BordeauxBlack
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BB's dirty Dreams (thoughts) April.2 (100k on socials free release!)
🕑 Added 2023-05-01 21:53:57 +0000 UTCInstead of letting this languish on a to-do list unlikely to ever be finished, I'm going to just sit down and write this now. Based on the dream I just woke from.
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War had been the state of things since earlier than I can remember. I was told the day I was born, a scarlet cardinal had been seen nearby, a rare sight in the Darklands.
The continent was wide, rocky, and mostly barren, beyond the forests. Most life grew on the edges of the snowfall, where some tough crops soaked enough to bear life. Stone castles, fortresses and ports made up the bulk of it's infrastructure. I remember playing in the snow outside the temple as a girl... I was never afraid of the cold.
A red mark was lovingly smeared on my forehead the day I was brought into the world. Pure humans were uncommon, but we are a stubborn, thriving species. Fictions romanticize a nation's peoples being solely of one kind; reality rarely bears that out. People like to contact each other. Sing together. Trade. Breed.
But it wasn't my humanity that marked me for my fate, but my eyes. I had green eyes, the colour of the deep woods at dawn. Rare genetic traits were seen as gifts from the Divine; Darklanders were mostly darkly coloured. Raven hair, elegantly extended lashes, dark smiles. Shadows lurking in them. Being born without these shadows permanently cast my lot in life; I was to be a Temple Priestess. I would provide wisdom, solace and comfort to the Royals, the armies, anyone of rank.
My mother was greatly relieved; this meant I could never be bitten. Priestesses led safe, privileged, fleeting lives away from the axe and sword; this further cemented their mythos as rare, beautiful things, allowed to be soft. I knew how lucky I was. It was still terrifying.
The ruling class, the military, the average citizen... vampires. People of vast strength, superior speed, infinite life... if they avoided brutality. But time never touched them, the way it would me. I would be allowed the kindness, growth and good fortune of a natural human lifespan. I was told this would grant me perspective that functional immortals couldn't possess, and as an adult now, I could not more firmly agree. Fangs and predatory sight lead vampires to believe themselves naturally superior, and hubris is the leading cause of death here.
I hug my burgundy and gold silken robes to my pale body; I was not permitted any underpinnings, and I have become hyperaware of how unshielded I am under what could only be called an elegantly draped tapestry. But it's not the cold that makes me shiver.
The temple is beautiful; ceilings elegantly painted in elaborate al frescos depicting the Darklands greatest virtues; will, the creative arts, valour. Things to roam my eyes over, should I chose to lie back. The pillow beneath my rear, the jasmine musk at my collarbone, and the artful way my face has been made up all signify rare indulgence and comfort, an almost sweetly rebellious contrast the steel, ornate armor, elaborate heraldry and harsh, unforgiving natures of the Darklands' chosen. Kindness was a delicacy, and I suppose that's exactly why I am here.
The line of men and women is... longer than I can see. Maybe a hundred? The High Priestess smiles kindly and assures me I have nothing to fear. I smile back briefly, but I was never taught to be anything other than exactly what I am, so I allow myself that mixture of pride, reveling in luxury... and fear. The High Priestess addresses the highest ranking Warlord, starting the ritual, but I cannot hear her.
I can only see him.
The first thing I knew of the Grand Warlord was of conquest; territories gathered and bitterly retained, his martial skill and potent leadership, the mountains of bodies left in his wake. I should have considered his valour a mark of pride, but I never had; destruction and murder went against every life-loving instinct in me. But he was more than beautiful; he was painful to look at. The command with which he carried himself, a dark and sweeping, foreboding presence to outdo ANY other vampire's intimidation. He did not smile, but his eyes lit afire to look at me, a series of sparks I could not name in dark amber eyes, brooding at me from under pitch black hair. He held mastery in every single movement, every choice deliberate. His might and control were unbearable.
I closed my smooth legs instinctively, but not for rejection. My pulse was going far, far too fast. I had been trained to take deep, smooth breaths and keep my heartrate even for their sake, but simply I could not. The predator in him didn't mind at all. I scarcely noticed that the High Priestess had stopped talking, I could only pant and flush as he descended.
He takes my legs apart as though there were no resistance at all, and watches me. My breath turns into a mélange of hitches and gasps as he lowers himself, never shaking his iron-lock gaze, to just above my exposed sex. I could see the barest hint of retracted fangs; even at rest, a vampire's fangs showed themselves as a marker of dignity as easily worn as a family crest. He takes the smallest beat to inhale me, and with the face of a man taking the highest chivalric honour, eyes closed, moved and dignified, sinks his jaw into my folds without apology.
His tongue is brutal; lapping and articulate, but not at all gentle. I choke first, emitting a sound like a captured vixen, then training reminds me to breathe, and I practically sing my moans. Anticipation and erotic fear already had me wet, but this... this I could never have imagined.
I hear his voice in my head.
It is my honour to be bathed and purified in your scent, Priestess. I take you in with pride. Do you surrender to me?
I practically scream- I have no such telepathic speech ability, and wouldn't have remembered how to, if I did. "Yes!!!" Somehow, he delves deeper, and I can feel my honey cascading down his jaw.
Gently, with the barest tinge of visible regret, he withdraws. I feel almost heartbroken. Was that... pain? Was he truly that starved for kindness?
This is a blessing a will never forget. Now rain these charms down upon every member of personal army, that they may know the protection of the Temple and the Divine. Do this not just for the temple, but for me.
His words were so prideful, almost selfish, but even if that hadn't been exactly what I was here to do, I would have obeyed the command.
He took his seat next to me, out of my view, and oversaw the approach of his first General, a bleached blonde androgyne that somehow pierced my foggy gaze. The Warlord did not hold me, but I could feel him near. Lips, fangs and tongue descended, and I gripped the heavy softness of his dress coat.
He forgave the trespass.
They are hungry, Priestess. This blessing is powerful magic and my army is deserving.
I twisted, and knew he could taste my fear on the air, so I didn't bother trying to hide it. Logically I knew none would pierce my flesh, but this was not a place for logic, and I could feel their fangs.
If any should harm you, I'll behead them here and now. Open yourself.
Following his orders was as easy as breathing. It didn't feel like telepathic command; I knew it's sinister velvet in my head very well, but... I couldn't be sure. I had never met a man who commanded the very air around his body with such animalistic grace, let alone took up the entirety of the doorframe with sheer presence.
Knight after knight descended, each gratefully taking their blessings for an extended moment. After perhaps the seventh, I could no longer hold on.
Don't fight us. RELENT.
The next Knight's carnal kiss had me near immediately releasing on his face. When his honey eyes snapped up to mine, in shock and pleasure, I could see him ache with a profound glory. Later, a junior Priestess would fasten a peony to his chest, and the world would know he held particular favour in the eyes of the Divine. And he wouldn't be alone.
Shortly after that first release, I had my first woman.
It was not the first time I had felt the caress of the sex familiar to mine, but I could tell it was hers. Her beautiful brunette hair had been pulled back in a half-up braid, and her eyes darted with unfamiliar intimidation; curious, hungry, but unsure. This, I knew what to do with. I flushed, melted, and further parted my thighs in sweet invitation. I felt it was brazen, but the gesture was met a seduced sort of gratitude. The sweet honey of my blessing was offered without expectation, without complication, without any of the trappings of political or personal favours required- relations between vampires rarely saw intimate gestures given freely. This made me a safehaven, and she thanked me with a zealous curiosity that didn't stay any one place for long.
They were permitted to touch me only in specific places. Only mouths at my flower, but hands could caress my ass and thighs, as long as they remained reverant. This was partly for their safety; sexual frenzy had a way of stirring vampiric hunger, but any act of violation was unlawful heresy and would be met with swift judgement. And this was no purely carnal exchange; this was receiving favours, protections and blessings that would reveal themselves in the battle to come, or even perhaps immediately, should the magic so chose. This was a gift only for the worthy.
For two whole hours they came, beautiful after rugged face, each remarkable in their own way. Mouth after mouth, ride after ride, each only a moment or two. Dozens. Hundreds? I can't remember how many times I came. And all the while, I could hear his voice in my head, seducing me, drawing me deeper, leaving me helpless.
Take them in. TAKE it.
You can't hope to fight it. Wash away their sins, let them drink. Bathe them in their sacrament. COME, sweet peony. You have no choice.
Every time you buck, another of my army gains a bragging right. Reserve it only for the most skilled. Ah, she's that good, is she?
You can take more. Do this for me.
His erection is heavy between his legs, I can hear it pounding. You see how you inspire... ?
Let fears, let past be burned and forgotten. Purify us, Priestess. This, we beg. Surrender your blessing, let none no go hungry. They shall be in AGONY if you do not drench them. Please... feed us well. Yes. Yes, just like that.
Yes. SCREAM. Do it for ME. For my warriors. For ME.
Ah, you feel his fangs grazing you? Does that bring you pleasure? Oh, sweet Priestess, have mercy- your taste for pain could drive him mad. Let it blur, let it blend. Purge each sin and bless each mouth.
Good Girl.
The lapping, prodding, licking, broad strokes, fast strokes, and deep slow ones... I'd forgotten myself completely, and yet I had never been more whole.
A puddle of my own honey wine dripped down below me, and it occurred to me from somewhere far away that each Knight could chose to kneel in it, sainted in a depraved flood of my pleasure. I twitched in erotic overstimulation, realizing only now that my throat was dry.
I'd serviced them all. Each marked with my scent and blessing.
My final thought before blackness took me was of the Warlord's masculine, comforting scent, and prayer for each and every one of them to return safely. Protective zeal flickered in his eyes, and shaking very badly, I reached up to caress his cheek, and a man who could burn worlds didn't dare to breathe.
Comments
Albin
Things like these are among the reasons why the various times you've praised my writing (albeit not narrative) means so much to me.
Well that is unbelievably hot. Worldbuilding and Smut. Two great tastes that are better together!
