droll, but I knew he was very pleased. “Shall we be off, then?”

We stepped out of the little house and Daniel took the lead again, heading through the slum’s labyrinth, homewards. I noticed that, despite Stefan’s earlier reservations, he clung onto Daniel’s hand just as ferociously as he held mine.

Aftermath

The return trips always seemed so much longer. With the blood singing in my veins, it was like carrying a primed fuse in my chest. Once the first thick, hot stream of blood registered in my system, the second hunger rose up, as it always did, eclipsing the first.

Stefan, I was pretty sure, had felt a mild version of this before. The blood in the glass, or the hand-held feeds from unconscious prey would have left him with a dull, aching need in his groin. But it couldn’t compare with the aftermath of his first kill. I was all too familiar with the lust clawing away inside him, like a rabid animal trying to fight free, a thousand times stronger than anything he’d felt before. The first experience of that need was monstrous in its intensity.

The hand clutching mine was quivering with tension. His attention whipped from pedestrian to pedestrian as we threaded our way home. When we reached the darkened quiet of Gabriel Road, Stefan pulled both Daniel and I to a stop.

“Marta,” he said, a hint of panic in his voice. His tight jaw trembled in the light of the streetlamp. “I’m so-o…” The word curled into a echo of need.

“Horny. Yes, I know. Come on, sweetheart. We’re almost home.” I pulled him by the hand, but he wouldn’t budge.

“Please. I can’t go on. It hurts,” Stefan hissed out from between clenched teeth. “I really want to fuck you, or maybe rip your throat out.” He blinked and looked stricken. “Fuck, did I say that? I – I didn’t mean it.”

“Yes you did,” I said lightly, making sure I had a good, tight grip on him. “But it’s perfectly normal. Come on. Not too far now.” I gave his arm a hard tug, but Stefan refused to move.

Daniel’s laugh was sardonic. It was a mark of his great age that he could feel just as aroused, just as feral, as the rest of us, yet hide it so completely. Only the silky thickness of his voice gave him away. He pulled Stefan towards him and kissed the boy’s lips gently. It was a cruel thing to do.

Before I could stop him, Stefan had wriggled from my grasp. He wrapped his arms around Daniel’s neck and kissed him savagely, rubbing himself desperately against Daniel’s hip. A wail of misery rose up out of the boy’s throat.

“You’re such an asshole!” I snapped at Daniel, who pulled away from Stefan’s mouth wearing a smug smile.

Stefan dry-humped against him making obscenely sexy noises. My cunt muscles fluttered and I bit my lip to stop myself from moaning in sympathy. The soft, desperate yips coming from Stefan abruptly resolved into a relieved sigh and his body shuddered to a stop. He pressed his face against Daniel’s chest, panting.

Daniel gave Stefan’s ass a firm squeeze and smirked at me again. “Stefan’s gay… did you know that?” he said in a stage whisper, parroting the boy’s earlier assertion.

Stefan pushed himself away from Daniel roughly and, with a groan of dismay, looked down at the wet spot darkening the front of his Dockers. “Shit,” he said.

“Right! You’ve had your pound of flesh,” I hissed at Daniel. “Now can we go home?” I retrieved Stefan’s hand and began pulling him up the street with determination. I had my own smouldering desires to suppress.

“Jesus,” whispered Stefan, who had stopped resisting and trotted alongside me. “I’m…I’m hard again. There’s something wrong with me.”

“We all feel the same way. You’ll live.”

Daniel caught up and walked behind us. He threaded a long-fingered hand through my hair and rubbed at my scalp. He did the same to Stefan, who responded with a pitiful moan.

We were almost at the gate. I fumbled in my skirt pocket for the key. My hand shook as I tried to fit the key into the lock. It didn’t help that Daniel was distracting me. I felt the key slide and turn, but the gate stuck fast.

“How do you make it stop? Marta? Honestly, I don’t think I can stand it.” Stefan’s panic had returned. He nestled up to me, making it difficult for me to get any leverage on the gate’s lock.

“For fuck’s sake, Stefan. Just shut up for a minute.”

Daniel grabbed a handful of Stefan’s hair, pulling his head back so he could look down into the boy’s face. “You just fuck and suck, and suck and fuck, and come over and over and over, until you’re all worn out,” said Daniel.

I jiggled the stuck lock, rattling the gate, snarling in frustration. “Someone has to remember to oil this motherfucking gate!” I snarled.

Opting for violence, I gave it one ferocious kick. It swung open with a petulant squeak.

Invited

Rarely did Daniel invite anyone into his room up on the second floor. A peculiar sort of traditionalist, his love of order and ritual were remnants of his Jesuit past. In Daniel’s eyes, Stefan’s first hunt was an occasion worth marking. Of course, getting a piece of the boy’s sweet ass was probably a significant, if secondary, motivation. But it would have been a mistake to cast Daniel as merely mercenary. Being coven-leader, he had the right to demand and get any piece of ass he wanted. Had he been as ruthless as most of the other coven-leaders I’d met, he wouldn’t have bothered with niceties. He would have simply raped Stefan and considered it nothing more than his due.

I’d always felt what made Daniel so different was that he’d been so much more monstrous in life than he was in death.

* * *

The room was the largest in the house. Like mine, it faced the back garden, but his stretched the full width of the upper floor. His library was there, his drawings, paintings, and trinkets – the detritus of a very, very long existence. He’d chosen furnishings that were commonplace during his life: heavy, dark carved wood. A few chairs, a large table, and a massive chest that served, when needed, as a coffin.

Since the interior metal shutters had been installed, none of us resorted to sleeping in coffins. As long there was a guarantee of a lightless room, a bed would do very nicely. Daniel had a massive wrought iron affair raised almost three feet off the floor: the perfect height to bend someone over the side. I doubted this was happenstance.

The room was lit by a pair of paraffin storm-lamps that hung from hooks in front of the open windows. They swayed gently in the night breeze. I’d seen his lamps before, and they always struck me as vaguely suicidal. Who in their right mind would choose paraffin once electricity had come along? But Daniel had said it was an old habit: he liked the light and scent they gave off.

Stefan was having trouble controlling himself. He crawled onto Daniel’s bed, pressed his face into the bedclothes, rubbed his clothed body against the mattress, moaning. His hands dug into the coverlet, clawing and releasing like a cat marking territory. If we waited too long, he would proceed to mark it in other ways, too. I knew very well how he felt: his skin was too tight, it bound him in; his lungs could not hold all the air he needed, although he didn’t need any; his hunger was immense and his mind toyed with visions of viscera. To rip and tear, to eat and chew, to drink and swallow down, to stick his cock into any available hole and push and push and push, until he broke through to where the need stopped tormenting him. He was too new to distinguish the blood hunger from the lust. Instinct told him the need would devour him, and he had no capacity to doubt what his instincts were saying.

I watched Daniel lock the door and close the shutters, talking my own instincts down from their height at the garden gate. “Rules of play?” I asked, forcing a casualness I didn’t feel.

“Same as always. You two can spend the night, but you’re out before dawn. Understood?” said Daniel, unbuttoning his shirt and removing it. I took his cue and pulled off my top, shaking my hair out. A few strands stuck to my face, still tacky with blood drops.

“You should probably restrain him.” Daniel tipped his head in Stefan’s direction. “At least for a while. There are cuffs in the chest.”

Hearing his name, Stefan’s eyes snapped up and tracked Daniel’s movement with twitchy, predatory interest. “Tie me up?” he said, and shook his head vehemently. “No. I’m not into that bondage stuff. ”

“It’s for your own good Stefan. You wouldn’t want to hurt me, would you?” I said, my voice as cool and unthreatening as I could make it. I unzipped my skirt and stepped out of it, kicking off my sandals at the same time. Just the caress of air on my bare skin made me shudder. The crotch of my panties was sodden, my inner thighs slick with wetness. The scent of it made my lust burn bright.

The boy reared his chest up off the bed like a cobra, fingers digging into the matress. “Marta, I’d never hurt you,” he said, with an edgy, manipulative whine that made a lie of his promise. “I just want to fuck. That’s all. Really! Why don’t you come over here… or I could come over there…”

His voice was getting to me, worming its way into my brain. I wasn’t going to let my need make me stupid. “Stefan, just shut up and take your clothes off.”

The boy opened his mouth to speak again, but I stopped him. “Off. Clothes. Now!”

Stefan gave a quiet snarl and then did as he was told. He fumbled for a bit with his shirt, but gave up and tore at his shirttails, sending buttons skittering over the bed and onto the floor. As he worked on his pants, I began to feel a little guilty for snapping at him, I turned to Daniel. “Can’t you just hold him? Since there’s two of us?”

Daniel pursed his lips in an unsuccessful attempt to suppress a smile. “I was only planning to watch, my dear.”

The tease of his voice wrapped around my neck, making it hard to breathe. There was something about Daniel trying to be coy that was enormously erotic. Something practiced and calculated. I walked over to him and put my arms around his neck, gazing up at him teasingly in return. “You mean you aren’t going to fuck me?”

“Only if you insist, Marta.”

I rubbed myself into him, dragging the lace of my bra over his bare chest. It caught in the sparse dark hair. My nipples hurt. “Oh, I absolutely insist.”

His hands moved down my back and cupped the cheeks of my ass, pulling my hips against him so I could feel the erection that contradicted his cool demeanour. “Well, you take care of our boy first,” he whispered, giving my buttocks a little pat before letting me go. “Then we’ll see.”

“That seems fair.”

I stalked over to the bed, my eyes fixed on the newling. Daniel slipped out of his pants, and followed me, naked but for a pair of tight black undershorts.

Having undressed, Stefan sat on the bed and looked at me with an expression of need mixed angst. “So, no bondage, right?”

I climbed up onto the bed, smelling his skin, his recent release, and nodded. “But Daniel’s going to hold you. Okay?”

Stefan looked both wary and feral.

“If you won’t let him hold you, we’ll have to restrain you. It’s your choice.”

Even with all the lust rising in his body, plainly visible, Stefan blushed. He glanced over at Daniel, who was lying back against the pillows on the far side of the bed, wearing a studied, neutral expression. “Well, I guess it’s okay if he just holds me.”

I inhaled deeply, let out a long, hungry breath, and smiled. Daniel got to his knees and moved behind the boy, gently wrapping a forearm around Stefan’s neck, easing the boy back against his chest. It was obvious Stefan didn’t like it. He twitched and tried to sit back up a few times. It wasn’t the contact he minded, I guessed, as much as the feeling of being trapped.

Leaning back, his legs straight out in front of him, Stefan’s cock rose straight up from a curly thatch, several shades darker than the hair on his head. As my fingers curled around the cool, hard length of it, I felt its reedy pulse. His body jerked, and he tried to lunge at me, his teeth bared, but Daniel’s arm blocked his attempt.

“Sh-h. Relax,” I whispered, carefully moving, my hand encircling him. I straddled his legs and stroked him slowly. His thigh muscles trembled beneath me, his breaths were shallow and sharp. “Does it feel good, little lamb?”

Stefan looked from his groin to my face and nodded. “Yes,” he said in a choked whisper. “Don’t stop. Please.”

“I won’t.”

The muscles beneath the surface of his stomach rippled. As his hips began to move, mine did, too. The sweet smell of him made my mouth water and my teeth itch. “Fuck, you smell good. You feel good in my hand.”

He closed his eyes and inhaled. “So do you. Come closer.”

His lips quivered. The sharp scent of adrenalin perfumed his breath as he took shallow, needy gulps of air. When I pressed my lips to his, a dark, animal sound rose from his throat, and my own lust surged. He strained against Daniel’s hold to kiss me back, mouth open, fangs exposed. His arms wrapped around my shoulders and his fingers dug into my back, nails sinking into my skin.

The pain shocked me, but not enough to pull away. I had been expecting this, knowing what would happen when I got close. If I pulled away too fast, I’d leave a lot of skin under his fingernails. Instead, I squeezed his cock hard enough to make him gasp.

“Get your nails out of my back, Stefan, or I’ll tear your cock off, ” I said, trying hard to sound like I meant it.

He made a frustrated little noise at the back of his throat, and I felt him consciously ease his embrace. In response, I released my death grip on his cock and went back to stroking it.

“Sorry.” It was a soft whimper.

“It’s okay.” I slipped my tongue across his lips, mindful not to let my own arousal to make me careless. Tongue tips grew back, but they hurt like hell as they did.

Lowering my mouth to Stefan’s neck, I savoured his milky skin, wanting to taste the blood in the latticework of tiny veins beneath it. His hips moved, pushing his cock through my curled fingers. It throbbed. His body thrummed with tension. I felt muscles twitch in his arms, and gripped him tighter again as a warning. My lips found his pale, stiff nipple. The tender skin was velvet on my tongue. Little bumps of gooseflesh raised the darker skin that surrounded the nub. I trailed my open mouth, my teeth, over them.

Stefan’s back bowed suddenly. “Marta, please! I’m going to come. Just fuck me. Please!”

I considered bringing him off in my hand. The thought of feeling his cum spurting up between our bodies was tempting. His orgasm wouldn’t quench his lust for long, but it would certainly pacify him. Then I thought of how good his cock would feel inside me, how much I wanted it.

Awkwardly, I tried to push my panties down, but my legs were straddling his. A nasty blade of impatience cut at my nerves. Grabbing the lacy material at my hip with my free hand, I gave it a good yank. There was a gratifying ripping sound; it went straight to my pussy.

I edged my knees forward a little and rose up. The head of his cock prodded my slit. Wet and swollen, my lips parted against the pressure like an over-ripe plum. I moved, rubbing the ridge at the underside of his cock over my clit, sending shocks of pleasure into my depths that were so sweet they made my cunt ache. In Stefan’s wild eyes told me how close he was to the edge, and I wasn’t far behind.

“This time,” I said, panting, rubbing, “you’re going to come fast. Don’t get all upset about it. Okay?”

Through the haze of lust in his eyes, I saw a glint of understanding and, perhaps of relief. Whatever else Stefan was, he was young, and had a young man’s brittle pride. He nodded and closed his eyes, letting his head loll back on Daniel’s chest, he begged, “Just – just please, fuck me.”

I guided his cockhead to my entrance and eased myself onto him; I was so obscenely wet, I heard him slide in. Stefan and I gasped simultaneously, and his hands moved down to my hips, his grip fierce, fingers digging into my skin. This time I didn’t stop him. It felt far too good. He throbbed in me, and my muscles squeezed him in response. It felt so unbearably sweet, I couldn’t move, even though Stefan’s hands were pulling, urging me.

“Christ, you feel so fucking good,” I panted. My core pulsed. Just the sensation of being filled was enough to start the steep, delicious climb. Stefan’s gave a long, low, wordless growl.

Daniel slipped his free arm around Stefan’s chest; his slender fingers moved over one nipple and pinched it. I felt the effects of it inside me; Stefan’s cock jerked violently. He turned his head, nuzzling at Daniel’s cheek.

Stefan parted his lips. I could see the glint of his teeth, but instead of taking a chunk out of Daniel, he whispered, “Oh-god, oh-god, oh-god, oh-god…” in a desperate repetition.

Turning his head, Daniel kissed the boy’s mouth, smothering, eating the mantra. The sight of that kiss demolished me; rushing heat spiked my brain and hijacked my body, forcing my hips to ride. I tried to hold myself back and take it slow, but I couldn’t.

Daniel cupped Stefan’s jaw, and I watched both men open their mouths, tongues intertwining, canines gleaming in the lamplight. Ecstasy, like a big thick serpent curled around the base of my spine, began to uncoil and make its way up to my brain. I cried out and slammed myself down around Stefan’s dick, his grip on my hips guided me perfectly. His own thrust upwards savagely.

He came, forcing me down on him, his tip shoved against my cervix, flooding me with his cool, dead seed. Although I could feel myself absorbing it, taking it into my blood, it no longer left the echo of its flavour in my mouth as it had in the airport.