Helffing
I knew him before I saw him.
His very being was clawing at me.
His demand silent.
Unquestionable.
Insistent.
An overpowering need welled up behind my heart, softly winding itself around my throat as one would put a rope around the neck of a dog.
Down a crooked rutted country lane in the east of France, it led me. Twisting and curving in a forest thick with night's approaching shadows. The last hints of sunlight barely sifted through the quiet gloom. All of it so perfect for the moment.
But with it was a quiet scream that I must not deviate from this path despite the mud and horse shit that layered it. I could not ignore the demand, had I even wanted to.
Which was unusual, for me. I am a Blood Angel, not a mere vampire, so I had a great deal of control over my wants, needs and desires. For example, I could walk freely through the height of day with minimal discomfort from the sun, and even that minor issue could be cast aside by wearing a wide-brim hat and long cloak...
No, coat. Frock coat, to be precise. It being 1870, one should use the proper vernacular, and I prided myself on being current with the times. And fashion. I was young, strong and good-looking, so it would not do for me to appear out of date in my clothing.
My senses were also much keener. The hunt for nourishment might be the same for both a vampire and myself, but while they were focused on good rich blood from whatever human vessel they could find, something I was certainly not averse to, my preference was more precise. A good strong man I could enjoy fucking as well as feeding upon. Not only attractive, also deserving of the sort of death I would bring to him. And men like that were so very easy to locate.
Which is why this sudden wave of desire and need in me was surprising. Not two hours earlier I had indulged myself in just such a man, so I should have been well-satiated.
I still felt some of the calmness that followed such an encounter. I even knew his name — Helffing. But that was unimportant. What mattered was, his features had been strong yet pleasant enough to keep my interest, despite his ragged beard, and his shoulders had been broad, chest full and dashed with hair, and his belly not overly soft. All simple details that made him quite acceptable. As did possessing a nice round ass and solid legs. That he had also just murdered an old peasant merely made my choice of meal completely acceptable.
That last requirement may seem odd, coming from one such as myself, but it had become my most sacred rule — feed only on thieves. Murderers. Maniacal soldiers caught by bloodlust in the midst of a war or occupation of a populace. Those who were deserving and would not be missed, or whose absence could easily be ignored or explained away. We lived in a time where war still seemed glorious to far too many in power, so there was always some conflict occurring where one like myself could forage to his heart's content.
I'd noticed him at the edge of a thick wood next to the peasant's body. Hidden well-enough from human eyes. He had already pulled on the dead man's pantaloons, which were beautifully tight on his fine legs, and was struggling to slip into the dead man's blouse, which was also tight. Oh, but once he had it in place it deftly accentuated his beefy form. What was even better? When he squatted over the body the blouse rode up his back and the pantaloons scooted halfway down his ass, revealing hair swirled across its cheeks and there was a tuft of it at the base of his spin.
The way the dead man's head lay on the grass and dirt showed Helffing had snuck up on him and broken his neck. For an instant, I thought that was odd since he had a sharp, brutal knife strapped around his waist. Wouldn't it have been much easier to slit his victim's throat or stab him?
Oh, but Léonidès, think; this way there is no blood on the dead man's clothing. Which suggested a certain level of cleverness.
I held back, for a moment longer because he'd begun to shove the peasant into his ragged uniform. Which made no sense. The dead man had been at least twice his age, with streaks of white hair across his head and around his chin, and was obviously much thinner. Also, his left leg was malformed and a crutch of a sort lay close by. No one would believe for a moment that he had been a Prussian foot soldier.
Then I noticed a tangle of sticks and twigs close by, tied in a loose bundle. The old man apparently had been gathering them. Did Helffing plan to put the body on it and set the wood alight? Most of it was green and wet, so that would be very difficult to make it work and would cause smoke. That lessened my appreciation of his cleverness.
He rose to a crouch and began striking his flint, aiming the sparks against his filthy old uniform. The worn material soon caught alight. He knelt to blow on it, revealing more of his exquisite ass, then a small flame danced up. He quickly shifted the branches and twigs and wood to atop it, and they began to crackle and burn. And smoke. Which can draw attention.
Dropped my appreciation of his craftiness even lower.
Still, that is one way to hide whose body it really was. Destroy it. I had done that, myself, when no other option was available. Helffing must also have had practice at this.
Except he had kept his boots. Worn as they were, they had still had that military look about them. Not smart, my man; you could be accused of robbing corpses, and hanged. What a waste of good meat that would be.
Finally, he rose to his full height. Taller than myself. Stocky. Solid. Healthy. That round ass still peeking above the pantaloons' waist. Except for that hideous beard and tangled mop of hair, he was exactly what I wanted.
So I jumped down. He yelped in shock as I wrapped my arms around his chest, from behind. Molded myself close to him. Felt him twist and kick and fight me as I carried him into the woods. Two quick bounds and we were out of sight of any and all. He howled and continued to struggle, snarling curses and threats in some gargle that was barely German.
I understood every word. I had become fluent in the language during several decades in Hamburg. Had even lost my Norman accent. This man, however, must have had Serbian mingled into his speech, considering how guttural it was.
"What you doin'?" he was screaming, "Get off me! I am a warrior! I will kill you!" That sort of nonsense.
Until he realized I had brought him hundreds of feet deep into the forest with no trouble at all. That's when he shifted to, "What are you? Devil! Demon! God, save me!"
Of course. You murder an old man for his clothing then ask for God's help? How typically human.
I slung him face down in a clearing and fell on top off him. Shoved my groin against his ass. That was very lovely to feel. I tore off a sleeve of the blouse and used that to gag him. Tight. I wanted no more of his pleas to God.
I kept him face down, and despite him wildly swinging his arms I managed to rip the other sleeve from the blouse, force his hands behind him, and bind his wrists together, tightly. He continued to buck and twist and kick at me, howling like a wild beast that's been cornered. This was a man who was used to being strong enough to force his will on others. But now, he was terrified at the realization that I had complete control of him.
I didn't bother binding his feet. I enjoyed how he was kicking. His every movement shoved his ass against me, shifted and rolled it under my groin in ways that only doubled my desire. His fingers clawed at my trousers and shirt, trying to gain some hold on me. All that did was massage my belly in ways so erotic, I thought I might let him do it, for hours. But first I wanted to see the rest of him.
I rolled him onto his back. His chest arched up to me and his shoulders strained as I straddled his hips to hold him in place with my legs. He still twisted and kicked and bucked. I chuckled in anticipation then slipped my hands under the blouse and caressed his belly. Shifted my hands up that glorious trail of hair to find his nipples...and pinched them.
His eyes went wide with horror. He tried to scream and jerk away. I laughed, gripped the neck of the blouse from its inside and tore it open to reveal his rich, full chest. It had such glorious form. Hair in just the right amount. Nipples soft and oval-like. Lungs heaving. I could hear the blood racing through his body. Fighting against me had pumped it up, which would make it taste so much better. I could smell it as I leaned in to grip his left tit with my teeth and lick at it.
I had to pull back. Be careful. Were I to even so much as taste his blood, it would start the process of him turning and I didn't want that, yet. I would have had to finish him off too quickly to enjoy him, and he did not interest me enough to turn. Of course the Oiym, those who sat in power over the vampire world, had forbidden anyone from turning a human without their permission, which also applied to those like me. Seems too many of us had made too many others of us, and word was getting around about us. The world was growing far too interconnected for us to continue without care or concern, thanks to the telegraph and faster mail service and train travel and boats powered by steam engines.
On two separate occasions, this century, covens of our kind had been discovered and destroyed. So the Oiym had prepared a new societal structure for us to follow. Feeding was not the issue, so long as it was to true death. But the body had to be disposed of, with nothing left for the vampire spoor to take hold of and regenerate the victim.
Which meant, if I wanted to take my time with Helffing, I would have to be cautions. And I did not want to rush, with him.
He could see that in my face, I'm sure, so he tried to twist away with a strangled cry. I held him down by his shoulders and kissed his nipples, one after the other. Smelled more of his blood so-so-so rich. Unfortunately, he was also quite dirty.
I don't like my food dirty.
There was a brook not too far away, so I rose, threw him over my shoulder like a sack of grain and carried him to it. One arm around his waist to hold him in place; my free hand mauling his ass. That made him really howl and fight.
I found where the brook fed into a lovely pool in an area thick with trees. Small areas of reeds along the shore. Hints of the last sunlight glinting off the ripples. It reminded me of the pond where I had been turned, eight hundred years ago. This would be perfect.
Helffing was close to hysterics, by this point. To him, I looked like a young man in his twenties, who was nowhere near the same level as strength as he. So how could someone like me even think to carry him through a forest, let alone in an instant? He was still gargling demon and devil in his bastard German when I tossed him into the pool.
That shocked him into silence. He coughed and gasped and found his footing, then tried to breath through his nose while the gag in his mouth grew a bit loose, thanks to the water.
I stood on the pond's bank, and I knew I cut the figure of a dandy in a waistcoat and trousers (without pleats) done in the ditto style using a simple brushed wool. Plain white shirt with a pressed collar. Good walking boots. Had a bowler been atop my head instead of a wide-brim country hat, you could have pictured me on the Champs-Elysées instead of a road near Mars-la-Tour.
I dropped my cloak — coat, removed my boots, and stripped off the rest of my clothing to show off my own well-muscled form, then jumped in next to him and tore away the last of the blouse. I spent a few moments caressing and pinching and kissing his elegant chest. I loved how his stomach heaved with fear. How water danced across and through the hair on his skin. And when I shredded the pantaloons to reveal a pair of thighs thick as tree trunks, defined by their muscles and swirling with hair, I appreciated how even his calves were in fine proportion and beautifully hairy.
Unfortunately, fear and the cold water made certain there wasn't much to his dick or balls, but that would soon be remedied.
I used the shreds of the pantaloons to scrub the dirt off him. He tried to kick me away, but the water worked against him gaining any leverage. He flinched and struggled, especially when I worked around his genitals and under his arms, and began to weep when I shifted to between his ass cheeks. He still tried to kick at me but with his arms bound and most of him deep in the water, he was unable to maneuver.
I have to say, to hold and fondle and control him, like this, fear filling his voice as he choked out pleas to be released, it added greatly to my needs. The want within me was damn near overwhelming. But I had one last thing to do.
His knife had fallen to the bed of the pond, so I released him and grabbed it. Held it in my left hand and caressed it with my right thumb. As a Blood Angel, by merely touching the weapon of anyone, I could sense how many times it had been used and on whom. Now I knew without question that peasant had not been the first man he'd killed for no real reason.
And that not all of its victims had been male.
For a moment, I thought of just taking pleasure from him then handing him over to my sister, Gabrielle. She was another Blood Angel but had been turned six years before me and did not share my — how did she put them? My peculiarities. In fact, she derided me for them, and blamed me for the Oiym's rules and regulations. Which was not far from the truth. But they were the elders and could make her un-life miserable, so she had acquiesced.
I had learned that she and her court — she refused to call them her coven — were in Vienna. And knowing how she loved to take cruel and leisurely pleasure from men such as Helffing? Well, that might have put me back on her good side.
If there was one.
But my hunger for him was far too great, so he'd be spared that unpleasantness, at least.
I wrapped my legs around his belly, my dick pressing hard against the small of his back, then I mingled my fingers in his hair and pulled his head back to reveal his neck and told him, in fine German, "Be still and I will not cut your throat."
He saw I had the knife. Finally understood he could not overpower me or escape me, so stopped fighting and let me cut away that atrocious beard. It was fairly easy, thanks to him being well-soaked and the blade being extremely sharp. It wasn't a clean shave, but I managed to do it without nicking his skin. I left the mop on his head alone; he actually looked good with that being thick and wet.
Finally, I hauled him from the pond and threw him onto a grassy area of the bank. He rolled onto his back and looked almost elegant, lying there. Naked. His belly heaving in fear. Fine legs akimbo. Hair swirling up from in a feathery line from his crotch to fan up and across his chest and down his thighs and calves, water still streaming through it all.
The gag had almost worked free, but he was no longer trying to scream. His big, brown, horrified eyes were locked on me, standing before him. It was very obvious that I was ready to fuck. That is when he drew into a ball to hide himself.
I knelt down. Forced his legs apart and shifted to between them. Wrapped my arms around his thighs. Gazed upon his scared little dick. He was shivering and his skin felt as cold as mine and the hair tickled my fingers. I waggled my tongue at him then licked around his crotch. He yelped. I nuzzled its hair with my lips. He tasted better than he had, earlier, but still on the raw side. By this point, however, I did not care. His very essence called to me.
I ran my lips over his dick. His ass clinched in surprise. Then I drew his balls into my mouth. He howled and twisted, but I had too tight of a grip on him. I sucked on them. Rolled my tongue around them. Pulled at them gently with my teeth until they grew loose.
I saw his dick had expanded a little. Had he never been serviced like this, before? Or had he just not found a woman to do it? For it was obvious he had never been with a man. So I released his balls and took his dick in my mouth and sucked on it and stroked it with my tongue. Tickling. Caressing. Encircling the shaft. Letting my fingers caress his hole, lightly. Making him squirm as much from delight as shock.
In eight-hundred years you learn a great many tricks to force an unwilling man into an erection. I used every one of them, toying with him, coaxing him, keeping at it, on and on and on and on until he began to grow.
By this point, all he was saying was Nein, nein, nein, Mein Gott, nein. He knew this was only the beginning.
I thought of the killer I'd been given to have my way with in Alexandria, back when I'd first learned of who and what I had become. When I first met the Oiym. He'd been provided for me to feed upon, but something inside me had wanted much more. Demanded much more. At the time, I'd thought of him as a lovely gift from the Oiym; now I think they were using him to see how I would feed.
I had toyed with that man. Fought with him. Actually, more like wrestled. On my part, anyway. In that room, in a fortress just outside the city, in the warmth of an Egyptian night eight hundred years ago, I had found I loved to hold and struggle with a man who had a certain level of beauty. And his blood was not enough to fill me. I wanted his very essence.
That night, instinct took me over and I learned how drinking a man's semen to mix with his blood brought me the greatest nourishment and enhanced my power beyond belief. The aftermath had been pure and elegant and beautiful. I had not hungered again, for weeks. I had found how my needs were best met. I had found my true meaning.
I has also found that him having been bathed in perfumed water added greatly to my pleasure. So when I went hunting, I would normally carry a small flask of light perfume with me. My only explanation as to why I'd left it in my chateau on this hunt was that I had only sought a quick meal amongst the battlefield victims. With France and Germany at war, again, the food supply was plentiful. I simply had not anticipated finding a man to fire up that aspect of my feeding. Not until I'd seen him crouched over the body of that peasant.
But now I had him. Owned him. Wanted everything from him.
I let my hands caress his elegant thighs. Tickle over the hair on them. Trail up his sides to his chest. Toy with his tits, using my thumbs.
His breathing grew deeper and less ragged. He whimpered. The sensations running through him were a shock, I'm sure. My hands caressed him in places I'm sure no one's had ever gone, before. He was growing larger and harder in my mouth as I worked him and worked him and worked him with my lips and tongue and breath. On and on.
He swallowed and grew silent then gasped and clenched and thrust against me, and finally.
Finally.
Finally, he grunted and ejaculated into my mouth.
He whimpered as I swallowed. I continued to draw more from him, sucking, demanding, my tongue driving him close to madness, refusing to stop till he could give no more. When I pulled back, his dick was still a nice, full erection, above average in size and with a decent head on it. It sloped sweetly over his balls. The skin was a light, clean red with veins where there should be, now sweet and clean. His expression was that of confusion. And wonder.
Too bad I was not allowed to turn him. That would have bond him to me, and I could have used him over and over, like this.
I flipped him onto his belly before he could think, then I fell onto him, found his hole, widened it with two fingers, and plunged my dick into it.
He shrieked in pain and grunted as I fucked him.
He howled and fought and bucked at me as I fucked him.
He tried to twist away, so I embraced him around the chest as I fucked him.
Held him tight and felt him gasping in pain as I fucked him.
Shoved my dick in and out and in and out and in and out, harder and stronger, making him wince with every thrust.
My fingers pulled at his nipples. Twisted them. Rolled them. He continued to grunt as I went faster and brushed aside his hair and kissed the nape of his neck and went faster and nibbled at an ear and went faster and pinched his nipples, hard.
He cried out and I went faster as my left arm tightened its grip around him and my right hand mingled in his hair and pulled his head back and I went faster and harder and he kept whimpering in pain and I felt myself growing larger and harder within him and closer and closer to climax in a wave of ecstasy screaming throughout my body, bigger and taller and more powerful until I felt it roar up from my balls to behind my heart and my fangs extended.
And as I released into him, I sank my teeth into his neck.
He screamed, again. A cry bursting from within only to be swallowed up by the thickness of the forest. He kicked even harder and bucked at me and his struggles increased, adding to the beauty of the moment.
I drank.
And I drank.
And drank and drank, still fucking him. Still loving the joyous sensation of my dick in his ass. Lost in the frenzy of feeding. Of fucking. Draining him as I drained myself into him. Continuing as he grew easy and quiet and then stopped fighting me. Continuing until the blood stopped flowing. Until I had taken everything from him and it now filled my belly. Only then did my frenzy began to abate.
Only then was I satiated.
His blood mingling with his semen brought me to the same level of beauty and awareness that I'd felt, every time before. I had never been drunk, as a human, but I could imagine this level of contentment and grace and acceptance would have been similar. I felt stronger than ten men. Happy beyond belief. Tender and quiet and unwilling to let go of my victim.
Until contempt washed over me.
That is what brings me to release the one I'd been so violently sexual with. He was now nothing but a husk. No longer of value or interest, to me. Empty and cold and worthless.
Worthless.
I sat up and back onto my haunches, still holding his limp body tight. As though he were a part of me. Which was unusual. Finally, a sigh escaped me and I opened my arms to let him crumble to the grass. I looked at him. I saw him lying there in death. No longer dangerous. No longer deadly. His eyes half-open and unseeing, like the old man he had killed.
Except...
Except he was lovely, still. Lying in the grass as if half-asleep. Arms still bound. Gag loose around his neck. No blood left around his throat. His skin an alabaster shade.
I regretted not keeping him alive for another go-around. Something oral, on his part. I had done that a few times, with men of exceptional beauty and who'd been deserving of their fates. But out here? With the Prussians to the east? The French to the west? Neither party would have appreciated my act as that of justice served.
I suppose I could have taken him back to my chateau, but the others in my clan would not have appreciated it unless they were also given access to him. As I had done a few times, in the past. I chuckled. It was silly to even think about what could have been. His fate had been decided the moment I'd tasted his essence.
So I decapitated him and buried him. Left his body and bones to enrich the land. This way, something good would come from him. I also buried the old man; a necessity since the twigs had, as I expected, lost their flame and he was now just lying there. Scorched, not burnt. I put his crutch in the grave, with him.
It was only right and proper.
