The Vampire Kiss Chapter Three Virgin Blood
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The Vampire's KissChapter 3: Virgin Blood free porn video
Abigail turned the sedan into the parking garage beneath Faust Tower in downtown Chicago. The sun's rays lightened the horizon. Fear rippled across her skin. The sun meant death. Its light was fire reduced to its most pure essence.
And purity was deadly to a vampire.
But Abigail didn't fear for her own safety. Dawn lay a few minutes away and already she had pulled the car into the sanctuary of the parking garage. The dark, man-made cavern was lit by the impure, flickering florescent lights.
Abigail feared for her husband's safety.
It was a small kernel buried in the depths of her soul, that tiny bit of her not bound up by the chains of her Sire's will. I left my husband tied up to face the rising sun.
"Is there any particular place for me to park, Sire?" Abigail asked, addressing the vampire that killed her and who now rode in the back of the sedan.
"It is marked president of the board," her Sire answered, his voice deep, powerful. His eyes flicked up to the rear-view mirror, meeting hers. He sat in the back, dressed in an expensive, Italian suit tailored to fit his strong figure.
A heat flushed through Abigail's body at the memory of her Sire's teeth piercing her neck as his cock pierced her pussy. She was his. Her body given over to servicing his lusts. Her Sire had taken her for hours while Damien watched while chained to their bedroom wall.
He ravished me in our marital bed.
Damien's angry, bitter shouts echoed through her head. That part of Abigail free of her Sire's control grieved for the hurt she inflicted on her husband. But she knew she would do it again and again. Her body yearned for her Sire's touch.
Damien will be dead in a few minutes.
Her Sire was punishing Abigail and Damien for killing vampires. Before she was turned, Abigail had been a Knight Venator with her husband, a servant of the Jesuit Order who hunted monsters. Abigail and Damien specialized in slaying the undead.
They had killed many vampires, including ones sired by the man sitting behind her.
Abigail found the parking space next to the elevators. She pulled in and turned off the car. As a hunter, she would have been disturbed to learn that the President of the powerful Faust, Inc was a vampire.
Now she was thankful to serve such a powerful Sire.
The horizon grew brighter. Damien hung disconsolately, no longer caring that his arms were numb from his hours of imprisonment.
He had one chance to save his unlife and he had blown it. Abigail had left the keys to his manacles on the nearby nightstand. Before she left, a small part of her had rebelled against her Sire. Abigail knew he had telekinesis—his vampiric gift.
All Damien had to do was manipulate the key into the lock. But he had no skill with telekinesis yet. No finesse. His fear, frustration, and hunger for blood distracted him. In a burst of anger, he had accidentally flung the key out the window.
The sunlight grew brighter. His skin grew warm. The edges of purity touched him. He grit his teeth as his skin blackened and cracked.
Aurora the angel growled in frustration as the key to Damien's freedom smashed through the window. "No. We were so close."
Gideon sighed. "It's probably better this way. The sun will cleanse Damien's soul and give him rest."
"And Faust will continue to expand his power."
Aurora flared her wings. The Ether was so thin. It was the medium separating the mortal world from beyond. All she had to do was step through the barrier and manifest. She could close the curtains and save Damien. The plan would be salvageable.
But she hadn't been given permission to perform any more interventions. Heaven no longer considered the risks worth allowing her to try. And she was no a demon. She wouldn't act without orders.
But she wanted to.
"Gideon. I could crossover. I could save him. Do they know upstairs?"
Gideon glanced at his clipboard. "No intervention is possible. It is not worth the cost of allowing another demonic encroachment."
Anger flared through Aurora. She seized the Ether's fabric. She just had to tear and she would be through. She would save Damien and he could go kill Faust. Damien would be another monster, but one more easily manageable than the monster that was Faust.
"Aurora?" Gideon gasped, placing a hand on her shoulder. "What are you doing? Rebelling?"
A shock went through Aurora. She let go of the fabric and stared at her hands. I had been so close to ... rebelling. To being no different than Jezebel and her ilk.
Aurora looked at Damien. She touched his face as the room grew brighter. "I'm sorry for failing you and your wife."
"Aurora," Gideon frowned, his tone shocked, "there may have been a possibility overlooked in my calculations."
Aurora looked up. "What?"
"It's not good." Gideon's eyes were sad as he held up his notepad. It wasn't a real notepad, but a representation of the ever-changing probability of future events. Angels had talents—Aurora intervened; Gideon calculated.
Aurora studied the data and groaned, squeezing her eyes shut. Would my intervention really cause something worse than this?
Britney Lawson yawned as she opened the door to let out the family dog. Bruiser did a lap around the yard as he looked for a spot to make his business. The eighteen year old rubbed the sleep from her eyes as she watched the family dog. She didn't like being up before the sun had even peaked over the horizon.
"Hurry up," she muttered. "I want to get back to—"
Glass shattered.
Britney yelped as shards of glass rained down on her backyard. She glanced up at the D'Angelo's house. Damien and Abigail's bedroom window had a large, jagged hole in the center. Britney stepped onto the grass in her slippers, her eyes wide.
"What was that?" she muttered, her heart thudding.
She liked the D'Angelos. They had been her neighbors since she was a little girl. Abigail was playful and always had great, if earthy, advice about boys, and Damien was a hunk. Her first crush. When Britney turned eighteen a few months ago, she seriously considered seducing the sexy man.
But she didn't want to hurt Abigail, and she knew that Damien loved his wife too much to cheat on her. No matter how big my tits are our how young and nubile my body is.
"Is that a key?" she asked herself, noticing the brass lying in the grass. She picked it up and frowned, glancing back at the window.
What happened up there?
Britney swallowed. She wanted to run back into the house and wake up her parents. I'm an adult. I can handle this. I'll just go over there and find out what's wrong.
Britney clutched the key in her hand, her heavy breasts jiggling beneath the long, Chicago Bears jersey she slept in. She padded around the house to the gate and slipped into the front yard. She took long steps and rounded the bushes separating her parent's front yard from the D'Angelo's.
The D'angelo's garage door was open.
Britney's stomach twisted as she cut across the grass. They never left their garage open. Her slippers whisked across the pebbly driveway. She almost slipped on the smooth cement floor of the garage. The door leading into the house was also open.
This is so dumb.
Britney pressed forward, stepping into the house. "Hello?" she asked.
"Britney?" the pained voice of Mr. D'Angelo called.
"Yes," she shouted. "Where are you?"
"Bedroom." His voice was hoarse. "Hurry."
Britney sprang into action, her slippers slapping on the hardwood floors. She reached the stairs and ran up them. Her nose wrinkled. Something burned, like charred meat. Her heart hammered in her chest.
Mr. D'Angelo screamed in pain.
"What's happening?" she shouted as she raced faster, passing the second floor and heading up to the third were the D'Angelo's bedroom was.
"Curtains!" howled Mr. D'Angelo. "Close them! Hurry."
Britney burst onto the top floor and raced into their bedroom. Her eyes widened in shock. Mr. D'Angelo hung naked from the wall by manacles. His body thrashed. His face was blacked and burned by the first rays of golden light peaking through the room.
"Please!" he screamed. "Curtains, Britney!"
Britney yelped and charged for the curtains. Confusion gripped her mind. She couldn't think, only act. She reached the heavy curtains and yanked them shut. Mr. D'Angelo's screams died down. His body stopped thrashing.
"Mr. D'Angelo," she gasped. "Oh, my god, what happened? Where is Abigail?"
"Need to..." he muttered, his face a charred mask. "Help ... me..."
Britney opened her hand, staring at the key. Then she glanced up at the manacles. "I'll get you down, then I'll call for help. Just hold on, Mr. D'Angelo."
Britney raced around the bed to the nearby nightstand, stepping over a notepad and the nightstand desk drawer strewn across the floor. She grasped the nightstand and jerked it back, knocking off the lamp in her haste.
She didn't care.
"Just hold on," she kept repeating.
"Need you..." Mr. D'Angelo muttered. "So warm ... hear you ... heart ... warm..."
His words didn't mean anything to Britney. She dragged the nightstand close enough to where he hung and mounted the piece of furniture. The nightstand's uneven legs rocked beneath her and she yelped, grasping Mr. D'Angelo's body to keep from falling.
"Sorry," she gasped as he groaned.
His arms were as burnt as his face, his fingers charred almost to the bone.
"Don't look," she muttered to herself, fighting the roiling in her stomach. "Just open the lock." Her sweaty hand fumbled with the key. She inserted it into the lock and twisted. Metal clicked and Damien's left hand dropped free. He grunted, held up only by the charred remains of his right arm. She reached over him.
"Just hold on," she repeated as she forced the key into the lock.
Britney twisted.
Mr. D'Angelo dropped to the floor in a heap, moaning in agony. Britney hopped off and bent over him. Before she could react, he sprang at her. His hand slammed into her throat. She tried to scream, but he choked off her air. The world flew past and then she slammed into the bed, Mr. D'Angelo on top of her.
Fear hammered in her heart. She kicked and struggled.
And then his mouth bit into her neck. A shudder ran through her body. Euphoria filled her. The virgin gasped. Her pussy became molten fire as Mr. D'Angelo drank down her blood. Every beat of her heart pumped more and more into his mouth.
His hand let go of her throat. She didn't fight any longer.
"Yes," the virgin moaned, her eyes fluttering.
His mouth sucked. The blood flowed into his lips. He growled his enjoyment. Britney's eyes widened. Vampire... drifted through her mind. She humped beneath him, her thighs spreading wide, rubbing her pussy against his stomach through her jersey. The world grew fuzzy and dark.
Her pleasure increased.
It seemed like an eternity that Mr. D'Angelo sucked at her neck. His teeth bit deep. It was so intimate. She was giving him her life. That made her happy. She turned her head, staring at his short, dark-brown hair. His skin healed, the charred fading.
I'm saving him. Her hand stroked his powerful arm. It was so hard to move. She grew weaker and weaker as the pleasure swelled inside of her. I saved him.
Britney's virgin pussy came close to cumming. She just needed a little more. She barely writhed as the life flowed out of her. She moaned out, "Damien," as darkness crashed down on her. A smile formed on her lips as her thoughts slowed.
Her heart beat weakly, struggling to pump as her blood pressure dropped.
Damien D'Angelo shuddered as the virgin blood flowed through his body. It was powerful, healing the burns. His body grew stronger with every flutter of her heart. She squirmed beneath him, gasping his name as her orgasm burst through her.
And then she fell still.
Damien lifted his lips, savoring the coppery tang as he stared down at Britney. Her chest barely rose as she took her last breasts. Her body convulsed as she entered into blood shock. He had drank too much of her blood, and her blood pressure dropped precipitously.
Death would follow.
"I know you," Damien whispered as he stared at his victim. He didn't have to drain her to the point of death, but he couldn't control himself.
Her blood pooled onto the bedspread. His nose flared. His lips watered. He shouldn't waste it. She was already dead. He should finish sucking her dry.
"But I know you." He stroked her cheek. "I ... watched you grow up. I was at your graduation."
It was too late to change her into a vampire. She was too gone to have an orgasm.
Another possibility flowed through his mind—she was a virgin. Damien bit his wrist. His blood welled, full of the dark ichor that sustained him. He put it to her lips. Her body convulsed as his dark blood stained her lips.
She sucked.
Damien's cock hardened as pleasure rushed from his wrist to his cock. Britney moaned as she drank his blood. It infected her while she lived, changing her. She wouldn't be a vampire, but a thrall. A dark servant, still alive, still capable of heading into the sunlight. Only a virgin could become a thrall, her purity corrupted by the dark ichor. She would gain strengths, her body would produce blood faster.
She could be fed upon far past what a normal human could take and recover in a fraction of the time.
"You always were beautiful," Damien whispered. "I saw the way you looked at me. I noticed, but I never acted. I was human. So weak, so confused. I didn't want to hurt—"
Abigail's face seared through his mind. The vampire had taken Abigail over and over on this bed, forcing Damien to watch and then leaving him to die. Damien ripped his wrist from Britney's lips. He left the young girl to recover as the anger consumed him. He reached down and snagged the notepad from the floor. It was covered in Abigail's handwriting.
"Faust Crespo sired me," Abigail wrote. "I'll be at Faust Tower."
The notepad tore in Damien's hands as he let out a violent snarl. Faust Crespo—the billionaire who had revitalized Chicago over the last twenty years was a vampire. The vampire that killed his wife and turned her into a whore.
Becoming a vampire didn't change who Damien was in his core—he was a hunter. He had a prey to kill.
Father Hyrum Augustine stared at the temptation splayed out before him. Her naked, bubbly ass peaked out of the cheap, motel sheet. Her blonde hair spread out like gold on the pillow, hiding the innocence of her face.
He had plundered the girl over and over again yesterday. Her sinful body had inflamed his lusts. Her sweet name, Joy, belied how whorish she was. The priest had found her hitchhiking yesterday as he drove back to Chicago after the hunt in Albuquerque.
Damien had flown home before Father Augustine, but the equipment and weapons in the back of the parish van were not easily explainable to the TSA. So Father Augustine had, as usual, volunteered to drive the van home.
It was his duty as the chaplain to Damien and Abigail. He was their connection to the Jesuit Order, their armorer and shepherd.
But Augustine had wandered into sin. For years, he had lusted after the whorish parishioners of Our Lady Queen of Heaven, the church he ran in Pingree Grove, Illinois, a small town outside of Chicago. Their filthy, harlot bodies always inflamed his lusts, and the way they would confess their sexual sins would make him throb beneath his cassock.
The things he heard. The young ones engaging in premarital sex and sometimes even homosexuality, kissing and sucking and licking on their girlfriends while drunk at a party. The older ones confessing cheating on their husbands, consumed with their lusts for other men.
All the while, their filthy sins made him hard. Tempted him.
Yesterday, he could resist their sinful bodies no longer. Joy had claimed him. He picked her up on the side of the road and she had blown him. She had begged for it, dressing like a whore in a thong, tight jean skirt, and boob tube.
His dick was hard, jutting out from his naked body. He had fucked her last night in the motel room—she had to earn her dinner. And now it was time for her to earn her breakfast. The priest ran a hand through his dark hair, only going gray at the wings. He was middle-aged but had the strength of a twenty-year old.
He stared at her ass. That's the one hole I haven't plundered.
Father Augustine fell on the bed. The mattress squeaked beneath him. His hands seized her butt-cheeks, prying them apart. Joy stirred as he buried his face between her asscheeks and tongued her sinful hole.
"Father," the whore moaned, her hips undulating. "Already?"
"You have tempted me," Father Augustine cried. "You slept naked, showing off your ass. You want me to fuck it."
"No," she groaned as his tongue swiped across her sphincter. "Father, please."
"Quiet, harlot." He squeezed her perfect asscheeks in his hands. "You have inflamed my lusts, and you will satiate them, whore."
"Yes, Father," she whispered. So submissive. Joy knew her place. Life has beaten her down and prepared her for me.
The thought seemed to rise from outside of him.
His fingers dug into her asscheeks as he tongued through her sphincter. She moaned as he savored her sour flavor. Her hips undulated. The whore loves it. All her protests were lies. She just didn't want to admit her true desires.
She lives to serve me.
"Yes, Father," gasped Joy as his tongue pressed into her bowels. She shuddered and pressed up against him. "Tongue me. So good."
His right hand slid down. He would need to lube her. Joy groaned as his fingers stroked through her shaved, wet folds. Then the priest pressed into her depths. She shuddered and her pussy clenched down on his fingers.
He fucked his fingers in deep, stirring the whore's sinful hole before he pulled out. Augustine lifted his lips and rubbed her juices on her asshole. He slammed his finger into her hot depths. Joy gasped and shivered.
"You like that, whore?"
"Yes, Father," she purred.
"You want me to fuck your ass with my big cock, don't you?"
"I do," she panted. "It's so wild. Use me, Father."
"That's why you slept naked with your ass uncovered." Father Augustine smacked her perky ass. "You wanted to tempt me into sin."
"I guess," she moaned. "I love sinning with you, Father."
"Harlot."
Father Augustine buried two fingers into her cunt. Her asscheeks clenched as he worked them in and out, soaking them in her sin. He moved his fingers to her asshole and shoved them into her bowels. Her sphincter swallowed them, stretching about his digits.
His dick ached. He envied his fingers. He wanted to be buried into Joy's tight asshole. He leaned down and took a lick at her spicy pussy while he fingered her ass. His tongue curled through her sticky passion.
"I think you're ready, whore," proclaimed the priest.
Father Augustine rose, his crucifix swinging about his naked chest and his cock bobbing before him. He spread her asscheeks. He placed the tip of his dick between them and pressed forward against her sphincter.
"Father," shuddered Joy. "It hurts."
"Relax and embrace your sinful actions. You tempted a man, and now you must satiate his lusts. Your sin, and the sin of all women, is responsible."
"Yes, Father," she groaned. "Fuck my body. I'm so sorry for tempting you. I can't help it."
"Woman could never fight her nature," Father Augustine groaned as he pressed his dick forward. "You are no different than Eve in the garden seduced by the serpent."
"No different," she groaned.
His cock slid deeper and deeper into her bowels. The priest shuddered. She was so tight. He groaned as the pleasure rushed up his cock. He leaned over her sleek form, using his weight to drive deeper and deeper into her.
"Father," she panted. "Please, not so hard."
"Quiet, whore," he growled. "The only words I want to hear from your lips is how much you love my cock in your sinful ass."
"Yes ... Father."
Father Augustine buried into her depths. Then he drew back, savoring the tight grip of her asshole. His balls churned. He had fucked Joy three times yesterday, but her asshole was such a new delight, he feared he would cum as fast as a virgin.
He grit his teeth as he drove into her depths, controlling himself. Joy let out a shuddering moan, more pleasure than pain in her voice. Her asshole relaxed. His cock slid in easier. He pumped faster, his balls slapping into her taint while the cheap motel bed creaked.
"Oh, Father," Joy moaned in surprise. "It's ... nice. Your cock ... makes me feel ... good."
"Your body was made for sin," Father Augustine groaned. "Do not be surprised that you enjoy it."
"Yes, Father. I do enjoy it. Fuck my ass. Fuck my dirty, sinful ass."
"Yes," he growled, his strokes growing faster.
The priest's groin smacked into her asscheeks. The slap rang through the room. He drew back and slammed in, growling his delight. He sucked on her neck as she gasped and cooed beneath him, her asshole so tight.
The whore bucked into his thrusts. Joy's moans grew liquid with her desire. She undulated and writhed beneath him, her passions consuming her. The bed squeaked and groaned with the force of his thrusts.
"Yes, yes! Harder, Father! Fuck my ass harder! I'm so close. I'm going to cum."
"Whore," snarled Father Augustine. "That is all you are. A whore."
"Your whore, Father," she shuddered. Her asshole tightened on his cock. She bucked beneath him. "Yes, I'm cumming, Father. I'm such a whore, I'm cumming as you fuck my ass."
"Yes, you are."
Joy's bowels massaged Father Augustine's dick. He groaned through clenched teeth. He never wanted to stop fucking her barely legal asshole, but his cum churned in his balls. He slammed into her depths and erupted.
Blast after blast of his cum filled Joy's ass. She squealed beneath him as the pleasure rushed through his mind. He never wanted to give this up. After thirty years of holding onto his vow of celibacy, the priest knew he could never go back.
"Oh, Father, that was hot," Joy purred as he pulled his cock out of her asshole.
"You dirtied my cock, whore," Father Augustine growled. He grabbed her blonde hair and pulled her face to his dick. "Suck it clean."
Joy blanched. "Father, no. It's been in my ass."
"And you're a whore, so you have no shame. Nothing is too dirty for you."
Joy looked into his eyes. She shuddered, then nodded her head. "Yes, Father."
The priest groaned in delight as her tongue licked at his dick. She cleaned him up, savoring every filthy bit. The priest smiled. "I'm taking you home with me. I'll find a place for you to work in the church. You'll be my little whore. I'll fuck you all the time."
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