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Nosferatu 1
All stories on this web site are purely FICTIONAL. The people depicted within these stories only exist in someone's IMAGINATION. Any resemblence between anyone depicted in these stories and any real person, living or dead, is an incredible COINCIDENCE too bizarre to be believed. If you think that you or someone you know is depicted in one of these stories it's only because you're a twisted perverted little fucker who sees conspiracies and plots where none exist. You probably suspect that your own MOTHER had sex with ALIENS and COWS and stuff. Well, she didn't. It's all in your head. Now take your tranquilizers and RELAX.
Author: [email protected] (MICHAEL D GARRISON)
Keywords: mf ff gothic nc rape heavy sm
Archive-name: nosferatu-1
Nosferatu Unchained
Part One: Humboldt, Bavaria 1653
A cool mist had crept into the room, wafting through the open
window and flowing like a heavy gas along the floor. Tendrils of
gray fog wrapped around the four-poster bed and for a moment, the
sleeping girl became restless, tossing in her sleep. She moaned
once, then turned on her back.
She was as Kyra had described: Young, blonde and voluptuous.
Her heavy, ample breasts spilled out of her blue silk nightgown,
and her full red lips were parted in a smile. She was warm and
so, so full of life...
The mist pulled out of the room now, as quickly as it had
entered. The heavy drapes shuddered slightly; the window creaked
once as if moved by a breeze, then became still again. And in the
far, dark corner of the girl's room a man came to be.
He stood motionless as if in a trance while he took in his
surroundings. He was a remote, majestic figure. Like a fine-spun
dancer, his body was slender but not sparse. Powerful muscles
rippled in his back, arms and thighs. The man was sensual, animal
and completely nude.
He glided noiselessly across the bare wooden floor and came
to rest at the foot of the bed. He studied her form -- the soft
curves of her reposing body, the lines of her face, the hair
splayed out on the pillow. His hard eyes traced the firm, supple
thighs, the taut nipples strained against the thin fabric, the
smooth hands. Two desires began to burn within him, one ancient,
the other ageless.
He turned to the window and gazed out on the serene, moonlit
lake. It brought back half-forgotten memories of his youth, so
long ago, of Lake Hermanstadt, and the Scholomance. The ritual of
the Becoming -- how long ago had it been? he wondered. He could
not remember, could not even say with certainty that it had
happened at all. So many memories, so many nights like this --
The girl moaned, and he whipped around quickly and silently
to face her. Her breathing had become irregular -- panting as if
trying to wake herself up -- and he moved to her side to lay his
hand on her chest. The heat of her breasts aroused him. He
caressed them like a lover, and presently the girl grew calm, her
dreams chased away and replaced with deaden sleep. And something
else: A longing. She was aware of his presence, in the depths of
her slumber.
He slipped into her consciousness easily enough, his hands
pulling the flimsy gown from her body. She inhaled sharply, her
breasts rising, then sighed. As he watched, her hands went to her
swollen nipples and caressed them.
In her mind's eye, she saw him as a magnificient warrior in
glittering armor and burgundy robes. She cried out her need to
him: Oh, to bask in your gaze, to die in your arms...
The girl's eyes opened and she opened her mouth as if to
speak. There was no need of it; he heard her call out just as
clearly as if she had sung. She placed one hand on her breast and
held out the other to him. He looked down at his erect, throbbing
member, then down at the girl. It was time.
He knelt beside her and put his lips against her soft,
pulsing neck. His cold breath excited her, and he rubbed her
thighs together. Then he bared his teeth, those terrible fangs,
and sunk them into the soft, inviting flesh. She made a low moan
and rolled her head to accomodate him. A thin line of blood
trickled down her neck and fell in tiny droplets onto the satin
sheet.
He drank hungrily as the liquid flowed into him. But there
was something wrong...
DAMN! He tore away savagely and spat. "It cannot be," he
said aloud. So few were found these days -- and yet here was such
a one.
Her body tossed again, and in her mind she begged him to
complete the task. He stood, nude in the darkness, and shook his
head. Such a loss, he thought; would he find another so desirous
of the fate he'd held out to her?
Still, he pondered, though she could not fulfill his prime
need, he still had another, equally strong.
He moved down on top of her and smoothly entered her. She
gasped, her eyes opened wide, and she wrapped her legs around his.
Her mouth formed into an O, but as her eyes met his, she made no
sound.
Her thoughts, however, cried out to him. Take me, my Lord!
His silky fingers wrapped around her throat as he answered,
You are already mine.
He squeezed and felt the girl beneath him flail silently, her
eyes begging for release. He thrust his massive shaft once, and
she arched her back for him. Her hands went to his wrists, and
pushed, not for less pressure but for more.
She bucked her body again, but he would not respond.
Instead, he moved closer to her face and stared directly into
those eyes, full of terror and desire.
His hands pressed even harder. For two full minutes, the
girl fought both against and for his powerful grasp. Then
suddenly she jerked still. He felt a liquid warmth drip from
between her legs, and the girl slumped into the bed, her face
still holding that ecstatic expression. Her heart beat twice,
then stilled forever, as her final thoughts rang in his head.
He pumped again into her lifeless body and stared deep into
eyes that saw nothing. Her firm legs relaxed and slid off his
back, and as he pressed his chest against her still-erect nipples,
he felt the warmth slipping away. Then another thrust, and
another...
His own release was near; he thrust into her as he came. The
girl's head lolled back, her throat bared to him. Her arm slid
off the bed and hung limply above the floor, the fingers curled.
He dismounted and looked down in pity at the body sprawled
out on the bed, now as cold as his own. Her eyes looked up at him
as if to beg him to take her with him.
He stood back, and held the dead girl's gaze as the mist once
again slid into the dark room.
* * *
Kyra, his student, loved the sport.
Their abode sat high on top of a desolate mountain, near a
stone-strewn pass. He made his way through the fallen ramparts,
down a hidden stone stairway leading to the aquaduct and into the
main chamber.
Kyra looked up at him from the stone. "My lover returns,"
she purred.
He looked at her. She wore ornate filigreed gold breast
cups, each ending in a three inch long, needle-sharp point. Gold
serpents circled her upper arms, and a heavy gold belt went around
her lithe waist. A cermonial dagger was strapped to her left leg.
"Just in time," she told him. "Listen!"
There was a faint scream, coming from the abbatoir below.
"She's mine," Kyra said.
Together they went to the lower level, Kyra pirouetting in
anticipation. "I found her in Hamboldt," she told him. "She's an
artist at the University. She saw me and fell in love. Romantic,
wouldn't you say?"
Kyra swung open the heavy iron gate. He saw her immediately,
a young girl chained to the far wall, her limbs outstretched. She
emitted a yell, but when she saw them, quieted instantly.
Kyra danced over to her. "Tell my lover your name," she
said.
The girl looked up at her. "Marissa."
Kyra went up to the girl and slowly untied her lace bodice.
She pulled it off, then whipped around once with the dagger in her
hand. Marissa gasped when saw the sharp blade. Kyra giggled, and
in one fluid motion, cut away the rest of the girl's clothing. It
fell to the floor in tatters.
Kyra moved closely to her; the points of her breast cups
pressed into Marissa's hot flesh.
"Tell me what you desire, dear Marissa."
The girl looked into her eyes. "I need...you," she breathed.
Kyra covered the girl's mouth with her own. As they kissed,
Kyra's tongue slid and probed like a snake, fighting with
Marissa's as the other woman responded in kind. Kyra's hands
encircled Marissa's waist, and she pulled herself closer.
The spikes plunged into Marissa's breasts, and she screamed,
but Kyra still held the kiss. Marissa's fingers flailed as she
tried to grab hold of the chains, her legs kicked uselessly, and
her eyes bored into Kyra's.
Blood began to trickle from her chest and lips. Kyra held
the kiss and squeezed harder into Marissa.
The dying woman made one last cry as her life flowed out of
her. Kyra held her deadly embrace until the body made a final
twitch and was still.
Kyra gently pried herself away. Her breast cups were smeared
with blood. She dabbed her finger in it, brought it to her lips,
and tasted.
She smiled and turned to him. "How was your hunt?"
He eyed the body on the wall hungrily. "She was...unclean."
Kyra motioned to the slumped body of Marissa. "Then I give
you my prey."
He went to the dead girl and lapped the blood from her chin,
then knelt and suckled her breasts. The fire had died within her,
but his own was rekindled.
Kyra moved beside him. She deftly unchained the girl and
lowered her to the ground. Looking up at him, she smiled
knowingly. "Your other needs awaken."
He picked the body up lovingly and carried her cradled in his
arms to his chamber. He placed her down gently on the cold bed
and smoothed her long black hair. Her eyes stared upward and her
blue lips formed a silent scream. The man kissed her neck, the
dip of her throat, her breasts. His hands ran down her waist, her
thighs, her soft round buttocks. Her elegance was even greater in
death, and as he felt the soft, cool flesh he began to plot the
quenching of his thirst.
He slid between her legs and entered her. He covered her
mouth with his, tasting the blood, and drew her hands above her
head. As a lover would, he thrust himself into her and thought,
you will join us yet, Marissa.
His terrible strong body arched over her, and the thrusts
became mightier. Without bidding, the words came out of him in a
low rushing outpour:
"Be ye accursed, and eternally reproved; and be ye tormented
with perpetual pain, so that ye may find no repose by night nor by
day, nor for a single moment of time, if ye obey not immediately
the command of Him Who maketh the Universe to tremble..."
Her lifeless eyes stared up at him, her mouth hanging slack.
"...by these Names, and in virtue of these Names, the which
being named and invoked all creatures obey and tremble with fear
and terror, thses Names which can turn aside lightning and
thunder; and which will utterly make you to perish, destroy, and
banish you -- "
With a fevered groan he suddenly jerked inside her, the
piston-driving strength of his body possessing hers.
"These names then are Aleph, Beth, Gimel, Daleth, He, Vau,
Zayin, Cheth, Teth, Yod, Kaph, Lamed, Mem, Nun, Samekh, Ayin, Pe,
Tzaddi, Qoph, Resh, Shin, Tau."
Then the moment of ecstasy exploded all around him. He
thrust once more, his shaft buried deep inside her in a dizzying,
uncontrollable burst of rapture.
He was utterly consumed, and yet the words still came:
"...that ye may burn therein eternally for ever..."
It was time for the Third Pentacle of the Moon -- and after
that, the Becoming.
* * *
Marissa's body lay in the Cradle of Ages, deep beneath the
decaying castle. Her soft hands crossed her breasts; her form was
covered by a gossamer silk gown. Dozens of candles flickered
around her. Her eyes were open and her mouth was still drawn back
in the deathmask.
It was close to midnight and because of this, Kyra had chosen
the Fifth Pentacle of Saturn. Her eyes were red and catlike in
the darkness, and her hunger great, for since the beginning of the
ceremony she had done no hunting. She read from the dusty book in
a low, quick voice. Her garment was a crimson-cloaked gown.
The man listened approvingly. Though they had been together
for hundreds of years, soon she would pass through to eternity and
another would take her place. He looked at Kyra and felt no
sorrow; it had been the same with Voranna, his previous consort
and Kyra's first...victim. That was as it should be, and though
he refused to think it, he knew that another would eventually take
Marissa's place at his side. But that was far in the future.
Kyra finished reading the invocation and closed the book.
She was panting, feeling the burning desire to once again taste
blood, to steal life. He ignored her; Kyra would hunt no more.
He rose and went to Marissa's limp body. Closing her eyes,
he kissed her lips and raised the chalice above his head. He then
intoned the final words.
"Some are created from water.
"Others from Wind, unto which they are like.
"Some from Earth.
"Some from Clouds.
"Others from Solar Vapors.
"Others from the keenness and strength of Fire; and when they
are invoked or summoned, they come always with great noise, and
with the terrible nature of fire."
He overturned the chalice. As the water hit her, Marissa
opened her eyes wide and shrieked. Her hands clawed in the air,
and her legs kicked wildly. The restraints held her within the
Cradle, but still it was so awful that Kyra -- even Kyra, who had
seen so much! -- flinched.
He invoked the Great Ones now: Qadosch, Tzabaoth, Asophiel,
Athanatos. Athanatos, Eater of Life, whose visage turned even
Cardiel to stone. Tzabaoth, Hunter of Life, of whom even Gabriel
was terrified. Qadosch, who dared taunt the Master of Evil
himself -- Qadosch, Destroyer of Worlds, who protected them in
their Long Sleep.
Marissa's screams stopped. She looked up at him and when she
smiled, he could see the fangs. Good, he thought. He would have
another mate.
He ordered Kyra out, to prepare for the next part in the
ancient ceremony. She moved painfully, aching for ustenance, and
closed the huge wooden door to the chamber.
Twenty hours later he emerged and walked down the giant and
empty halls to Kyra's bed. He found her as he had ordered: She
wore her gold filigree and nothing else, kneeling on a small dais
before an icon of Existon, the Harbinger of Death.
His robe fell to the cold stone floor and he reclined in her
bed. He spoke to her. "Rise, Kyra, and join me."
She stood, noticed the door to her chamber still open.
"Would my Lord have me close it?"
He waved his hand. "No. Come to me."
She smiled and climbed up onto him. She mounted him easily,
moaning with pleasure as his erect cock slid deep inside her. She
offered him her taut, swollen nipples. He rolled them between his
fingers, then cupped her breasts in his hands and lifted them up.
Kyra drew her legs up and began to ride him like a stallion,
her first hunger lost in the second, and after a brief thrashing
period had begun to make a smooth, steady pumping motion with her
hips and pelvis. Her sharp fingernails raked his smooth chest.
Kyra never noticed the footsteps.
She was caught in her own ecstasy. The man, however,
glimpsed Marissa creeping into the room, and spoke to Kyra. "Look
in my eyes," he commanded.
Kyra smiled again and looked down at him. Their eyes met and
locked. She licked her lips with her tongue and purred. "Finish
me, my Lord! Make me come!"
Marissa moved up behind her and with a swift movement brought
the garrote up over Kyra's neck. Marissa quickly tightened the
garrotte and pulled. Kyra screamed when she realized what was
happening and reached to the dagger strapped on her leg, but the
man's powerful hand grabbed her arms and pinned them. With his
other hand, he withdrew the dagger.
"Goodbye, Kyra," he said. Kyra looked at him with sadness
and finality in her eyes, then bucked once more.
The dagger had been prepared for this in the ceremony. He
plunged it between her breasts. It went in to the hilt. Kyra
jerked as the blade entered her, and a crimson ribbon flowed from
her lips. She bucked several times as the knife did its work, and
her visage turned from sorrow to anger to hatred to something
inhuman.
Marissa pulled harder on the garrotte. Kyra's body arched
backwards, and a final, soulful scream passed between her lips.
She crumpled between her lord's legs; it was finished.
Marissa pulled her off of him and onto the floor, where she
tumbled and sprawled. "Did I please you, my Lord?" she asked.
He rose from the bed and took the garrotte from her hands.
"Yes, child," he told her. "Now return to your chamber and wait
for me."
When she had left, he carried Kyra's body up the long
stairway and out to the hill behind the castle. He set her on the
cold ground and pushed on the dagger. It would be dawn soon; when
the sun's rays found her, she would be no more.
He returned below ground, barring each entrance behind him
with heavy metal locks. He finally appeared in the main chamber
where Marissa waited for him.
"What comes next?" she asked him.
"First, your instruction," he replied. "There are many
things you will need to know for your new life. Afterwards, the
Long Sleep, and when we awaken, we will feast."
She smiled at the prospect, her fangs strong and gleaming.
Two years later the instruction was finished, and they went
back together to the Cradle of Ages.
*** END OF PART ONE ***
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