My Little VentrueChapter 10 free porn video

~~Antoinette~~

From the meeting room of her great glass tower in Elysium, Antoinette stood in front of the window-wall, and watched the city burn. Far off in the distance, the night sky had turned slightly orange with the light of flame, as the large fire of the North Side’s warehouse district spread. Sirens filled the air, and flashing lights of firetrucks and other emergency vehicles zipped by.

“It burns,” she said.

“Quite the sight.”

Jacob stood beside her. The old Nosferatu was dressed in some ridiculous garb, old and worn fabric that draped over him, thick and heavy like some sort of animal skin. It smelled like it too.

She managed a small chuckle at his words, and even the eyeless Nosferatu cracked a grin at her in return. He could see without eyes, she knew it, but how he did or what it was like were mysteries she would never know. Mysteries were infuriating and intoxicating to a Dragon.

“Did your raid against Xnomina go well?” she asked.

“Michael and Maria both showed up. I made enough chaos that they stuck around, so whatever is happening out there,” he said, and pointed at the giant fire miles off in the distance, “is probably just between Viktor and Tony.” He lowered his hand, and she grimaced. He’d left a smudge on her window.

“I cannot see how either of them would cause such insanity. They are not children, Jacob.”

“You’re right, but men can get pretty stupid in a pissing contest.” The old Nosferatu gave a shrug, slipped his hands together inside his robes, and moved over to lean back against the window. Ugh, her poor window, so many smudges. “And hey, maybe you got what you wanted. One of them could have killed the other.”

“I can only hope.”

The door opened. She turned, and smiled when Daniel stuck his head in through the door.

The smile quickly faded when he walked in with Jack in his arms. The boy had been split open from face to gut, and half of him was badly burned. Kindred blood soaked him, and bits of it turned to ash on his skin and ruined suit.

“Jack!” She almost jumped to Daniel to scoop the boy out of his arms. Composure went out the window. It was only Daniel and Jacob, one her faithful servant and the other ... well, composure mattered little to the ancient Circle of the Crone member. “What happened?”

“I found only Mister Terry at the site. Mister Mire and ... Beatrice, I believe was her name, were both there, but were leaving to escape the fire.” Daniel stepped forward and adjusted his glasses with a single finger, his voice monotone as always. “If Viktor or Tony had been there, I found no sign of them.”

No Tony or Viktor. Could the fire have eaten them? She could only hope.

Now was no time to bask in triumph though, she had to deal with the boy. He was in torpor, the Kindred coma forced on him by his wounds, but he would not survive with more of his blood escaping by the minute. He was too young to regenerate what would wound even her.

“Daniel. Bring me three from the reserve.”

“Three, Prince? Per-”

“Now.”

“ ... as you wish.” The quiet man gave a small bow, and was gone.

“Perhaps the boy can tell us what we wish to know.” Jacob was beside her, and she found herself naturally stepping between him and the boy.

“Perhaps. For now, I am only concerned with saving his life.” She held the small man to her business suit. It did not matter that his dark blood soaked through it, she did not care. All the webs she’d spun, all the deceit and manipulations and carefully laid plans, it all just stopped existing. For just the moment, for just right now, there was only the young vampire in her arms.

“Yeah? What does a Voivode of the Ordo Dracul care with a fledgling?”

She glared daggers into him. “You are not a Dragon, do not call me by that title. And,” she looked down and stroked the boy’s hair, “when was the last time someone cared for you, witch?”

He stopped. She had chosen her words carefully. The old monster, long a witch of the Circle, likely cared for many things, but for someone to care for him was a different matter entirely. So for the moment, she did nothing but stroke the unconscious Ventrue’s hair, while the Nosferatu lowered his eyeless gaze to look at nothing. They were just two old monsters, prime examples of each of their covenants’ most powerful members, and in the end, it meant nothing.

Tony would not understand it, and neither would Viktor, but Jacob knew. He knew all too well.

Daniel returned, and by his hands he pulled three people along with wrists cuffed behind their backs.

“Daniel, would you ... no, it is too late to risk it, even for you. Tomorrow night, please find Julias Mire and explain to him that his childe is still alive. I will return him soon.”

He nodded, and left. Not even the situation before them could spark conversation from her stone sheriff. He’d left the three kine in her care.

“Jacob, you may go. You may stop your raids against the Invictus for now. I will contact you again if your help is required. And ... I—”

He raised a hand to cut off her apology, and moved it to the side with a dismissal as his smile returned. “Don’t worry about it,” he said, “happy to help anytime.” Then he vanished. Literally. Even she could not follow his mastery of the hiding disciplines. Such a powerful ally. Such a dangerous enemy.

Antoinette turned to her sacrifices, gave each of them a stern look, and they whimpered in their gags. She was not a cruel soul; she avoided sacrificing kine that deserved life, when the situation allowed. But an elder learned to not be wasteful with their enemies, even human enemies.

She could spare a few souls from her dungeon.

It took only twenty minutes. In twenty minutes, she had bled the three kine dry. It was so simple and easy for her to cut their throats, pin them to the boy’s propped-open mouth, and force the fresh blood to pour into his destroyed jaw. Kindred reflex was enough to make even one in torpor drink blood, so when the warm, red fluid gushed into Jack’s mouth, he drank it down. Had he been awake, she imagined the young vampire would have found such casual murder revolting. She was glad he was not.

His head had been almost split open to the center, but one kine’s blood was enough to close it. The second’s blood was enough to restore the giant gash through his chest and stomach; his insides would regenerate throughout the day when he slept. And the third kine was enough to regenerate the massive amount of burned flesh. Much of it had peeled away and fallen to rotting skin before eventually turning to ash, but gallons of fresh blood now pumped through the young Kindred’s body and restored his skin quickly.

And then he woke up. There were only thirty minutes before sunrise, but that would be more than enough for a quick conversation.

“Uh ... Antoinette? Er, I mean, my Prince? What’s ... going on?” He looked around, clearly confused.

“You survived the fire.” She gestured to the window. The small boy hopped off the table and fell to floor. He let out a loud groan of pain, but when she stood up to help him, he’d already forced himself to stand and look out the glass wall.

“Oh ... god ... oh fuck I’m sorry. I had no idea it’d get this crazy.”

“You did this?”

“I ... yes, my Prince. I had to. Viktor and Tony, they were going to kill each other, but...” He lowered his gaze, even as he turned around to face her. “Viktor let slip he wanted to be Prince, and that he’d kill you to do it. I said no, and ... he was going to kill me. He ... cut me...” Jack took a sniff at the air, and then glanced over by the door, where Antoinette had laid out the bodies. He was still cradling his stomach where much of him had been ruined. “ ... were they for me?”

“Do not worry about them,” she said, and dismissed the three dead humans with a wave of her hand, “continue the story. Please.”

“Right ... Viktor cut me, and he’d ... his eyes ... it was like he’d gone insane. Just because I said he shouldn’t kill you. Tony and Viktor were bickering, fighting, and I was dying, and we were in a textile mill, and I had to think of something, because Viktor wanted me dead now and Tony wanted me dead because of you and Viktor taunting him by using me so I set fire to the mill and both of them died in the fire like incinerated dead and—”

“Alright. Alright.” She stepped over to him by the window, and reached down to raise his gaze. “You set fire to the mill.”

“ ... yes.” He looked down at his bloodied body. There were still massive gashes down his flesh, but those would heal while he slept come sunrise.

“To save yourself?”

The boy turned his gaze to the side for a moment. “I ... yes, but...” And then, he looked up to her, and a smile graced his lips. “Not just for me. Um ... he wanted to hurt you, you know? Both of them did.” He touched the huge cut along his chest that had split open his suit. “ ... I didn’t want you hurt.”

Oh damn you Jack.

She reached out for her nice leather chair, without a care for the mess of blood on her, and sat down with Jack’s hands in hers. “Jack ... Jack I am so sorry.”

“Sorry? Sorry for what?”

“There was no information, Jack.”

He just blinked at her, but that was alright. He was but a fly caught in her web, to her dismay. He did not deserve what her net had wrought.

“That mission that Julias was sent on last month, to acquire information, was planted at my whim. The fire, the fake Vance, everything.”

He blinked a few times more, but she could see his mind start to come to the realization.

“So the information drop ... was all just ... a goose-chase?”

“I needed to create a situation where Tony and Viktor could be dealt with, and where I could blame their deaths on each other.” She looked down just to avoid the pained look on his face, so she stroked his knuckles with her fingernails instead. “My first appearance at Bloodlust was to spark their paranoia. I pulled many puppet strings to lead them both to that location and confrontation. If they killed each other, wonderful, but if not, it was for my sheriff to kill them, and plant evidence they had had killed each other. The plan was not perfect. There were many risks, and gambles, that could have turned the result of this against me instead. But the risk was worth it.”

She would not mention Jacob’s name. The twisted Crone had been the one to plant evidence of Vance, the mysterious information, and the trail that lead to the Carthian hacker Mike. He had even worked with Garry to ensure the trail of evidence would lead to North Side.

She would not betray that trust, but Jack deserved to know the rest.

“And you,” she continued, “killed Viktor, and Tony ... on your own,” a sad chuckle forced its way through, “by burning half of North Side.”

The small Ventrue just stood there, digesting the information. The poor boy. So young, and already she had corrupted him with the Danse Macabre.

“What about ... us?”

When she raised her gaze at his question, she was taken aback. He looked worried. Almost petrified with worry.

“Oh no, little Ventrue.” She pulled him in a little closer. No no, she would not lose this. “Our first meeting was coincidence. I ... please do not think...” She raised his hands to her chest and held them to there. Begging. The Prince was begging, and she did not care.

“So ... you crafted a ridiculously complicated plan just for a slight chance of creating a situation where you could kill Tony and Viktor while avoiding political fallout. Me nearly dying in the process was an unhappy consequence, but us ... together ... is a good thing?”

“Yes. I did not lie to you.”

This time, it was the boy who stepped closer to her. “Then what’s the problem?”

“You almost died, Jack! You were split open and burned. You had to kill your own grandsire, and Tony. Two elders!” What had happened? The young boy was still the same, but changed. Just a little changed, just enough that a warm, confident smile was on his lips, instead of a nervous one. Well, maybe still a little nervous.

He looked down at himself; he was truly an absolutely a mess. The gash, closed but not yet completely healed, ran down his face to his chest and down his stomach to his pelvis. Much of his pale skin was still growing and replacing withered skin and rotting ash. Most of his clothes were ruined, bloodied and burned and split open from neck to hip, and even as he still clutched his stomach in pain, she knew his insides were not whole.

“But ... none of that matters,” he said. Again he stepped closer, until they were almost touching noses, but this time he was the one looking down at her, as she was sitting. “I ... um.” He squirmed, and worry rejoined his expression. “I don’t want to lose this either.”

The boy looked so afraid, sad, uneasy. Did he not realize he was the one who’d been injured, not her? Did he not see that she was the one afraid of losing him?

She let go of his hands, reached out for his sides, and pulled him into her. She even closed her eyes; there was no playful flirtation here, she just wanted to kiss him. Kiss the young man, make all his problems go away, take him, protect him, hold him, and just hug him. He sank into her kiss, so she wrapped her arms around him entirely, and cradled his smaller form against her.

He was hers. Her little Ventrue.

~~Jack~~

He awoke in her office. Thankfully, like Julias’s place, it automatically sealed itself come sunrise. She’d let him sleep there, since it was so late there was no chance he’d get home before the sun came up. They’d only had time to kiss for five minutes before she left for her den, and invited him to sleep in the office.

And he slept like a corpse. Upon awakening, he felt reborn, with his pain gone and insides healed. For once, it was good to be dead.

Alone in the dark of her office. No bodies – mental note, ask about those bodies later – were found, and no Kindred waited him. Instead, he found a suit prepared for him, a note on the table, and a keycard.

“Prepare yourself, and come join me in the ... sub-basement? What?” The note was hand-written, and some of the most god damn beautiful calligraphy he’d ever seen. So, with a shrug, he took the keycard, and looked around. The office had a bathroom, and upon entering, he found it actually had a shower. A shower in an office. Pays to be rich.

Once he was no longer a bloody mess, and wearing the prepared suit, he started his way down the glass tower of Elysium. There were several Kindred and kine working in the tower; which, upon exploring, was actually an office building. Probably for some dummy corporation Antoinette owned, he imagined. The kine, he did not know if they were ghouls or not, so he said nothing to them, but the Kindred he walked by gave him curious glances. Kindred working for Antoinette not even of her own covenant. Scary. One even stopped him, but he held up the keycard and was immediately given passage to continue.

Then there was the guy with the boots, the last thing he’d seen before passing out. With no more fire and insane pain screwing up his vision, he could see the man clearly. Trench coat, glasses, gloves, and a thin, tall, unassuming form. His own inner-beast shriveled at the sight of him though, and that was enough to know who it was. It was the sheriff.

And Jack walked right up to him.

“Sheriff.”

“Mister Terry.”

“I ... owe you. Antoinette told me about what happened, and then you must have—”

The sheriff held a finger up to his own mouth, and glanced around at nearby patrons of the hallway. When he lowered it, Jack found himself a little uncomfortable with the man’s gaze. It was so ... deadpan, emotionless, and almost creepy. But then the Kindred adjusted his glasses, and gave a tiny smile.

“Be kind to her, young Kindred. She is more fragile than you know.”

And then he was gone. With nothing more than a nod, the ancient Mehket just walked past him and continued on his way. For a moment, Jack thought he looked like an English professor, or something.

Dozens of floors and a few oddly vault-like doors later, he opened a door that would have blocked a nuclear explosion, and stepped into the Prince’s den.

The room was massive. Absolutely massive. Huge black drapes hung from the walls, all the walls, bathing the room in darkness except for several standing lamps that gave off just enough white light to keep the room lit. In the center of the room was the bed, the Prince’s bed. It was huge, easily ten feet both across and long, covered in silk black sheets and similarly silk black-covered pillows, a dozen of them. The sheer size of the room combined with the black motif and white light made for an imposing presence.

The floor beneath him was marble, with dancing dragons and coiling around each other. Where black dragons coiled into white dragons, the marble around them changed color as well. Within the coiling dragons, various symbols were highlighted, symbols beyond his knowledge.

“The Coils of the Dragon, of the Ordo Dracul. There are many.”

Jack froze. Ahead of him, Antoinette was sitting on the edge of the bed and facing him. She was dressed in what was probably a silk nightgown, white, and painfully see-through. It did little to hide that underneath it, the Prince was completely naked. Completely. Naked. He tried to avert his eyes, desperate to look at anything to keep his lust down. Oh look, the lamps had dragons coiling around them too, how interesting.

“Come here, my little Ventrue.” That stern voice had come through again, but she was smiling at him. He recognized that smile, from the first day they talked at Bloodlust. She wanted something.

He dragged himself toward her, but damned if he was going to stare. The Prince was beautiful, beyond beautiful, so naturally he had to do everything his power to not look at her right? He kept his eyes on the floor as he eventually closed the distance between them.

“Am I going to have to guide you through every step of this journey?” she said. She was teasing him, he knew it. Her French accent was subtle and playful, and he knew that she knew that he knew that she was playing with him.

He nodded, and she laughed.

“That is fine with me. Come, sit.” She motioned to the space next to her on the bed. There was a lot of it.

With a nervous sigh, Jack took those two final steps toward the woman, and sat next to her. So close, he couldn’t help but see her in the corner of his eye. He was wearing the simple suit someone had left for him in her office, but the woman next to him was wearing what might as well have been nothing.

The Prince turned to face him with one knee pulled up onto the bed. She placed one hand to the bed to lean her weight onto it, and the other drifted up and down her own leg.

“Take off your clothes. Every. Last. Piece.”

Both his hands were on his head, rubbing and scratching at the buzz cut. Wow, just ... what could he do? Say no? But then, why would he say no? He’d killed Viktor and Tony, largely because he knew if he didn’t they’d have killed him, but wasn’t the only reason. Glancing at Antoinette with nervous green eyes, he knew. He killed them because he didn’t want her hurt.

He reached up and undid the buttons of his jacket, and slid it from his shoulders. The Prince helped him, her delicate grip taking the jacket from him and tossing it to the floor.

With a nervous smile, he took a quick glance at her as he undid his tie and did the same. Once he started unbuttoning his shirt though, he got far more nervous. It was his first time getting naked in front of a woman, but the Prince’s word was absolute. Not only absolute, but her smile was so terribly inviting. With shaking fingers, he started to work on his buttons. Each proved problematic, but it wasn’t until he undid the last that Antoinette helped him slide the shirt from his arms.

“You are a lean little thing, aren’t you?” She ran one of her hands up and down his thin body. He had the body of a gymnast, which Antoinette apparently liked. A lot. Her claws found his abs and ran down the cracks of his muscles with hunger. Her red eyes drank in the sight of his small, tight form.

“Do you ... like bigger guys?”

“A faint memory suggests I did, when I was but a freshly embraced. Tall women were not common, and all the men wanted a little dainty thing under their arm.” She leaned in close and put her dark lips to his ear. “That was a long time ago.” She gave his earlobe a gentle nibble as her hand slid further down his stomach to tickle around his navel.

“I, uh ... mm.” Her hands were on him, touching him, playing with him. Her lips were on his ear, tugging and nibbling. Nervousness and anxiety mixed with anticipation and arousal. She wanted him. The Prince of all Dolareido was chewing on his ear.

“I did not say stop,” she said. Commanded.

Jack let out a tiny, nervous chuckle. It was a weird position, but he made it work and undid his pants. Her grip on him was unmovable, her strength unimaginable, and she made no effort to stop teasing his stomach as he slid his pants off. Now, the only thing between him and the sheets was his boxers.

“Uh ... do y-”

“Now.”

He trembled. That voice almost resonated with power, terrifying, like a hungry tiger looming over a mouse.

A strange mix of exhilaration and fear was coursing through his dead bones. He was scared, but definitely aroused, and the combination made him shiver with excitement when he slid off his boxers.

“Oh, you trimmed it.” She let out a teasing giggle before she lowered her hand to the man’s pelvis. Jack dared not move, but he couldn’t help but turn his head to watch her. She was grinning at him. With a wink, her fingers started to stroke where his pubic hair would have been, but found only soft fuzz where he had trimmed it all off. “You remembered when I said I do not like hair, hmm? Did you expect this to happen?”

“No! No, I ... well ... I hoped.”

“Good. Blush for me, my little Ventrue.”

He gulped. On nothing. Kindred don’t salivate unless they had the blush of life going. He took a moment to visualize, and reached into his blood; it was becoming much easier now. Instead of grasping blindly and hoping it worked, he could find his blood and move it like a limb, and with a little concentration, he could tell it to course through him like real human blood.

Tingling warmth came back to his skin. Saliva came back to his mouth. The forgotten, subtle nuances of a heartbeat filled him. He was even blinking his eyes again to moisten them.

His member had also risen with an erection.

He chuckled nervously, horribly nervously, and managed to look up to her eyes. She was licking her lips with her gaze on his member though, and he almost quaked at the hunger in her stare. Quaking turned to a quiet groan when her grip, tender and gentle, wrapped around the base of his shaft. What little growing it had left to do finished an instant, now as hard as possible in her hand.

He had to take a second to examine the situation, so he looked around with a shy shift of his eyes. He was in the Prince’s haven, her lair. The huge room was extremely intimidating; he half expected a metal coffin in its center. The most beautiful creature, and most powerful he’d ever seen, was sitting next to him in a see-through gown, and he next to her wearing absolutely nothing, on a bed. Her hand was around his cock, and she was slowly, so very slowly, starting to squeeze and stroke it.

“I ... I don’t know how ... how did this all hap-”

She put her free hand to his lips with a chuckle, kissed his forehead, and then stood before him. Both her hands reached up to her shoulders, and took grip of the collar of her gown. She arched her back subtly as she pulled on the silk to let it fall down her body, and soon she was standing in front of Jack, completely naked.

Jack’s mouth fell open. Just ... wow. Her body was unbelievable. Her legs were toned and curvy, her stomach flat, her waist thin and her hips wide. Her ass was plentiful, and her breasts were absolutely enormous, with large, dark nipples of the same tint as her dark lips. Her skin was pale, more than other vampires’, and her long, white hair reached down to her hip.

The fact she was a foot taller than him only made it all the more intoxicating a sight.

Then she too blushed, and his mouth fell open further. Her dark nipples and lips turned red like her eyes, and her pale skin turned into beautiful white alabaster. It was like looking at painting.

When she saw that her nudity had struck him dumb, Antoinette giggled — an actual giggle — and crawled back onto the bed beside him. She laid down on her side, propped her head up on one arm, and slowly rubbed her legs together as she waited for Jack’s eyes to eventually reach her.

Jack’s eyes had a long journey to make though. They started at her feet, which had nails painted black, before sliding up the length of her long, very very long legs. They looked so smooth. His eyes soon reached her hips and between her legs, where the smoothness of her body was uncontested. Not a hair to be found. She wasn’t lying about disliking body hair.

His eyes continued moving up her body, but came to a standstill at the sight of her breasts. With her on her side like that, one breast was squishing the other into the silk sheets. They were heavy, natural, and sagged slightly with their volume and mass, like teardrops. The sight of them collapsing to gravity only made him groan in arousal.

“Lay beside me.” She motioned to the space in front of her.

Jack melted back onto the bed. It was truly soft, obviously covered in the finest of silks and a mattress definitely made of the latest in memory foam. He could even see the mattress contour just slightly to the shape of her hips, her torso, and the weight of her breasts. He had tried to land on the bed so they’d be face to face, but her greater height had offset him and now he found his eyes just above her nipples. Her areola, puffy and swollen, were only inches from his chin.

“Tell me, little Ventrue. What do you think of my breasts?” On her side and propping her head up with her elbow, her free arm reached out and took Jack’s hand. Her sharp fingernails drifted down his forearm to find his fingers, and there she guided them up to her body and placed his open palm to the underside of her breasts.

Jack froze. He was doing it. He was really touching her. God her breast was soft.

“I ... my Prince ... I...” No words to be found. He still didn’t move, but with the huge mound of her breast filling the cup of his palm, he couldn’t help but caress her skin with his fingertips. The feel of her breast molding to fit the shape of his hand with its heavy softness made him groan.

“Ah, my little Ventrue, always so honest.” She licked her lips and slid his hand higher until his palm was pressed against her engorged nipple. It was hard against his palm, and Jack’s eyes went a little wide at the sensation of it pressing into his skin.

“I want you,” she continued, pushing his palm toward her until her breast’s ample size overflowed his hand, “to play with my breasts as you desire. Do as you will.” With that, she let go of his hand, and placed her claws upon the back of his neck to rest there. She waited.

Jack was sure he’d died and gone to heaven. Died again, maybe? With her gentle grip on his neck, he drifted across the blankets toward her longer body, and finally brought his face to her breasts.

What’s a man to do when an amazing, huge pair of breasts, so soft and heavy, are just inches from his face? Jack found himself moving without telling himself to, and his lips touched the topside of her bosom. His kisses pressed into her skin, and he let his chin sink into her a bit as he found the sheer size of her breast enough to let his face rest against.

Unable to contain himself any longer, his lips moved further down, and he wrapped his mouth around the large, swollen nipple and areola. A gentle mewl escaped Antoinette. God, how could such an unobtainable goddess be letting him do this? Not just letting him, encouraging him. She pulled his head closer to her breast, enough that much of it overwhelmed his lips, chin and nose with its softness. If he had to breathe, he’d be worried.

He brought both palms to her breasts, but with his head unsupported it had to fall to the blankets. That was alright though. Her other breast, squished under its sister, was just as inviting and soft, and he delightedly wrapped his lips around its nipple instead. Even on his side, he managed to wrap her breast with both palms, and gently squeezed and kneaded its size. With his palm trapped underneath it, its size completely hid his hand and buried his fingers.

A touch of lips on his buzzed hair shocked him from his breasts obsession, and he looked up to see the source. Antoinette was smiling down at him with that softer, more elegant, more natural and honest smile he was growing fond of.

She closed her eyes and rolled onto her back with her hips still turned to face him. Her hands raised and ran through her white hair, now splayed out across the black sheets, like a painting of white radiance against night’s black. With her body mostly flat against the bed, her breasts slipped free of Jack’s hands and lips, only to flatten against her body with their natural weight. The volume of them dipped to the sides of her torso, mostly toward Jack, and the sheer size of them combined with the angle made them seem like the most comfy pillows imaginable.