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  1. SISTERHOOD OF BLOOD Chapter 12 Stage Fright (CESTUS) Cannes, 1996 (sound track: Violin Concerto, by Philip Glass performed by Adele Anthony with the Ulster orchestra conducted by Takuo Yuasa.) “Welcome, wilkommen, bienvenue, Mesdames et Messieurs, au Petit Bal des Vampires,” he said, his deep voice resonant in the small space. The man spread his arms expansively, the spotlight focused entirely on him. It was otherwise totally dark in this room, but our vampire night vision was more than adequate to the task of taking in the scene around us. Once Hannah and I had been admitted to the house, we had looked around for any sign of the three who had entered just before us, but they had vanished. The room we were in wasn’t large, and although it was packed, it was only with the dozen or so people I had estimated while we were still outside. There wasn’t a heartbeat among them. All of them were vampires, and although there did seem to be different groups, every single one of them had a certain predatory air. And they were all hungry; as I passed through the room, I could feel eyes on me, and I could almost hear the thoughts going around Inside their heads, thinking, “I wonder what she would taste like?” It sent chills up my spine. These weren’t ‘nice’ vampires, not in the slightest, not a one. I pressed closer to Hannah, holding her hand tightly like a frightened little girl clinging to her mommy as we walked towards the back of the room which had once been a salon or living room, but appeared to have been converted into a small theatre now. On the low stage, the man they had called Cestus stood in front of a heavy blood-red velvet curtain, and as he gestured towards it, he continued on. “Tonight, we have for your delectation and amusement, a special morsel provided for us by my friends Judith and Kris. They never fail to bring us the very best, and I’m sure tonight will be no exception.” He grinned, exposing his yellowed fangs as he did. “And so, without further delay, I give you… VICTORIA!” As Cestus moved aside, the curtains parted, exposing a bizarre scene on the tiny stage. The small girl we had seen earlier was now stripped naked, intricately bound with black and red nylon rope knotted shibari-style, and suspended from another black nylon rope running through a thick steel ring fixed to the ceiling and then connected to another set of rings in mid-air. She was tied up in a complicated pose: hands behind her back, legs crossed at the knees, feet pointed to the outside, and doubled over with her head down so her face was hidden at first. I could feel the pain of her position, her feeling of humiliation at being thus exposed so cruelly, and the severe desperation of her urgent need to urinate as she writhed and squirmed in her bonds. Standing next to her was the red-haired vampire girl Kris; she was just finishing up the last of the knots. I was amazed that she had managed to execute such a complicated bit of rope work in such a short time, although to me she seemed less than pleased at the result herself, at least from an aesthetic viewpoint. Devotees of shibari don’t like being rushed, and it was obvious from the way that Kris was tying those last knots that she was an expert: suspensions were notoriously difficult to achieve safely. Still, the position was clearly painful; the joints at the girl's shoulders, elbows, hips and knees must have been extremely stressed. At first I was surprised that the bound girl wasn’t moaning in agony, but Kris passed in front of her and cupped her chin to raise her lovely face up towards the audience. Then the reason was revealed. A red rubber ball gag had been inserted in her mouth and fastened securely around her neck by a black leather strap with a silver buckle, and no sound was even possible, other than a sort of soft whimpering noise. The poor girl was starting to shudder and convulse, both with pain and from her urgent need as her full bladder cried out for release. Kris applied an icy cold fingertip to the swollen bulge at the bound girl’s belly, and was rewarded by a gasp from behind the ball gag and a short spurt of clear urine as it jetted out of her victim's privates, splashing onto the floor beneath them. My empathetic powers had me already squeezing my own pelvic floor muscles tightly as I willed her to stop the flow and not provide this humiliating spectacle to the hungry-eyed vampires gathered in front of the stage. I couldn’t help but imagine myself in her place, and I felt sorry for her, but at the moment there was nothing at all I could do to prevent this from happening. I could only watch, and do what I could to support her psychologically. Of course, me being an omo vampire, I was also now getting somewhat aroused by the whole scene despite my sympathy for the trussed-up victim. I just couldn’t help myself. In the meantime, I could sense that Hannah was busy trying to assess the threat level of the other guests, figure out a plan of attack, a retreat route, and how we might be able to extract the girl safely. Aroused though she might have been, she was so much better at keeping those feelings in check than I was; then again, she’d had a lot more time and motivation to work on that, being an older dominant vampire. Kris smiled, her evil grin spreading across her face as she raised a finger in front of Victoria’s terrified eyes. She waved it ever so slowly back and forth in front of her, and then she moved it down towards Victoria’s midsection once again. This time, instead of a gentle touch, she made a sharp stabbing motion, jabbing suddenly into Victoria’s bladder and provoking another quick squirt of pee before I was able to help her regain control again. The audience was really enjoying the spectacle; I could hear a collective murmur of satisfaction every time the poor girl would release another spurt of her hot, fragrant urine onto the stage floor below her. They weren’t omo vampires; they were simply savoring her pain and her humiliation, and Kris was doing a very good job of making sure that the girl’s pain and humiliation were severe, and that it would last for quite some time. Now I wasn’t sure if I should continue helping her to stay in control, or if it would be better to simply let her lose it totally and empty herself onto the floor in order to end her pain and suffering. Her naked body was covered with sweat; every muscle was clearly in spasm, convulsing from her vain efforts to relieve the stress of her own weight and her uncontrollable need to urinate as Kris pointed her finger once more. She smiled that cold, evil smile yet again. Victoria’s pretty brown eyes were welling up with tears, and as they trickled down her cheeks, I made my decision. I couldn’t let this go on any longer. I willed her to relax her sphincter muscles, and even before Kris could touch her again, she released a long stream of urine from out of her tortured insides, the bulge of her bladder visibly shrinking as she voided its contents in a strong, hot, fragrant stream, accompanied by a hissing sound that was clearly audible to me even over the disappointed mumblings of the audience and the splashing noise of it pooling beneath her. “Dammit, Vicky! What the hell is going on with you tonight?” Kris muttered. “Normally you can take this for hours!” I could tell that Kris was furious, having been deprived of an opportunity to prolong the suffering and humiliation of her helpless victim. From out of the corner of my eye, I could see Cestus and Judith arguing bitterly at the side of the stage. I smiled. Apparently, the rather abrupt end to their little show was going to be a bit of a problem. Suddenly, they seemed to come to an agreement. Judith walked rapidly to the stage, and exchanged a few quick words with Kris, who then moved to the hook and pulley system at the rear of the stage that secured the rope holding Victoria suspended in the air. Kris unlocked the carabiner and unclipped it from the hook in the wall. Then she easily lowered the small girl down from her higher position to one just above the floor before securing it to the hook again. Now Victoria’s feet could touch the ground, and I could feel a sense of relief flooding her body, once the stresses of needing to pee and being suspended had been removed. Still she squirmed uncomfortably against the ropes that bound her tightly, as if in anticipation of some other bit of unpleasantness still to come. Cestus moved to the center of the stage again, and spoke once more in his deep, resonant voice. “Mesdames et Messieurs, I apologize for the brevity of the first part of our show. However, I am positive that you will enjoy the next bit." He smiled and said, "We shall now auction off the right to taste the lovely Victoria to the highest bidder.’ The clamor of hungry vampires as they rushed towards the stage drowned out anything else he was saying, and after a brief chaotic moment, he had to shout for order to be restored. In the tense atmosphere of the club, the anticipation was great as Cestus explained how the silent auction would go. Pen, paper and envelopes would be distributed, and anyone who wished to bid would simply write down their amount on the paper, along with their name, and seal it in the envelope. The envelopes would then be collected, and the bids tallied. As the sinister Cestus moved among the audience, not a few vampires gestured for the materials to place their bids. As he passed us, Hannah extended her hand, and received the pen, paper and envelope. She quickly wrote something down, and then sealed the envelope. “How much did you bid?” I asked. “Do you think it will be enough?” I sincerely hoped it would be. “Don’t you worry, Cool. It will work out, I promise,” Hannah replied. “We’re going to win.” Cestus made another round to collect all of the sealed envelopes. Some of the vampires had a smug look on their faces, as if they were already sure of winning the auction. There were some obviously wealthy types there, and a few of them knew each other already, as we could tell from their glances back and forth. They had obviously played this little game before. Cestus and Judith began to open the envelopes carefully, one at a time, arranging them into the order of their bid amounts. There were eight bids in total, including ours. Finally, when all of the bids had been opened, Cestus slowly walked back to the center of the stage, holding two pieces of paper in his pale, bony hand. He glanced at the name on one of them, and then read it aloud. “The winner is…” He paused dramatically, allowing the suspense to build before announcing the name. ”HANNAH OLIVEIROS!” I looked at Hannah, and asked quietly, “How did you know you would win?” “It was easy,” she replied, smiling. ”I just wrote ‘Take the highest bid, and double it.' ” I laughed. Such a simple and effective strategy… only my Hannah could have come up with something as elegant as that on the spur of the moment. Hannah moved towards the stage and Cestus came forward quickly to meet her, barring her way momentarily. He first bowed deeply, and then looked straight into her eyes. With a theatrical flourish, he showed her the other paper, which contained the amount she was to double. In his deep voice, he intoned somewhat coldly, “You do know that this is quite a large amount of money, my dear Mademoiselle. I don’t mean to be indelicate, but…” He paused, and then cleared his throat. “Ahem…” “Monsieur, I’m sure you are familiar with the expression ‘If you have to ask…’, ” Hannah replied and laughed, tossing her long shiny dark brown hair aside as she opened her small black leather Coach clutch purse and removed several large bills. She then placed them in the hand that Cestus had greedily extended to receive them. He glanced at them just long enough to verify the proper denominations. Then he nodded at Judith to signal that all was in order, and moved aside to let Hannah take the stage. Before she moved on, however, she spoke to Cestus again. “For such a large sum, I believe my lover and I should be entitled to not just slake our thirst, but also to…” She then whispered into the tall thin man’s pointed ear, causing him to smile and expose his yellowed fangs once more. “Mademoiselle, you have unusual requirements and tastes,” Cestus replied, unctuously. “However, I am quite sure that this audience will enjoy seeing them gratified. Do what you will.” At this, Hannah gestured to me to join her on the stage. Despite my reluctance to be a part of this show, I had no other choice but to obey. When I did, she whispered to me softly, explaining what she wanted me to do. Now I smiled, showing my own snow-white fangs in the process. Hannah turned towards the audience. “You have already been introduced to Victoria. I would now like you to meet Erica, who will soon be performing for your amusement and delight,” she said in her most sultry voice. “Erica is my submissive, and she will do just about anything I require of her. Isn’t that so, Erica?” I nodded demurely, my eyes cast down towards the floor, where I could still see the pool of fragrant urine under Victoria’s gagged and suspended naked body. “Well, then, why don’t you hold little Victoria still for me? I’m feeling quite thirsty now!” Hannah said. Without a word, I got to my knees behind the bound girl, and held her tightly in my arms. I could feel the perspiration on her skin against mine, and smell the sweet fragrance of her as I bent down towards her face. OMG, it was so hard for me to resist the temptation to drink up the still-warm pee from the floor under her. “Don’t worry. We don’t want to hurt you, but we’re going to have to make this convincing.” I whispered softly into her ear. "Just go along with it, please. Everything will be alright in the end, I promise!” Just as I finished saying that, Hannah bit hard into Victoria’s neck, sinking her fangs deeply into the small girl and taking a taste of her blood as she writhed in my arms from the pain. I held her as tightly as I could and sent her my empathetic support to help her bear it. I knew what she was feeling, intimately. Although it had been a very long time since I had felt it, it was something I’d never forget: the extreme pain of that first penetration, the searing burn as the razor sharp fangs sank into the vein of one’s neck, the sting of an omo vampire’s bite being particularly severe due to our peculiar venom, the kind that would be lethal unless countered. And I was lucky, having been on death’s doorstep when it happened and barely able to feel it. The pain VIctoria was feeling must have been easily more than a thousand times worse than what I only dimly recalled from my own ordeal so long ago. But it had to be this way. The assembled guests looked on raptly, every one of them wishing they had won the right to drink from her. They were all so busy watching Hannah feed that none of them noticed as I discreetly unfastened the buckle securing the ball gag behind Victoria’s neck. “Shhh,” I murmured, loosening my grip slightly and stroking her light brown hair gently with one hand to comfort her. I knew what was coming next, and she probably wasn’t going to like it at all. As Hannah finally retracted her fangs, withdrawing them from Victoria’s jugular vein, I could see the two perfectly round holes beginning to close rapidly. She was still in pain, her eyes closed, the omo venom streaking through her body like liquid fire as she writhed in agony. Hannah gestured to me, again, letting me know it was time to remove the ball gag from Victoria’s mouth. I whispered in her ear again. “Hannah’s going to do something now, and you’re not going to like it, but it’s absolutely necessary. You need to take what she’s about to give you.” Hannah laughed loudly, and said, “After such a long drink, I think I need to relieve myself. Erica, would you please help me find a place to do so?” That was my cue; I quickly removed the ball gag from Victoria’s mouth and pressed her cheeks inwards, forcing her lips open as Hannah hiked up her short black leather mini, exposing her bare privates under her skirt. Yes, we had both gone commando this evening, so when she squatted over the bound girl, there was nothing to impede the view of Hannah’s beautifully formed shaved private parts or the flow as a stream of hot and clear blue pee shot out of her urethra. It splashed directly into Victoria’s mouth as I held it firmly open underneath her. I was almost jealous, but Victoria just sputtered and tried to close her mouth or turn her head away so as to not have to swallow Hannah’s urine. Her attempts were in vain; I had too tight of a hold on her. I remembered suddenly that Victoria wasn’t an omo vampire… yet. Hannah’s pee probably didn’t taste so good to her. As for me, I eagerly licked up the bit that had gotten on my hands during the wetting. The audience murmured with delight as Hannah then ordered me to clean up after her, and I licked off the remaining urine from Victoria’s face as tenderly as I could. Then I surreptitiously took a tiny bite of the flesh at the heel of my hand, drawing a small amount of blood. Holding it in my mouth as I kissed her on the lips, I then teased her mouth open with my tongue and let that bit of my blood out onto hers. I caressed her deeply as she began to respond, her body reacting almost involuntarily to my soft stroking ministrations. Her eyes closed, and she moaned again, but this time with pleasure instead of pain. The vampires in the theatre all watched in hot fascination as I began to work little Victoria with all my ability, and believe me, Hannah had taught me a few things in all the time I’d known her. The audience didn’t know it, but we were now bonded as sisters, Victoria, Hannah, and I. (to be continued) \/-----\/
  2. SISTERHOOD OF BLOOD (Pt. 11) The Evil Ones (Judith and Kris) Cannes 1996 We were in town for the film festival. With so many activities taking place at night and in cold, dark theatres, it was an annual pilgrimage for many vampires. In fact, the whole entertainment industry was a haven for vampires, at least on the creative side of things. Ironically, the management end was almost entirely run by humans. We often got a laugh out of this agent or that manager being referred to as a ‘bloodsucker’, considering who their clientele was in all likelihood. But I digress… Hannah and I were sitting at a sidewalk café table, dressed in our finest, most fashionable clothes. We were going Euro style, wearing matching outfits, too: gold lamé tank tops and black leather mini skirts. Sipping our drinks and watching the famous and the near-famous passing by on their way to or from some venue. Hannah was having a pastis, and I was drinking crème de menthe. Even after all these long years, I still really didn’t enjoy the taste of alcohol. Tobacco, on the other hand… I pulled out a Gitane from the thin blue pack on the table and lit it with my trusty brass Zippo lighter. I inhaled the smoke and held it in my lungs for a while, savoring the taste of a strong French cigarette. Totally relaxed, I leaned back in my chair and stretched my legs out in front of me, then pulled them back quickly under the table when I remembered I was wearing a skirt for once. I pulled on the hem of it, tugging it back into place with some effort. It was a very short skirt, too… I certainly wasn’t used to that; wearing this thing was all Hannah’s idea. A black leather miniskirt, and high heels; really high gold snakeskin stiletto heel pumps. Jeez. This was so NOT me, really. At the moment, I was glad to be sitting down; as awkward as I felt in this miniskirt, it was better than the torture of trying to walk in these darn shoes I was wearing. It wasn’t even that they hurt, so much (although thumb tacks in my sneakers would probably have been more comfortable); I hadn’t worn high heels in so long, I’d forgotten how difficult walking in them could be. And we had walked around quite a bit before I was able to convince Hannah to stop and have a drink. She was busy catching up with friends, and I dutifully tagged along, clomping around clumsily in these unfamiliar shoes. Walking behind her, I looked like some sharecropper stepping over rows of cotton as Hannah glided effortlessly along in her own mile-high heels as if she were floating over the pavement. Her skirt seemed even shorter and tighter than mine, probably an illusion due to her long, toned legs, yet it didn’t seem to slow her down even a little bit. And oh my goddess… she had the perfect bottom. Despite my pain, I did love that view; it kind of made it all worthwhile. Still, I was happy we were sitting at a table in this crowded café now. The sights, the sounds, the smells of humans and vampires all mixed together… often, when humans and vampires mixed it didn’t end well for the humans, but there were always certain events that were exceptions to the rule, and this was one of them. There was an unwritten agreement that we vamps wouldn’t ever feed during the film festival; there was no point in drawing attention to our existence, especially with all of the publicity surrounding the event. As a result, we were all hungry. Starving, in fact. It was like being at a banquet while having your mouth sewed shut. So we were all acutely aware of any slight opportunity for a snack. (sound track: Evil, by Earth, Wind and Fire) All of a sudden, both Hannah and I looked up from our drinks to witness the most pitiable sight I think I had ever seen. Two girls were leading a third one around as if she were on an invisible leash. They were all vampires; the lack of any heartbeat was a dead giveaway, so to speak. The first two looked healthy and well fed, and at first I couldn’t figure out why. Then I looked more closely at the third girl. She was pale and thin, her light brown hair was dull and a bit dirty, and she was clearly miserable. I had never seen anyone look so unhappy in my entire existence, alive or undead. Suddenly I realized why; I was horrified, and I could tell that Hannah was incensed. These two girls were actually feeding on their own sister in order to sustain themselves! A small exchange of blood was required when you became part of a family, and a single feed and exchange in order to turn a human was necessary, but what these two were doing contravened all the laws of our kind. A vampire would feed on human blood, or animal blood if they were squeamish about feeding on humans. Rival clans would fight and even exterminate each other gleefully, but even the most hateful would never, ever consider feeding on another vampire consistently. It just wasn’t done. The three of them walked past us as we sat there, never once glancing in our direction. Cannes was full of vampires, and we were just another couple taking in the night air. Well, not anymore we weren’t. Hannah carelessly tossed a 200 franc note onto the table and said sharply, “Come on, Cool. We need to go, now!” As I rose up from the table, I pulled my skirt down towards my knees once again, somewhat unsuccessfully. When I heard that tone of voice from Hannah, I knew that there was a battle coming. Neither of us was really dressed for fighting, but I was ready to back her up, no matter what. She was a vamp enforcer, and in this situation, she wasn’t going to wait for orders before she acted. By then, it might be too late for this poor unfortunate girl. They were already halfway down the block as we began following them. The smallest vampire stumbled on a bit of uneven pavement and almost fell to her knees, barely able to right herself in time. The eldest, a tall woman with wavy dark brown hair, turned and said, “Hurry up, Victoria! We have places to be, and you are slowing us down.” Her tone was harsh, and her accent was strange; I couldn’t place it at all. "Kris, make sure she keeps up with us." “I’m walking as fast as I can,” the girl moaned, her soft voice plaintive. “I’m weak, I’m starving, and I can’t do any better than this. And I really need to pee, too.” The third vampire, the one called Kris, was another small girl, with reddish straight hair. She laughed at that. Her laugh sounded quite cold and evil to me. In fact, both of these two exuded an aura of evil. Only their poor victim seemed to be free of it. On the surface, I suppose most people would see all vampires as evil creatures, but most of us really weren’t evil at all. We had an affliction, or an addiction, as some of us preferred to think of it, and we dealt with it in varying ways. Only the worst of us fed indiscriminately. Many of us modern day vampires had chosen a moderate lifestyle, hunting only animals in general. Some had even eschewed hunting altogether, if there was another blood supply available. There was a large black market in blood packs for those who chose not to hunt, and this was the most popular option for those who could afford it. Most of us who fed on humans only fed on the worst low-life evildoers, people the world was better off without in any case. We justified, or rationalized, our behavior by telling ourselves that they deserved their fate and wouldn’t really be missed by anyone. But to feed on another vampire, over and over again? What kind of scum were we dealing with here? These were the thoughts running through my head as we followed this trio at a discreet distance. We were moving out of the main part of town; the streets were less crowded now, but we still weren’t about to start any sort of confrontation here. As we walked along behind them, I turned to Hannah and asked, “So, what are you thinking?” She replied quietly, “We free the girl. No one deserves what she’s going through.” “And what about the other two?” “Well, that depends on what they do, really. It would be better if they were willing to let her go without a fight, but somehow I don’t envisage that as a possibility.” I saw her clench her fists tightly. Trouble was brewing, for sure. Meanwhile, I could feel the desperation welling up in the poor little vampire as her need to pee became more and more urgent. The other two walked along in front of her, either oblivious or uncaring as she struggled to maintain control of her swollen, overburdened bladder. Every so often, she would double over as a spasm hit her, and even from this distance I could smell the urine leaking out into her panties as they grew more and more damp with each small occurrence. The smell was so sweet, and I longed to taste her. “Cool, get a grip on yourself, please,” Hannah scolded, her voice pitched to my ears only. By now we had been walking for some time, and we had left the crowded part of town far behind us. We had entered a residential district, with small houses lining either side of the narrow street. Hannah and I slowed our pace so as not to be obvious, but there weren’t many other people around, so we had to make a real effort not to draw attention to ourselves. Luckily, the three vampires ahead of us seemed to be lost in their own little world and totally oblivious to our presence for the moment. They finally stopped in front of a tiny house on a side street, and rang the doorbell. After a short interval, the door was opened by a tall, skinny man with very pale skin. “Good evening, ladies, and welcome!” he intoned, his voice deep and sonorous. “And what have you brought us tonight, Judith?” “Good evening, Cestus,” the tall woman replied. “I brought dessert.” She smiled, exposing her parchment colored fangs. The man moved aside to let the three of them pass, and I could hear noises inside that led me to believe there was some kind of party going on. There were at least a dozen vampires there, judging by the sound of it, in addition to the man she called Cestus and the three newcomers. Then the door shut firmly behind them. I turned to Hannah again. Her mouth was set into a hard line, her fists still balled up tightly at her sides. “Maybe we should scope things out before we just rush in there? It looks as if we’re going to be seriously outnumbered this time,” I said. “You need to keep cool, girl!” She looked over at me and smiled, although still somewhat grimly, as she extended her fangs. “Don’t worry, I’m not about to do anything rash. Let’s just see what’s going on at this party, shall we?” Hannah took my hand firmly as she walked towards the door and rang the bell herself. The door opened once more, and the man called Cestus looked us over quite closely, then opened the door to let us in, greeting us with another “Good evening, ladies, and welcome!” (to be continued) \/-----\/
  3. Chapter 10: Hello Kitty (KAT) At the loft, NYC, 1996 (soundtrack: Rivera Paradise by Stevie Ray Vaughan) “So, how was Paris? Did you girls do any shopping while you were over there?” I watched her rummage through the familiar red and white paper bag she’d brought with her as she spoke, pulling out a wad of napkins, a large soda, a straw, and finally two cheeseburgers wrapped in paper. After laying everything all out carefully on the table in front of her, the small woman rubbed her hands together and then picked up the first hot cheeseburger and unwrapped it. She took a bite, and as her razor sharp teeth sank into it, her pretty hazel eyes almost rolled back into her head like those of a shark in a feeding frenzy. “Jeez, Kat! I don’t know why you still eat that stuff… it’s not like you need to.” I laughed. “I know I don’t need it physically,” she replied. “But it just reminds me of how things were before… almost as if it makes a connection between who I used to be and who I am now.” She mused, “It’s like you and your music, my junk food and I…” Kat was one of Hannah’s oldest friends; they had known each other for a very long time. They had started out as members of rival clans, but Kat’s clan had been decimated in the Vampire Plague of 1902, and she herself had barely survived. Hannah had found her wandering the streets in a delirious daze and nursed her back to health, after which Kat became family to her. And of course, being family to Hannah, she was family to me, too. She repeated her question as she rapidly finished the first cheeseburger. “So… shopping? What did you girls find?” Coming from someone as unfashionably dressed as she was, the question might have seemed a bit bizarre. I never saw Kat in anything other than jeans and a v-necked t-shirt, unless she was going hunting. She usually wore these funky little Hawaiian sandals too; her “five dollar specials”, she called them. But Kat was a professional photographer, and she did everything from nature photography to high fashion spreads, so she was always interested in the latest trends. Physically, she was almost the exact opposite of Hannah. Kat was short and a little bit… well, I wouldn’t say chunky, but not exactly thin either. Still, she was beautiful; her pale skin was perfect, her eyes were clear, and her lips were inviting, so she always had a few boy-toy thralls who were willing to do virtually anything she asked of them at any time. She had short hair somewhere between sandy blonde and light brown in color, pixie-like ears, and a dazzling smile, which she flashed as Hannah replied. “We didn’t really go shopping this last trip… but we did find something rather... interesting.” Kat began unwrapping the second cheeseburger. “Our friend delights in riddles,” she said, then looked up at me and continued. “She is as mysterious as the Sphinx; by the way, did she ever tell you that she was the model for the original sculpture, before they changed the head to look like one of those pharaohs?” She bit eagerly into the cheeseburger in her hand. “Oh, Kat!” Hannah said, laughing. “She told me before they opened up McDonald's restaurants everywhere, you had to catch and grill pterodactyls yourself to eat for dinner,” I gibed. Now Kat laughed and said, “Oh, goddess, I do remember those days well. I must say, the drive-thru is a heck of a lot more convenient, and these burgers are so yummy, but occasionally I do still find myself yearning for a bit of grilled ptery!” “Too bad you hunted them all into extinction then,” I quipped. Kat laughed again. It was always such fun having her over. She looked directly at me, and said suddenly, “Cool, why do you keep squirming around like that? Wait, wait… don’t tell me, let me guess,” she giggled, biting into her cheeseburger. “Is Hannah making you hold again, poor baby?” She smiled her radiant smile at me, giggling once more. “You omo vamps, you’re so cute! I just love watching you when you’re desperate; it’s absolutely adorable, really.” Kat took another bite of her cheeseburger, delicately wiping an errant bit of juice from the corner of her mouth with a napkin held in her other hand. Her clan had been aristocratic old-line classic bloodsuckers, and they were usually a bit snooty and prejudiced against us newcomer ‘minority’ omo vampires, but Kat loved Hannah like a sister, and she loved me like a daughter; we were the only family she had left. She did enjoy watching us when we were holding, but it was a totally different thing for her. For us, it was always compulsive and ecstatic; for her, it was simply amusing to see us in a somewhat weakened and comparatively helpless state. That being the case, she picked up her soda and took a long, loud slurp of it through the straw, followed by an exaggerated sigh of satisfaction. “Bitch…” I muttered softly as my very full bladder suddenly went into spasm and contracted, forcing a spurt of hot, fragrant pee out of my wee hole and into my black cotton bikini panties before I could stop it. I seriously hoped I hadn't wet my denim shorts as well, but just in case, i pulled my old oversize white "RELAX" tee down a bit further over my backside. As I crossed my legs as tightly as I could and doubled over, still squirming, Kat giggled, and then she did it again…and again, as I kept making little uncontrollable squirts of pee into my undies in reply. Well, I was definitely wet now, no doubt about it. Darn it ! I just sighed and rolled my eyes, knowing that her domme side wouldn’t let it go, no matter how much she loved me. Especially since she knew how much I actually enjoyed holding until I just couldn’t take it anymore, and how much Hannah loved seeing me lose control. “Aww, does poor widdle Cool need to go really badly?” Kat giggled again, her rhetorical question accompanied by yet another loud slurp. She laughed at my contortions as I began to pee dance right there in front of her. Hannah says that of all the girls she’s known, vampire or human, I have the best pee dance ever. I wouldn't know; I've never seen it... no reflection, remember? The worst thing this time was that the desperation I was feeling at the moment wasn’t really even my own, at least not entirely. Yes, I had been holding for over 24 hours at Hannah’s command… but I was a pro at holding, and 24 hours was no big deal for me anymore. It was the amateur in the next room that was causing me such distress at the moment. “Sometimes this empathetic connection thing really sucks.” I said, and Hannah laughed. “Everything has a downside, Cool. I thought you would have figured that out by now,” she said, impassive. Even though she was feeling exactly what I was, her many more years of training had given her the self-discipline to not let it affect her, at least not visibly. Any sign of weakness in a dominant vamp was real cause for concern, as that would leave them open to challenge by a rival vampire. Since I was a submissive, I could pee dance to my heart’s content and even wet myself fully, but I still resented the humiliation in front of Kat, no matter how much she and Hannah were enjoying the sight of it themselves. “Dammit, Vicky! Will you please just go, already?” I muttered to myself. I was finding my new sister’s lack of self-control a wee bit annoying, so to speak. From the next room, I heard her call out, her voice strident, “I heard that! And no, I won’t. You did this to me, so you can suffer right along with me, sis!” “Victoria, would you come out here, please?” Although it might have sounded like a request, both Vicky and I knew from the tone of Hannah’s voice that it was a command; one that she had better obey, and quickly. With a soft rustling sound, Vicky appeared suddenly in the doorway. She’d gotten the hang of the teleportation thing pretty rapidly; much faster than I had after I'd been turned, in fact. She was a natural at it, and within the first 48 hours of her new life, she could do it effortlessly every time. She was wearing one of her favorite outfits: a short pleated green plaid tartan skirt, white knee socks and dark brown pennyloafers, her white shirt unbuttoned at its Peter Pan collar to reveal a bit of a lacy black bra underneath. “That’s MY bra, dammit,” I thought. We were just about the same size, and she was constantly going through my clothes and grabbing anything she liked. It was really annoying to me, and she knew it. Far from letting that stop her, it only egged her on. Her light brown hair was done up in pigtails on either side of her head. Vicky always looked so cute in her schoolgirl mode; I could hardly stand it. “Trolling for child molesters again, are we?” I said, coldly. Vicky tossed her head, and wiggled her pretty bottom seductively. In her saucy British accent, she replied, “You know it, sweetie!” She stuck her tongue out at me. "You'd better keep that tongue inside your mouth, or I might make you bite it off, you little pop tart!" I threatened. That was how it was between us. We were bonded forever by blood and by urine, so we had undying affection and love for each other, but we still teased and tortured each other unmercifully. Sisters, you know? Hannah sighed and said, “If you two little girls are quite through, I’d like to introduce Victoria to Kat now.” Kat stood up from the table, walked over to where Vicky was standing, and extended her hand. As Vicky took it, she suddenly pulled her close and, holding her tightly, sank her now fully extended fangs deep into my little sister’s neck, taking a nice long sip of her blood. For some reason, I found myself thinking of cheeseburgers. “Ow, that hurts!” Vicky exclaimed. I don’t think she was expecting Kat to be quite as forceful as she was, but the small woman was used to taking what she wanted and not asking permission first. She was a dominant vampire, and an aristocrat to boot. After a while, Kat finally retracted her fangs and let Vicky go, licking her lips as she did. “Mmmm, tasty!” she said, and smiled. As I rubbed my own neck in sympathy with my sister's pain, the tiny puncture wounds Kat had made in Vicky’s neck were already closing, thanks to our regenerative ability. As family, she was now obligated to let Victoria taste her blood; Kat wasn’t about to let this little schoolgirl newbie vampire anywhere close to her neck, though. She pulled her v-neck tee shirt down just enough to expose a little bit of one lovely breast and drew a sharp fingernail across it lightly, then extended her finger imperiously towards Vicky, who fell to her knees in front of Kat. I watched as my sister eagerly took the finger she was offered into her mouth and licked the small drop of blood from it. “Welcome to the family,” Kat said to Vicky. “So that’s what you picked up in Paris,” she said to Hannah, rather dryly. (to be continued) \/-----\/ \/-----\/
  4. SISTERHOOD OF BLOOD (Pt. 9) ‘Round Midnight (PETER) Porte de Vanves, 1982 (sound track: Round Midnight, by Miles Davis) https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=td3SE3zEVP0 Peter had been waiting for quite some time on the steps outside the building. In fact, it had been hours since the sun had gone down beyond the horizon, and the sky was now purple-black, moonlit and cloudless. This had been one of the longest and most difficult days of his life. As a man of action, having to stand by and do nothing while both of his sisters were still inside was pure torture. It was as if the vampire girls had created a private hell specifically for him. He was powerless to help either Vicky or Petra, and while he knew that Petra was a very skilled fighter, the fact that there was no sound coming from the house and that neither of his sisters had emerged was causing him a great deal of concern. He was so worried now that he couldn’t keep his mind off of what might have been happening to his sisters inside that house all along, or even right this instant. What was even more worrisome to him was this: for some reason, the normal psychic connection he shared with Petra, and to a lesser extent with Vicky, seemed to have been disrupted. In the past, there had been many times when he had been dismayed, embarrassed, or bothered by that unusual connection to his sisters and had wished it didn't exist, but now that it was no longer there, he felt truly alone for the first time in his life. It was a very odd feeling, as if an essential part of himself was missing. The sensation of loss was almost unbearable. He had thought about trying to force his way back in, but with there being double doors, he would have given away the element of surprise, even if he could have somehow managed to get them both open. Then he would have had to find an effective way to orient himself within that cold, dark room once he had gotten inside, and fight off at least two virtually undetectable opponents of unknown strength and skill in order to extract his two sisters, who might both be injured. Even for a master tactician such as himself, the difficulty of the situation at hand seemed insurmountable. So he did the only thing he could do under these very trying circumstances: wait patiently. He centered himself, breathed deeply, and forced his mind to empty itself of all conscious thought. He counted very slowly to ten, thinking only of breathing in, and breathing out, over and over; thinking only of breathing and counting, allowing no other thoughts to intrude. “One… two… three… four… five… six… seven... eight... nine... ten.“ Counting, and breathing... "One... two... three... four... five... six... seven... eight... nine... ten." Breathing and counting... "One... two... three... four... five... six..." Suddenly a soft sound interrupted his meditation. It was the click of the door latch being released. He glanced down at his wristwatch, pressing the button that illuminated the face. It was almost midnight. He rose from his kneeling position, pushed the door open, and waited inside. The second door’s latch opened with another click; Peter opened that one as well and walked into the dark room. He heard that strange rustling sound again, and then the American girl spoke. She was behind him. “We’re leaving now, and we’re taking our new sister with us. You can have the other one back.” She laughed that cold laugh once again. “Walk forward about twelve steps, and you’ll find her. What’s left of her, anyhow…” The rustling sound grew louder suddenly, there was a feeling of cold air right next to him and Peter heard Vicky’s voice. “It’s better that you forget about me, Peter." The woman with the odd accent said, "Don’t try to follow us, don’t try to find us.” The strange rustling sound became louder still, and there was a rush of freezing cold air moving rapidly past him towards the open antechamber. Then, there was only silence. “Petra?” Peter called softly, but there was no answer. Fearing the worst, he walked forward twelve paces. He stopped suddenly, having bumped into something... a shadowy figure sitting in a chair in front of him. It was his twin sister. Peter knelt down on the floor in front of her, feeling something wet soaking into the trousers of his suit as he did. There was a puddle there, and the unmistakable odor of urine. "Oh, sis...," Peter said to himself, sadly. "What did they do to you?" He gently felt around the seated figure, finding the ropes that held her captive. He pulled out a small, sharp knife from the inside pocket of his suit jacket, opened it, and carefully sliced through the thin rope binding her hair, then did the same to free her arms and legs. She was unconscious, but still breathing, and Peter could feel a strong pulse at her throat. Petra was alive. (to be continued) \/-----\/
  5. SISTERHOOD OF BLOOD PT. 7 The Round Man (Bou-Boule) AU BAR-TABAC, Porte De Vanves 1982 (sound track: Chitlins Con Carne, by Kenny Burrell) At the roughly y-shaped junction of three cobble stone lined streets sat a somewhat seedy café. Its windows were a bit dirty, and the interior was paneled in dark wood with mirrors on the walls to make it appear larger than it was. A narrow wooden bar, its counter top done up in polished brass and zinc, stretched across the back wall, with the usual bottles arrayed behind it, and glasses suspended from inverted racks above. This section of town on the outskirts of Paris wasn’t trendy by any stretch of the imagination; it was working class, and the clientele at this early pre-dawn hour were actually mostly night laborers who were finishing up their shift with ‘un coup de rouge’, a glass of cheap red wine instead of the cup of coffee most people would usually be having at this time of the morning while getting ready for work. The regulars were staring quite openly at the strangers who were sitting at a table by the front window having café au lait with their croissants. These two were too well dressed to belong in this setting, and it definitely seemed as if they were waiting for someone, or something. They didn’t look like a pair of sightseeing tourists on holiday, that much was certain. The man was tall and just a bit heavy set, his dark brown hair pulled back into a long ponytail. Although fashionably attired, he had the look of someone who wouldn’t back down from a fight. His hands were large, and the one holding the cup he was drinking his coffee from made it look like something from a little girl’s toy tea set. He drummed the fingers of his other hand on the small table impatiently; then, suddenly noticing what he had been doing unconsciously, he stopped. The woman across the table from him emitted a low laugh, then leaned in and murmured something to the large man, who simply smiled grimly at her and shook his head in response. His attractive companion shared the same long dark brown hair and had similar facial features, although in her case they manifested themselves in a much different way, soft and yet angular all at once. Somehow, even though the woman was very pretty and was wearing a tight suit with a very feminine cut, she still managed to convey the same impression as the man seated across from her. They both looked as if they meant business, and wanted to be left alone. Normally at least one of the regulars would have tried to challenge these upscale visitors for daring to enter their turf, but these two actually looked very dangerous and intimidating themselves, and although the locals were a tough lot, it was nonetheless very clear to all of them that the unfamiliar customers who were seated at the front of the café were tougher still. They knew enough to recognize trouble when they saw it, and these two were trouble, in spades. So they simply contented themselves with a low-voiced discussion of theories as to why the two of them were sitting there, and what they might be waiting for. Finally, tiring of their rather circular conversation, they decided to nominate a representative to question this unusual pair of transients. After some brief and animated, but rather hushed, argument accompanied by Gallic gesticulation and a bit of swearing, one of them turned away from the group clustered by the bar and headed towards the table at the front, having drawn the metaphorical 'short straw'. He was a small rotund man with a sallow complexion, both mustached and unshaven, and dressed in a grimy blue work coverall. As he walked slowly towards the seated couple, not without some trepidation, one of the others called boisterously after him, bold now that someone else was in the line of fire. “Allez, Bou-Boule… vas-y, demande-les qu’est-ce qu’ils cherchent !” Having finally reached the table, the man they called Bou-Boule looked at the two people sitting there and simply spread his hands apart, shrugging his shoulders. He noticed that, up close, the woman at the table looked even more beautiful and more dangerous than she had from a distance, while the man simply looked more dangerous. "Excusez moi, mademoiselle," he said, addressing the woman, who he deemed the less threatening of the two. "Mes amis veulent savoir qu'est-ce que vous faites ici. C'est clair que ce n'est pas par hasard que vous vous trouvez dans cet endroit. " Silently, with a smooth and rapid movement, the large man reached inside his jacket, causing Bou-Boule to flinch. When he withdrew his hand, however, he was only holding a small photograph. Bou-Boule felt relieved, but also a little ashamed. He had actually wet himself in fear a bit just now, thinking that the man was about to produce some sort of weapon. He only hoped that it wasn’t enough to soak through his underwear, a pair of work trousers, and the coverall he was wearing on top of them both. If the other guys at the bar noticed that these two strangers had made him pee his pants, he would never live it down. The large man put the photo on the table and pushed it over to the woman; without a word exchanged between them, she picked it up and looked directly at Bou-Boule with a piercing gaze. Her brown eyes met his, and he involuntarily looked away, dropping his eyes down towards the scuffed and oil-soaked tan work boots he wore on his feet. In doing so, he missed the beautiful woman smiling at him. He did look up in surprise when she unexpectedly spoke in perfectly accented French, however. “Eh bien, pardonnez moi de n’avoir encore rien dite, mes chers monsieurs. Nous cherchons notre petite soeur, qui a disparu depuis quelque jours.“ Petra showed him Vicky’s photo. She smiled again, exposing her perfectly even white teeth. ”Est-ce que l’un de vous l’auriez vu dans le quartier?” Their curiosity piqued even more now, the locals all began to approach the table, in order to get a better view of both the photo and of the lovely woman holding it. They crowded around, jostling each other for room, their usual high-spirited nature returning now that they knew what the couple’s purpose was. A lost little sister, that was cause for sympathy, not fear. “Ah, celle-la!” One of the regulars responded, stabbing towards the photograph with a tobacco-stained forefinger. “Oui, je l’ai vu.” It had been a couple of days now that the Kushkin twins had been tracking their younger sister, visiting each café near the Lycée Michelet in turn, hoping to find someone who had seen her. Finally their systematic efforts seemed to be paying off. Someone here claimed to have actually spotted Vicky. Petra turned towards her brother, who had been sitting impassive and motionless after producing Victoria’s picture. She said, “This man says he’s seen her.” Peter nodded, and spoke tersely, “OK, find out what he knows… but go gently, sis. I think we already scared the heck out of that first guy!” He could now see a small but obvious wet spot forming at the front of Bou-Boule’s crotch, and had to suppress a laugh. Another of the regulars piped up, “Moi aussi, je l’ai vu ! Avec ces deux gouines, celles qui habitent au fond du petit cul de sac.” Bou-Boule nodded his head in assent. He was about to spit contemptuously, but suddenly seemed to remember that he was still inside the café. “Oui, c’est vrai… elle erre parfois la nuit dans le quartier depuis quelques jours, toujours avec les deux autres.” Petra looked at the small man in front of her, trying to assess his reliability as a source. He had a dour look on his face; he appeared to be chronically unhappy, but her senses told her that he was not a liar. Her brother nodded again, having reached the same conclusion concurrently. “Où ça? Vous pouvez nous montrer, oui?” Petra asked. “Je sais où c’est, moi; je peux meme vous y emmener tout suite, si vous voulez,” Bou-Boule said in a low voice. He could feel the dampness seeping through his pants now, and was quite glad to have an opportunity to leave the café without all of his friends seeing the telltale sign of his little accident. “Putain, j’ai carrément pissé ma culotte cette fois,” he thought to himself. “Ah, merde…” “Come on, Peter. This fellow is going to take us to where Vicky is.” The Kushkin twins rose from the table and followed the man out of the café into the surprisingly cold street. Dawn was just beginning to break in the eastern sky over Paris, a pale sliver of lighter blue faintly tinged with red and gold appearing at the horizon. Bou-Boule paused and pulled a pack of cigarettes from his pocket. He stuck one in his mouth and offered the pack to the twins in turn. "Cigarette?" “Non, merci,” Peter replied, wincing slightly. He had given up smoking a while ago, but the sight and smell of tobacco still filled him with longing. Petra took one of the proffered smokes from the thin, flat rectangular blue box with a stylized image of a dancing gypsy woman on it. She rolled it back and forth in her slim fingers briefly and then placed it between her lips as Bou-Boule produced a small orange plastic Bic lighter from the pocket of his coveralls and put the flame to it. She inhaled the strong, almost acrid smoke deeply into her lungs as he proceeded to light his own cigarette, then blew a series of small, perfect smoke rings in her brother's direction as she exhaled softly. Peter winced yet again. Petra delighted in torturing him at times. They continued walking through the deserted streets lined with small houses and compact factory buildings. Finally, the man turned into a dead end and stopped at the very bottom of it, in front of a large blue-grey solid metal gate crowned with spikes. Surrounding the gate was an old stone wall, somewhat scarred, but clean and still quite sturdy. Unlike all of the other surfaces nearby, this gate and the surrounding sections of wall were completely devoid of graffiti scribblings, both twins noticed. “C’est ici qu’elles habitent,” the round little man said. “J’ai meme vu votre soeur entrer la-dedans une fois. Mais faut faire gaffe, ces filles ne sont pas du rigolo.” “Qu’est-ce que vous voulez dire?” Petra asked, but he had already turned away. “Vous allez voir vous memes,” Bou-Boule said under his breath. “Moi, je me casse.” Bou-Boule felt as if he was about to lose control of his bladder yet again, and wanted to get away as quickly as possible. He walked off stiffly, heading back towards the safety of the café at a rapid clip. It was almost as if he couldn’t put distance between himself and that gate fast enough. Peter looked at his twin sister and then at the retreating back of their guide. “What the heck was that all about?” he inquired. “That guy seemed genuinely scared of something.” “He said he’d seen Vicky going in here, and he was warning us to be careful, because these girls she was with were nothing to joke about,” Petra laughed. “He definitely was a nervous sort of fellow. I think he actually wet himself back in the café when you took out Vicky’s photo!” "Yes, I believe he did," Her brother smiled. “Definitely the nervous sort. Well, just to be on the safe side, we’d better watch the house for a bit before we walk up and ring the doorbell,” Peter mused. “It's still very early, and I don’t mind a little recon time on this one. The bartender at that club did say pretty much the same thing.” “Nonsense! How dangerous can they be, really? If Vicky’s in there, I want to know now,“ his sister replied. “We’re going to stick out like a sore thumb standing around here anyway. Just look at us!” Petra was usually the more impetuous of the two of them, and sometimes Peter had to rein her in just a little, but in this case he realized that she was absolutely right. There was no way to discreetly observe the comings and goings at this location without being seen. The dead end street was far too exposed, too empty. Even if they were sitting in their rental car, it would be obvious to anyone who set eyes on them that they didn’t belong here. “Fine, it's the direct approach then. You take the lead, since you speak the language.” Peter took a small step backwards as Petra pressed the button on the intercom. It made a loud buzzing sound; there was a crackle of static, and then a voice. “GO AWAY!” Distorted, but unmistakable. It was Vicky. (to be continued)
  6. Chapter 6: Paris Blues, 1982 ( sound track: Afternoon In Paris by the Kenny Clarke Quintet) http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=A3Z64YatlIs The Kushkin twins had arrived in Paris and immediately gone to the hotel their sister Victoria had been staying in, where they only confirmed what they already knew. Vicky had disappeared. They had seen her room, after Peter had slipped the tall, skinny, bespectacled concierge a rather large sum of cash to overcome his doubts as to the propriety of such a thing. Monsieur Arnaud had been happy to escort them to the room after that, his scruples allayed by the crisp new bills in his pocket, as well as by the fact that one of his two visitors was a very attractive young woman. All of Vicky's things were still there, except for her passport, her purse and the keys to her rental car. Peter had discreetly pocketed her diary from the nightstand while Petra distracted the concierge with idle chitchat about the weather and a view of her ample cleavage. She had purposely worn a low cut top and short skirt for exactly that reason. Petra was not above using the gifts nature had bestowed on her to her advantage, Peter thought as he watched the concierge from the corner of his eye. She did know how to work it, that was for certain. Just to add some extra spice to things, Petra seemed to be feigning a bit of desperation as well. At least, Peter hoped it was feigned. Petra was a very good actress, but this looked a bit too realistic, even for her. She was crossing and uncrossing her long legs, squeezing her lovely thighs together, and even squirming in place a bit. The sandy-haired concierge was transfixed by the show. He couldn’t take his eyes off of Petra for even a second while she was doing her seductive pee dance. She raised one shapely leg up behind her slightly, letting her high heeled pump dangle from her foot enticingly as she spoke of trivial banalities in her breathy voice, then put it down and raised the other as she bent over slightly to give him an even better view down the front of her top. She then rubbed the back of her firmly toned calf muscle with the reinforced toe of her sheer black stocking-clad foot, having left her pump on the floor this time. At this point, the poor concierge was well and truly flustered, not knowing whether to look at Petra’s perfectly formed size 5 foot, her lovely 34C bosom in its cradle of mauve lace, or the gently undulating swell of her hips. He glanced first at her creamy white breasts, losing himself in the scenic valley between those hills, then down at her foot, which wafted a subtle fragrance of musk and leather towards his flaring nostrils. He took in the motion of her bottom; it was quite evident to his practiced eye that this lovely girl ‘avait envie’, and wouldn’t be able to hold on for too much longer. She was a fetishist’s dream, for certain. When Peter gave his sister the nod to let her know she could stop, she straightened up and pointed her formidable breasts directly at the poor man, who remained quite beguiled by the charms on display. She lowered her perfect foot slowly back into her shoe, causing the concierge to sigh softly but nonetheless audibly with regret. “Merci bien, Monsieur Arnaud.” Petra spoke in flawless French. Her accent was almost like that of a Parisian native, the result of some years spent studying there when she was younger. “Est-ce que vous auriez une chambre disponible pour quelques jours?” Petra inquired. The concierge replied, “Je suis desolé, mademoiselle, je n’ai rien pour ce soir, mais dès demain, je pourrai vous trouver quelque chose. Je peux meme garder vos affaires jusqu’a demain, si ça vous convient.” Petra turned to Peter and translated for his benefit. His French was rudimentary, at best. “He says he doesn’t have a room for us tonight, but he will have one available tomorrow, and we can leave our things here until then if we wish.” Peter nodded, and said, “Perfect. I have a feeling we won’t be getting any sleep tonight anyway, between the jet lag and trying to pick up Vicky’s trail.” ”Vous avez été si gentille. Si nous avons besoin d’autre chose, pourrions-nous vous contacter par téléphone?” she asked, and the concierge quickly produced a business card with his name and phone number on it. Petra smiled radiantly at the concierge then lightly kissed him once on each of his pale cheeks, and he assured them emphatically that he would be ready to assist in any way he possibly could if they ever had need of him again. Peter shook his hand firmly, and the twins left the Hotel Des Mines. “That was quite a show you put on there, sis,” Peter said, laughing. ”That pee dance, oh my god…” “It wasn’t pure show, actually.” Petra smiled. “I should really find a WC before too long. Nothing is quite as convincing as the real thing; I’ve been holding since we boarded the plane.” After stopping at the Patisserie du Sud Tunisien in the Rue de La Harpe to purchase some food and drinks, they walked a few blocks back along the Boulevard Saint Michel to the Jardin du Luxembourg, where they sat on one of the low stone benches to eat and consider their options. Petra was squirming just a bit more obviously now, riding a wave of desperation as her discomfort reached a momentary peak. “Oh, no… ,” she muttered softly to herself. She had felt a small leak dampen the tiny cotton crotch panel of her mauve lace thong panties, an unmistakable sign that she was nearing the end of her ability to hold. Not surprising, considering it had been over ten hours since she had last had a wee. “Let’s start with the diary,” Peter said as he unwrapped his sandwich. “There might be something there to give us an idea of where to begin searching.” “OK, you do that… I’m off to find the loo!” With that, Petra walked away quickly, her somewhat hurried pace betraying her urgent need. Peter hoped she would make it in time. It looked like it would be close, either way. Skipping through the pages of the small leather-bound book, Peter went right to the last entry. Sure enough, there was a reference to the club Victoria was going to on the night she disappeared. In her neat, tiny bubble-shaped script, she mentioned that she would be meeting some new friends at Les Bains Douches that evening. Now they knew where to start looking; they only had to wait until nightfall. Peter bit into his sandwich tunisien; he suddenly realized that he was starving, and ate it quickly, savoring each spicy bite as if it were the last bit of food he would ever taste. ---------------- ============== --------------- (sound track: I Love Paris by Alpha Blondy) http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Gjr-z_qBTIw Night had come, and the twins were outside of the club in the trendy Les Halles district, watching fashionably dressed people entering after being approved by the doorman and his two bouncers who stood there manipulating the clipboard and velvet rope like Cerberus the three-headed dog guarding the gates of Hell. The twins were both still dressed in their traveling clothes; Peter was wearing a dark Armani single breasted suit and a white button-down shirt, his hair slicked back into a long ponytail, while Petra had on the same form-fitting Azzedine Alaia outfit that had totally captivated the concierge at the hotel earlier that day, only adding the matching slate grey jacket to her pencil skirt over her low cut mauve silk blouse. Peter was about to let his sister take the lead once again; it was usually easier to let her deal with the men. In this instance, however, the way the doorman was looking at him and almost licking his lips gave him the idea that he should be the one to approach first this time. Petra’s charms would be wasted on this particular person. As they got closer, the doorman simply pulled back the rope and allowed the twins passage into the club without anything more than a warm smile at Peter as he walked by. It never hurts to be tall, dark and handsome, he reflected. It had certainly paid off this time. Once inside, they separated, the better to cover the club faster, and so that people wouldn’t mistake them for a couple. It was easier to work their good looks as singles. Peter headed over to the main bar to talk to the bartenders while Petra decided to find the club’s chief security person. There was probably some sort of club surveillance tape system, and if she could check it, she might just get lucky. Petra found the door that was marked ‘Privé’, and walked through it, making her way down the dark corridor until she came to a room filled with television monitors, and a very large bald headed black man. He was smoking a cigarette, and staring at the monitors, obviously bored. When Petra entered the room he glanced up at her, taking in her beauty before quickly returning his eyes to the monitor array. “Qu’est-ce que vous faites ici, mademoiselle?” He spoke curtly. Lovely girls were nothing particularly rare at Les Bains, and he had a job to do. “Je suis desolée de vous deranger monsieur, mais je dois vous démander une petite service.” Petra pitched her voice to the sweetest tone she could muster. “Je suis desolé moi-meme, mademoiselle, parce que je dois vous démander de sortir d’ici immediatement. Vous n’etes pas autorisée d’entrer; ces lieux sont pour le personnel de securité seulement.” His voice was deep, resonant, and had a slight African accent; possibly Senegalese. Having dismissed her, or so he thought, the giant turned back towards his security monitors. He obviously takes his job very seriously, Petra thought to herself. Oh well, she had tried doing things the polite way. Time to do things the Kushkin way… she silently stepped up behind him, and without warning, delivered a sharp hand strike that rendered the large man unconscious instantly. He never knew what hit him. As he slumped forward in his seat, Petra rolled his chair back away from the bank of monitors. As she did, she reflected on how the combat training her military father had given them all could be very useful from time to time. She quickly rummaged through a storage rack and located the security tapes from the night her sister had disappeared. Scanning through the exterior tape rapidly, she found the part where Victoria had shown up at the club, then synced the interior tape from above the bar to shortly after that. Sure enough, there was Vicky, talking to two girls at the bar as they ordered drinks. Both girls were very pretty; it was hard to be positive in the dark of the club, but Petra could at least tell that there was one who seemed a bit older than Vicky, while the other was closer to her in age, in her late teens or early twenties. Petra looked at the tape a moment longer, just to see who was working the bar that night. Then she pulled the security tapes, and carefully put them back where she had found them. She pushed the large man in his rolling chair back to his console, laid his head gently down on it, and then left the office, closing the door softly behind her. She walked back down the hallway, and through the door leading to the public areas of the club again. She could see Peter standing at the large bar at the back, chatting with the bartender as he sipped his drink. They were in luck; it was one of the same girls that had been working the night Petra had disappeared. “Salut, frangin!” Petra exclaimed as she pushed up next to Peter at the crowded bar. She wanted the girl at the bar to know she was Peter’s sister, not a girlfriend. “Any news about Vicky yet?” “I was just getting around to asking,” Peter replied, smiling. “Vous cherchez quelqu’un?” the pretty blonde bartender asked. “I speak English, maybe I have an idea for you?” “Yes, we’re looking for our sister. She said she would meet us here; have you by any chance seen her this evening?” Peter pulled a picture of Vicky from out of his pocket. She was certainly striking enough; petite and slender, her light brown slightly longer than shoulder-length straight hair framing a pretty, oval face with delicate features. Her brown eyes looked almost a bit Asian, betraying the Kushkins’ Mongolian Tatar ancestry as she posed looking coyly over her right shoulder. When he showed the picture to the bartender, she seemed to recognize the girl in the photo immediately. Her face darkened a bit, and she bent closer to Peter as she spoke. “I haven’t seen her tonight, no. But she was here just a couple of days ago, here at the bar with two other girls," she said. "These girls, I have seen them before, quite often. There’s something weird about them, these girls. Many times, I have seen them leave with others, and then they come back again later the same night. The others… the others, they never come back at all.” She shook her head emphatically. “Jamais… ” The bartender continued on in French, speaking as softly as possible while still managing to be heard above the pounding music. “Elles habitent Porte de Vanves, pres du Lycée Michelet apparament. Je les ai entendu parler de ca. " “Thanks!” Peter said. He discreetly slipped a 200 franc note into the bartender’s hand, and she pocketed it with a smooth, well-practiced gesture. “I hope you will find your sister,” she said. “ I think these two are rather dangerous, yes. Be very careful, my friends.” She straightened up and turned away, the conversation very obviously at an end as far as she was concerned. The twins had a solid lead now, though. (to be continued) \/-----\/
  7. Chapter 5: Long Distance Call (New York, 1982) (sound track: Long Distance Call by Muddy Waters) Petra Kushkin had been on the phone, talking with her younger sister and squirming slightly. She had been holding for several hours, and although she wasn’t fully desperate yet, she could definitely feel the need to pee growing within her. As always, she was enjoying the sensation, and it was distracting her somewhat as Vicky was talking rapidly in a low voice, describing a party she was at. She had met a couple of girls at a club, and gone back to their home with a small group of other people for a drink afterwards. Vicky whispered, ”I’m beginning to get a little freaked out now, though. I think that something really weird is, um… “ She was in the middle of a sentence, and then she suddenly had fallen silent. That was strange… it wasn’t like Victoria at all to stop talking for more than a few brief seconds, Petra thought. Vicky was very sweet and charming, but she could also be quite manic at times. For a moment, Petra enjoyed the quiet; it was such a rare occurrence when talking with her sister that she savored every instant possible, focusing instead on the feeling of growing fullness in her bladder as it swelled slightly beneath her tight tee. She caressed it gently, then reached down with a slim hand and undid the top button of her blue jeans, sighing as the external pressure was relieved a bit. She really did enjoy holding so much. When the silence continued, however, Petra came out of her hold-induced daydream and began to worry. Had something happened to little Vicky? “Hey, Vick… you still there?” More silence… Petra was getting very worried now. Then the connection was broken, and all Petra could hear was a dial tone. “Oh, my goodness… not again!” She thought to herself. Her younger sister was always getting into trouble of one sort or another, and it was up to Petra and her twin brother Peter to get her out of it and clean up her mess, just the way they’d promised their dead parents. Sometimes it seemed as if she was more like Victoria’s mother than her sister, but Petra was determined to keep her promise, no matter how difficult Vicky made it at times. She wasn’t really bad, like some girls Petra knew. Little Victoria just had a knack for constantly ending up in the middle of some situation she couldn’t handle, and then the twins would have to come to her rescue. Petra hung up the phone and sighed again, deeply and with frustration this time. It looked as if it was time to give her brother Peter a call. ------------------------------------------------------------------------- When his phone rang in the middle of the night, Peter Kushkin had a bad feeling. When he saw it was his twin sister calling, he knew it couldn’t be good news. Petra hardly ever called him, and never just to ask how he was doing; as twins with exceptional psychic abilities, they were always aware of each other’s mental state. They didn’t have to ask; they just knew. Right now, Peter could feel Petra’s anxiety even before he picked up the phone, and he could make a pretty good guess as to why she was upset. Vicky was in some kind of trouble again. After calming his twin sister down, Peter was able to get a few facts out of her. Victoria was in Paris for her summer vacation, just bumming around, hanging with some friends. That’s how she described it. Just graduated from college, and taking it easy before returning to London to start seriously looking for a job. She had been out at a club, gone back to somebody’s house for a drink, and then, she had disappeared. She had never returned to the hotel she was staying at after that night. She hadn’t checked out, or told anyone at the front desk that she was planning on going anywhere. There was only one thing to do for it; in the morning Peter made a call to his travel agent and booked two seats on a plane from New York to Paris leaving the following day. He called Petra back to let her know which flight they would be taking, then replaced the receiver in its cradle, took his British passport out of the desk drawer and started to pack his things. There was no point in trying to get the Parisian police involved; a young British girl tourist wouldn’t even be considered as being ‘missing’ for a couple of days yet. They would just have to search for their little sister themselves. (to be continued) \/-----\/
  8. Chapter 4: Eternally Yours (RIVER) Cielo, 18 Little West 12th Street, NYC… present day (sound track: Essence, by Direct) I had come to this club we often frequented in order to lose myself in the madness of a rave… loud music, flashing lights, sweating bodies dancing to the pounding rhythmic beat of the music. Of course, it was always a good place to pick up a boy, too; they were quite happy to leave with me whenever I asked, and I do so like takeout. I was trying to key in on a suitable victim, preferably some macho lady killer type, when I suddenly became aware of something unusual. In the middle of all these sinners, I felt a different presence. Amidst the heat and noise and clutter of hundreds of pulses, hundreds of heartbeats, I could distinctly feel that there was one heart that beat differently, a heart that beat true, beating with a perfectly unspoiled purity. I hadn’t felt this from anyone in so many years. This was a heart childlike in its innocence, yet fully formed. It was a contradiction, an oxymoron, it was a total impossibility… and yet there it was. I could feel it beating, so it was definitely real. I certainly wasn’t dreaming; you have to sleep in order to dream like that, and I hadn’t slept for a very long time. How I envied the girl who possessed this pure heart. Once, I had been the same as her; before the car accident that had left me battered and bruised and so near death that it had taken a vampire’s kiss to save me. I wanted desperately to hear my own heartbeat again, to hear it beating in synchronized time with hers. But of course, that would never happen. My own heartbeat had been silenced long ago, when I became the creature of the night I now was. This thought only made me want to find the girl whose heartbeat I could feel pounding rhythmically throughout my whole body all the more. It was as if her heartbeat had taken the place of my own, and for a brief moment, I felt truly alive again. I had to meet her face to face; nothing else mattered at that instant. Not even the insistent hunger which had begun to consume me once again. I searched the club, homing in on the sound of her heart, passing writhing bodies covered with sweat as if they were phantoms, my urge to feed subsumed by the desire to meet her. I could feel her presence now; I was getting closer. With my heightened senses, I could even smell her. It was a sweet yet spicy odor, like a pumpkin spice or gingerbread latte from my favorite coffee shop. I was getting high on her scent, almost as if I’d taken a drug. I could feel what she was feeling, the blood coursing through her veins, the flush of her heat coming through her clothes, the slightest hint of perspiration on her soft body, the music pounding in her ears, taking her outside of herself. There was something else drawing me to her also now; as I got closer, I could feel a need beginning to build inside of her. And then suddenly, there she was, standing in front of me. I saw a slender wisp of a girl, wearing a short red and black plaid mini with a black chiffon and lace ruffled hem and a tight black sheer long-sleeved scoop neck top, a black lace bra underneath covering her shapely breasts. On her legs and feet, black over-the-knee socks, and black Converse high top sneakers. She had shiny dark brown hair, almost black; the same color as Hannah’s, I thought, but straight, not wavy. Two metal rings pierced her lower lip, and they glinted in the light with a bluish glow. They almost looked like fangs right then, although her unmistakable heartbeat was proof that she wasn’t one of us. She was moving rhythmically to the music, her eyes closed. As I stood there before her, I was captivated by her physical beauty, but even more so by the quality of the soul I sensed within. She was even more beautiful spiritually than she was physically, if it were possible to improve on perfection. Then, as if suddenly aware of my presence, she opened her eyes and looked straight into my own. Her eyes were like clear brilliant blue pools of water, and I felt as if I was sinking into them, drowning in her essence. She and I would have been the same height if I hadn’t been wearing heels, but as it was, she had to look up slightly at me. I liked that. She smiled at me, and her smile was so bright, it was as if the sun had risen in this dark club. The sun, which I hadn’t even had a glimpse of for over half a century, was there in her smile and I realized at that moment just how much I had actually missed seeing the sun rise. “Hi! I’m River,” she said, still dancing, her eyes locked with mine. “Do you want to dance?” I could feel her heartbeat quicken as she said that, a sharp intake of breath, a little more warm flush to her body. The signs of attraction were all there, plainly… and I hadn’t even tried to enthrall her. This was real, and I wasn’t used to it. Normally, I would have used my powers to make a person attracted to me, and they would have had no choice but to feel that way; but this young girl was a rare thing, a true innocent. I had no intention of spoiling that. Her feelings would remain her own. I was just incredibly happy that she had chosen to like me of her own free will. I was not above putting a tiny suggestion into her head, though. “I’m not much of a dancer,” I replied. “You seem thirsty. Can I buy you a drink?” “Sure!” She nodded emphatically. Without another word, she took my hand in hers and we headed towards the bar. When we got there, I waved to the bartender, a girl with long purple hair and a nose ring. "Orange Whip?" I asked River, and she nodded a yes. “Becca, can I buy you one also? Another nod. “Three Orange Whips, then?” I had a feeling that River would enjoy something a little sweet, and I loved Orange Whip cocktails myself. I guess I have a sweet fang. “Sure, Cool! Comin’ right up!” Becca replied brightly. Becca was OK. She knew Hannah and I were night people, and she accepted us for what we were. She didn’t have a problem with freaky… her words, not mine. As Becca prepared our drinks, mixing them in a gleaming polished steel shaker, River looked at me and asked, “Why did she call you cool just now? I mean, not that you aren’t, but… ” I laughed. “Oh, it’s an old joke. My real name is Erica, but no one has called me that in… well, forever, really. Everyone just calls me Cool. I used to say ‘cool’ all the time… ‘She’s cool, he’s cool, that’s cool, it’s cool’… people just started making fun of me, calling me Cool. And it stuck.” Becca poured the drinks into two glasses and set them in front of us. In her thick New Yawk accent, she said, “Here ya go, Cool… enjoy!” She gave me a little wink. I smiled at her, and said, “Oh, I’m sure we will. Nobody here mixes a better Orange Whip than you do, Becca!” “I’ll have mine later,” she said, and then Becca smiled back before moving off to take drink orders from some customers at the other end of the bar. I slid one of the glasses over in front of my new friend and watched her as she took the glass and raised it to her pretty lips, taking a sip and then sighing contentedly at the taste of it. Thursday night was always busy at Cielo and the club was packed. River was pressed up against me as we stood together at the bar. It was nice to feel her warm body, to take in her intoxicating scent up close, to hear her heartbeat. She was so alive… I wanted her more than I had wanted anything in a very long time. But I wasn’t going to force her; she clearly was beginning to want me also. Leaning over so that I could speak directly into her ear, I asked, “What do you say we finish these drinks and get out of here? I’m dying for a smoke, and we have to go outside for that.” River nodded. “Okay. I don’t smoke, but I’ll come keep you company while you have one.” It didn’t take us long to finish our cocktails. They were ice-cold, delicious, and went down easily. Setting our empty glasses back on the bar, we headed off towards the exit. “Don’t you have a jacket or coat?” I asked. “It’s a bit chilly outside.” “I never feel the cold,” she replied. “I guess I’m just naturally warm.” Oh, my goddess… this girl! I was falling in love. We walked out of the noisy club into the street and around the corner. I steered River into the shelter of a doorway to keep us out of the wind, then pulled out my pack of smokes, placed a cig in my mouth, and lit it with my trusty brass Zippo lighter. That lighter had seen some miles. It was another gift from Hannah, and it had been with me for almost as long as I’d been undead. I inhaled the smoke deeply, feeling the sweetness of it filling my lungs. “Kids, don’t try this at home, “ I thought to myself, and laughed out loud. “What’s so funny?” River asked. “Oh, nothing… just a thought that passed through my head. A private joke between me and myself.” “You’re kind of strange,” River said suddenly, laughing too. “What’s really weird is how comfortable I feel with you. It’s like we’ve known each other forever, even though we’ve just met and I don’t know anything about you.” “Well, what would you like to know?” I queried. “My life is an open book.” Yes, I was a liar… but she would certainly find everything out in due time. Before too long, she would know everything she wanted to know, and much more. For now, though, I just gave her a little mental nudge to let it drop... and of course, she did. The night air did have a chill to it, apparently. I could see River’s nipples reacting to the cold through her bra and thin top, even though she seemed immune to it otherwise. I pulled off my leather jacket and draped it over her shoulders, quickly and without asking, so that she wouldn’t have a chance to refuse my gesture. “Thanks,” she said. “I guess it is colder out now than it was when I got here. But won’t you be cold? “ “Don’t worry about me. I like the cold. I’m kind of used to it.” I laughed again and pointed at myself. “I’m Cool, remember?” “Why don’t we go back to my place?” I projected the thought as my green eyes met her blue ones. She opened hers just a little wider, letting my thought in. It was just another gentle suggestion, though… really. Not imposing my will at all. “Hey, do you live around here?” River asked. “I kind of need to pee, and the lines for the restroom at the club are always really long.’ I smiled to myself. “Yes, my place is just a few blocks away.’ I answered. “Let’s go, then,” she said, her decision made. Just a gentle suggestion… I smiled again. (sound track: So What, by Miles Davis) We started walking down towards Greenwich Street as a light powdery snow began to fall from the night sky, the soft flakes forming a sort of moving veil as the streetlamps illuminated them and the wind swirled them all around us. River’s long black eyelashes caught a few of the snowflakes and they hung there suspended for a few instants like pendants from a crystal chandelier before her body’s warmth caused them to melt. She blinked, and they fell slowly to her cheeks before disappearing into nothingness. The world seemed like it was moving in slow motion to me, and it was beautiful. I wanted this moment to last forever. A sudden sharp twinge in my bladder brought me back to reality. Poor River… I could feel she wasn’t kidding about having to pee. ‘Kind of’ was kind of an understatement. My empathetic powers made me all too conscious of the pressure building within her, aching to be released. It wasn’t a long walk, but I began to wonder if she would make it all the way there. She was starting to look a little more desperate; her hand was pressing on her abdomen as she walked, and she was taking shorter strides now. “Don’t worry, honey,” I said reassuringly. “It’s not too much further. We’ll be there soon; just try to hold it, OK?” As soon as I finished saying that, River gasped, and I could feel that she’d actually let a little bit of pee out into her panties, making them warmer and wetter than they already were from her arousal. She stopped mid-stride, crossed her legs tightly and bent over. "OMG, I have to pee so badly right now!” As much as I really wanted to see her wet herself, I decided I’d help her just a little. I projected a bit of my willpower into her, allowing her to keep the desperate feeling at bay a little while longer. It wasn’t gone, but at least it receded somewhat. If she was going to wet herself, it wasn’t going to be right there in the middle of the street. I wanted it to be for my eyes only. River stood up straight and uncrossed her legs with a sigh. “I really thought I was about to lose it totally a minute ago!” “It sure did look that way, sweetie. Desperation usually comes in waves, in my personal experience.” I smiled. “We should probably hurry, before the next one hits.” River smiled back at me sweetly. “Yeah, I might not make it next time.” She was so cute, this girl. Every little thing she did or said was making me fall deeper and deeper in love with her. Her soft voice, her lovely body, her beautiful soul, her irresistible scent; even her urgent need to pee all made me hopelessly attracted to her. I put my arm around her protectively and we continued on our way towards the loft. I could feel her shivering now, not from the cold, but from her desperate state. If we didn’t get inside soon, the poor thing was going to lose it completely. I could sense her leaking pee steadily now, although she was making a valiant effort to hold it. Luckily, we had arrived at the loft building where Hannah and I lived. “Hey, honey… we’re here. Just a little while longer now, and you can pee.” I pulled my keys out of the pocket of my leather jacket and stuck them into the lock quickly as River stood there bent over again with her legs crossed tightly, a look of sheer desperation on her pretty face. “Please hurry,” she said. “I’m just about to wet myself.” She had no idea how her words affected me, or what that act would do to me, either. I had to get her inside quickly, for both of our sakes. I opened the door, and we stepped into the small lobby. I pressed the button to call for the elevator. It was already there on the ground floor; the door opened and River and I got in, and I selected the top floor. I could feel just how desperate River was now; she was just moments away from losing it completely. Her chest was flushed, she was biting her lower lip, and her hand was now pushed up under her skirt between her slim legs. Her face was showing the stress she was under, trying to keep holding as we rode the small elevator up. It was agonizingly slow, too, this old elevator, which wasn’t helping her at all. The look on her face, the way she was standing with her legs crossed tightly together, her lovely scent filling up this small confined space; I was ready to make love to her right then and there. River gasped again, and I could feel that she’d just spurted a stream of hot pee into her little panties again. She clamped her thighs together, and I could feel her fingers pressing into her wee hole through her panties to stem the tide. Her other hand grabbed my arm, and squeezed it hard. I was both surprised and pleased by the fact that she had remarkably strong fingers. “Oh, gosh, I really need to pee soon,” she said softly. River was almost at the limit of her ability to hold the flood back, and it was just about the sexiest thing I’d ever seen. Her skirt was hiked up around her hand, exposing her black lace boyshort panties as she rubbed herself a bit, applying pressure on her outer lips before replacing her fingers on her urethra to relieve the pressure building up inside of her. I was trying my best not to look at her; if I had, the sight would have been enough to drive me crazy, and I would have ravished her instantly. As it was, I could feel everything she was feeling and everything she was doing to herself as she started pressing on her wee hole again to try and keep herself from wetting. Finally, the elevator came to a stop on the 13th floor. I stepped out, but River remained motionless inside, her pretty face looking down at her feet. “Come on, sweetie, we’re here,” I said, opening the door to the loft, but River just looked at me helplessly as tears began to flow from her beautiful blue eyes. I heard a soft hissing sound, and I saw she was wetting herself now; her pee was flowing freely out from between her fingers as they were pressed up against her panties between her long shapely legs. It streamed down, soaking her over the knee socks, and forming a small fragrant pool at her feet. “I’m so sorry, Cool… I just couldn’t hold it any more,” she said softly. The helpless look on River’s face and the sweet scent of her pee was starting to drive me insane with desire. It was all I could do to keep from kneeling down and slurping her liquid gold up from off of the elevator floor. To an omo vampire like me, your pee smells so sweet and delicious; it’s what attracts us to you. So if you’re wet, or even full, we’ll come and find you. I was so excited, but I had to keep a grip on myself until we got inside. What I was going to do to her in a few moments, in private, oh goddess… “Don’t worry about that, sweetie,” I said to her. ”Come inside and we can get you cleaned up in a jiffy. I can even lend you some clothes if you’d like, since we look to be just about the same size.” River nodded sweetly and walked into the loft. She didn’t know it yet, but she had just changed her life forever with those few small steps. She was all mine now; or rather, she would be very soon. As soon as River crossed our threshold, she was in my arms. I gently slid my motorcycle jacket off of her shoulders, letting it fall to the floor behind her. I pulled her close, and began to kiss her ever so tenderly, and I felt her soft body relaxing against mine. "Cool, I'm so sorry I wet myself, I just couldn't..." "Shhh, don't worry, it's OK. It's OK, baby girl," I whispered softly into her ear, my voice pitched to soothe her. All of the stress and strain and tension was draining away now that she was no longer struggling to keep from wetting herself. As she spread her legs apart and pressed up against me, I could feel the warm dampness of her panties on my thigh, and I raised my hands to her breasts, kneading them gently under my fingers, caressing her nipples as they grew into pointed barbs under her bra and sheer top. Her lips were so soft and wet I could have kissed her forever. She tasted like sweet strawberries, probably from her lip gloss. Her eyes were closed, but her body and soul were open to me. I let my fingers enter her, one hand on her breast and the other working up inside her panties, feeling the slick wetness of girl juice gathering there. I slipped two fingers up inside her and was rewarded with a soft gasp and then sweet little moans of joy as I fingered her love tunnel with short quick stroking motions. I removed my fingers and brought them to my mouth to taste her… oh, goddess, she was delicious, the girl juice and sweet pee mingling to form the most exotic cocktail imaginable. Better than an Orange Whip, I thought to myself, and smiled. I reached down and inserted my fingers into my sweet River again. Suddenly, I felt her spasm around my hand, and I felt her squirt forcefully into her panties as she shuddered uncontrollably. “Oh, I’m coming!” She convulsed around my fingers, gasping for air and moaning. I was creaming in my own panties now as well. River had gotten me so very aroused by her display of unbridled passion I couldn’t help myself. This girl… she was pure innocence, and pure sex at the same time. It was a deadly combination. Luckily, I had no life to lose. I picked her up, still trembling with joy. She was so light; I carried her easily to the back of the loft and laid her down on the giant bed, watching her sink into the soft comforter and feather bed as if into a fluffy cloud. Her eyes were open now, and with a quick fluid motion, she sat up and pulled her top over her head, her hair falling back into her sweet face as she tossed it aside. All of a sudden, a light seemed to flash behind her eyes, and she grabbed me and pulled my face into her soft breasts, holding me there firmly. I was surprised at her strength; she was powerful for such a small girl. I liked that too. Although I could have broken her grip easily, I didn’t want to. I was used to being the aggressive one in this type of encounter, but River had turned the tables on me, and I was enjoying the unfamiliar sensation of not being in control for once. She kicked off her sneakers, and I rolled her over-the- knee socks off of her legs. My hands moved under her short skirt to remove her still-damp panties as she lifted her bottom up off of the bed slightly. I could smell the sweet scent of her pee on them as I let them drop to the floor beside the bed, and it was driving me almost insane with desire for her. She rolled over so she was now on top of me, pinning me to the bed as her hands flew to the zipper of my skinny jeans, undoing it and quickly shoving her hand down into my pants to feel the slick wetness of my panties. River may have looked young, but she was certainly no novice at this game; she knew how to turn a girl on, that was for sure. She reached around behind her back, deftly unfastening the clasp of her bra and letting her shapely breasts fall free as I moved my mouth to one of her nipples and began to suck hungrily on it. I had to resist the almost overwhelming temptation to bite her; not yet, I thought to myself… not yet. I stopped sucking before I wouldn’t be able to help myself. “Oh, Cool…OH, MY GOD, “ she gasped, as I reached up and began to fondle her nipples, kneading them firmly between my fingers. I could sense that she wanted me to squeeze even harder… so I did just that, and was rewarded with a moan of pleasure from her sweet lips. She closed her eyes again and bent her head down to my neck and sucked on it before suddenly biting it hard. I could feel a little of my blood gathering under her sharp teeth; luckily the lights were still off, so she wouldn’t notice the strange blue color of it until afterwards. She began to suck harder now that she had drawn blood, and her passion seemed to increase as she moved above me, her hand busy down between my legs as she rubbed herself against my thigh, making it all slick and wet with her juices. Her short skirt was bunched up around her waist now. She was almost completely naked while I was still fully clothed, but I felt like she was the one in control at the moment, not me. “River, oh, River,” I sighed, whispering her name. I was melting underneath her. I was the vampire, but this young girl was drinking my blood. I hadn’t anticipated this at all. Now I had no choice. I had to turn her, or she would be dead before morning. Just as that thought passed through my head, I heard the front door open, and footsteps coming down the hallway. Hannah was home. “Cool, where are you?” she asked. River’s eyes flew open, and I could feel her body tensing up. She wasn’t expecting us to be interrupted in the middle of our passionate embrace. “Who’s that?”, she whispered nervously. “You didn’t tell me you had a room-mate!” “We’re in the bedroom, Hannah!” I replied, smiling. I whispered to River, “Don’t worry, it’s OK… Hannah’s going to love you, sweetie!” “’Oh, so it’s ‘We’, is it? Hmm, would you like a little privacy?” “Actually, I was hoping you’d be home in time to meet River!” I giggled, thinking of what Hannah would be doing to the both of us very soon. She walked into the bedroom, as stunning as ever. Tall and slim, with magnificent breasts, long legs, shiny dark brown long wavy hair, large brown eyes and full sensuous lips. She was the whole package, and gift wrapped in tight black leather to boot. Hannah exuded sex in the same way that River exuded innocence. And I was about to be made love to by both of them at the same time. How lucky can an undead girl get? (a passionate night follows) [THIS PASSAGE HAS BEEN CENSORED DUE TO OVERLY RISQUE MATERIAL] The night was passing all too quickly; soon the morning light would be breaking over the city, and I had to take care of River now. She was getting weaker. The blood she’d sucked from my neck was killing her, slowly at first but once the sun was up the process would accelerate unless I fed her the antidote. There’s only one true cure for a mortal who has tasted vampire blood, and it’s not the most obvious thing in the world, either… you have to drink that vampire’s urine. Of course, you’re not really cured then. You just become one of us: an omo-vampire; a blood-sucking, pee-loving vampire. I got up out of the bed. Leaving Hannah and River behind, their bodies entwined in a post-coital embrace, I headed to the kitchen. I grabbed the nearest container, which was a large bowl. Taking it with me into the bathroom, I squatted over it and let loose a nice torrent of transparent blue pee, enough to fill it almost completely. I wanted to make sure we had enough to complete River’s transformation. I picked up the bowl and carried it carefully into the kitchen, where I poured some of it into a glass over ice. It would make a sweet cocktail now that River had tasted my blood. I took the tall glass full of my pee back into the bedroom, and lifted it to River’s lips as Hannah and I held her up. “You need to drink this,” I commanded her, and she obeyed me instantly, submissive now. I wasn’t about to take a chance that she might refuse for any reason. We were running out of time. As soon as she took the first sip, I could see a change come over her. She sat up straighter in bed as I continued to feed her the sweet-tasting liquid, taking a deep gulp now as her body responded to its tonic effect. She grasped the glass with both hands, taking it from me and raised it high as she drained the last dregs. “That was delicious! What is that stuff?” She licked her soft lips. I said, “I’ll tell you later. Right now you need to get some rest,” and then Hannah and I both looked at each other and laughed. They were almost exactly the same words we had exchanged the night we first met, over fifty years ago. (to be continued) \/-----\/
  9. Chapter 3: Wind In The Reeds (COOL) Thursday night, the meatpacking district, NYC… present day. (sound track: Naima, by John Coltrane) I was hanging out alone in our loft on Greenwich Street, and feeling mildly desperate from holding. It had been at least ten hours since I had last allowed myself the luxury of a wee, and I had been consuming green tea pretty consistently. Holding and being desperate actually feels good to an omo vampire; it’s part of the curse, choosing to hold when we could so easily just release our urine any time we wanted to. Feeling the fullness in the bladder, the pressure building within, the yearning to just let go; it’s all just so wonderful, and we learn to prolong the sensation, holding for as long as we can stand it before giving in to the urge to release. And with our metabolism and capacity for pain, ‘as long as we can stand it’, well, that can be a lot of pee held for a really long time. Hannah was off somewhere, dealing with some elder vamp business. Every so often, the local elders would get together and discuss some stuff that needed taking care of: a clan that wasn’t following the rules, for example, or maybe a human that was getting a little too close one way or another. As the current enforcer, Hannah was required to attend and give her opinion, although she wasn’t actually allowed to vote. Then sometimes, she’d have to act on their decision… and that might take awhile, depending on whether she’d be able to just give someone a warning, or more extreme sanctions were warranted. Believe me, you didn’t want to be around for that part. It usually got pretty messy. So I was on my own for the night. To pass the time, I pulled out some sheet music, lit a cigarette, and played my soprano sax for a bit. Yes, I smoke… deal with it. One of the advantages of being undead; I don’t have to worry about getting lung cancer, or any other kind. My cells regenerate much too rapidly, and are also immune to most forms of degradation and decay. It doesn’t affect my playing either; I have superb breath control. I can use circular breathing and make a note last all night if I wish, or choose not to breathe at all. That particular skill takes conscious effort and a lot of practice to master, but it’s a nice trick if I have to spend time underwater, or if someone is trying to track me. I picked a Coltrane ballad, and started to play the haunting melody before taking on a solo. ‘Naima’… it was a seemingly simple tune, but those are often the hardest to play. The temptation to fill all the spaces is almost unavoidable, but leaving space… yes, there’s the art of it… not overplaying, but letting nuance take precedence over needless complexity. It’s harder to do than it sounds, really. After more than fifty years of daily practice I’d improved a lot, was actually finally a decent enough player, maybe even good… and my long dead idol John Coltrane still cut my behind to ribbons. So frustrating, really. Then again, he was a genius. I was just a girl with a whole lot of time on her hands. It was Hannah who had suggested I take up playing the horn; she presented me with a beautiful gleaming gold Selmer soprano sax for my vampire birthday, the very first year we were together. She said, “You might as well have a hobby; it helps to pass the time. And who knows, maybe one day you’ll even be able to play like that man you idolize so much.” As if I could ever dream of being that good, even with all of eternity stretching out before me. Well, nothing ventured, nothing gained. I started learning to play. It was rough at first; I couldn’t manage to get anything like a decent tone out of the horn. With time I got better, though; I had a lot of time to spare, and I learned. Fifty-plus years later, and I was still learning; learning that I’d never play as well as John Coltrane, no matter how much time I had. Oh, well... ‘c’est la mort’, as the Creole vamps say down in New Orleans. Finally, I took the horn out of my mouth, and stubbed out the clove cigarette I’d left burning in the ashtray on the table next to me. I lit another, and took a deep drag as I put the music away. I unscrewed the ligature and removed the reed, pulled off the mouthpiece, then cleaned the moisture out of the sax by running a cotton cloth through it. I carefully placed the horn and mouthpiece back into the purple plush-lined case, closed it and latched it shut with the deliberate gestures that come with having all the time in the world at your disposal. I had finished my practice session, but I was still feeling unsatisfied and restless for some reason. Usually it had the opposite effect, making me feel calm, peaceful, and relaxed. I thought back to the way Trane had played the tune the last time I saw him. It was in Antibes, the summer of 1965, just about the final days of the classic quartet…. damn, he had been so amazing. His choice of notes, his fluidity, and his extraordinary ability to express what he was feeling, and to make you feel it too; they were all… perfect. I put on the recording of that concert; his live version of the tune was so different from my own and also from his original studio recording, moving so seamlessly from quiet to frantic tension anticipating the final ‘free music’ period he was about to enter and then back again to a peaceful statement of the beautiful melody. As usual, Trane’s music had a calming effect on me. There was a healing power in his playing; it was always there, and it always worked. I pulled the thin straps of the black silk slip I was wearing off my shoulders and let it fall softly to the floor, feeling it caressing my body on its way down towards my bare feet. I stepped out of it, leaving me clad only in my black silk and lace panties. My bladder created a slight bulge above them, indicating that I was fairly full and ready to release any time I wanted. I caressed the bulge softly, cradling it with both hands. Not yet, not yet, I thought. “There’s still plenty of time for holding,” I said to myself, even though I was starting to feel a bit more than slightly desperate now. “Hmmm, which look shall I go for this time?” I wondered out loud. Should I play the innocent schoolgirl, the sexy seductress, or a tough chick? Each different role had its own wardrobe. I flipped through the clothes in my closet until I found what I was looking for. Ah, yes… tough chick. That’ll work. I was feeling as hard and as sharp as a steel razor tonight. I dressed in a tight black ribbed tank top and black skinny jeans, a black leather belt with silver conchos, black suede high heeled boots with silver skull buckles, silver bracelets on my arm, silver hoop earrings. I laughed to myself as I fastened a silver chain with an upside down silver cross on it around my neck. Yes, I thought the cross was a nice touch. The legend was that a cross would be an effective weapon against a vampire, but in fact a cross, without true faith to back it up, was nothing but a useless ornament. So very few people had a true, unshakeable faith nowadays. They were all too smart for that, and so they were all easy victims. Wearing a cross was kind of a private joke for me, in fact. As a former parochial schoolgirl, I found it was almost as funny as the uniformed girls who wore circle pins nowadays even though they obviously weren’t virgins. Well, it was obvious to me, and I certainly knew what a circle pin was supposed to represent. I laughed again. I wondered what the nuns from my old high school would think if they could see me now; little innocent Erica. Yeah, right. Of course, they weren’t thinking anything, most likely. They were probably mostly either dead, or so old that they could barely remember their own names, much less mine. 1956 was a long time ago, at least by my reckoning. To Hannah, fifty-six years ago was like yesterday… or even five minutes ago. She was not quite an elder, but she must have been close to that. Sometimes, I teased her about lying about her age. When she was in a good mood, of course; only then. She wasn’t shy about hurting me pretty badly if I made her angry, since she knew I’d regenerate quickly. Which didn’t mean it wouldn’t be very painful, though. So, yeah; only when she was in a really good mood… I gathered my reddish-brown hair up above my head and sprayed a musky perfume onto both sides of my neck, behind my ears, under my arms and between my small breasts before letting it fall loosely onto my shoulders again. Then I sprayed it onto both of my wrists, and in the crook of my elbows. Opium, by Yves Saint Laurent, my favorite scent. Putting on makeup sucks when you can’t use a mirror. Having no reflection makes it kind of pointless to even try; but vanity being what it is, I still want to look my best when I go out, so I always try anyway… even if it’s difficult. You do get used to it after fifty years or so, though. And you get better at it. One of the luxuries of an undead existence; you have more than enough time to get better at everything and anything. I laughed to myself once more as I thought that. I was cracking myself up tonight, really. Such a shame nobody else was around to appreciate all my jokes; then again, most people wouldn’t have found them very funny at all. They were too weird, too morbid, too dark. Just like me, I thought, and laughed to myself yet again. Ignoring my steadily increasing desperation for the moment, I tried to imagine what I looked like as I applied a red gloss to my lips. Almost the color of blood, I thought, looking at it shining on the tip of my index finger. I rimmed my green eyes with black kohl eyeliner, and teased my lashes out with liquid mascara, making them into long curled boy traps, then applied just a little pale foundation to cover my sparse freckles. Hannah always told me my freckles were cute… but I wasn’t after ‘cute’ tonight. No, I was thinking more along the vein of ‘Kiss Me Deadly’. I wanted to look lethal. I wanted to look just the way I felt. I was getting hungry, and it was almost time to go find someone to have for dinner… yes, some unlucky boy was going to satisfy my appetite and make me very happy, for a short time anyhow. As the tune ended, I walked over to the stereo. I lifted the tone arm up and moved it to its cradle, then shut the amplifier off, watching the glowing tubes dim and fade as they powered down. Tesla's latest sound system was much more compact, and the thick cables were gone now; he'd been wireless long before the current technology had caught up to that. He still preferred the rich sound of monoblock tube amplifiers though, and my ears agreed with him. Vinyl LPs, and tube amps... old school. The loft was in complete darkness now, but my night vision allowed me to see everything as clearly as if it were broad daylight. Daylight... I hadn't seen daylight in over fifty years. I probably didn't even really remember what it looked like. I threw on my black leather motorcycle jacket, grabbed my keys and a second unopened pack of vanilla clove cigarettes. Then I headed out the door, slamming it shut behind me. “Watch out, party people,” I thought to myself, “something’s coming to get you.” I laughed again, somewhat evilly this time, as I took a cigarette from my open pack, stuck it between my blood-red lips and lit it. Inhaling deeply, I savored the sweet smoke as it filled my lungs. Dressed to kill, made up to attract, and as desperate to pee as possible… I was ready to hunt. I began to walk at a leisurely pace uptown towards the club on Little West 12th Street, my footsteps illuminated by the silvery sliver of a new moon. (to be continued)
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