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Vampinore: VIII - Emeric

Updated on December 25, 2014
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Hear

Me whispering in most earthly breaths strained through golden screens of human hair into your begging, useless ear that still remains exposed; and not buried into the soft, muffled silence of the pillow like your other auditory organ. Let these words filter then fester into your empty mind and fill it with something not only true, but of a purpose that you never had, nor would be given without my gratuity.

Hear me, you inaudible ill-intellectual! Few are so given an audience to these vibrations. Be even more grateful that I have given more than you can handle. Since you lay virtually lifeless and voiceless in response, I’ll provide the resonance in this room, above any further screams or moans you might add.

Like the voice of God, you have been smitten down by this, and of my choice of substances blended like an alchemical allegory of your life. Take one whole of the most colorful and flavored of liquors. Blend one of the most select expensive and effective of drugs. Together one would presume to have a drink that is both elegant and uplifting. The truth is that both the taste of the result is of absolute disgust and tarnishing, the allegory of your life.

Smell

If you can, the sweet aromas rising up off these sheets. They were once of select blossoms and perfumes, but now having been poisoned and withered by your sweat and secretions, both vaginal and anal, the air tastes of a future death. Had it been my first thought, they would have been burned in a fire, along with your still twitching body. However, your services are still required by my skillful hand.

Smell my pheromones, emitting from my pristine flesh, for that smell is what one should recognize as both godliness and absolute. You can’t deny, in your heavy mouth-breathing, that a scent or two did not get through those coked-laced nostrils. With the power of each thrust I gave into both your unworthy, but presentable holes, my perspiration of perfection awakened an inner reminder in your soul. That reminder speaks of your place in this world, at the bottom of the fuck-chain, and never on top of my sacred pillar.

Remain faced down, giggling and swooning in that pillow. In my bag of delights, I possess something much more delightful that will permeate beyond your soon-to-be-decaying flesh. It is an instrument that would make me the envy of the Ripper Jack, and the devourer of a fine loin. As I draw out this razor-thin edged blade, I must ask you: are you the victim or the veal?

Touch

Of my finest point is to point out the truth of you, a truth that lies beneath your war-torn skin. Lifeless you are laying on your frontside as I straddle your back with my blade in hand, I’ll start just behind your shoulder at the base of your trapezes. Guiding my hand halfway to your spine, this bloody line of latitude isn’t spilling as much as I expected. Maybe your blood has absorbed so much poison before that it flows like a thick sludge in your veins.

Another cut in another direction, I move ever slightly south from incision zero. I don’t require much of length, for my purpose for such a slice is to make a revelation. I hope you are still paying attention, as not only do I remain hard inside you, but I intend to penetrate you another way.

Giggle you might be, alas we both know you are merely finding humor in your social standing not just in society, but in my predatory food chain. Ticklish are you? You giggle more at the pinch of your skin between my thumb and index, than you did at the smooth glide of my scalpel. Is it the pinch or the poach you enjoy more? It’s probably the pinch. However, it’s not from the sharp pain, but the comfort of human skin on god skin contact. It soothes you knowing someone would actually exchange a cellular brush again you, rather than another lonesome night relying on the cold, lifeless prop you put between your legs on your silky pink stage.

Between these fingers, I have gripped the skin and now I draw back your lie to expose truth to the air. As easy as the rest of you is, your outer layer peels back with grace. You might feel as if you are a ripened fruit. In the light of your darkness, your skin is no more than that of a rotten, decaying corpse. I don’t expect much underneath, but that’s where I dare venture to find something else useful about you.

My tongue begs to know. It salivates at our moment of honesty – where truth is revealed in a place the world is too afraid to look. A drip of cheek-water rolls to the tip of my slithering mouth serpent. The drip lands in your exposed wound and you quiver in delight. Not many can brave such a feat, but under the sedation I’ve given you, it helps me by muffling your screams.

Taste

You do not of the great apple of Eden; yet, enlightening the sequin seepage is in a knowledge I gain. That knowledge is a mere reminder of where I stand and where you have fallen. Fallen you have upon my sacred altar of lust with my permission.

Always curious I am what they taste. THEY – the ones who for centuries and millennia consume sheep like you just for their own heightened power and existence. Do they absorb thoughts? Memories? Feelings? Or are they so far from excellence they no longer have a capability for such things? Are they just rats like you are, but with more advanced abilities? Or are they near the grace of the idea of God? Why does this crimson river drive them so? Do you even know? Do you even care?

No.

See

The mess you made and so much little time to clean it all up! Maybe burning you with these sheets is a good idea after all.

Then again, even as I have predetermined such sheets as expendable, I find them more valuable than you are in your current state of declination toward the useless and mundane.

You see – power is what I am and what you are not. You see – necessary is what I am and what you are not. You see – alive is what I am and what you are not.

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