The Nosferatu


The day fades into extinction and cold darkness resumes it's claim on
the sleeping village. A brisk, steely October wind whips through the
brittle leaves in the trees, making shadows jump and dance on the
bedroom wall. On an antique four-poster bed, bathed in the moonlight,
lies a young woman. She has been stripped naked, her limbs stretched
taut and bound to each post with black silk. Her long red hair spills
outward onto the pillows around her. She is in a deep but restless
sleep, drugged by her abductors and left alone as a simple offering for
His coming.

The heavy curtains shudder slightly, then become still again. A cool
mist creeps into the room, wafting through an open window and flowing
like a heavy fog along the hardwood floor. The sleeping girl becomes
restless. Tendrils of the gray fog wrap around the four-poster bed. The
girl moans quietly as it creeps over the satin sheets and embraces her
naked flesh with its soft caresses. She begins to squirm slowly, seductively
wriggling her body as she alternately pulls on the silk bindings
constraining her arms, and then her legs, only allowing the young
captive a certain freedom of movement, while forcing her to remain
hopelessly spread-eagled on the bed.

Then the mist pulls away, as quickly as it had entered. The floor
creaks, and in the far corner of the room the dark shape of a man
appears. He stands motionless, while taking in his surroundings. He is
a remote, majestic figure, shrouded in a long black cloak hanging
loosely off his broad shoulders. His cheekbones are high and Slavic, his
black hair swept straight back, and his unblinking eyes sparkle with
hideous life. Moving toward the dresser, he passes one hand over an
unlit candle and it sparks to life. The candlelight seems to flow
through his body and there is no reflection of him in the dresser
mirror.

The dark figure glides silently across the room and stops at the foot of
the bed. The young girl cries out softly, knowingly. She is aware of
his presence, even in the depths of her slumber. He studies her form --
the soft swells of her young breasts, the blush in her cheeks, the hair
splayed out on the pillow. She is warm and so, so full of life. His
servants have chosen well with this one. His hard eyes draw downward to
the neatly trimmed mound between her open legs. Two desires began to
burn within him, one ancient, the other ageless.

He raises his arms and allows the cloak to fall behind his shoulders. He
is completely nude. His body is lean but not sparse, his muscles are
powerful yet sensual. Taking a deep breath, he slowly rises from the
floor. The young girl's breathing becomes irregular, gasping as if she
were trying to wake herself up. The black cloak flutters wildly behind
him as he glides like a feather over the bed, their bodies almost
touching, his long shaft fully erect. The girl turns her head from side
to side, her wrists twisting helplessly within the silk bindings that
imprison them. He gazes into her eyes, and presently she grows calm, her
fears chased away and replaced with deadened sleep. And something else
-- a longing that has been buried deep within the darkest recesses of
her soul. He slides his hand across her breasts, she shivers from his
ice-cold touch, her nipples become taut and erect. He lowers himself
upon her, relishing the warmth of her young body. She beckons him with a
hot sigh. The wind outside howls like someone screaming in pain, the
curtains in the window snap violently, but the girl is unaware, lost in
her own dreams. Her full lips part in a smile. In her mind's eye, she is
in the arms of a magnificent warrior in glittering armor and burgundy
robes, the man he once was, so many centuries ago, before his Becoming.

Slowly he takes possession of her, nibbling the soft flesh at the base
of her breasts, kissing the smooth contours of her ribs, before dropping
gracefully into the opening between her legs. Taking a firm grip on her
hips, he rolls his long tongue into a stiff round appendage and
penetrates her with it. Her squirming increases in intensity as he
continues his assault on her wet dripping folds. Then he stops, and
gazes down at the soft muscles of her inner thigh, eyes fixed, as though
he were in a trance. He bares his fangs for the first time, they are
long and streaked with yellow. In less than a moment, he quickly moves
and bites down hard into her thigh. The young girl cries out and writhes
helplessly on the bed. Blood trickles, his eyes glow as he indulges in
her taste, then he releases her. His tongue travels up her breast, then
up her neck and to her mouth. She looks deeply into his eyes for the
first time, seeing nothing but the fire within them. His fangs extended,
their tongues dance and she tastes her own salty blood on him. Tracing
the contours of her body with his hands, he kisses her, then with one
quick thrust, forces himself inside her. The girl cries out
passionately, struggling weakly with her bondage, not in an effort to
escape the intrusion, but only with the desire to embrace her lover. He
works his massive organ deep within, jerking her body back and forth.
She rubs her thighs against his and pushes her breasts up to him
invitingly. He reaches up to touch her soft neck in a gentle caress.
Leaning closely, he puts his lips against the warm, inviting flesh. His
cold breath excites her and she rolls her head to accommodate him. The
girl's thoughts cry out to him. Take me, my Lord! He stares directly
into her eyes, full of terror and desire, his fingers wrapped around her
throat as he answers...

You are already mine.

Then he hisses and sinks his long fangs into her soft, pulsing neck. A
low moan escapes her lips. He drinks hungrily, feeling the girl
struggle silently beneath him, her eyes begging for release as he slowly
drains the life out of her body. A thin line of blood trickles down from
his mouth and falls in tiny droplets onto the satin sheet. For a few
moments the girl fights against, and for his powerful grasp, then
relaxes, her heart beats once... twice and then remains still.

He lifts his head from her swollen neck and continues to pump his cock
deeper and deeper into her limp, lifeless body, violating her even after
death. He presses his chest against her still-erect nipples and feels
the warmth in her slipping away. Then one final trust until the earthly
need within him is satisfied.

The Nosferatu slowly rises and unties the silk bindings from the young
girl's wrists and ankles, looking down with pity at the body sprawled on
the bed like an unwanted rag doll that has been tossed aside. Her pale
eyes look up at him as if begging to take her with him. He stands back,
and holds the dead girl's gaze for another long moment, then disappears
into the mist as it slides out of the room.

The End