Blood Tint ~ Part 6

Blood Tint, Part 6

{Start with Part 1}

Everywhere on Neave’s body tasted different. Her lips still had lingering wine, her ear, the barest hint of jasmine perfume. A permanent air of paint and thinner adorned her fingers, and there my tongue found the exact spots she pricked to get the blood she mixed into her paints. That made me growl. Lower down, sweat, and soap, and Neave’s own musk. Her pleasure, the chemistry of it, the psychic broadcast of it, those were  as much a part of what I needed, what Daci and I consumed, as anything else.

Neave bucked into my mouth, her taste flooding me, her own sounds muffled against Daci’s lips. Minutes later, my mouth was back at Neave’s, her hand wrapped around my cock. Blindly, she pulled me between her open legs, where Daci was fervently busy. Daci’s soft hair tickled my abdomen as she slid just to the side. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw her legs swinging around up by Neave’s shoulder.

“Let me, dearest,” Daci’s voice came from below. She disengaged Neave’s hand from my cock and took it in her own grasp. Daci’s tongue swept between Neave’s body and mine, as she lined me up to Neave’s molten hot slit. I took Neave’s now free hand in mine, guiding it up Daci’s body to between her legs, where Neave’s fingers began their own exploration of sparse curls and pink folds. Neave was comfortable with the bodies of both men and women. We’d had no reason to expect that, but it all somehow fit this wonderful mélange.

Daci’s head made way as I slowly sank into Neave. All of us groaned, even Daci, from the infectious aura of sex the three of us generated as well as from Neave’s fingers. The very air throbbed, as if our three heartbeats had become synchronous and magnified. The pulse and rush of blood a liquid undercurrent to each beat. It was almost time.

One of my hands held Neave’s, our fingers interlaced against the sheets above her head. My other hand took her chin and raised it. Turning her head, baring her neck to me. Neave shuddered and heaved under me, bucking into my cock. I knew what Daci was doing, too. I felt her head turn against my thigh. Daci was pushing Neave’s leg to the sheets, open to her so she could reach Neave’s femoral artery, Daci’s favorite spot. She was also probably trapping Neave’s other hand against her own slit, guiding our captive beauty to where she most wanted, most needed.

“Oh, God!” Neave whispered. She sounded desperate, frightened, wanton. Thrusting deep into her felt so, so good, I raised my head, mouth open from the feeling, fangs fully bared. Neave’s wide eyes rolled to my face, stared, then closed. Her entire body, taut and twisting under us, just seemed to melt. O, surrender, the sweetest taste of all.

I lowered mouth to Neave’s neck and bit, flooding with her. I buried myself in her and came. Somewhere in my awareness I knew Daci’s teeth also pierced Neave’s flesh, just below the crease of her thigh, her well twice opened. Seizing, Daci emitted that low lusty sound I’ve loved for centuries.Rippling  and clamping down on my jetting cock, Neave’s slack body spasmed as if shocked. And Neave, beautiful Neave cried out, lost and exultant, keening as she gave herself over.

Words are useless to describe the essence one takes – and gives – at a time like this. Neave’s blood tasted like blood, life itself to us, because we cannot create our own. Her pleasure – hormones, endorphins, psychic energy, all of that amother part of what sustained us, and it tasted on the tongue and in the spirit, sweet and hot. Multiply all that by the pure physical pleasure of skin on skin; skin in skin, fluid heat, and it describes a shadow of what it truly feels like.

Moreover, it’s an exchange of sorts. I didn’t just come in Neave. My fangs, my mind, and Daci’s gave her some of what we were, too; tiny slivers of almost eight hundred years combined of pleasure, and a little pain, and so many other things. One could hear all of that in her cries, if one listened. And I did.

For a full minute, our climactic pulse throbbed. Daci and I sucked and swallowed, our three bodies surged into each other, and Neave’s shattered voice wailed. My mind burned in a yellow haze, like the full morning sun from my youth. I could stay there forever, in the field, feeling its warmth, but I knew. I was already pulling from Neave’s neck, leaving two scarlet beads behind, when Daci’s hand found mine and squeezed; her gentle reminder. I was still proud I had lost the need for it, still grateful for it. I ever would be.

I raised my head and looked down at Neave. I know I looked both drunk and feral at the same time. Daci’s head came up as well. Her hand releasing mine and moved to Neave’s cheek, wiping away the tear it found. Our Irish beauty was even more pale, more magnetic than before. We’d not taken her into real danger, probably a pint or so each. She was strong and would recover quickly. Her rapid breath was already slowing, wild heart calming.

“Oh, my God,” Neave struggled to speak, “A-Alak… D-“

“Shhh, sweet one,” Daci said.

“Rest now,” I said, smoothing the stray hairs from Neave’s sweaty brow. “You have questions. I know. Later.”

Neave nodded, already fading. Then her hands jerked, grabbing at my wrist and Daci’s. Her eyes suddenly wide, scared, darting between our faces-

“Don’t leave!” It was a whisper, but a plaintive plea, “Please…Don’t leave.”

Neave burned the last reserves of her strength with this spark of worry. I didn’t have to look at Daci, I know what her face would tell me.

“We won’t. I promise.”

Neave’s sigh, of surrender to sleep, of abject relief, wormed its way far into me.

Daci and I lay with her for a while, basking in her glow, watching her sleep, touching each other languidly.

“I did not expect this out of our evening,” she mused.

“Nor I. But life is interesting that way.”

“That’s why it’s worth living, isn’t it.”

“One of the reasons.”

I leaned over Neave to kiss Daciana. Our artist’s taste mixed with my savior’s to something new again.

Daci glanced up at the skylight-covered ceiling.

“If those don’t have shades that we can close, we’re going to have to wake her up before dawn,” she said.

I smiled, leering.

“We’re going to wake her up before dawn regardless, love.”

“Insatiable, Alak.”

“Guilty, Daciana. Let me show you.”

It really was like a drug. Neave’s blood sang in me, and I know it did the same for Daci, because when I leapt on her, rampant and ready, she rolled with my attack and pinned me under her. She smiled down at me, holding my arms above my head, trapping my cock between my stomach and her pert little ass. I out-mass Daci by maybe twentyfive kilos, but she would win if I fought her. I briefly considered it, just to lose to her, but I wanted her too much. And she saw that. She lifted herself over me until I sprang up between us, then lowered, sinking her cunt down around my shaft. We moaned into each other, and she released my arms so I could crush her to me.

{End Chapter 1}

{Continued in Part 7}

Categories: Erotica, Monocle, Multi-part Story, SupernaturalTags: , , , , ,


I am the little devil on your shoulder, stroking your neck with my tail, whispering obscenities into your ear, and looking down your blouse. One third of The Erotic Writer blog.


  1. nilla

    Again, surprising me, i like this! It’s primal and hot- sensual and enticing.

    Your word pics are incredibly rich. *chin/palm*…so nice!


  2. Kate

    Way to stride boldly into a genre! I have read a great number of vampire pieces, many quite well done, but that was . . . well, let us say that I did not manage to read all 6 existing parts in a single run – a little pause required, there. Alak and Daciana have me hooked, and I’m hard to please when it comes to good characters. Please have mercy on us and don’t delay Chapter two. My first foray into your site, and many happy returns.

    • Monocle

      Thank you so much, Kate! I may or may not have posted my misgivings about writing vampires. One of the minor worries I had was whether people who liked reading vampire stories would care at all for my take on them, since my imagination of them is something rather else than the classical or traditional. Only minor, because once I decide to write something, I’m selfishly the first and really only person I need to please. But it’s a big benefit if others like it. And, in this case, even better if people well versed the genre I’m invading also like it.

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