PRINCESS OF DARKNESS

By Svengali & Yenoc

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I am from the ground. I know what it is to rot, but I do not rot. I thirst for her blood.

The blood carries the spirit. It is flavored by the soul, and hers is pure and virtuous.

Its beauty would kill me, for I am death and vileness, so the drink must be diluted. I must corrupt this pristine goddess.

She is the Princess Christine. Her skin is alabaster perfection. Her breathtaking brown eyes are clean and clear. Her hair, long, abundant, and brown, is a silken marvel it would be an ecstasy to run my ugly hand through. But I can only endure wickedness, and could never touch her as she is.

I have one of their servants under my power. He has gotten a potent drug from the apothecary which has numerous effects, but not all at once. At first there is merely a swoon. And, as the servant has placed this drug in her wine, Princess Christine, at dinner, swoons.

"The princess is unwell!"

"Let her retire. She has reason to be exhausted. She too much applies herself to her good works."

Christine is carried up to her room. Her bedchamber servant helps her to undress. Now the gorgeous creature lies in bed in a simple white gown.

I am a shadow beneath her window. I enter her maidservant’s mind and tell the simple creature to leave the room. She rises from her chair and departs.

And now the drug rouses Christine from her swoon, but her mind is very clouded and she is happy and confused. Drunken, one would say. She is sixteen, and chaste, and has never been intoxicated.

Her beautiful eyes are glazed over and giddy in expression. She grins strangely and squirms distractedly under her sheet. She tears and kicks the sheet away and sighs, hands behind her head, and stares through the high ceiling.

"What is happening?" she murmurs. "What was I just thinking?" She does not know, and she sighs again, a mixture of regret and pleasure in the exhalation.

Something has changed in the immaculate, white ceiling.

Spots--purple spots--dilate on the ceiling over her bed. They please her. She is not alarmed. They are like flowers grown and bloomed instantaneously, but they are less flowers than polyps. Little swelling violet balls. Christine stares at them as if hypnotized.

It is not a hallucination. They are myself. Eyes watching her, fingers pointing, phalluses engorging.

She is not herself. When the first purple drop falls and splashes on her forehead, she laughs. The strangeness has evolved beyond the ethereal to the corporeal. What a strange game this is! The spirits have taken form!

Christine tilts and turns her head, desiring, although only half-aware of it, for the fluid to run into her mouth. No such effort on her part is necessary. It is a magical substance, and travels directly to her open mouth. Dancing over her pretty lip, the mischievous drop spills onto her waiting tongue.

It arrives with a thrilling, hair-raising shock, surprisingly cool in her mouth. Tentacles of electricity blast from the drop as it passes down her throat and enters her body. All of her being is flooded with alertness. It does not restore her from the lethargy of the narcotic, but combines with it, taking her even further from herself.

The drop sits inside her like a marble, like a bright candle, an alien presence so overbearing it would be an agony, if it did not feel so good.

Another drop falls. This one strikes her shoulder. It passes through her thin gown and is instantly absorbed through her warm skin. Its effect is just as chillingly electric. She gasps, her body tensing. The feeling is twice now what it was.

It is raining in Christine’s room. The sight would not be believed, but the only witness writhes in her bed, half out of her mind. And this gorgeous and pure aristocrat, who has, up until this point, primarily derived pleasure from music, games, an attractive pair of eyes, and a kind gesture, now thrusts herself towards each falling drop like a circus beast.

But it isn’t necessary. The drops which miss her, and land elsewhere on the bed or the floor, bounce like little rubber balls, and sail towards her. None of the purple liquid is wasted, and so Christine ingests a vast amount.

I can endure no more, and besides, the time has come for the next phase. I have ascended to the balcony outside her window, and have been watching my Christine through the glass. And now I enter through the window, and am in her bedchamber for the very first time.

The purple precipitation and the polyps fly to me, and in a few seconds time, the room is clean--or appears so. The princess moans discontentedly, and sits bolt upright in bed. Her eyes are wild, but she bites her lip, like a child disappointed at a game’s end.

Even now, her blood would burn me to cinders, or it would were I to take it in my mouth and drink in the ultimate, intimate consummation.

I calm her as I approach. Her eyes watch me vacantly, seeing but not seeing. Someone comes towards her, is all she knows, and cannot produce the least association for that sliver of knowledge.

It is as well. I would offend and revolt any eyes which shine at the sight of pretty things.

Clean room. Sullied very greatly by myself, but I’m little more than a phantom. And Christine: How pure is she now?

I sit at her bedside and lean towards her. The princess sleeps. This is merely a beautiful wretch in her shape. It is so easily done!

I reach, as to caress, and gently rest my right hand on her neck. Our eyes meet and lock. Hers are lost in mine. The fingers of the hand which holds her sprout suction cups. At the tip of my thumb a little mouth yawns.

She quietly gasps as I suck blood from her throat through my hand, and my thumb darts like a snake into her mouth.

A mere drip, like the penis’s pre-ejaculatory fluid, is all that is needed to make her understand. Christine licks the tip of my thumb and is rewarded. She closes her soft lips around it and sucks.

To give and to take are an ecstasy. It is the greatest physical pleasure there is. I see that Christine thinks so too. The vacancy in her lovely brown eyes has given way to more interesting things.

At first, surprise, then pleasure, then hunger. It is like this with blood. Even as it is drunk, one burns with hunger for more. But the supply is limitless, and so, so long as there is blood, there is great happiness. Christine’s eyes glaze over like a dog’s with lust.

The veinlike growths in my forearm are very busy. The back of my hand ripples with fat, busy veins. I cannot taste through my fingers, but I can feel what it is I ingest: her wonderful blood, polluted by the narcotic and my purple filth. Sweet demoness-to-be, it will not be long before I kiss your throat. Ahhhh…but even this--this feeding and nurturing--is very, very good. I think, with this, it is better to give. Graspers, thieves, and gluttons, know this: To give, to lose, can be a great ecstasy.

But nothing is more sublime than witnessing what is happening to the princess. A pleasure which goes beyond the visceral. It is so pleasing to the soul to experience this.

With my hand on her throat I can feel her gulping down my blood eagerly. Nobody, no matter how transported he is by drugs and drink, could be unaware of it when a monster has him by the throat. She knows an inhuman hand is defiling her, but she doesn’t care.

Her mind and her body belong to the three elixirs inside.

But what she ingests now speaks in her brain and her veins with the most authority. In addition to the intoxication, pleasure, and hunger in her eyes, gradually, but undeniably, a transformation is occurring.

My blood warms her everywhere but in her heart. It sings in her head, but it is not a song little girls or nuns know. A feral light begins to glow in her eyes.

My hand shifts back to human form. I no longer suck and there is no more for Christine. I remove my hand from her neck and pull my thumb from her mouth.

Blood trickles from her lips and runs down her chin. She licks her lips. Her eyes are not her own. Perhaps they’re mine, or the devil’s.

There are four ugly marks on her neck where the suction cups have been. I lean in, resting one hand on her shoulder, and lick the sores, like, if you will, an animal grooming her young. The profanities are gone--washed away by my saliva--and her neck is lovely again.

Christine rises from her bed. She cannot see me and has forgotten me.

She crosses the room towards the door, which she opens. She pauses before the threshold, crosses her arms before her, and pulls her gown off over her head.

Her full, round ass and its elegant crack. Her naked back.

She balls up the gown, and to my surprise, wipes the blood off her face with it, and then casts the soiled thing almost disdainfully back into the room. Then she steps out into the hallway of the sleeping castle. Her door remains ajar.

Those of the house who aren’t asleep cannot see her. The naked princess walks down silent corridors past guards and staff, whose minds I have entered, saying, "You do not see her. You do not hear her."

Is she not like an assassin? I’m reminded of those lines from the revered play:

She passes down a most familiar and beloved length of hall, which concludes with an exceedingly impressive closed door. It all has a different meaning to her now.

She lays a pretty hand upon the door, touching it briefly with affection. And then her hand descends to the handle, and Christine silently opens the door. She enters.

Although the guards cannot see or hear her, I think it best that they depart. And more marionettes faithfully respond. They too move like ghosts and do not disturb the sleeper as they noiselessly exit.

Before her, in the darkened room, a vast, canopied bed. The king, sensing her presence perhaps, awakens.

He sees a feminine silhouette, and, being king, immediately realizes that it is the silhouette of an unclothed woman.

"Who’s there?" the old man asks hoarsely. "Lina?" (his concubine) "What are you doing there? Light a taper."

She sets the room on fire with light. But he has not seen her face. Admiring the youthful and voluptuous body, he realizes it is not Lina’s. Lina is very beautiful, but this is not she. This girl, he thinks, with gathering certainty, makes the other look like a toad.

"Stop," he gently chides. "You’ll blind me. With whom , child, have I the pleasure…?"

She turns, grinning lovingly.

"Daddy…"

"What?!" He recoils. This is his daughter, naked in his bedroom like a strumpet! It’s a dream! It cannot be!

"Christine! What’s the meaning of this? Why do you appear before your father like this? Return to your room at once!"

She smiles wantonly and dances towards him seductively. Her hair is disheveled. Her creamy white body is breathtaking. Her father stares at her full breasts and dark pubic thatch with alarm.

"Sweetheart," the king groans, much amazed. He fights to avert his eyes. "You’re unwell."

"I feel fine," Christine purrs, her eyes glimmering with lust. She cups her generous breasts and pinches her hard nipples. "Don’t you love me, Daddy?" Her hands descend tremblingly to her crotch. She strums her moist pussy and slides her hands around to fondle her ass. "I think you do!"

Calling in a servant is out of the question. He has no desire for his daughter and himself to be caught in this compromising position. But what must he do?

She sits down on the bed next to him. Her bare ass on his sheet, her shapely thigh next to his. She touches his chest and pouts and looks at him with teasing mock concern. "Have I made you unhappy, Daddy?" she asks.

He is trembling, a prisoner in his own bed. "Very," the king nearly whimpers. "Very unhappy."

"I’ll make you happy." She lifts the sheet and goes under it. A Christine-shaped mountain bulges under the sheet. She unfastens his pants and his erect cock jumps out. She licks his balls and slides her tongue up his glans. Encircling the swollen head with her lips, her head bobs up and down as she sucks his cock.

His head swims as he watches the obscenely busy shape under his sheet. He gently embraces her head over the sheet. He hardly knows what he is doing. "Christine," he says dreamily. "Please…"

She takes the sheet off, and here, before his eyes, is his daughter sucking his cock like a seasoned harlot. How could a virgin, whom the king knows to be absolutely chaste, give pleasure like this?

Gazing up at him with smoldering, smiling eyes, she runs her tongue over his cockhead and laps up the precum which leaks from his pisshole.

"Mmmm…" she moans. "It tastes so good."

She licks up and down his taut, tumescent shaft and jerks him off near the base with deliria-inducing circular motions. Once again her tongue dances over his cockhole and laps up precum. She slaps his hard cock against her mouth and tongue, grunting with desire.

"You’re so big, Daddy!" Christine says. She jerks him off as her sultry eyes dance with his. "God, how I want you to come!"

"I won’t, Daughter." His eyes are fire. "Not yet I won’t." And with practiced ease, he takes her thigh and lifts her up and around so that her hot groin lies over his face. Christine’s cunt is glistening with wetness, pulsing, her clitoris poking from between the moist, pink folds of her pussy. Here is ripe fruit, and now it will be tasted for the first time.

He tentatively licks. It is sublime! His daughter’s beautiful pussy. His tongue dances over her labia and enters her soaked cunt, lapping rhythmically, up and down. She sucks his cock.

The king’s tongue flutters over her stiffening clit as she grinds herself against him. They are a machine. She sucks, he eats. He grabs her ass and lightly slaps her luscious cheeks. She parts her legs further. He thrusts his tongue in and out of her pussy. She is out of this world. What an ecstasy it is to eat her pussy.

But his daughter cannot help but stop sucking his cock. The action at her crotch is too much, the pleasure rippling through her is overwhelming. "Ahhhhhh… Ohhhhhh…" She looks back over her shoulder at him. Her eyes are intoxicated with desire. She grins and pouts. "Daddy…it feels good. You make me feel so good…"

"I can make you feel better, Christine, if that’s what you want."

"Oh, I do, Daddy! Make me feel better! Please!"

"Then lie back in the bed." He moves so that she can lie down, and she lies in the bed as if it is hers.

He advances, from the foot of the bed, sliding up the sheet, closing the gap between them.

Christine’s hand goes to his prick, grasping it as she lifts her groin. She feels the swollen head of her father’s cock push up against her virgin cunt. With a sob of delight, she runs the drooling tip of his prick up and down her scalding, wet pussy lips, smashing it against her throbbing clit.

She feels his thick cock head part the lips of her sensitive cunt, and she sobs in joy. The king slips his cock into his daughter’s pussy slowly, fighting to control the impulse to stab quick and hard. Christine sucks in air desperately, her teeth clenched and her eyes hazy with misty pleasure. The king pushes forward and, with one savage lunge, he drives his cock into her virgin pussy and takes her maidenhead.

The princess squeals in pain as her father claims her virginity. She wants him to drive his cock into her pussy. The king moans as he feels the tight walls of his daughter’s vagina wrap around his penis and squeeze him snuggly.

Her pain from the initial violation abates and the princess begins to roll her young hips upward to meet her father’s drilling cock. She digs her fingers into his hips as he fucks into her pussy, holding her crotch high for him. Her pussy stretches around his hard cock like a rubber band, and she can feel each and every ridge of his hard prick and feel the swollen cock head filling her cunt.

The princess does not know he is fucked fully into her pussy until his balls touch the upturned cheeks of her ass. She gives a squeal and pulls hard at his hips, her cunt pulsating tightly around his throbbing cock. Neither moves for a while. He is braced with his hands on each side of her shoulders, looking down into his daughter’s hot eyes. They stare at each other for some time, his cock buried deep in her hot pussy.

Then Christine moves. Her hips move slowly, then she pumps up and down, riding her father’s cock as he kneels, gazing into her eyes. Christine fucks her father slowly, feeling the heat and ecstasy grow within her body.

The king moves, his hips going up and down, meeting his daughter’s pussy. Christine slides her hands from her father’s hips to the cheeks of his ass, her fingers clawing as she pulls, trying to suck his cock deeper into her fiery cunt.

Father and daughter fuck slowly, each savoring the pleasure to the fullest. They do not speak—only grunt and moan and whimper. The king lets his weight down onto her, his chest smashing her rounded, spongy tits almost flat. He draws his daughter into his arms as his ass begins to bounce, his cock fucking in and out of her cunt with wet ease.

Christine can feel every fuck-thrust of his prick, feel his precious balls against her hot ass cheeks. She closes her smooth thighs around her father’s hips, scissoring her legs slowly, thrilled with the contact of their flesh, of his cock penetrating her cunt so willingly, so eagerly. It feels as if her father’s flesh is searing hers, melting her tits from her body. He has his face buried into her neck and shoulder, and his hot, gasping breath feels so good on her flesh. She rolls and twists her ass, humping up and down with him. She closes her legs around his thighs, locking her ankles and squeezing his moving hips.

"Oh, Chrissy! Oooohhhh, Chrissy!" he pants, slipping his hands down her back, over the grinding cheeks of her ass, cupping her naked ass mounds to lift her cunt tighter to his cock.

"Yes, Daddy!" she hisses, unable to resist the motion, the heat of ecstatic sensations forcing her to fuck harder and faster, to devour his thick cock with her hungry cunt. "Oh, Daddy, yes!"

The king, too, cannot hold a slow pace.

He begins to plunge up and down furiously, his cock fucking deep into her gripping cunt, his balls beating upon her squirming ass. His fingers dig into her ass cheeks as he fucks faster. Christine squeezes her father’s tight ass cheeks with her fingers, grinding and churning beneath him now. Her balloonlike tits jiggle back and forth, gorgeous, vigorously moving mountains crowned by her hard, pink nipples. They are both panting with the effort, both with contorted faces as they race to orgasm. Christine’s pussy is searing the taut flesh of his cock, the wetness clinging to him as she thrusts her cunt wildly against him, her sobs of delight growing louder as they fuck.

"Oooohhh!" Christine screams. The orgasm strikes her with the force of lightning. She fucks her cunt hard on his cock, her crotch jerking up and down. "I’m coming! I’m coming!"

The king plunges hard into his daughter’s clamping pussy, the undulating contractions sucking at his cock. His balls writhe and pull tightly at the base of his prick, and he fucks furiously now.

"Now! Now!" Christine screams. "Do it now, Daddy! Come…oh, come in me!"

With a loud grunt, the king plunges his cock hard into his daughter’s pussy. Christine feels her father’s prick pulse inside her and feels the exquisite gush of his cock juice. She whimpers as her pussy grips his squirting cock, the contractions of her increasing orgasm sucking his prick like a hot, hungry mouth. Her cunt draws his come from his balls with greedy sucking movements.

Christine runs her hands up and down her father’s back as he rests on top of her, her thighs still brushing his hips. She has never known anything which approaches this. She is amazed and half-mad. Her cunt still squeezes his cock in the glow of her ecstasy.

His face is crushed against the pillow. His sweaty neck is right beside her face. Gently caressing it, she exhales a hot gust onto his neck. She opens her mouth wide, revealing fangs, and buries them in her father’s throat.

The king is instantly aroused from his post-coital stupor. He tenses and fumbles and flails about limply, but Christine’s fanged grip hasn’t a prayer of being broken.

He doesn’t know what is happening. He can’t dream what his daughter could be doing to his throat, except that it is quite painful and it terrifies him.

The king is falling. Before, he was up in the clouds somewhere in an amazing world of sex, but now he is plunging into a cold dungeon of anxiety and despair.

Christine ceases to feed, and it is she who hurls him onto his back so that he can see what has happened.

His daughter is on top of him. Her face is contorted into a mask of diabolical aggression. She is fanged like a tiger, and her lips and her chin and her teeth are drenched with his bright red blood. Hands that had clutched him in rapture moments before now seem on the verge of crushing him.

Terrible laughter freezes him. A voice from across the room says, "Christine."

The demoness slides off of him, leaves the bed, and comes. The king, clutching his bleeding throat, turns to see who it is.

He gives a start and shivers to see such a monstrous being. But now he stares. "You!"

Christine leans into my embrace, for I am her master, and now she is what I am.

And her father’s expression is the richest pleasure I have known this night. For it is not merely a princess, but a kingdom which I have brought low. My laughter as I consider this makes thunder sound like the chortle of an infant. Christine and I turn to a filthy, black gas and seep out the open window.

The king throws himself out of bed and crashes down on the floor. I take his realization of what has happened and smash it into his eyes. He would have died, but the vampire poison his daughter’s bite has left sustains him in his pain.

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