postcard amelie 06
Amelie is breathing soft and regular, somehow undisturbed by the increasingly violent complaints of Gemma’s remains that knot your insides. The work of two careful minutes repositions her so she can sleep on the bed. You tuck her in and slip away.
Me-time.
Spanish plumbing is hazy at the best of times. You’re going to have to go easy, but even as you’re walking, powerful internal spasms are accompanied by a discordant orchestra of phuts, purts, and tremulous piping prrrrts. You pray God Amelie doesn’t wake up. There must remain some mystery.
Door closed. Sanctum. The hard walls echo back the pat, pat, pat of your bare feet as you cross the room.
Part of you is already preparing, relaxing. An internal release shunts something heavy down a couple of inches. You must be dehydrated, because Gemma gives a pleasant internal scratch.
Bright white porcelain is eclipsed by your gorgeously padded bum. The halogen lighting still sparkles through the V between your legs. The seat is warmer than the room, being some high quality plastic. Conditions are perfect.
There in that polished, high-gloss room your sensual, slightly pudgy body gives birth to a slow wave of filth. Flowing when you relax; ebbing when a shudder of satisfaction causes you to twitch closed. Gemma at her end is meek: not fighting her ultimate fate, but obeying deep muscles over which you have no conscious control. She comes out kissed one last time by your body, steaming with body heat, quenched by clean water. She is swallowed again, by cold plumbing.
Gemma is a five-flusher.
“Was that her?”
The sound of hand-washing must have woken Amelie because there is no trace of sleep on her face when you re-enter the bedroom.
You feel a stab of panic. What you just did is very private and you’d rather she hadn’t woken. What if she’d been listening to the shit hit the bowl?
It must show on your face. Amelie giggles, putting her fingers to her mouth. “Did you give her my love?”
You fix Amelie with a glare that only half quietens her. “Don’t talk about Gemma. She’s gone.” You slap your belly, causing brief ripples to explore you up and down. “There’s only me.”
That shuts her up.
Over midday Amelie eats to regain her strength. You eat, too, for the joy of it. There is a pizza oven in the restaurant and you make heavy use of it. There’s something comforting about the denseness of bread inside you. Nothing comes close to a human being, but pizza is like a determined hug from a cannonball in your stomach.
Your body has changed even since you met your new lover. You catch her eyes roaming over you as you lay out clothes for the afternoon. Friends messaged, offering a trip out, and Amelie looked keen. You would also like to stretch your legs.
“It must be a nightmare packing so many different sizes,” says Amelie, lying on her belly and kicking her feet in the air.
“I just pay for extra check-in allowance. I don’t have to buy so much food, so it all works out, really.”
“Just eat out every night,” she says, giving you a grin with her tongue-tip caught between her teeth. Her happy-go-lucky kicking stops when a thought visibly occurs to her. “Raven, you said you’d give me a chance to learn more. Before you… y’know, drank from me.”
You nod, selecting something billowy in white, red and gold that will give your new curves space to be appreciated but help keep you cool.
“And I don’t want to be someone’s prey. Not even yours. It was… hard, watching you swallow my…” She unconsciously shifts position, ending with arms wrapped around long legs. Like a barrier, though one that shows the carefully shaped diamond of fuzz between her legs if you but look closer. “I want to be like you.”
She flinches when you look at her. You realise the memory of the taste of her blood made you unconsciously wet your lips. Oh well, let her feel the magnitude of the topic.
“And what am I?”
“A predator. Vampire. Strong.”
You set down the summer dress. Something tells you it’s not right to discuss such dread matters while holding fabric with flowers on it.
“I know of only one way to make you what you want to be. First, you should be sure you understand. Watch.”
The tendrils come forth as naturally as extending your arms, though the thought is different. Moving your arms is an action of the body. Articulating your tendrils is an action of your vampiric nature: a predatory subconscious whose language is blood and dominance and freedom and will.
Amelie pales as the twin blades come into sight. To your delight she does not react like prey, trying to hide or edge away. Instead she actually leans closer.
The predatory subconscious approves. It is the most natural thing in the world to extend those tendrils towards her, to embrace her with them. Curved blades as sharp as hunger trace dangerously over her toned belly, the rise of a beast, the collarbone. With the altered senses of your tendrils her skin is a reservoir of heat, a morsel between your teeth on which you tease yourself with the thought of biting down.
When she grasps you it feels so much like a meeting of minds that you lose a little control. The limb she is not gripping between lithe fingers cuts her superficially on the back. Blood is wicked away without a thought. Just a taste.
“Is this… you?”
“As much as my body. Moreso.”
“Then can I… love you?”
She doesn’t wait for an answer; instead places a generous, open-mouthed kiss upon the tendril looping around her gripping hand. The feeling of this first kiss almost brings you to your knees: keen and virgin senses experience the heat and intimacy of her mouth with the immediacy of a dream. Your mind is flooded with images of being inside her: most fatal for her, some not.
With an almost feral growl you stride to the bed and take her face into your hands. Her lips leave a shining mark on the tendril that moves to wrap around her chest, her belly, in soft spirals that could be deadly in a heartbeat. With the pressure you apply you can feel her heartbeat through her whole body.
You kiss her and she kisses back ferociously, launching onto all fours then burying the fingers of one hand in your hair. Her fierceness reminds you of your own. Perhaps you will both be predators together?
You only know one way to make someone like you, though.
For now, you answer her hunger with your own. The tendril that has curled snake-like down her body kinks itself to push aside the deadly blade. The other, coiling around your own waist, performs the same manoeuvre.
You penetrate both of you simultaneously. Amelie, not knowing what was coming, mmmphs into the kiss as she feels the flesh of your tendril parting and filling her. Her kiss intensifies as you get your bearings, build a rhythm that makes her lose her breath. Then she’s disengaging from the kiss, spearing you with an expression of pleading and lust. She rocks back against you, trying to fit you deeper and deeper, make you go faster to bring her to the edge.
But she is under your control this time, and you govern the pace. Your own pleasure builds gradually, inflamed by the vulnerability in her eyes, the feeling of her body squirming in your coils, your power over her as you slow-fuck her. She learns that you’re in charge and acquiesces, her free hand roaming your neck, your breasts, to end on the growing rolls of your belly, still stuffed with breakfast, her blood and pizza. She bows her head to kiss the soft flesh and is rewarded with faster thrusts that make her yelp.
A lick in your belly-button makes you both shiver; hungry lips under the breasts that shelf on your rib fat makes you bring her twitchingly close to coming. In the end she is so desperate to please you that she places her fingers on your lips and slides them into your mouth.
The gesture of submission is profoundly dangerous. You come instantly, and your tendril inside her drives her to come at almost the same moment. She withdraws before your can bite or pull her in further, but her taste is on your tongue, and it was willingly given. More will come. The chase is dizzyingly fun.
She collapses, spent and still twitching. Your tendril unloops sensually from her body then withdraws with its twin. Little blood has been consumed but the need for passion, power and attention has been satisfied for now.
The hunger for your lover and reluctant prey is whetted, though. She has fed you twice: once in blood, once with the taste of her flesh, given only for your satisfaction. The next time you will take everything, and she will give it.