Zena, Horror author inspiration Oneshots

Vampire and the priest

The corridor, dark and silent, through the cold night of winter, yet sharp breathes and rustling of moments echoed through one room, the vampires bedroom.

he remains seated in his lavish velvet chair, the crimson red fabric sinking under the weight of his body, he had always liked the softness of it, it reminded him so much so of his dear priest, the one so hellbent on casting him out from his gods sanctuary. leaning back, the vampire takes a lazy gulp of his blood red wine, glancing out of the window and into the brisk cold night of winter, his mind can't help but wander back to that face, the one he loves so dearly, if you could call it that, hes lived centuries, far beyond what a normal life could entail.

He softly places down his wine glass with a soft thud, and leans back in his seat, his hand drifting lower, down past his chest, then to his stomach, and finally, his belt. As his hands wander his own body, his mind fills of his dear priest, images flashing every thought, oh how he'd love to get his hands on him. . .

Undoing his belt, the vampire lifts his hips and pushes the fabric down, it clinks and ruffles under his touch, the fabric comes down easy. He sinks back into the chair, his head falling to his left shoulder as he glances at the bottle of holy water left behind, he recalls that fond memory, the cursing of his dear priest, how his vile words churned his stomach with feelings he hadn't felt in centuries. after a moment, he grabs it without a second thought, mulling the idea over in his head, thousands of times, carefully considering his options before giving into his temptations.

the water burns his hands, sizzling and vapor forming from his hands, he hisses, then wraps his hand around his member, savoring the way his flesh stings, and how it reminds him of every harsh word. his hand moves slow at first, savory, experimentally before it starts to pick up pace, applying more and more holy water as his thoughts run rampant. That very feeling, one so foreign to him, yet so. . . delicious. He savors every second, his breath coming out in ragged gasps, mixing with the sizzling and burning of his skin.

those thoughts turn and spiral in his head, that priest. . . His. priest. he imagines him, riding him while he curses and prays for that feigning forgiveness from a god, whom would not heed his pleas. his hand speeds up, his body arching off the chair as his breath catches in his throat, he's painfully hard, that pain, mixing with this foreign bliss, each gasp, each breath, sharp, pained yet pleasured.

He grasps around each vein, his hand sliding up, then sinking back down harshly, drenched in holy water, blood trickling between his fingers, down into the crevices of his thighs, then the fabric of the chair, each spark of sensation, sending a fresh new jolt of euphoria through his member, sparking new thoughts. oh how he wishes he could lie that preast down, making him take each and every inch, painfully slow, all while begging that feeble god of his for forgiveness. That delicious sin, painted across his face, etched into the very features of his eyes, a sight meant only for him to see.

A sharp breathes rips through his throat as his hips jolt up, his fingers squeeze the burning skin and he cums, harder then hes ever imagined he could, his white mixture, tainted with blood, seeps through his fingers, down onto his thighs, throbbin in his very own hand, slowing the pace of his movements, his muscles screaming at him to stop, every ache, until finally, he lets go.

His breath, ragged and harsh, and his aching body, slumping back fully, to rest in the chair. after a minute of the aftershocks, he finally looks down to his own mess, blood mixes with his semen, coating his fingers, his stomach and finally his thighs below, he cant help but chuckle, all that mess, just for his beloved priest, oh how he wishes he could see the mess he made, how he came undone just at the thought of him. It's only then he cleans what he could up, a soft cloth against his burnt skin, his body screaming in pain, yet he moves almost meticulously, careful to not damage what had already been done.

He redresses, pulling his black dress pants back up, and redoing that leather belt, then sinking down into the seat, he'll show his beloved another day, but for now, he cherishes the new feelings thats arisen inside him, yet his mind doesnt calm, those thoughts, run rampage in his mind, consuming any and all others, yet he doesnt mind, not one bit. Lazily, he lifts his wine glass to his lips and takes a slow, appreciative sip, the red wine tastes like velvet on his tongue, yet not quite the same as blood once had, he'll get what he wants another day, but for now, he plans his encounter with his beloved, and how he'll have him next time.