A Vampire for My Birthday

by Severusmax

Caution: This Mind Control Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, Consensual, Mind Control, Magic, Heterosexual, Vampires, Cheating, .

Desc: Mind Control Sex Story: Jack Ripley's birthday is Halloween, and believe it or not, he just got a brand new vampire as a present, along with immortality and a few other perks. What will his estranged girlfriend make of that?

I had just gotten into one hell of a fight with my live-in girlfriend of two weeks, Lizzie, so I definitely needed a distraction, and Uncle Ray’s Halloween/birthday bash that he had thrown to celebrate my “spooky” birthday was just what the doctor ordered. Being the birthday boy, I considered two obvious choices, Michael Myers and Jason Vorhees, but settled on Jason because a hockey mask seemed to fit my nasty mood. Typically for her, Lizzie had declined to go because she was still steamed at me, and I honestly thought that she intended to forget my birthday. However, that was okay, because I intended to crash at Uncle Ray’s after the festivities instead of going home to her in such a drunken state.

I should perhaps, at this point explain that “Uncle Ray,” wasn’t my blood uncle. He was just an older, divorced man who liked to host wild parties for younger folks in order to lure young women into his bed. Well, that was one way to get some pussy, and I couldn’t argue with his methods: they worked. By the end of the night, he usually got some action. He also let the boys and girls crash at his place rather than risk DUIs the same nights. The rule of thumb was that you could fall asleep anywhere in his house, but you had to go home when you got up, unless, of course, you had slept with him during or after the bash.

Well, this particular evening, I drank more than my fill, and I was in a truly rough mood, so I planned to cheat on Lizzie for revenge for her picking that fight. That was usually my style, to wait until I was really steamed at a girl, and only then cheat on her. Women do that shit all the time, so if you want to call me a dick, look in the mirror, ladies. Those who live in glass houses shouldn’t throw stones, right?

I did that for two reasons: one, I could call it a penalty of sorts for whatever offense the lady in question committed against me ... you pick a fight, you get cheated on ... fair’s fair; two, when I was that pissed-off, I was usually on the fence about staying together, anyway. Why wait until after I dump the girl to find out how others are like? Women test the waters before diving in ... why shouldn’t guys? Again, hypocrisy doesn’t look good on you gals.

On this occasion, the reason for the fight was simple: Lizzie wanted to know if there was any hope of marriage, and I had bluntly told her “no.” I wasn’t about to deal with licenses, lawyers, divorce and all that entailed, and a formal status that unfairly stacked the deck against men. I told her exactly why I wasn’t interested in marriage, saying that if we broke up, it should be our business, not the government’s, and certainly shouldn’t come with a steep price tag.

To be honest, I wasn’t really cut out for monogamy, but I liked having a steady girlfriend, and telling people upfront that you’re poly seemed to always be a dealbreaker, so I would wait for the inevitable fight, and then blow off some steam by going to a party and banging someone who didn’t want a relationship any more than I did. These girlfriends were just stand-ins for the future lovers, I kept telling myself, not intending to stay with them forever. They were to kill time, enjoy myself, and keep my relationship skills from getting too rusty. Given Lizzie’s increasingly obvious attachment to social conventions and such, she was no more likely to be one of those partners than her predecessors.

I was in the middle of drinking a bit of bourbon and Coke and smoking a doobie (another issue with Lizzie, as she didn’t like my fondness for weed) when this really sexy Goth with jet-black hair and rather long legs, who reminded me a bit of Eva Green, simply, unceremoniously, planted herself on my lap and pulled up her leather skirt to grind her bare pussy against my crotch. Her juices soaked my pants right in that area as she rubbed against me, as if to get her scent on me, and she didn’t stop there.

Before I knew it, my pants were down to my knees and this woman that I had never met before in my life was riding me cowgirl-style in the armchair, her sweet twat taking me as far inside her as I could go. She was kissing my neck feverishly, too, and that was certainly more attention than Lizzie had ever given to that part of me. I lay down my drink and joint because I couldn’t do them justice while this stranger used me that way. It was clear, undeniable, animal lust, raw, vital, primal, and carnal, as she took me for her own pleasure as well as mine.

I was on another plane of existence as I made out with the strange Goth lady, my hockey mask still on, while her makeup hid her identity well enough for me, when I felt a sudden, sharp pain in my neck, as if tiny daggers had entered my carotid artery and drawn serious blood. I should have no longer been erect, but in spite of the agony, my cock stayed at full mast and she kept riding me even as she sucked out my life force. I was stunned by the sheer amount of blood that she was taking from me, as well as from the pain joined to pleasure, even as her body joined itself to mine.

It wasn’t until she stopped that I looked her in the eyes, saw the blood that she licked away from her lips, saw the two fangs still dripping my blood inside her mouth, and then saw her eyes change color from blue to red. I knew that that she wasn’t simply a sick, twisted woman with a blood kink ... she was the real thing. She was actually Nosferatu, the undead, a creature of the night.

I should felt dead, but I felt more alive than ever. I should have felt rage, but instead, my lust overcame me, as I spilled my seed inside this strange woman, and she smiled at me before baring her own neck to my teeth ... No, wait ... did I actually ... have fangs? Part of me now seemed to be outside of myself, as I bit this lady who had already bitten me, as my teeth entered her veins and drew from her spirit as she had from mine. I drank from her fountain of youth, as she drank from mine. She didn’t resist ... she welcomed it. She invited me to drink deeply from her body, to take in her wild, primeval essence and magic.

I knew then what had happened ... the transformation had begun, and it wasn’t gradual at all ... The movies had gotten that right, at least. To be bitten was somehow connected to being turned, and I had been turned. I was Nosferatu myself now. I was the undead. I was a vampire. The next thing that I realized was that I was no longer drunk or stoned. I never would be again. To be one of us was to be fully alert, more awake and cognizant of the world around us than mere mortals ever could be.

I looked into her eyes and started to ask questions, but she put her finger to my lips and whispered, “To drink is not to turn, but to drink while mating is to share the gift of eternity. The fountain of youth lives inside our veins.”

I gulped as I realized the implications ... She meant that if she had just bitten me, I would have probably died from loss of blood, been another of her victims. Because she had bitten me during sex, we had fully joined, my soul had melted away as our flesh became one, and I had turned into a creature of the night. I felt a sudden gratitude, strangely enough, sitting there as a newly rejuvenated demon in a room full of partying friends and acquaintances blissfully ignorant of things.

“I ... thank you, but I don’t even know your name. Mine is... ,” I started to say, but she again put her finger to my lips.

“You’re Jason. That’s all I need to know for now. Our kind doesn’t marry or practice monogamy. At least not usually. You probably have a woman at home, though, and if you wish to turn her, by all means, do so. When I saw you, I knew that you were perfect for this. The kind of man who chafes at the stupid rules of mortal society. Why be a lamb when you can be a lion? Why be a cow when you can be a wolf? You’re better than them.

“It’s true, what they say of us. We never grow old. We never die. But we do breed ... and you have made one of us inside me just now. I adore you for that. Also know this ... I’m yours. Forever. Whatever you do with the mortal girl, I don’t care. I’m yours. To fuck. To bite. To kiss. To breed. Jealousy is such a human vice. Our kind has no use for it. You cannot catch a disease. You will have strength, vitality, and stamina like you had never known.

“Why would I care what you do with lesser creatures, anyway? Or even with another of our kind. I’m yours. I’m the one that turned you. You’re the one that made me want to turn you. You are now my master. Yes, that’s what you are to me now. I have not turned a man for a very long time, because to be with a male of our kind is to belong to him. I had to find a man worthy of being more than just sustenance, more than just a source of nourishment. Most men, I drink them or fuck them, but I don’t do both. Depends on my needs.

“To do what I did with you was to know in advance what it meant for me ... eternal bondage to you. I took your soul, but I’ve given you my freedom. I am yours. You own me. Now, you need only claim me, bind me to you with the Collar. When a female of our kind wears a male’s collar, she is his ... forever. Unless he is dusted as my previous master was, centuries ago, she belongs to him for eternity. Always his. Always enslaved to him.

.... There is more of this story ...

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Story tagged with:
Ma/Fa / Consensual / Mind Control / Magic / Heterosexual / Vampires / Cheating /