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theegyal · 5 days ago

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⛧ 𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝕸𝖔𝖔𝖗𝖊 𝕰𝖘𝖙𝖆𝖙𝖊 +18,

ℭ𝔥𝔞𝔭𝔱𝔢𝔯 𝟷 : 𝔉𝔦𝔯𝔰𝔱 𝔅𝔦𝔱𝔢 ⛧ ⛧

Vampire Lore, Blood Kink, Feeding

╭────── · · ୨୧ · · ──────╮

╰────── · · ୨୧ · · ──────╯

“𝑇𝘩𝑒 𝑗𝑜𝑏 𝑝𝑎𝑦𝑠 𝑑𝑜𝑢𝑏𝑙𝑒, 𝑓𝑢𝑙𝑙 𝑟𝑜𝑜𝑚 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑏𝑜𝑎𝑟𝑑. 𝑅𝑒𝑚𝑜𝑡𝑒 𝑒𝑠𝑡𝑎𝑡𝑒 𝑜𝑢𝑡𝑠𝑖𝑑𝑒 𝑡𝑜𝑤𝑛. 𝑂𝑤𝑛𝑒𝑟𝑠 𝑎𝑟𝑒 𝑝𝑟𝑖𝑣𝑎𝑡𝑒. 𝐷𝑜𝑛’𝑡 𝑎𝑠𝑘 𝑡𝑜𝑜 𝑚𝑎𝑛𝑦 𝑞𝑢𝑒𝑠𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛𝑠.”

That’s what her manager said. And Annie, broke and tired of couch-hopping, said yes.

The gas light had been on for the last twenty miles—an angry orange eye mirroring the panic twisting in her gut. This job wasn’t a choice— she never had one to begin with—. It was the final rung on a ladder she was sliding off.

She gripped the worn steering wheel, knuckles pale against her darker complexion, coaxing her sputtering Honda up the last stretch of the winding, private road.

Giant trees, dressed with moss, clawed at the sky. Their branches knotted overhead, forming a suffocating canopy that swallowed what was left of the afternoon light. Mist curled low across the road, swirling like restless spirits around the tires. The address from the agency didn’t feel like a location, more like a warning.

𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙼𝚘𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝙴𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚝𝚎.

Pray the Lord. Even the name sounded cursed.

╭────── · · ୨୧ · · ──────╮

╰────── · · ୨୧ · · ──────╯

After a while, she finally found the mansion. It didn’t sit on the land, one could argues that if ruled it. A gothic building of black stone and sharp angles that drank the light from the twilight sky. She thought, this wasn’t a home, it was tombstone. Cold, imposing, and ancient — she only saw these kind of architecture in 1920-1930s documentaries.

Annie parked on the gravel, the engine dying with a grateful shudder. For a long moment, she sat still. The driver’s side door felt like a flimsy barrier against the oppressive silence pressing in from all sides. She took a breath, pushed it open, and stepped into the anxious quiet. Her flat shoes crunched against the ground—loud in the stillness.

She was halfway to the massive doors when one swung open without a sound.

A man stood in the doorway.

He was tall, dressed in a black and deep blue suit, so tailored it looked sculpted. His face was a study in sharp, aristocratic precision, like it had been carved from marble. He had a brown complexion that appeared to have absorbed the dawn lights. Magnificent, yes— The man was handsome, charming with an eerie aura.

He didn’t move. He didn’t blink.

“Annelise Franc,” he asserted.

“Annie is fine,” she replied, her voice icy despite the quickening beat of her heart.

She was used to being looked at—her full frame, her darker complexion often drew unwanted and undesirable attention—but this wasn’t that. This wasn’t curiosity. It was analysis, plain scanning.

“I’m Elijah Smoke Moore,” he sliced before stepping aside. “You are punctual. I expect that to continue.”

She crossed the threshold into cold air that smelled of beeswax, old paper, and something faintly metallic—like cold coin.

The house was cavernous. A grand staircase swept upward into shadow. Every surface gleamed—from the polished marble floors to the gilded frames of portraits —people dancing in a seemingly jukebox joint— that watched her with faded, judgmental eyes.

Elijah’s presence hovered behind her like a specter.

“Your duties are straightforward,” he stated. “Cleaning. Cooking. And you will remain unseen unless summoned. Your quarters are in the east wing. This is a large house. Do not get lost.”

Heat flared low in her belly. Not fear but defiance. She clenched her fists at her sides, a reflex she’d had since childhood.

“I work for you. I understand the terms.”

His lips tilted—something between a smirk and a threatening grin, not quite a smile. In fact, his curling lips lean more close to a baring of teeth.

“Good.”

His deep brown eyes dipped to the pulse in her throat, and his body went rigid in a way that made the hair on her neck rise.

“That won’t be a problem… will it, Annie?”

Before she could answer, another voice drifted into the hall. Smooth and rich.

“Elijah, you’ll frighten her before she's even had a chance to unpack.”

Another man appeared at the top of the stairs, leaning against the balustrade.

The same face. The same aristocratic grandeur. But where Elijah was ice, this one was more melted ?

He wore a red silk robe, open at the chest, and his posture was one of languid, serpentine grace. A predatory smile played on his lips as his eyes drove over Annie’s body with a leisurely, appreciative caress that was far more invasive than his brother’s cold assessment.

"Don't mind my brother," he declared, descending the stairs with an incubus ease. "He lacks… finesse. I am Elias."

He stopped in front of her, just close enough for his body coldness to kiss her skin.

“It’s a pleasure to have you here, Annelise.”

“Annie,” she corrected again, jaw tight. These twins were truly testing her patience.

“Of course. Annie.”Elias repeated, his grin widening.

He saw her clenched fists and his gaze lingered on them. "So tightly wound. We'll have to do something about that."

Elijah's eyes were fixed on his brother. A silent, unreadable warning passing between them.

"Guide the lady to her room."

The command was for Elias, but it felt directed at Annie. A dismissal.

Elias gave a grotesque sigh and gestured for Annie to catch his steps.

As he led her through silent, echoing hallways, she couldn't shake the feeling of being a mouse led into a maze by two very patient, very beautiful yet deadly cats.

Her room was clean, sparse, and gelid — If only she had brought more sweaters.

After Elias left her with a final, lingering stare, she locked the door, the sound of the bolt clicking home doing little to soothe her frayed nerves. She unpacked mechanically, her mind racing. The money was good. Life-changing, even. She just had to survive the employers. She just had to keep her head down and her fists unclenched.

That night, sleeping was impossible. The old house groaned around her, the sighing of the wind becoming its only breath. But then, just as she was drifting off, another noise reached her.

It came from afar, above the ceiling, from what she assumed were located one of the master suites.

The sound was feeble, guttural. A growl, vibrating with a primal rage that made the fine hairs on her arms stand on end. It was followed by a sharp, tearing sound, and then a long, shuddering moan.

It wasn't lamentation. It was too ragged with terrifying hiccups. Annie sat bolt upright in bed, her body freezing. Her heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic drumbeat in the sudden, crushing quietude. Whatever was happening in the room upstair was not human.

╭────── · · ୨୧ · · ──────╮

╰────── · · ୨୧ · · ──────╯

The morning unfurled with a kind of weary menace, as if dawn itself were reluctant to brush its pallid hand across the windows of the Moore Estate. Outside, the mist still clinging like a creature unwilling to let go, and inside, shadows crept lazily along the edges of the high ceilings, daring and scaring.

Annie rose before the house did. Her sleep had been fractured—haunted by strange dreams that bore teeth, by the muffled echoes of the noises she’d heard. However she planned to not ask questions. Her manager had warned her to avoid curiosity.

She washed her face with cold water in a porcelain basin, her reflection wavy and uncertain in the tarnished mirror above it. Her fingers were shaking as she tied the apron over her maid’s uniform, the fabric snug over her hips and bosom. The cotton hugged too tight. Or perhaps her breath was just too shallow.

In the kitchen, she moved with her muscle memory, chopping, cracking, whisking. The scent of eggs and butter filled the space, rich and earthy, grounding. She placed everything on a silver serving cart—eggs poached in cream, crispy bacon, vegetables, sliced French breads, jar of hot milk—and wheeled it into the dining room, where the windows were tall and uncurtained, and yet no light penetrated.

The twins were already seated.

Elijah dressed in charcoal morning coat, hands folded neatly on the table like a priest preparing to bless the wine. Elias draped across his chair with a languid elegance that bordered on indecency.

Neither of them spoke as she laid the plates before them. Elijah’s eyes followed her movements without blinking, but he didn’t lift a fork.

It was Elias who broke the silence. Without looking up, he lifted a fork and examined the creamy eggs and bacon with a studied sort of disappointment.

“Your hands are skilled,” he murmured. “But your imagination remains… tame.”

Annie gripped on her apron. Not sure how to dissect the twin’s words.

“Make the meal red, next time” Elijah added, stood up and disappeared in the corridors.

“Haha. Don’t mind him. Annelise.”

Elias was provoking her. Her name was not so complicated to say. And it was definitely not Annelise

“You must understand darling” He uttered poking at the foamy egg “red is the color of sincerity. And my brother and I…” He stood up too, following the same path as his twin “…We starving for honesty…since yesterday”

Good. Cryptic messages to uncover now.

Resting his palm on the dinner room’s potent entry, he grazed his eyes on her, following the curve of her hips. His tongue pressed against the inside of his cheek, and his fingers drummed against wooden-hard door.

“Do wear that again,” he praised. “The uniform flatters you. The seams… strain in all the right places.”

╭────── · · ୨୧ · · ──────╮

╰────── · · ୨୧ · · ──────╯

Later that day, she found herself in the west wing’s library—a cathedral of forgotten wisdom. The books that smelled of leather and centuries gave her comfort, a semblance of normality. She had only been her for a single day but the peculiar behavior of the men in this house made her obsidian skin crawl. The library looked at least a bit more like her usual scenery, dust lingered in the corners, and old tapestries hung slack on the walls.

She climbed on a rolling ladder to reach a high shelf. Her thick thighs flexed against the fabric of the uniform. The skirt rode up slightly, dangerously, totally unnoticed by her. She had begun to hum a hymn to herself when a voice split the placidity.

“You have no idea what you do to men like us.”

She turned, startled—and nearly fell from the ladder.

Elias stood below, looking up between her parted thighs, at the sweat drenched blue panties that hide her meaty button and —for now— forbidden flower.

He was wearing a suit this time. Shirt open,exposing a honey pecan chest that looked carved from amber.

The man didn’t offer her an hand neither asking her to come down.

His tongue dragged along his bottom lip, dilatory, as if he was tasting the air she’d just sweetened.

“Oh dear, you’re marinating up there, aren’t you?”

The young maid flushed, gripped the sides of the ladder, panic blooming. Black Jesus, she was only sweating ! Why this man up there arguing wrongly?

Annie breath hitched. She tried to descend from her heights and fix her skirt but it only made matters worse. The cotton clung tighter. The fabric whistled against her, bunched along the seam of her swollen lips. She hadn’t realized how damp she’d become until the cold air of the library kissed through it.

Annie managed to hide her embarrassment and crawled back on the dusty library grounds.

“Mr Moore I’m—” she began her explanation.

“What dear Annie ? ” he interrupted, spelling her name right this time with his velvet-wrapped venomous tone. “You’re not tempting the pimp? Not inviting this?”

“I was working, the shelves are dusty…” She aimed to be fierce, but her words came strangled.

“Oh but darling, you’re serving. Just not the way you’d imagine” He answered, undressing her with a primitive glare.

Elias’ eyes fell onto her fat thighs, shining with her feminine sweat, smelling obscenity and wickedness.

He drove up his gaze, glancing quietly at her features, her pouty lips, her clean neck…

From his standpoint he could hear the hard and fast rhythm of her heartbeat, the unnatural way her blood speeding in her veins.

He didn’t move. He never needed to. His pupils dilated, swallowing the brown until they were twin pools of black pearls, deep and without reflection.

Annie’s world tilted on its axis. The rows of books bled into one another, the spines melting like wax. Her breath caught in her throat—not from fear, exactly, but something coiling between dark pleasure and dangerousness.

Her defiance evaporated, leaving behind a hollow, echoing compliance.

“That’s it,” Elias whispered, his voice slithering directly into the core of her mind. “Let go for me.”

Her body went limp. The tension in her shoulders vanished instantly. He guided her fall. He was acting as a puppeteer loosening the strings just enough for her to tumble backward onto the heavy oak of the reading table.

When her voluptuous backside hit the frozen platform, her body immediately flushed with conflicting sensations—wrong, unfamiliar, thrilling.

He loomed over her, his silhouette devouring what little light the library still held. The scent of leather and old pages mingled with something coppery and wild that fluctuated off of him in waves.

His mouth slid down but not for her lips. His wet tongue, traced the frantic pulse at her throat. She unconsciously gasped at the contact, while shame burnt her stomach.

His tongue continued its cruel path up the column of her neck, leaving behind a chill that made her nipples ache against the rough fabric of her uniform.

“I did taste a lot of virgins, no single soul thumping like you do, precious lamb”

He ignored her breasts entirely, bypassing them like a chef choosing not to spoil his hunger with appetizers. That, somehow, was worse. Or better. She couldn’t decide. The ache between her thighs throbbed, unwanted and undeniable.

“Lift your skirt”

She obeyed, her own hands betrayed her will, gathering the hem of her skirt. They bunched the heavy cotton at her waist, exposing the roundness of her stomach,her fleshy pussy clothed in a plain blue panties already soaked with her sweat.

“Wider,” he purred, his gaze hungry.

Her thighs spread out with a malice and obedience that was horrifyingly separate from her own willingness. They opened for him, offering her sensitive sanctuary.

Elias knelt between her parted legs, drooling like a priest before a sacred altar. His eyes glittered with a gloomy reverence. He inhaled the smell of her cunt through his nose, slowly and savoring.

“You appear to love this,” he whispered mockingly, saliva seeping from his mouth “A second and I would believe that you broke my control”

He did not rip the fabric. That was not his purpose. Not today.

He puffed his breath against the damp blue cotton cloth,trailed his watery tongue against the sensitive ridge of her clit right through the drawer’s barrier.

Next instant was followed by the barest, sharpest pressure of his fangs scraping over her swollen nub. The sting made her hips buck against the table, her tits milking beneath her uniform, her inner walls fluttering, bottom hole tightening. Heaven forbid, her whole body’s temperature risen.

“Annelise Franc, you’re so thick everywhere.” He groaned, his voice moist and grumpy, close to her button “Unfortunately I got no interest of going there”

He left her clit abruptly —ignoring her faint shudder — and he shifted his attention, nosing along the plump curve of her inner thigh where the flesh was softest.

He inhaled perversely, drinking in the intoxicating heat of her skin and the iron, metallic sweetness of her blood. His fangs sank violently, promising exquisite pleasure and unbearable pain.

The first taste hit him like a drug, her blood was thicken with her arousal.

He drank decadently, the smell of her sweaty intimacy distracting him from his duty.

His tongue slammed against the puncture, lapping at the welling blood with strokes, savoring the way it bloomed anew with every beat of her heart.

“O positive” He stated “I might become addicted, Annie”

The bite ignited her with a white-hot surge that exploded through her nerves and set every inch of her body on fire. Annie was swallowed by a spreading, dizzying pleasure.

A growl announced the time out. Feeding time came to end. The younger Moore straightened up, licking the crimson liquid on his lips then leaned closer to the maid.

“Listen carefully. The room was stuffy. You felt faint and leaned against this table to steady yourself. You have a small, clumsy bruise on your leg. Nothing more.” He brushed her ear with his hot mouth “I won’t prevent you from dreaming about our recreative moment though”

𝓣𝓪𝓰 𝓛𝓲𝓼𝓽 :

@ultralspblr , @brownskincheyenne , @numb1smokeanniestan , @shamansha @tamagotchibra , @girlsneedlovingfanfics , @lizbehave , @underated345-blog @wakandamama @prettypinkprincess29 @katezy2x

#sinners #smoke x annie #annie x elijah #annie sinners #elias stack moore #fanfiction #smoke sinners #stack x annie #smut sinners #smut #vampire lore #dark romance

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theegyal · 5 days ago

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⛧ 𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝕸𝖔𝖔𝖗𝖊 𝕰𝖘𝖙𝖆𝖙𝖊 +18,

ℭ𝔥𝔞𝔭𝔱𝔢𝔯 𝟸 : 𝔗𝔥𝔢 ℜ𝔦𝔱𝔲𝔞𝔩

warning : Soft gore, voyeurism, domination, implicit murder, smut, vampire lore

When she came back to herself, the first thing Annie registered was the grain of the wood pressing into her back. The second was the dull, pervasive ache in her legs. She blinked, the dim library lights swimming in her vision like hazy, distant stars. She was lying on the long reading table, her woolen skirt rucked up around her hips. A disoriented, dreamlike fog clinging to her syrupy thoughts.

Her panties were still damp. Her inner thighs were sore, tender in a way that made a flush of heat crawl up her neck. She didn’t remember falling asleep, didn’t remember climbing onto the table.

The last thing she recalled was organizing the upper shelves—then… what? Coldness. A voice. Something slick and velvet clicking her psyche. But it slipped from her brain like water through cupped hands.

A specific sting drew her attention. She sat up, her head spinning, and lifted the hem of her skirt. There, on the deep brown skin of her inner thigh, were two precise crimson punctures, already beginning to swell. “Damn mosquitos,” she cursed, her voice raspy. “Little bastards. Hope you choked on it.”

Still, something about it didn’t sit right. There was no swelling. No itch. Annie was used to mosquitoes especially the ones in the south and if she had to compare, these ones seemed pretty inoffensive.

As she slid off the table, her legs shaking slightly, her eyes caught a faint, rusty smear on the polished mahogany. Without a second thought, she grabbed the corner of her apron and wiped it away, the motion quick and furtive, an instinct to erase evidence she didn’t understand.

Then she left—because if she lingered a second longer, she’d start asking questions.

And questions, she’d been told, were a very bad idea.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

In one of the north-wing offices, Elijah stood in staring into the hearth long after the fire had died. His suit was immaculate, his collar starched to quiet perfection, but his fingers flexed restlessly behind his back. Outside, the dusk dripped in like spilled ink across the tall windows. The air in the estate held a tension he couldn’t name yet—but he felt it.

The door creaked open. He didn’t need to turn to capture the presence of his twin.

Elias sauntered in, barefoot, he sprawled on a burgundy armchair, seizing the glass of red-not wine placed on the crystal table next to him. He swirled it, watching the viscous fluid cling to the glass and sipped it.

“Elijah,” Elias sang, the name curling like smoke. “You always find the most boring rooms to sulk in.”

“I wasn’t aware I needed to be entertained.”

“Hmm. You need to hunt,” Elias said, circling the armchair “Or perhaps a new toy to play with”

That earned Elias a flicker. Elijah turned slightly, his gaze sharp and narrow. “Get to the point.”

“I sampled the maid,” He said casually, like one might mention a new wine.

Elijah didn’t respond. He wasn’t surprised. His younger brother had always been reckless. He was the main reason no maid could stay longer than months. Elijah was tired of scolding that fucker.

“She was humming in the library,” Elias continued, “skirts bunched high, her big thighs glistening with nervous sweat. She looked pleased, certainly too much.”

“She’s not my type,” Elijah affirmed,lifting his long fingers up to shut his brother up, forbidding him to continue with nonsense.

Moreover, he did tell the truths. This woman, as much as beautiful she was, didn’t meet the criteria to stir his interest.

“Mmm. That’s what I thought. Until I tasted her.” Elias totally ignored his brother dismissal and continued.

This confession made Elijah’s gaze shift—barely. A side-glance, knife-thin and unreadable. Not that he wasn’t used of his brother little recreative activities but the dandy never felt the need to share stories of his degeneracy.

Elias lips twisted wider. “She’s a virgin.”

The fire cracked. That new information sparked Elijah interest.

1666 years without devouring anything pure. Virgins were exquisitely rare. They were kind of delicious libation yet their catch was perilous. Even Lord Dracula was never granted the chance to consume one.

And, now, his brother was telling him that such nymph was living in the same mansion as them ?

“You’re very aware to not spit such pleasantries Elias Moore. Are you sure ?” Elijah rose his voice, his lips opening slightly, drool leaking out his lacerating ivory fangs.

“Absolutely.” Elias played with his glass, watching the liquid dance inside. “Trembling. Cautious. Her blood fresh and never shared. It knew only her. She clenched like she’d never been touched before. And when I bit her—”

Elias knew better than swallowing the rest of his words. Elijah didn’t need to know the part of her he had bitten. Especially not now, he was in an ecstatic state.

“—shoulder, I could see her soul pleading release.”

Elijah drifted his gaze to the servants quarters. He closed his eyes after staring minutes long at the opened door then laughed devilishly. His left palm slammed on the right half of his beautiful face, hiding the abyssal color of his eye. His boring life shouted to be more pleasant.

“Ah,” Elias chortled in return. “So now she’s your type.”

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

That night, the Moore Estate felt different. Not louder—never that—but deeper. The sconces along the corridor burned lower than usual, their flames swaying like they were trying to whisper secrets into the halls.

Annie didn’t know where she was walking. She had left the kitchen to “check the linens in the guests wing” or at least that’s what she told herself. Truth was, her body had been restless since dusk, her nerves prickling like they’d been tortured. Her thighs still throbbed with an ache she could not fully explain.

The bath she took earlier had done nothing. Neither had the cocoa butter she’d rubbed on her skin. She’d changed her panties. Twice. But the heat between her legs had refused to cool.

As she carried the stack of folded sheets down the long, shadowed hallway, Elijah emerged from one of the study rooms, tall, poised, wearing a night robe,unbuttoned.

His gaze, usually cold and impersonal, landed on her and stayed. His brown eyes lingered, tracing her form with an unnerving intensity.

Flustered, her heart suddenly hammering against her ribs, pulse stammered in her throat like a guilty secret. Annie pressed herself flat against the wall to let him pass. The damask wallpaper was cool and rough against her back. She didn’t speak. She didn’t dare.

He passed her without acknowledging her further, his stare sufficed. His presence lingered behind him like sage incense.

That gaze. She told herself not to read into it, that he was merely waiting for her to move.

But hours later, in her too-thin bedsheets, Annie was still awake. She still felt the hotness of his eyes and the greasy liquid between her thighs.

Her fingers gripped the sheet tight.

She caught herself wondering—unwillingly—what his mouth might feel like between her ass cheeks, tracing the tight circle of her hole, What his breath might sound like against her spine. If he’d touch her with cruelty or care. The thought alone made her clench.

“Annie Franc ! You here to work ! Don’t piss me off” she threw her hands in air, talking to the ceilings.

Too late, her nipples were already stiff. And her panties drenched, again.

Frustrated she flipped onto her side and squeezed her eyes shut, forcing Morpheus to take her away.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

𝙼𝚘𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝙴𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚝𝚎, 𝟽 : 𝙿𝙼 𓅓

The next evening, the twins had a guest. Annie caught only a glimpse of her through the sheer curtain at the vestibule window—a tall blonde wrapped in fur, lips cherry-red, eyes glossy with invitation. She giggled when Elias took her coat, and leaned in close as he murmured something into her ear. She could tell, even from a distance, what kind of night it was going to be. Aristocratic or not, these twins were men, and surely no different from the crackheads back her neighborhood in the south.

The blonde didn’t seemed confused, she looked happy, satisfied.

“A little slut.” Annie hissed between her teeth, then immediately felt childish for it. Regardless of her not open-minded opinion, that perfect mistress was a guest and her, the maid who was ordered to brew some teas.

She returned to the kitchen, hands shaking slightly as she poured hot water over the steeping jasmine. She balanced the tray with practiced care and moved through the hallway. Her feet slowed as she neared the lounge. The door had been left ajar.

She shouldn’t have looked. But she did.

The blonde woman completely naked was straddling Elias, her thighs spread indecently wide, grinding on him shamelessly.

Her lipstick was smeared halfway across her cheek. She laughed breathlessly as he gripped her breasts, thumbs crushing over her pink nipples. His free hand between her legs, he was playing with her clitoris like an instrument. His cock thrusting inside her vagina came in and out, shining red.

Behind the blonde stood Elijah.

Dressed in an elegant, gentleman suit. He clutched a fistful of her platinum hair, yanking her head back with an unnatural strength, that her spine arched like a breaking bow. His expression was unreadable, blank, focused. He believed in pleasure coming from precision, not mess. At least when he wasn’t starved.

Annie watched, terrified, as Elijah leaned down and sank his lacerating fangs into the woman snowy neck. His butchering ivory teeth penetrated into her throat with a squelching noise, a vicious splash.

The blonde prey’s lamentation turned into libidinous screams as her whole body jolted in orgasm.

A sea of blood poured down her chest, streaming between her boobs.

Elias laughed, delighted. “You always greedy Smoke.”

Smoke ? Such a peculiar nickname.Annie thought.

Elias, bent forward and licked the blood from her sternum, never stopping slamming the woman’s bleeding cunt, his fat cock fully fitting her.

The older twin didn’t stop feeding. He kept drinking liters after liters. The woman broke down. Her eyes rolled blank, white. She was coming again—or maybe dying. Annie couldn’t tell. She didn’t want to know.

Annie’s eyes burned.

The tea tray shook in her hands. Her whole body tensed. Her brown nipples stiffened beneath her clothes. Her mouth watered, inner walls fluttered with insistence. Heat invaded her stomach and butterflies knotted around her throat.

Arousal—shameful, helpless, undeniable—poured into her core like molten syrup. Her thighs pressed together so hard it hurt.

She imagined Elijah feeding on her. Forcing her head back too, clenching at her coiled afro hair. Alongside with Elias, spreading her thick thighs open, jamming recklessly inside her untouched cherry.

Horrendously, Annie got interrupted in her foggy fantasies. Elias looked up directly at the door, at her. She dropped the tray.

It didn’t crash. Her reflexes caught it just in time—but the cup tipped, spilling scalding tea over her wrist. She gasped and stumbled back.

She ran back to the kitchen, where she set the tray down with quavery hands. Her chest rose and fell in ragged bursts.

She’d just seen something impossible. Something vile. Something that made her stomach twist. Something that stirred her need to vomit.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

Thirty two years on this planet and she never witnessed such abomination. Annie washed her burnt wrist in the kitchen sink and ran quickly to her room, locking herself inside.

Annie laid flat on her back, panting like she’d run ten blocks uphill.

She hadn’t even undressed. The wool of her uniform clung to her sparkling ebony skin, the apron still tied askew around her waist. Her panties were full of greasy creamy and translucent fluids—sticky and hot, clinging between her legs like glue.

Her chest rose and fell in jagged bursts. The image wouldn’t leave her—the way the blonde had cried out of ecstasy. Her back arched. Her legs trembling as Elijah’s mouth fastened to her throat. And Elias—laughing, licking blood from her tits, driving his swollen cock inside her.

Annie closed her eyes shut, as if sleeping could help. Duh, obviously it didn’t. The obscenity grew louder, clearer, filthier.

She shoved her hand beneath her skirt. Her fingers found her drenched panties, squelching softly as she caressed herself through the damp fabric. Her clit was erected, swollen, claiming friction. She whimpered and rocked her hips against her own palm, desperate and wet. Definitely too wet. Her semen had already watered down to the crease of her ass.

“Don’t move.”

Elijah fantasied voice, she materialized in her psyche, hit her like a gunshot.

“You wear depravity beautifully dear Annie”

She gasped, fingers pushing the cloth aside, spreading her folds. She was drenched—shamefully so. Her wetness made lascivious, juicy noises as she circled her clit, her breath ragged, hips lifting off the mattress with every stroke.

She imagined his hands spreading her thighs open. His fingers digging into her meaty flesh. His mouth finding her throat, then lower between her legs, his sharp teeth grazing her cunt as she trembled beneath him.

And Elias was there too, sucking her open from behind, chuckling into her ass, tongue lapping at her asshole like it was cream.

Her fingers sped up. Her whole body writhed now, the pleasure cresting too fast, too high, too hard.

“Look at me,” Elijah ordered in her mind. “Don’t close your eyes. I want to watch you fall apart.”

“Fuck,” she whimpered, fingers plunging into herself now—two, knuckles-deep, pumping hard as her thumb slammed her clit.

Her pussy breathed around her fingers, fluttering, convulsing. Her juices gushed down her wrist. Her ass lifted from the bed in wild jerks.

She stared at the ceiling, totally drenched, her sheet wet with juice. Her fingers still buried inside. Her heart racing.

She hated herself.

Hated what she’d seen. Hated how her body had reacted. Hated how much she’d liked it. Unfortunately not enough to regret.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

𝙼𝚘𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝙴𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚝𝚎, 𝟾 : 𝟹𝟶 𝙿𝙼 𓅓

The air smelled sex and tobacco. She sure didn’t smoke but degraded herself to a point she never thought possible.

Annie stood in the sparse bedroom, toweling the last beads of bathwater from her thighs. Her skin still tingled. She didn’t dare look at the sheets behind her. Her mess.

An hour and half had passed since she witnessed the most demonic act she only thought possible in series and edgy teenager’s films.

Her manager forgot to mention that the new clients were vampires. Even spelling their natures felt wrong in her mouth.

Mosquitoes, huh ? She was seeing clearer now. The punctures between her thighs were not insects deeds.

In front of the mirror above the sink, she moved lazily, methodically, as if keeping a routine would cleanse her shame. She buttoned a clean uniform—crisp, pressed, pulled from the wardrobe near the stairs. She tied the apron tight around her waist. Wore a polished pair of black shoes, slicked her coiled hair back in a strict fashioned-bun.

She did everything by the book, respecting the etiquette. Everything excellent, except one detail : she left intentionally her panties on the dresser.

The idea of fabric between her legs, pressing against her lips and over-sensitive clit, made her nauseous. She’d already changed them twice today. No point repeating the cycle. Moreover, the superhumans were pretty occupied with their guest, she surely safe and her coonie could rest from all this debauchery.

Annie crossed the hall to the servants’ wing, slipping through the narrow back corridor that led into the velvet amber kitchen.

Her uniform chafed against her bulky thighs with every movement. The cool air violently brushed her bare intimacy, burning her with a salacious sensation. God—she did feel everything. The beat of her swollen pearl, glide of her wetness and the cling of her folds.

She swallowed hard, trying to ignore the heat pooling low in her belly.

‘Your imagination remains tame’

Wild stance to tell her they preferred eating beings alive. Annie snatched the raw pig meat from the fridge.

‘Not sure they were hungry after what happened hours ago.’ She judged

The animal was still warm, surely died not long ago. Questions burnt her tongue and nerves but she wouldn’t risk her life asking.

And honestly, who could answer her interrogations, she was the only staff in this haunting prison.

Annie wiped her hands on her apron and unsheathed the long knife.

The first slice split the flesh clean. It bled sluggishly across the counter, oozy and syrupy, pooling at the base of the cutting board. Her stomach lurched. The strong odor of iron and musk assaulted her nostrils, nearly tipping her into retching.

She washed the meat under cold water, but it didn’t help. The texture stuck to her fingers. Viscous, gummy. She could feel the sinew split under her palm as she kneaded the salt into the grain, massaging the muscle the way she imagined Elias had worked the blonde’s thighs. Her breath caught. She slammed the pan down harder than necessary.

Butter. Thyme. Garlic. The skillet hissed.

She mashed the potatoes next. Left the skins in. Poured in cream excessively.

By the time the plates were arranged, Annie was ready to settle the supper. She loaded the onerous silver cart with steak, mashed potatoes, hot rolls, dark wine and pushed it into the hallway.

Her sweaty thighs grazed each other with every step dragging along her meaty clit against the harsh seam of her uniform.

She pushed through the grand archway into the dining room. It was a chamber of polished blackness and cold air. The same long mahogany table, gleamed like a black mirror, dominating the space, set for two. The only light came from a candelabra in its center, whose flames threw long, dancing shadows against the walls.

“Even Ms Lolly farm was livelier…” she coughed, melancholic.

Annie bent forward to set the first plate of mashed potatoes, her wide hips shifting beneath the stiff uniform. Her skirt rode up just enough to expose the curve of her lower ass. Her deep brown complexion totally exposed to the haunting walls glare. The faster she finished this the quicker she could return her quarters without confronting the mansion’s masters.

A filter of wind penetrated her gaped cunt, making her flower sing a queefy lullaby.

She persuaded herself that she decided to not wear any drawer to prevent changing them again, however the truth lies somewhere else. A place she couldn’t put foot on yet. A urge to please them—him, a way to conquer his acknowledgement.

The next seconds after she grabbed the platter of bloody steaks — the heat warming her palms—, her own juice leaked, flowing along her thighs, then dropped on the floor in a viscous plop.

The squelch immediately evaporated in the air, that abruptly turned glacial. The atmosphere shifted. All her surroundings stunned, frigid — except for the steamy, burning meat plate she was holding in her bare palms.

Annie’s plush body bounded immediately, tied to the glassy platform of the table. The very air skimmed around her velvet curves, raking up her skirt—higher.

“ I used to ingest bolder courtesans. Must admit none ever dare greasing my floor with their dirty, gushing cunt”

Annie couldn’t move.

Her body was no longer hers—every muscle seized, every nerve humming in brutal suspension. Nonetheless, her arms remained stretched forward, palms searing against the silver cart.

The plate pulsed with an impossible heat. Her palms stung. Then seared.

She tried to pull away but her hands didn’t move. Couldn’t. Her wrists locked, veins taut under the skin, paralyzed by a force she could neither name nor see. She blinked—once, twice—but her arms held stiff. Fire built in her flesh, spreading like molten metal through her nerves.

Then came the smell of her own skin, beginning to cook.

She opened her mouth—to scream, to plead, to moan—but nothing came. Her tongue stayed dumb, her throat frozen mid-breath. Only her eyes moved, wide and wet, flicking desperately around the chamber.

Another huge wave of cold wind came and ferociously spread Annie’s voluptuous thighs, making her sloshing pussy slurped.

“Oh dear, we got a chatty one there.”

No doubt. The older vampire twin was there.

In almost two days she was only used to the tone of Elias, he was the one who speak the most. However, this aura was different. She had seen it with the blonde prey. Elijah never lost himself in teasing.

“P—please” Annie struggled to beg.

Her burning palms completed perfectly with the hot waves inside her belly. Her mouth watered, tongue warm and slick, her tits strained the fabric of her uniform threatening to break free.

One moment the king sized dining chair was empty. The next, Elijah sat—legs crossed, his brown figure carved in stillness at the head of the table, as if he’d always been there.

“Do you fancy pornography Ms Annelise Franc ?” He asserted, lighting his pipe. Ignorant of her squirms, complains.

Elijah drove his predatory stare directly at her. Matching her teary eyes with his deep brown owns.

“I’m s—sorry—please st—stop” Annie was more begging her own body than the monster sitting in front of her.

Agony coupled with degeneracy. Pain lying with lust. The woman felt her labia gaping wide then closing. Her vagina turned into a baker, producing milk and cream. Her bruised bud claiming friction, throbbing with desperate need.

“I do appreciate the profanity in it.”

Charmingly he lifted his right long index, commanding the gloomy atmosphere, submitting the oxygen. When he put the finger down, Annie choked. Deprived of it. No air was filling her lungs, her eyes began to whitening, slowly, drool dripping from her hearty lips.

“ That’s it. You’re so depraved Annelise”

His eyes gleamed with lewdness. River of lava flooded inside him. Lust coiled through him like molten sin, thickening into a brutal ache between his legs—veined, hard, alive with hunger. He hardened with satisfaction of a butcher. His fat penis monstrously fed by her misery, her sobs, the ugly and helpless fluids of her shame.

Fuck. He needed more. He will claim more.

Elijah released the suffocating space allowing the maid to catch a breath.

His gaze slithered to her breasts—fleshy, weighty things that heaved with her every panicked inhale.

His beautiful, honeyed pecan features twisted into a carnivorous smile. His thick lips peeled back, offering his fangs to a barbaric display.

This time, he lifted his left index finger. The room obeyed. A brutal wind slammed against her chest, ripping her uniform.

He religiously watched her huge tits spilling free with a sultry bounce, jiggling, clenching each other — slick from sweat, deep chocolate brown nipples stiff and flushed by fear and excitement. He couldn’t care less about which one was it.

“Sin taste better when it’s pure Annie”

Not Annelise. Not Ms Franc. He abandoned any kind of courtesy.

“I supposed you are, too, another sinner.”

Annie carcass betrayed her consent again with another slurp,wetter than the first one. Her walls fluttered, her pink hole inhaled and exhaled on it own, following a diabolical rhythm. Heavens—! Even her tight anus twitch, craving a stretch.

It because of him

He trapped me

Fuckin bastard

She kept thinking vehemently.

Elijah laughed. Sinister.

“ I didn’t touch you, Ms Annie. Neither did I command your gushing pussy to bark, but she still doing it like a bitch in heat”

The vampire drew his feline fingers, tapping his temple “You own your desires and filth, Annelise. Exactly the same manner you fist your cunt thinking about Elias inside. Or me, devouring you whole”

Annie’s heart skipped a beat. How did he find out ? It’s impossible, they were feeding when—

“Ha. You wished to know, isn’t it Annelise”

She never get the chance to explain or fight back, something shove inside her, painfully, pleasurably.

Impossible, he was still sitting in front of her, puffing on his tobacco.

The invisible thrusts deepened, sharper now—her drenched walls clenching tight around nothing but air. Pain twisted through her gut, tearing her open until she spilled watery semen, rinsing the floor beneath her.

“See ? It was all in your head”

Her temperature back to normal.

The plate carefully placed on the dining table.

Her burnt palms ? Smooth, no trace.

She looked around her : Nobody. Not a faint presence.

She lowered her hands between her thighs. Sweat only.

“ I—I need to get out there”

Tag list :

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Play Disturbia , Rihanna

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