Tartura: Destroyer of Innocent Souls
Copyright© 2024 Freya Gersemi. All rights reserved.
Chapter 1
Erotica Sex Story: Chapter 1 - Tartura, an ancient vampire, needs virgin cum to survive. But it’s slowly tearing her apart. Is she evil or just an innocent victim, herself? Turn off the lights, curl up under a warm blanket, and dive into the dark and creepy world of a tortured soul who can’t stop destroying everything that she wraps her blood-red lips around. “A stream of consciousness monologue that reads like a nightmare.” One chapter posted per week. eBook available at Bookapy.
Caution: This Erotica Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Coercion Mind Control Reluctant Heterosexual Fiction Horror Vampires First Oral Sex Halloween
He looks at me, with no hint of fear in his dark eyes. But he has no reason to fear me. If only he knew. But he thinks I’m only joking. You know, with it being October and Halloween-y and all. Humoring me only because he wants to get into my pants, he asks, “So, Debbie, you’re a vampire, huh? How did you become a vampire?”
It’s rare that I divulge what I am to anyone. This is not the first man that I’ve told, but it is the first man in over fifty years. I mean, I can’t very well have a bunch of men running around babbling about a “cum vampire” that sucks guys’ dicks to sustain her everlasting life – there’s absolutely no possibility of me telling that story and having it end up with a happy ending. Anyway, I’m just too tired to move to another city again. I’ve moved enough for dozens of lifetimes.
This guy doesn’t even know what I look like. My name’s not even Debbie.
Curious as to what he does see, I pop into his thoughts, look through his eyes, and see me.
Through his eyes, I’m cute. Blonde. Blue eyes. Huge tits. Boy are they big! I look a lot like his wife. Not in the boob department, though. That’s the one thing he would change about her. The only thing he would change about her, in fact. He thinks she’s “darn near perfect” – those are the exact words in his head – and I’m jealous of the love they share.
Something that I’ll never have.
This is how he wants to see me, so this is what he sees.
Women, on the other hand, see the real me. The real physical me, at least. But they have nothing that I want, so I don’t care if they know what I look like. I’m plain-looking. Far beyond average. Easily forgettable. So forgettable, in fact, that most people look at me and then don’t even realize they saw me. People just gaze right through me.
I’m a phantom.
A lonely phantom.
For some reason, I needed to tell this guy. Maybe I’m looking for some sort of human connection today. I don’t know. I’ve stopped asking why I do some of the random things that I do centuries ago.
I know his name – hell, I know everything about him – I know all of his thoughts – but by not saying, or even thinking, his actual name helps me. It makes what’s about to happen seem less personal.
He’s just a guy to me. Just another guy in a long, steady stream of guys.
Even though I may be able to delude myself into believing that this somehow makes it less personal, it’s still very personal. And painful. For both of us.
Probably worse for him.
“How did I get this way? How did I become... this?” It’s impossible to disguise the disgust in my voice. I sigh. “I don’t know.” Although it’s not a lie, the truth is that I simply don’t really remember. I have an idea. I sometimes get flashes, usually in dreams, but what is a dream anyway? Hope for a better life? If it is, then I have no dreams. I have no hope.
No hope at all.