Vampire Wakes You Up and Confronts You in the Night (Steamy Curse of Strahd) - Part 2

Transcript

Good girl. Then open your mouth. So eager.

I suppose last time I got a taste of you. But you never properly tasted me. Ah, I can see your eyes.

Wandering mercenary. Are they drifting back over to your camp? Are you worried they will find us? As they almost did in the tavern.

Are you worried they might hear the same noises they did that night and piece together the common link of your absence? It doesn't matter if they do. Don't take your eyes off me.

And on the topic of things you should not do just where is your hand wandering? Come on, girl. You are so close to completing my task.

Don't ruin it now by letting your fingers attempt to satisfy that hungry cunt of yours. Ah, oh come now. Don't look up at me with eyes of a pup.

You know what I speak of. Our little deal for your little treasure. It's why that little clit started to drop the moment my voice crept into your dreams.

I did tell you the last time we met that I could sense the blood in your veins. Mercenary. I know when you fear.

I know when you thrill. And I know those lips made for breathing start to demand the attention of your body. Pulsing and clenching.

Building into a scream for release. And I know that build has been rising for a while now. But yet you think this is something you need.

The same way you need water. The same way I need blood. But I'm afraid you're wrong, girl.

This is just a want. You want release. But this isn't a need.

Not yet at least. I plan to bring it there. But it is not yet.

Yet. But I. ..

I do need to release the mercenary. Release from this place. Don't just fucking stop because I speak.

Move your head and your tongue. What do you think this is, a fucking story? You have a task, do you not? An idle mind is a dangerous one, mercenary.

You were taught this as a soldier, no? All those drills and tasks bob your fucking head. Better.

And you wonder why mercenaries are seen as untrustworthy. They are always idle. Always waiting around.

Waiting for the crops to bring them home. For the crown to properly enlist them as a soldier again. A soldier, a knight even.

Where they waiting is viewed in good light. A city must be safe if the knights are at leisure, no? But since your greedy eyes lit up, I will tell you while you suck my cock.

Yes, release. From here. From Barovia.

Do you really think you and your companions are the only ones who wish to leave? In honesty, mercenary, I think it fair to say that I wish to leave more than you. The land is still fresh to your eyes.

It can instill excitement between the fear and the worry. Even if the excitement is just from the dangerous man who visits you to fuck your energy away. By which, of course, I mean myself.

And perhaps you provide me with something fresh and exciting too. Perhaps that is why I come and come again. But the rest of Barovia is a disease.

My personal prison, I think. What makes you think I can leave when you have seen the impossibility of the task? Oh, shut up! If you won't put your mouth to work and seem to care so little about remaining silent, what with your questions, then I would rather hear a different sound coming from them.

You moaned out for me last time, mercenary. But if I break in your other filthy fucking hole, will you cry out, scream for me? You pause, but with the blush of a whore.

You weren't expecting this, were you, girl? But I can see it in your eyes. So tell me, admit to me what I want to hear.

Some little part of your devious heart flutters when you think about your tight-ass hole being stuffed, doesn't it? It's darker, no? Something more taboo, perhaps.

It feels like something you shouldn't admit to openly, when you might else talk about the abuse your tender cunt enjoys. Or perhaps I am wrong, and you would have me avoid it altogether. No? Then get off the fucking ground and turn around for me.

This, this is not your only pair of clothing, correct? No? Good.

Then I will let you keep the top for now. But there's something sweeter about your ass poking out, bearing itself through the cloth. Perhaps for the same reasons I am drawn to the neck, exposed, waiting above the shirt, below the hair.

A target for my mouth. But this target is far bigger. A strike from my fangs might go unnoticed.

A strike from my hands, though. Dear mercenary, you move to cover your mouth. Are you suddenly worried, again, that your friends will wake? Would it not be good if they did? So that one might rise and stand watch in the night, over the camp, now unguarded in your absence.

Would it not be safer if they had heard your cries, came to their senses? Perhaps they would even think you are in danger. Are these whimpers, these whines, not the sound of you being hit, after all? The sound of an attack they should be aware of.

We both know they are not. These are the sounds of an attack. These are the sounds of a whore, reveling in pleasure.

I know it, because they are my favorite. My favorite victim to prey upon. My favorite sound to extract.

Ah! The fact that you are a slap for my touch, even if it does sting, makes me painfully thirsty for you. Ah! Do you have any idea how hot it is to tell a vampire you like the pain? I could fucking bite your neck till the sun comes up and takes me away.

It's infatuating. It is a power you have over me. You wish me to wait? Of course.

I seem to have gotten carried away in the heat. My apologies. But, what a good pet to speak out before her master goes too far.

No wonder you are glowing, ass. I can see you dripping. Leaking.

It looks delicious. A shame I cannot clean it up as much as I might wish to. Why, you ask? Because my pet.

Then I will have fulfilled my part of our deal. I did say you would be free again to touch yourself after the next time I touch your cunt. So I cannot.

Not yet. Not at all. Because as much as I want to, and trust me, I do want to, you would then be free to rob away at that greedy little pussy every waking moment if you wanted to.

And after that, what would make you wait for me ever again? So no, I won't touch it. Oh, come now.

Does that upset you? Would you prefer I stop here and leave you in the woods, free to return to that boring campsite? No? Loudly and pathetically, no.

I would hope not. But mercenary, if your ass is too sore, your cunt is off limits, then tell me, what am I to do with you? Hmm? Oh, you remember again my words from earlier.

This winking little hole sitting above your soaking mess. Do you wish for me to fill your ass? Tell me.

Now tell me again. But my pet mercenary, it's so hot and tender, are you so sure? Then tell me, one more time, what do you need? Hmm, so determined.

Good. I want you to be. With such principle behind those words.

How can I say no? Oh, I moan. Or perhaps you yelp again.

And still, you move your hands down my throat. I'm so sorry. Ah, and still, you move your hands to your mouth.

You don't just want me to be gentle with this hole of yours, do you? You want me to fuck you with an animalistic hunger, do you not? Ah, then you will need those hands to brace yourself against the tree mercenary.

If you are so insistent on not being hurt, then I am afraid you will simply have to make that resolve within. And without the help of any gag or muffle. What? Is your ass still so sore? Of course it is.

I can tell just by looking at it. But maybe it is my cock. No, it's still a bit of a shock even a second time.

I am a vampire mercenary. I do not have my own blood running through my veins to warm my shaft. So instead I have to use friction to bury myself deep in your hole to do that.

Which just means I will have to fuck you all the harder. Though, should I really? You are such an impressive object to behold.

I like to admire my favorite subjects like art. And I enjoy watching the way your eyes look at me. My favorite subjects like art.

And I enjoy watching the way your ass, bare and exposed through the cloth, sore and tender, takes my cock into it. You know, it does always look better after you've been spanked to your limit. Does it not? It makes you feel used.

It makes you look used. There's nothing wrong with wanting to be used. You want to use me, even if you won't acknowledge it, to pleasure your tight little cunt.

To grind deeper into your little asshole. You love looking back, seeing who is doing it. I can tell.

Your eyes haven't even left me. It makes it all the sweeter, doesn't it? And it makes it sweeter still, to know that I am using you for my own pleasure.

That I tell you to stand and to take it.