2 comments/ 8165 views/ 5 favorites Becky's Dreams By: ScottishChieftan In the middle of the night, Becky sits up quickly in bed. Rubbing sleepy eyes to clear them, her ears tune to the silence of the night and strain to hear whatever it is that awakened her. There is nothing but stillness and absolute silence. Not even the tiniest chirp from a cricket. All too familiar—this nightly ritual—every night for the past week or so being startled awake, only to find peace and silence surrounding her. Always the same, time after time, night after night. Sleeping soundly, waking with a start. Heart pounding, pulse racing and with Goosebumps covering her naked flesh, she sits in bed, listening intently, but there is not a single sound to greet her ears. Reaching down to the nightstand beside her, she slips slowly into the oversized T-shirt lying folded there. Slipping from bed as silent as a ghost, she tiptoes from the bedroom and down the hall to check on her son. He sleeps. He is lost in the carefree sleep of youth and innocence. Easing down the hall, she steps out of the house into the back yard. It is a warm and sultry summer night. The air stirs with a slight southern breeze and her flimsy T-shirt flaps in the wind. Standing still, she tunes her ears again to the sound of the night, but is rewarded with no more to answer her questions, than she found inside of the house. The grass feels cool beneath her feet and the water in the pool makes a gentle rippling sound in the breeze. It slowly dawns on her, not only is the night still and quiet, it is totally and completely dark. Not a single light to illuminate the sky. No security lights, no lights left on inside of nearby homes, nothing. The night is black and there seems to be an eerie curtain blocking out the outside world. Thinking there must be a power outage, her eyes peer around into the gloom of a pitch-black night, feeling alone and vulnerable. Fright winning out in the battle of emotions echoing in her mind, a quick spin is all it takes and she is walking quickly back toward the house. As the security of the door looms closer, a calm comes over her and the desire to stay outside and enjoy the night overpowers the other thoughts tormenting her worried mind. Where seconds before she felt insecure and wishing for the sanctity of the house, now all is peaceful and the only wish to dwell awhile longer in the peace of this unusual night. Mystical and magical, she hears her name floating upon the southern breeze in a drawn out and hoarse whisper. "Beccckkkyyyyy." Mind reeling, her thoughts race to rationalize between imagination and reality. An odd realization creeps into her mind. There are a few different aspects to the dawning in your mind. Firstly, that voice was familiar. Next, it wasn't spoken out loud, but somehow to the recesses of her mind. Lastly, the voice comforts her somehow and makes her feel as if wrapped in a blanket of absolute safety. A few steps back into the yard and giving in to a sudden urge, she slips from the T-shirt and lets it slide from her hand onto the ground. Now she stands naked in the night. The air is warm, but not uncomfortably so. There is enough of a breeze to carry away the summer heat, but not so much as to put a chill in the air. Standing nude and exposed to the world, the gentle caress of the breeze courses over her body. The air blows seductively over heaving breasts and she feels them perk up, nipples tightening slowly to stand erect and firm. There is an uncanny sexual intensity in the air and the breeze awakens desires deep within her tummy. There is an odd and calming feel to the stillness and total darkness of this unusual night. Feeling mesmerized by unseen forces and hypnotized by some mystical power floating upon the night air, she finds herself enjoying the security of the darkness engulfing her. Facing into the breeze, her luxurious hair whips softly about her face. Wisps of hair float over her eyes and tendrils of it stick to the corners of her mouth. The breeze seems to caress her tummy and tickle between the thighs. Her nipples stand firm and pierce into the night. An echo of unknown feelings stirs deep within her femininity. "Becccky", the low whispering voice calls again. Not even bothering to look around, she knows that no one is there. The voice speaks to the mind, not the ears. Feeling slightly ludicrous and insane, she speaks softly into the night. "Are you what has been pulling me from my sleep?" "Yeeeeeees" comes the answer, again in the long drawn out whisper. "It is I, little one." The same low and throaty voice, half rumble and half sigh. Then an odd feeling washes over her. She is completely naked and standing alone and vulnerable in dark shadows, yet feels safer than imaginable. Whatever it is, whomever it may be, she somehow knows that she is safe and protected not only from it, but by it. "Where are you?" She asks the night. "I am in the beyond, little one. I can not come to you, unless you ask," comes the rumbling echo of a reply. Her mind grapples with what she has just heard and silently she wonders if this unseen voice is trustworthy. "Yeeeeeeees, little flower, you may trust me," reverberates the answer in her mind. "But, I didn't say anything," she whispers in a trembling voice. The voice once again echoes in her mind, "one need not speak, for me to hear, little one." With weakened knees and trembling body, her mind races to find answers to questions. Her breasts heave, rising and falling in rapid succession as she gasps for breath and tries to compose herself. Pulling together and re-gaining composure, she feels an invitation resonating in her mind. "Come to me, that I may see you and know to whom I speak" she asks the unseen voice in the night, her voice trembling with fear mixed with excitement. "Ahhhhhhhhhhhh, yes, little dove" echoes the answer. In the corner of the yard, near the edge of the fence, a mist materializes. An outline slowly takes shape and begins to loom silhouetted against the darkened sky. Swirling mist forms into the outline of a man. Her breathing stops for a moment as she takes in the sheer enormity of this mystical man. He slowly strides closer, as the muscles tighten in her belly with a wild pulse pounding in her throat. Looming before her, he is at once magnificent and fearsome. He is very tall and broad shouldered. "Shhhhhhh, calm yourself Becky, it is I and you have nothing to fear." This time he speaks in a real voice, out in the open and splitting the silence of the night. His size is awe-inspiring. In the shadows of darkness, you can tell very little about how he looks, only that he has ominous yellow eyes that seem to see right through you. Turning his hand palm up, he extends his arm to her. His eyes tell her to take it and obediently, she does so. He leads her to a dark corner near the house and turning to face her, says "come into the light that I might better see you." Just as she is about to ask what light he refers to, he snaps his wrist and fire leaps from his fingers, igniting a small pile of sticks that appeared from nowhere. The night now dances with soft firelight and stepping nearer it, she complies with his request, but in doing so gets a better look at him as well. As her eyes slowly drink him in, she can't help but feel a thrill of excitement shiver through her naked body. She can't see him that well, yet. But, she can see the burning light of admiration smoldering in his eyes. She can tell by his breathing and the intensity flickering in his eyes, that he is not only admiring her naked body, but that he is worshipful of it. "My, my, my," rumbles his powerful voice, "you are quite the sight to behold, I am breathless." An odd warming spreads through her, as a tremor in his voice tells her of his appreciation for the beauty and grace he finds before him. Looking at him, she is startled to realize that his eyes are not yellow, but clear. An odd sort of color, somewhere between gray and blue, but really having no color at all. When he steps from the light and immerses himself once again in the night, they take back on their yellow glow of incandescence. His skin is light and unblemished. Not dark and tan, like she had somehow imagined. His hair is long and dark, basically a shimmering black veil that hangs from his head and nearly enshrouds his face. Looking up at him, she again feels the shock of his enormous size. He must stand nearly seven feet tall! Long and elegant limbs sprout from an athletic and well toned body, her eyes trail down his legs, noting the size of his feet. Big feet, she can't help but notice and then a blush spreads over her face from the thought that dances through her mind. The light of the fire fades into darkness. Again she stands before the looming shape outlined so magnificently against the sky. His hands on her shoulders, she gazes thoughtfully up into the yellow orbs that peer intently down at her. "Who are you," she asks in a quivering voice. "All in good time, sweet Becky" comes the throaty reply. He leans toward her and lowers his face closer. Her mind races as she wonders if he is going to kiss you or what. Shock overwhelms her as she realizes that if kissing her is indeed his intent, she won't stop him, but anticipates his lips with eagerness. A feeling of disappointment washes over her as he passes her lips and leans lower. Then the disappointment slips away as his lips press softly against the side of her throat. He lightly kisses her neck, lips parting to suckle the tender flesh and stroke it with a talented tongue. His arms wrap firmly around her waist and he pulls her tightly against his powerful body. She feels trapped, though willing; Helpless, but eager; Frightened, yet curious. He kisses down her neck and nuzzles gingerly, his lips kissing her shoulder and he bites ever so gently at the collarbone. His kissing and sucking lips move back up her throat and she feels a shiver course through his body. She can feel him tremble, the heat of his breath flowing down her chest, making her nipples strain against him. His hands reach down to cup her ass and he pulls her firmly up to him as she is carried away with a feeling of peaceful relaxation. Somehow, this magical being is intoxicating and anesthetizing her. His lips part and somehow deep in her soul, she knows what is coming next. She isn't sure if she is victim or prey, perhaps just an object of his desire, but she simply doesn't care. First, she hears a slight popping sound, a slight stab like a piercing sensation, but oddly no pain, whatsoever. The popping sound was his teeth tearing through my throat, she realizes in an oddly comforted mind. She can even feel a small trickle of blood dribbling down her throat as he suckles tenderly. She can feel the beat of her heart and then another sensation. It is his heartbeat, echoing hers. The beats mix and become as one and then a wave of euphoria overtakes her. A soul-wrenching orgasm shudders through her body as he slowly and gently lowers her to the ground. Lying on her back, seeing the night slowly fade into a gray mist, she mumbles a question. "Am I going to die"? His teeth slip from her throat and a sad sigh escapes from her chest. He gazes lovingly into her eyes and caresses the sides of her face as he speaks in a soft whisper. "No little one, you will not die." He kisses her forehead and each one of her cheeks. Then he is gone, leaving her to lie there aching and yearning for him. She awakens the next morning in her own bed somehow, sleepy and spent, but none the worse for wear. Strange how you can miss someone you just met, but she feels as if half of her is missing. Her mind turns to him and eagerly awaits his return, for she knows, he WILL return ****** The office is fast-paced and hectic. Becky is working with a vigor, though it is exhausting, it is more so mentally than physically. Yet, she seems to feel oddly energized and alive. People at the office comment on it, saying she seems to have caught her "second wind" and is whizzing around the office like a teenager. She even feels like a teenager. Her body doesn't feel the stress this time of year usually piles on. Her mind is acute and detail oriented, to a degree long since lost, due to the simple stress and strain of everyday life. Answers to questions come before they are asked, she seems to second-guess what each person needs and her mind is whirring with startling clarity. She doesn't question this new-found rejuvenation. She doesn't waste a precious moment of it with idle thoughts or curiosity as to origin. She knows from whence the gift came. In some dark corner of her mind, she knows full well that her unearthly visitor from a few nights ago has granted some small piece of his power, a tiny speck of the smoldering fire that illuminated his night eyes. "It was him" she mutters to herself. "He gave me this." Silently making a wish, she asks, I only hope it lasts. She glances around the room and takes in the spectacle of day to day office life and feels more like an observer than a participant. People around her seem to be moving in slow motion. Sounds are startlingly loud. She, on the other hand, looks to those around her, as if she is moving in a blur, almost like a fast forwarded silent movie. When deep in thought and more or less hypnotized by the rhythm of life, a gentle and hushed voice whispers to the recesses of her mind. "Becckkkyyy." Startled, she looks quickly around the room, but there is nothing out of the ordinary. "Shhhhhhhh" whispers the voice again. "Don't be frightened, it is I." Surveying the room, her eyes find no glimpse of what they seek, her new-found friend isn't there. She struggles with the thought of calling him friend, part of her thinking she should refer to him as Master. There is no one even vaguely resembling the figure that loomed in the haze. Deciding to be brave, she forces her mind to utter—being very cautious not to make a sound with her lips¬— "Greetings, Master." Holding her breath, she waits nervously and prays her answer was the correct one. Finally, at long last, the reply that echoes in the silence of her mind. "Well done, little one, your salutation pleases me." She had been standing, looking around the room and watching the activity around her. Now, feeling a bit queasy and possibly even faint, she sinks slowly into her chair and the feels secure in the sanctity of her desk. Forcing herself to breath, she struggles to calm and center her mind. She waits impatiently for his voice to speak again, each tick of the clock seeming to take days. Nothing, not a single sound, comes to her mind. A sinking feeling deep in the tummy makes her feel a little queasy. Trying to stand, she discovers her knees are wobbly and decides to wait another minute before getting out of her chair. Sitting at her desk—she begins to feel her composure coming back to her—then stands slowly, like a colt on newborn legs and walks quickly to the restroom. The restroom feels like a sanctuary and peaceful solitude washes slowly over her. She reaches for the door and the lock clicks into place with a metallic clink. Alone, she slowly begins gathering her thoughts. She stands in front of the sink and runs lukewarm water onto her hands, splashing it delicately onto her face. Staring into the mirror, she notices little beads of water running along her chin, dripping down her throat and she loses herself in the reflection. "Such a beautiful face," the invasive whisper once again seeks it's way into her mind. "Stand very still, little dove" the voice rumbles in her mind. She freezes as if a stone statue, allowing only her eyes move. Heart racing, she feels magically transfixed, terrified of what is coming, but euphoric with blissful anticipation at the same time. Now feeling like she is slipping away from reality, she considers that perhaps the surreal moment she is now experiencing, might possibly be something from a dream and surely can not be real. Completely alone in the restroom, a mirror right in front of her verifies there is no one else in the room. Yet, somehow —Oh GOD, how— she feels warm breath on the side of her neck. She peers closely into the mirror and in total amazement realizes that she can even see the strands of hair near her throat flicker as the breath flows across her neck. Terror, joy, fear, ecstasy, reckless abandon and nightmarish anxiety all collide, a jumble of chaotic emotions wreaking havoc in her mind. Oh, GOD she screams inwardly, I can feel his hands on my hips! Another glance into the mirror, once again reaffirms her thoughts. Subtle impressions of hands make dents in the fabric of her blouse. The breath flows a little firmer and a gentle laugh echoes from his mind to hers. "Shhhh, you are safe, I can not harm you anymore than I can harm myself." His raspy voice calms and soothes her. The hot breath moves over her neck and she feels the heat and dampness of it flowing down her blouse—tickling the curves of heaving breasts as it drifts down the cleavage and even seems to flutter over her tummy—filling the fabric with a heat that engulfs. The heat, along with the excitement, makes her entire body feel warm and that indescribable, peaceful cozy feeling overtakes her. She can feel the rest of her body awaken as a familiar dampness between heavenly thighs reminds her she is a woman. Invisible hands seem to strengthen their grip on her voluptuous hips. She feels a kiss from warm and wet lips press softly into the delicate side of her throat. Watching in the mirror, mesmerized and entranced, she can see the imprint the sensuous lips leave on her skin as they press against her. The unseen hands slip around her hips and slide up under the bottom of her blouse, gentle strokes of knowing hands on her smooth tummy awaken fires in her womanly core that make it difficult to breath. Time seems to come to a complete stop, there is only herself, the mirror and the magical hands. Breathless with anticipation, she watches, as if hypnotized, as the clear outline of hands stretch through her blouse. The imprints creep higher and then mercifully, they cup her anxious breasts, caressing through the lacy bra that envelops them. In the mirror, her chest looks like a small animal has crept up her blouse and is wiggling and trying to get out. The sight is almost comical, but the intensity of the moment drives away any desire to laugh. She can scarcely get in enough breath to keep from feeling lightheaded, expending precious air on laughter is out of the question. The outline is so clear she can even see—as she watches with rapturous attention—the fingers as they close over the nipples straining against the confining bra and tugging gently on each one. Serious heat and moisture now percolate in the clean shaven entrance to paradise softly nestled between her thighs. Tiny droplets of moisture trickle along swollen lips and soon her panties feel moist. A tightening of the tummy reminds her she is a woman and her entire body shivers with delight. His hands start descending slowly down her torso, his lips close on the softness of her throat to suckle gingerly. Down come the magical hands—tracing along her curvaceous form and following the lines of her hips working down her thighs—now they are running along the waistline of her skirt and then lifting it slowly. Watching in the mirror, all she sees is her skirt rising magically into the air. Then—at long last his hands creep up her thighs—along the outer sides of her hips. The mouth that suckles her throat opens and teeth rake gently over her delicate skin. Ohhhh GOD her mind once again cries out! Yeeeeesssssss! She waits in delirium for the slight prick as his teeth pop through the skin, the sharp but short lived pain, as ecstasy washes over her and floods away all conscience thought or awareness. Becky's Dreams Fingers creeping and crawling slower and slower towards heaven, she feels the suction as he closes his mouth to bring her the bite she so longs for and craves so desperately. She feels his teeth drag over her sensitive skin and pull back, she tenses knowing that next comes his angelic bite. Bracing herself, she feels a flood of moisture cascade down her thighs as a spectacular orgasm racks her body. Closer, closer, here it comes. His teeth press into you. Tap, tap, tap, a knock echoes on the door. "Becky, are you all right in there?" A worried voice violently disrupts the moment. She looks into the mirror, but still there is nothing. Now there is not even the outline of hands and the skirt has floated back down to her knees. "Yes, I am OK." She says with a disappointed feeling washing over her. She smiles softly and gazes at her flushed face in the mirror. Leaning slightly forward, she blows a kiss and walk to exit the door. ****** Lying in her hotel bed, alone and bored, Becky drapes herself across the bed to take a nap. Away at some training for work, she enjoys the quiet solitude and time for herself. Even with the peace and tranquility of not being subject to the constant beck and call of seemingly endless stream of people needing something from her, she can not quite seem to relax enough to take the luxurious nap she has been yearning for. She is having trouble identifying the cause for the restlessness and then it comes to her—she can feel him coming for her. There are a couple of very important parts in that last thought that bother her, as if she heard someone else pointing them out to her; Things so subtle as to be ignored by many, so her subconscious seems inclined to enlighten her. First is the very fact that she can somehow sense him coming for her, moving closer and closer as he makes his way? Second is that she can feel him coming at all? Feel, not hear, that idea is disturbing as well. Somehow in the pit of her stomach, she could feel him closing in long before she had the slightest sound to validate the feeling. The third thing that troubles her was that the inner voice quite clearly said coming for you and not coming to you. Something so simple as replacing the to with a for, yet it made an entirely different change to the context of the thought. Feeling a unique and heady feeling building to a crescendo in her mind, she realizes that the emotion so completely overtaking her is a mixture of horror and pure, unadulterated wantonness. Feeling his nearness, her breath speeds to a pant, tongue continually flickering along anxious lips and her breasts heaving as if she had just finished a marathon. What is it that she is feeling Dread—Anticipation—Lust—Fear— Desire? A plethora of emotions swarm through her mind and ignite a fire throughout her body. Now he is close enough that she can hear his boots as he stalks down the concrete hallway; a hollow and echoing click as each heel impacts the floor. In the core of her mind, she knows he is making so much noise in an effort to torture and entice her mind to wander. Closer and closer he comes, finally there is an incredibly soft and gentle tapping at the door. As she walks to the door, her mind wrestles with what might come next. She knows she should run, that locking the door and calling the police is the only logical thing to do. That is what she knows she should do. It is what she knows any sane person would do. But, it isn't what she wants to do, and it isn't what she does. She opens the door. As the door swings open, she instinctually lowers her head and locks eyes on the floor—her mouth opens and from somewhere deep within her soul she hears a voice—saying meekly "please come inside, Master." She steps back and away from the door, feeling him as he sweeps past and into the room. The door slowly swings shut and the locks click into place with a click, snap, thunk. Startled, she realizes neither one of them had touched the door or took the action of shutting it. It had just miraculously shut, seemingly of its own volition, but her heart knows whose powers closed the door. Tears well in her eyes; her body trembles and the fire in an already nervous tummy roars into an eternal flame. Her eyes lift to stare into his. He raises his hand, palm out to her and then she comes to the realization that she is completely paralyzed. Somehow, with the gesture of raising his arm, he had cast a spell or hypnotized her in some mystical way. Now he walks to her—tantalizingly slow—places a hand upon her heaving chest and pushes her back onto the bed. She falls onto her back, eyes staring at the ceiling and feels his knees sink into the bed beside her. She observes for the first time, that his index finger has transformed into what could only be described as a talon. It slides along the bottom of her jaw and scrapes at the edge of her chin; then it flicks downward and the buttons of her blouse are gone. Her blouse falls open, with the same nonchalant movement he separates the bra in the middle and it slowly slithers off of her breasts and falls limply to each side. His hands slide under her shoulders and he lifts slightly up—drawing her to his chest—as the other hand pulls the remnants of clothing from her shuddering body. A quick flick of the sharp talon and the pants are button-less, tug and the zipper gives way. A ripping or maybe more like a tearing sensation tickles her and she realizes the razor-like talon is cutting the pants off of her. The jeans make a sort of vibration as the talon slices through the cotton threads. A quick whisk of his hand and her panties join the pile of shredded material that once was clothing. Straining to raise her head to look at him, she feels his gaze seep into her soul as his burning eyes lock onto hers. There is an almost rhythmic pulse as his eyes seem to throb with color. Not color as most people have in their eyes. A smoldering fire lies in his eyes; pitch black darkness that seems to suck her in, willing or not. Two large orbs of darkness become one and then all is black as reality first blurs and then falls completely away. She sees him purse his lips and blow—as if I were going to whistle at a pretty girl— and as he does so the lights pop out one by one. Pop, pop, pop, pop. As the last bit of illumination disappears in concert with the final popping sound, she realizes her eyes are already adjusted and can see everything around her in perfect detail. Everything, with one exception, that is. He is gone and no longer kneeling beside her on the bed. She is alone and can sense somehow, that he is not even in the room. She lays there for awhile, occasionally trying to move, but somehow knowing that though he is away, his grip on her has not loosened in the least. At long last, she hears his boots again. This time there is the scrape and unmistakable dragging sounds accompanying the hollow click of his boot heels. The door swings open as if on its own volition and then she sees his shadow in the door. He steps into the room and she sees what was making the dragging sounds outside. The door slams shut seemingly of its own accord, and she can see and hear a whimpering young woman half sitting and half kneeling at his side, his hand entwined in her long flowing hair. Wondering what he has in mind, part of her logically thinks this is some act of perversion and he is bringing a third party into the nights frolic in classic ménage a trios. But even as she thinks it, she feels her eyes pulled to his and watches as he bends to scoop her up to place the shivering girl on the bed by her side. Breathless, she watches as his head lowers to the quivering girl; as his lips close on her throat and then she forces herself to stifle a scream as she hears his needle-like teeth pop through the flesh of the tender tissue. She sees it all in slow motion, how the girl's legs stiffen and jerk; how her body seems to convulse, but more like from orgasm than from pain. She sees the struggling body soften and watches in amazement as the terrified girl calms and then seems to melt into him. Becky then notices he has stopped. She feels a dampness between her thighs and realizes how excited she is. Well, not just excited, but, well. What is it? Lustful? Desiring? Anticipating? Oh, wait. No. Now she recognizes the feeling. It is hunger. Becky watches in total awe as he draws her closer and then offers the young girl's throat like the tantric spoils of war. "Drink, little one" rumbles his voice, though she knows his lips never moved. She lowers her mouth to cover the wound left gaping in the delicate neck and without the slightest revulsion begins suckling the blood as it streams from punctured veins. As she laps eagerly at her bloody feast, her mind recalls suckling the baby at her breast and she feels her nipples tighten. It is the same sensation, the same peace. It is an eerie semblance to a suckling child and the bond between mother and infant. The bond is different, the emotion unique, but the underlying chemistry feels vaguely the same. After a moment, she realizes she can feel the heartbeat of her conquest. She can feel it drumming in her temples, throbbing in her femininity. Then she feels very nearly as if her hungry mouth was inhaling the girl's soul. Watching her body grow limp, she senses the life slipping from her prize, like the girl is sliding out of a cloak and stepping towards freedom and release. None of the sadness one would expect, none of the guilt or stomach wrenching horror at what she had just done. It was as if she had done the girl an incredible honor, or perhaps as if she had given her a great gift. As the life ebbed from the girl's body, Becky could sense the soul pass through her and exit as it re-entered the universe. This was an awakening, she began to realize that there is no death, there is only a continuation of life. A soul merely takes a step from one world into another; the mixing of day into night. She kissed the girl's cooling forehead and thanked her for the gift, then she turned her eyes to meet her Master's. She could see the obvious pleasure in his eyes, but there behind the twinkle of happiness she could also see the roaring furnace of desire building towards release. She again feels as if she is paralyzed by some magical spell and watches as he leans toward her face. Thinking he is about to kiss her, or possibly rip out her throat, she can not help but feel slightly nervous as his lips reach for her soft skin. Then she feels the stroke of his tongue and the plumpness of his lips pressing into her and realizes he is cleaning the blood from her. "Mmmmmm, a fine vintage, was she not" she hears his voice echo in the recesses of her mind. Then his lips travel downward to her chest and cover each breast, smothering them in affectionate kisses. His tongue trails along and slithers to and fro intermittently between kisses. He circles the erect and swollen nipples, kissing and sucking the soft underbelly of each breast. His tongue then dances upward and spirals teasingly around each nipple, first one and then the other. Slowly and softly, he suckles them one at a time into his mouth, swirling his tongue around them playfully. He moves back and forth, sucking, tugging, licking, biting, pulling and sensuously smothering each breast in attention as he lavishes affections upon her. His hands reach down, parting willing thighs as he suckles her breasts and his knowing fingers dance erratically over her skin. Dancing and hopping from location to location, his fingers somehow seem to deepen her enchantment. Lifting his face from Becky's exquisite breasts, he begins kissing down the middle of her tummy, slowly and sensually. His tongue glides over her clean-shaven pubic mound, and he lifts his eyes to meet hers. "Maybe later, little one" he murmurs softly and then moves back down to lie beside her. A low moan escapes her, the anticipation and sexual excitement that was building within her body cries out for release, but she knows it must wait for later. He seems to have other plans. Taking her by the hand, he gently pulls her to a standing position and guides her across the room. They step out onto the balcony and before she realizes what is happening, he pulls her with him to step out into space. For a brief moment the night air rushes by her face and causes a lump of terror to rise in her throat, surely they are falling. The dropping sensation lasts for but a brief moment and then they begin to soar as if on magic wings. Holding hands, they glide across the night sky and the lights of the city dim below. Somehow she knows, if he were to let go of her hand she would plummet to a gruesome death. Air rushes over her nude body, she feels as feel light as a feather as they continue their ascent into the night. Far below the city fades away and the lights dim, then blur and finally disappear. The wind courses over them and its caress on her bare skin reminds her of skinny-dipping on a warm summer night. It flows over her body, tickling and soothing every nook and cranny, as well as the more delightfully exposed portions of her perfect anatomy. The night is pure blackness, with the exception of the moon and the stars. Climbing closer and closer to the moon, she experiences an exhilaration that is impossible to describe. They fly higher and higher, until finally her lungs feel as if they will implode and then they begin a gradual descent to the waiting earth. Ever so slowly, the lights begin to glow brighter, the city comes back to life and the world becomes animated again. **** Once more, Becky finds herself waking in confusion. Her stomach heaving and cramping, she rushes into the restroom to vomit and torrents— of what could only be blood—gush from her mouth. Kneeling in front of the toilet, she wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, staring at the smear of near black blood left there. Once the cramping ceases, she rises to her feet and staggers to the sink to wash her face and gargle. Looking into the mirror, she finds herself re-living the previous night and wondering how much was real and what might have been nightmarish dreams. Mom, a voice calls out to her from somewhere deep in her subconscious. This voice isn't mysterious or awe inspiring, it is the sweet and angelic voice of her son. His voice rings in her head, echoing in her ears. Conflict rages in her mind. The voice of her son brings reality sharply into focus and she feels the turmoil of chaotic emotions battling for supremacy in her heart. As she brushes her teeth, images of her son flash through her mind. She can't help but wonder why he is on her mind so much, she travels to schools and seminars often enough and isn't usually plagued with homesickness. Yet, there he is, in her every thought. Then it dawns on her. Last night's adventures, where are they taking her? Where is this wonderful and exciting new Master leading her? As she replays the night's activities, she feels no shame or remorse. It was oddly beautiful, the taking of the girl's life and in reality she herself had not punctured the delicate throat nor had she stolen the girl away. She relived the euphoric moment when the girl's soul slipped free from her body, the pure glow of happiness in the youth's eyes and the whispered thanks as her soul left this life and entered the next. No, there was no shame there. When she saw the gorgeous soul floating upwards to the brilliant white light miraculously appearing in the night sky, all she could remember feeling was joy and celebration. She knew the Master had not taken life from some one with a desire to live, but instead had assisted an unhappy soul in gaining it's freedom. She knew the death had been merciful and liberating. She recalled her surprise at discovering that life was so fragile, so beautiful and that there was no real death. Passing away meant just that, passing from one life into the next. No terror, nothing to fear, just moving from one point into another. What is it then, that bothered her? Mom, the voice again pleaded in her mind. Then it came to her. To live the life of her beloved Master would mean abandoning her child. She played no games with herself. She knew what her Master was and what it meant. He was a vampire, an immortal and to devote herself to him would mean leaving her child. The mere thought of this brought pangs of remorse and in her heart, she knew she could never abandon her child. But, what about him, his feelings, his pain; does it even matter? Would he even let me leave, anyway? Her mind played through countless scenarios as she gathered her thoughts. She could see him, her imagination held a perfect picture of his face. There was something sad and forlorn about him, though he had never mentioned it, she knew that his was a lonely soul and that eternity took it's toll on even the strongest. Part of the smoldering blackness of his eyes was a haunting, empty loneliness. It lay there, unheeded by most, she was sure. Yet, it was there and she could see it. "Master, come to me if you can," she spoke aloud, her voice sounding hollow in the empty room. His voice startled her, it replied so quickly and so very closely. "Yes, little one." He answered. Her shocked eyes look up, seeing him standing in the corner and immersed in the shadows of the dimly lit hotel room. His warm smile fills her with joy, her body feeling as if it might float happily into the air. So many gifts this man had given her. There was so much more to discover, places to go, things to experience and unspoken promises yet to be fulfilled. "Master, where is this going, this thing between us; what is it exactly that you offer me? What sacrifices must I make? What changes? Do I have choices? Am I already past the point of no return?" She could see the pain in his eyes, as he realized she had been thinking about the consequences of life by his side. She knew that somehow he could see into her eyes and that he too, could see the image of her son so firmly emblazoned there. "There are no changes, no choices to make, little one. I will not take you away from your son." His voice sounded sad and weary. "I offer you the joy of friendship. The bliss of ecstasy unleashed and the freedom to escape from your world now and then; that is all. I will not and would not, take you away from a son that needs you more than I. Never would I dream of hurting you or your son. "I brought you the gift of the girl last night because I wished for you to see with your own eyes, experience through your soul, that what I do isn't always so horrible or murderous. There can be a beauty to it, not all lives need to be lived, some are more horrendous in living than dying. I did not wish you to think of me as a monster. "I will not lie to you; there are times when it is not so glorious, nor so honorable. Not all souls are so happy to leave. But, for the most part, I try to feed on melancholy souls wishing for the chance to leave this life. "Mine is a lonely life, I have lived through countless years and have watched generations after generation of friends, loved ones and acquaintances pass from this life into the next. My life is an endless cycle and often it seems I am just reliving the same night. "Hunger gnaws mercilessly at the hollow pit of my stomach. Ravenous and wild, it churns inside of me with cataclysmic fervor. It is more than mere hunger, more than wanton desire. The need to feed on not only sustenance—but on the very essence of life—causes within my tormented soul an upheaval so monumental as to be beyond human comprehension. Raging like an inferno, inside of my pain-wracked body a storm engulfs me. "Every hotel I hide in, be it an Inn from the old days or a cheap motel beside an asphalt highway, they are all the same. Only the food the humans eat and the clothing they wear changes. The night itself, is as repetitive as one of the television shows I watch when boredom overcomes me. It is always the same. Becky's Dreams "I can hear the heartbeat of the man in the next room; it thumps not unlike a distant wind-up alarm clock. I am surrounded by smells and sounds that sicken, yet tantalize me. Sweat and body odor permeate the air. Try as I might, I can't seem to shut out the loud and boisterous bumping and crashing in the rooms around me. A crew of workers from some oilfield company blowing off steam or teenagers having a wild and reckless party, their noise invades my mind and disrupts my thoughts. Now and then a beer bottle falls and crashes against the ground outside of my room. Prostitutes climb the stairs to the jeering catcalls of men lost in the moment and oblivious to those around them. "I can feel the raw and chaotic energy being pumped into the night by testosterone driven partiers. I feel their excitement, the animal desire and their reckless abandon. The energy they are emitting combines with my own and the furnace within me rages even hotter. Fear; I smell fear from the shifty-eyed salesman cowering in the room next to me. I smell the stale cigarettes and whiskey of the man passed out in alcoholic stupor in the room on the other side of me. I stand in my doorway and try to breath in the night air and allow my mind time to settle and as I do so, a young girl walks by and smiles at me in a somewhat brazen manner. "She glances up at me, eyes bleary, dim and blurred. Wan some cumpny darlin'? "She could almost be the same girl, one century to the next. Her voice is raspy and rattles; I can't help but wonder if she is aware of the cancer slowly devouring her throat and lungs. I don't speak to her, but look at her in a way that causes her to avert her eyes and shuffle quickly away. Not for long, though. Soon another girl just like her will make the same proposition with the same unhealthy sounding voice and identical behavior. "Always the same, night after night, I re-live this endless cycle time and time again. Though it is tempting, I won't feed on any of these imbeciles I speak of. Their alcohol laden blood gives me a headache the next morning and the drugs that flow through them so freely make my mind swirl and loose control. Loosing control for one gifted with my powers is not a good thing; it isn't good for me and it certainly isn't good for the humans that I shelter myself amongst. "There is an odd stewardship, a sort of responsibility between an immortal such as I and the humans he dwells among. It sounds cruel and unjust, but in many ways they are a crop to be tended and cared for. Yes, crops are harvested, but great care must be taken not to destroy the seed upon which my survival depends in the long run. To put it in human terms, a hunter can't go out into the woods and murder every deer in the forest, he must exercise control and cultivate certain ones, leaving the breeding population to grow and prosper. A prosperous herd is well worth the extra care and restraint that goes in being a good steward. It also insures your own survival and maximizes the benefits you reap. "Stewardship; that is the reason I can not simply give in to every urge I have and pillage everything around me. It is what keeps me from going out and causing mayhem and destruction, much as the idea appeals to me. I must be honest though, it is more than just self control and restraint. The sickness that tends to run rampant in the sort of people I find myself surrounded by in the pitiful hotels I hide away in, turns me stomach. Just as a human would shy away from rancid meat or soured milk, I avoid feeding on the dregs of human society as much as possible. A pity, in all actuality, were I to feed more on the lower life forms and forgotten souls, I might provide a better service to the crop. I do, in quite a few situations, tend the herd and cull undesirables, but that is another matter. I perform that service for the good of all, for the welfare of my crop and largely because they simply piss me off. "Nothing tastes sweeter in my throat than the torrential gush of blood pouring from the ragged gash ripped into the neck of a pedophile or a rapist. I am not particularly fond of most humans, but there are those among them that are not even worthy of being referred to as a person. They are subhuman. Even their blood is tainted; I don't drink it, but spit it back upon the ground after draining it from them. There is no sweetness in their blood. Rather it is the sweetness of righting a wrong, avenging the innocent and stopping the horror from happening again. That sweetness is intoxicating and I indulge in it, time to time. "For the most part, I am much like any other hunter. I seek the perfect prey. I seek the perfect setting. I am after not only fulfillment, but am also mindful of my immediate and long term welfare. When I feed, I must admit I prefer to dine on the fine and delicate bouquet of a woman. Men will do and I suppose I take that route most of the time, but for a truly tasty treat, I hunt the streets in search of a woman. There is food and then there are delicacies. Drinking the blood from some dockworker or truck driver will keep me alive and most times I am satisfied with them, but there are times, oh there are times when I crave something a bit more exotic. "Sometimes it is the joy of toying with my meal that pleases me more then the sustenance itself. Sometimes it is the rarity of it." Becky looked at him and could see the pain and anguish in his eyes as he re-counted the days of his life. Always the same he said, throughout the centuries only the clothing and surroundings changed, never the people. "I walk through life alone, as I have for ages. Mortals think that immortality would be divine, but I assure you it is not always such a thing to be envied. The saying sounds foolish, but it is hauntingly true—forever is a long time. "It is a long time to be alone, to stand on the fringes of the living and watch without truly being able to become a participant and to watch unobserved as life passes you by. It's a long time to stand outside a window looking in." ***** What a sad and lonely life, Becky thinks to herself. She gazes up at her Master, though he has promised not to take her away from her son, she will forever feel that he claims her as his own and that she—in some strange way—belongs to him. Her arms ache to wrap around him, to pull him to her and she longs to give him comfort. She is saddened to know that he will awaken in the same world tomorrow as he went to sleep in today and that it will go one that way for him, every day a repeat of the one before. As she considers her own life—seemingly mundane and boring before—the thought comes to her that she is blessed. Immortality might be OK in a dream world, but the reality of it was not so glorious as one assumed. Thinking of watching her son grow into a man, of seeing and participating in his life and even the scary prospects of growing old, she realizes life really isn't all that bad. "Will you just leave without ever seeing me again," she asks her Master? "Have the past weeks been frolic and nothing more?" "No little one," he answers in a hoarse and emotional whisper. I will be here. I will watch as you are your son age. I will watch the joy of your life as an outsider peeking in through a window, until such a time as you wish me to go away. When you no longer desire to have me having lurking around, you have but to ask it and I will vanish into your memories. "I will be here as your friend and your confidant until such as time as you no longer need me and trust me, there will be a time when you no longer have room for me in your life. You will come to a place in your life when you are ready to move on and when someone such as I am nothing but a hindrance. For you to truly live your life, you will need to pursue things in which I can not be a part of, dreams that I would only be a stumbling block for. When such a time has come, then I will leave taking nothing but joyous memories with me." With those last words, he vanished into thin air. She knew the pain had been to much for him to bear, but she also knew she would see him again someday. She finds tears welling in her eyes and spilling down each cheek, the sheer sadness of what he said overwhelms her. The image of him going on his way, shoulders hunched against the torments of immortality, was almost too much to bear. She can't help herself, but to imagine countless years without love and without being a part of anything, always being an outsider. I will love you, Master, forever and always. As long as I breath, I will give of myself to you, what I can. I will live my life, cherish my son and watch him grow. Then someday, who knows? Maybe, just maybe I will join my Master and walk beside you. Maybe I can illuminate the shadows that engulf you and bring you joy and happiness and most of all, love.