Ever been to Venice?
It stinks. I don't mean in the American way, I mean literally. It fucking hums like an old lady knitting on a rocking-chair.
To YOU I mean. Not to us! To us it smells beautiful. To us it smells like what it is, a city with a past. The Floating City, The City Of Masks, La Dominante... Or simply Venezia, as the Contessa calls it... Nice place. You should go there. But not tonight. Not tonight.
We alight on the canal near the Baroque Ca ' Rezzinico, and wait for a gondola. Two pass then a third. Until the fourth which is what we need. A young gondolier, in his 20s perhaps, a girl huddled in the well at the rear of the vessel, wrapped in a blanket. Keeping her lover company as he works the night shift. How lovely. The Contessa's eyes shine as I motion the boat to the shore. The boy smiles, perfect white teeth in dark-hair framed, sculpted face as we climb aboard. The Contessa giggles as we take our seats. This is going to be fun.
"Just please us," she says, in Italian, smiling at the boy, waving her hand and he pushes on his pole and takes us onto the water. We glide upon the canal. He looks at me as Italian working men will, eyebrow raised, asking if I can afford this luxury. I can. In my hand I offer a splayed wad of Euro notes. He moves forward to take his fee.
The Contessa lays a hand upon him and he falls. She looks into his dark eyes and makes him hers. As she kisses him his hands move to touch her. He can do nothing else. He wants her. He has no idea what she is. But even if he did he would not care. Not now...
As the Contessa unbuttons the pants of the handsome gondolier his girl moves forward in protest, shedding her blanket. I catch her, staring into her dark eyes and knowing who she is, what they are...
He is Giovanni, she is Marianna, both engaged, she 17, he 22... She rides with him on the canals since they cannot bear to be apart. It is July. They are to be married in September. But not before we take our pleasure.
The Contessa has the boy's pants down now and his penis is in her mouth. He is large. He moans, half in protest, half in pleasure as she moves upon him. The girl looks on in horror at this outrage until I smile at her and place a cold finger at her lips stilling her fear. Her eyes meet mine. I hush her. She smiles, unable to understand why she understands. I place my hands on her. She closes her eyes. She settles. Happy now. Awaiting. Impatient, even.
(It is that easy for us...)
The girl's tits are firm and hard and heavy and her nipples rise as I pinch and pleasure her through her summer dress. My hand moves under her skirt and I feel her wet warm pussy in my fingers under her panties. I invade . My Christ. A virgin. In this day and age! I pull her pink panties down her legs and she eagerly lifts her ass off the decking to allow me to uncover her. Complicit now. Obliging. I turn my head as my fangs rise and my scream causes currents across the canal, causing the doves in the square at St Mark's to flutter and then re-alight.
The boat swirls upon the midnight water... Circling in the tide...
I can hear the boy's passionate moans as Karen devours him. She licks and tugs with her fingers on the hot hard shaft, I watch her hungry head bob, her perfect curls falling as she whores.
I move between the virgin girl's legs, cold cock head at hot slit as she raises her knees in offering ....
I enter the girl, her slight moan of pain only exciting me more. I fuck her, hard, deep, powerfully... "Don't Stop!" she screams. "Please don't stop!" And I don't stop. I lift her sweet ass and get deeper.
I do turn my head. The sight is priceless! The boy watches his beauty pounded under this nightmare as he holds my Contessa's head as she sucks on him. His expression is that of a man who sees a puzzle he cannot solve... Yet he smiles, closing his eyes as he moans and comes.
The girl comes too, bucking her virgin pussy against my hips as she sighs and cries.
Karen moves up and bites the boy at his neck and drinks. I hear her moan as she feeds on him.
I take the girl, I bite her, her essence in my mouth as I savor the taste of a virgin fucked to harlotry! (Lemon and pepper, if you're interested... Although that was just her...).
You taste better when you come for us.
Karen tells me later that the boy's blood tasted like Cinnamon and Apple.
I pole the gondola to shore myself and tie her up. We leave a thousand Euro in the boy's pocket. We arrange them in embrace, together. We haven't hurt them; with luck they'll remember nothing. (You often don't.) Come morning, they'll only remember the exquisite pleasure, and with no memory of us, will believe that the memory is theirs alone.
We fly back to San Fransisco. (It takes minutes.) She giggles as we fly.
(As we approach the Eastern seaboard, far below, we see a pod of Orca whales breasting in the waves. We swoop to watch, circling; so LIKE us these creatures, beauties who kill only because they have to. But of course they sense our presence and dive, sensitive sentient majesties. We are no danger to them obviously. But our aura to them is the same as a shark''s, and they sense it, so they avoid us, vanishing. But they are beautiful...)
At home the sun is rising. It is time for us to rest. Our coffins are close together in the cold basement of the old house. I hold her hand until I hear her fade. Tomorrow is another day. Well, tomorrow is another night for us, but you know what I mean...Look, what did you REALLY think this story was?
A silly tale to entertain a WEBSITE!!!!!!
Well pardon me. I like what you people do here and I share my experiences as you do.
But there is more to my tale if you choose to keep reading...
Perhaps you will.
I am at your service.
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with this note attached, it has been posted without my permission.
<a href="https://www.lushstories.com/stories/supernatural/happy-birthday-dear-wampyr-part-ii.aspx">Happy Birthday, Dear Wampyr, (Part II) Venezia.</a>