There is a place within the bowels of every city that only awakens after twilight has subdued the day.  In such places, the mask of civilized propriety has been removed, and primal, selfish impulses rule.  Haunted by criminals, vice-peddlers, fringe types, and the more adventurous, the strong prey upon the weak, prey upon each other, and the law of the jungle prevails.  It was through such a place that I, the strongest predator, walked, intentionally dressed as their prey.

I was a pale goddess, the midnight fog my cloak, strolling through a den of inequity. A silent banshee, mentally wailing, my every footfall prophesied foreboding doom. The dank, musty odor of the decaying city assailed my sensitive nostrils while the underbelly of humanity appraised me, marking me as an easy target. Feigning sweet oblivion, I pantomimed ignorance, projected helpless innocence.

Wearing a white, gauzy, linen dress, my pert breasts bounced, inviting attention with every movement, my nipples on prominent display, easily seen from across the dark street. Pigtails, delicately woven into ropes of fire and bound with white ribbons, gave me a veneer of frail innocence. To prying eyes, I appeared to be in the wrong neighborhood, perhaps lost, as no innocent-looking woman should be merrily walking through the red-light district, blind to her surroundings.

My lack of undergarments was obvious from every vantage. My thighs, silhouetted by the dying streetlamps, my round, firm ass obviously unrestricted by panties, and my lithe figure, revealed through the thin cloth, made me the target of leers, stares, catcalls, and callous propositions from the emboldened and inebriated. I was the perfect mixture of Pollyanna and Jezebel; the only opaque thing on my person was my designer, Chanel purse, idly swinging from my loose grip, an easy target.

The sounds of live music, barely audible to mere mortals, but crisp and clear to my keen ears, wafted through the nefarious city corridor. Jazzy, blue notes mixed with the tribal, booming bass from a distant car, melding with the rhythm of the night’s children. My heightened senses overheard a scuffle in the distance behind me, a woman crying to my far left, and the sounds of frantic, dirty fucking from a window above me. A heroin-chic prostitute with sunken cheekbones, wearing a tasteless, sequined mini dress, was plying the world’s oldest profession a few yards ahead. I drank it all in, reveling in the diorama unfolding around me, noting the footsteps behind me. They had shadowed me for several blocks.

No place may call itself a true city, or even civilized until it meets certain criteria, another of my theories states. High-quality entertainment streaming and internet are two of the requirements. An abundant night-life and ample supply of all-night businesses are also needed. However, without a seedy section, where the base, banal impulses we all share may be unleashed, it is not a truly civilized location. Some places, Amsterdam and Sodom, for example, are renowned for their red-light districts where every vice and kink are catered to. Polite society pretends to ignore these places. Secretly, they are drawn to them just as much as I am drawn to the sensual taste of lust-riddled flesh.

My destination was in sight, a mere block ahead. I wasn’t necessarily seeking a new playmate for the night; I was dress shopping. The place was called Scandalous Lace, a sex toy, lingerie, and sensual clothing shop that rarely closed. The soft, pink, neon sign cast a somehow sickening glow on the sidewalk as it fought for dominance over the jaundiced light from the few working streetlamps. I walked in, nearly laughing at the absurdity of my reflection in the wall mirrors. I looked both innocent and slutty. Who would ever think, glancing at me, that I was a goddess of the hunt, the impassioned queen of the night?

The shop was the standard fare for their wares, soft lighting attempting to add a touch of class to the debauched purposes of their merchandise, with gentle, soothing music to give the perverts, strippers, rare adventurous couples, and hookers a touch of elegance while they shopped for dildos, smut-movies, and slutty clothing. A blond, tattooed stripper, moving with jittery elegance, stopped rifling through the thong bin to stare at me. My lusty smile caused her nipples to harden, her pussy to gush. I could smell her arousal from across the aisle.

A disheveled, pervert type was browsing the adult movie markdown bin. He stank of unwashed sweat and cheap cigars. The attendant, a cute, nerdy-looking college girl, observed me with hungry eyes. My powers of intuition told me that she might, perhaps, be my next playmate.

She was short, very slightly plump, and sexy in a wholesome-girl-seeking-adventure fashion. Fresh tattoos of WICCAN symbols adorned her tanned forearms, an LGBTQ-striped pentacle distended from a silver chain, lovingly nestled between her young breasts. Her gaze never left me as I spied a perfect evening gown and pulled it from the rack.

An unknown treasure of most sex shops is that some of them, this being one, also carry higher-end, sexy clothing. While common knowledge among the high-class strippers and call girls, as well as a few of the sexy elites, such divinely-inspired clothes are typically not associated with seedy porn shops that house masturbation booths in the back.

This dress was perfect for me. The soft, pale green, shimmery fabric, thin yet stretchy enough to mold to my nude body beneath, while opaque enough to only hint at scandal, would look exquisite against my fiery red hair and deathly pale skin. It was backless, open in the rear except for two thin, horizontal straps, with a sweeping cut, low enough to show the beginning of my ass crease. High, dual, front slits allowed for plenty of enticing display, and the plunging neckline would bare my flesh to well below my breasts. The thin wisps of fabric up top were designed to mold to the contours of my breasts, showing off their plump, swollen roundness, and would highlight my eternally hard nipples.

Ignoring the attempt from the stripper to converse with me, I marched, the dress in hand, to the counter.

“I’d like to try this on, if you don’t mind,” I said slowly to the young cashier.

Her breath caught in her throat, and her eyes fixated on my nipples. I knew that she could easily see the shape of my pert breasts, the dark outlines of my areolas and that my proud nipples jutted towards her leering face. I could hear the blood boiling in her veins, her passion for me instantaneous and overpowering. Her breathing became sharp and rapid, her breasts heaving as I let her feel her carnal desires.

“Yes,” she stuttered. “Yes, ma’am.” She fumbled with the security tag, her lusty eyes dancing over me, and threw the device on the counter. “Follow me.”

A haughty glance towards the walking erection that was "grubby pervert-man" instilled the idea that it was time for him to leave. When you’ve been around for a long while, you master the art of nonverbal communication. The brazen stripper openly gazed at me, a predatory stare. I looked her over, the force of my lust, all my desire, behind my stare. Pontificating my horny passion with a languid wetting of my lips, my blood-red tongue promising delight, I gave her a sensual wink and left her to stew in my focused passion. As I turned, she began caressing herself. She was now mine, I knew, if I chose her.

I followed the clerk, Lisa, by her name tag, to the far end of the store. The fitting rooms lined a narrow, run-down hallway, the purple paint peeling from a few places on the walls, a black, scuffed door leading to the adult arcade area at the far end. She handed me the dress, her fingers intentionally making contact with my hand. Her skin felt blazing hot against mine. The spark of her energy moved me to hunger, to thirst, in more ways than one.

“I’ll stay here to make sure you’re not bothered,” she volunteered.

“Thank you. You’re sweet; maybe I’ll take you home and feast on you.”

Once more drawing out my vowels and putting all of my sexual fervor into my voice, I achieved my desired effect. Her entire body shuddered, her nipples making bumps through her layers of clothing, her face flushing crimson. Her rounded, pink tongue licked her lips, her eyes hungrily staring at me. She turned her back to me and walked, as if dazed, to guard the entrance to the hallway. I didn’t need to look back to sense her eyes on my ass. Her entire soul latched onto my essence, begging me to take her.

Entering the somewhat dingy changing room, my linen dress placed over the door as there were no hooks to hang it upon, I shrugged into the alluring, green dress. I rather liked it. The cut hugged my curves as if it were custom-made for me. My nipples jutted forward, twin points, topping perfectly round mountains covered in shimmering, green moss. My rear view was spectacular. The open back fell almost two inches below the beginning swells of my toned, round behind. It was designed to entice, to advertise one’s nudity beneath. It only needed one thing, a splash of color.

I quickly opened the door, knowing she had crept near it, pretending to be startled. “You must be psychic, I think this needs something.”

I curled and shifted my fingers, delicately, as I ran my hand down from my shoulders to my dripping cunt. Her eyes followed my fingers, hypnotized by my allure. With my hands gesturing in slow waves to keep her focused, I watched her eyes follow my hypnotic movements as her face dropped its mask and became openly lusty.

“Be a good pet and go get me a delicate belt or sash, gold or light red, I think.”

Her chest was heaving, her breath coming in short gasps. Her perfect, white teeth gnawed on her lower lip. Wordless, she scampered off to do my bidding, her ass having acquired an extra wiggle, her head turning back to see if I was watching. I pulled the door mostly closed, leaving it slightly ajar, and admired myself in the mirror. A few test steps proved that I could easily flash my pussy; a few tentative bends satisfied my need to have a good side-view of my breasts.

As expected, Lisa barged into my dressing room. She held a mellow-gold-colored sash in both hands, holding it out in offering.

“Put it on me,” I commanded in a soothing voice that dripped with orgasmic lust.

Enthralled, she dropped to her knees before me. Her hands wrapped around me, tentatively kneading my ass. Her hot breath permeated the thin fabric of the dress, stirring further heat between my legs. In her haste to please me, her efforts caused me to rock towards her a bit. Propping my leg on the in-wall bench steadied me, the front of the dress shifting away from my outstretched leg, exposing my neatly trimmed, red, pubic hair and the wet delights it framed.

Her panting increased, nearing hyperventilation. As soon as she had it tied around my thin waist, I noted that the dress was now perfect. Still, Lisa remained on her knees, her eyes pleading with mine, occasionally staring at my pussy with open lust.

“Do you like what you see?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“I meant the dress, not my dripping snatch.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“You may taste me as a reward for pleasing me.”

I gently grabbed a handful of her dyed hair, leading her already-open mouth to my honey pot. Her tongue was liquid fire, immediately lapping at my lips, savoring my juices. Allowing my back to fall against the wall of the booth, making a slamming noise, I pulled her in close. The dressing room door creaked open without her body there to hold it closed.

“Finger my cunt while you lick me. Make me cum on your face. Taste me; drink my wine.”

The cute woman moaned into my cunt, causing tingling vibrations. I felt the pressure, then heard the sloshing, of two fingers entering my dripping hole. She was quite adept at giving women pleasure. Both of my hands grasped her head; my hips ground on her face, soaking it.

“That’s it, slave, lick my cunt,:” I screamed. “You love to eat me, don’t you?”

She whimpered affirmations.

“Make me cum, and I’ll let you kiss me. Anoint your lips with my holy water. Fucking lick me.”

Her tongue became a whirlwind on my clit, her fingers plunging in and out of my flooded tunnel.

I sensed her before I saw her, the stripper that I had enthralled. Magnetically drawn to me, she lingered outside the open door, her face a mask of passion, one hand tugging on her nipple, pulled out of her scanty top, the other down her spandex pants, furiously fingering her twat. She moaned softly, locking eyes with me.

Looking down at Lisa, frantically serving my orgasmic needs, I coaxed, “Harder, make me fucking cum.” To my admirer exercising her voyeuristic compulsions, “I want to fuck you.”

My stripper admirer balled up her bleached blond hair and gagged herself with it as loud moans, primal grunts, escaped her. Her stomach quivered; her legs shook, as she came in a soaking orgasm, falling to the sticky floor in gleeful abandon. Her orgasm triggered mine.

“I’m going to cum. Drink it all.”

Wave after wave of fiery pleasure coursed through me, warming me, fueling me with the desire for more, the hunger for flesh. My contractions were so forceful that my orgasmic throes cracked the drywall of the dressing room, my aphrodisiac cum shooting into Lisa’s wanton mouth in geyser-force spurts.

Lisa fell back, supine. A taste of me will send most into a sexual frenzy; she was no exception. Tearing at her clothes, her hands abusing, raking, and clawing at her body, she fingered herself wildly, growling and moaning as if possessed. Not deigning to interrupt her, I snatched one of my cards from my Chanel purse and placed it between her gnashing teeth.

“Drop by my place tomorrow night, and you’ll get your kiss.” As an afterthought, I tugged out two one-hundred dollar bills and tucked them into her pants' waistband, relishing the feeling of her hips gyrating and humping against my hand. “For the dress.”

My fingers sopped up some of my liquid sex, still pouring down my thigh, and wiped my cum on the stripper’s lips. “Come with me. I’m hungry, now.” With the first taste of my divine sexual nectar, she hungrily lapped it all from her lips, her face crimson with horny lust, overpowering desire for me.

She followed me, mesmerized by seductive wiles. Stopping at the BDSM section, I grabbed a collar and leash, collaring my willing victim. I led her outside, red and blue flashing lights, the police, casting stark hues across the block. Ignoring them, I pulled her to me and kissed her deeply, our tongues mingling, caressing each other as she moaned uncontrollably into my mouth.

“You make me so horny,” she huskily gasped. “Who are you?”

“I’m the one that’s going to drag you to the top of that parking garage,” I pointed. “And drain you until all you feel is sexual rapture.”

She tore off her top, her surgically-enhanced breasts rising and falling with her panting. Forgetting the leash, she ran towards the parking garage. I had to restrain her, make her behave.

My strength was no match for her as I pulled her towards me, the tether serving me well. I slowly pushed my hand down her tight, spandex pants, feeling her heat and wetness. Her clit was large, rock-hard, and pulsing along with her frenetic heartbeat.

“Slowly, my child. Let them drool over your tits,” my tongue snaked out, flicking her nipple as she moaned. “Let them desire you, feel your passionate fury. Then, trust me, I’ll devour you.”

Her hips humped into my hand forcefully. She tugged on her nipples, wanting release. I softly kissed her moist, burning lips, my fingers stimulating her arousal, edging her to the cusp of orgasm.

“Tell me that you’re mine, that you’ll do anything I ask, and I’ll let you cum right here, right now.”

“Please, please let me cum,” her moaning pants drew attention from all around. “I’m yours; I swear.”

“Very well, pet.” I fingered her quickly, smelling the sweet, sensual aroma of her pending orgasm. “Look around. Do you see them? How jealous they are. They all want you, to taste you, to have you, to fuck you.”

“I’m going to cum. Nobody’s ever made me feel like this.”

“Cum. Cum for me, now.” My inflection held the subtle, permissive commands she needed. “Free yourself by surrendering to me and me alone. You are made mine, baptized in the fires of your orgasm. Cum, now.”

Her knees buckled as she emitted a howl so loud that the denizens of the night halted and stared in stunned amazement. Tears poured from her eyes, her body no longer hers to control, her arms wrapping around me to keep her balance. Her convulsions shook her entire body, twisting her limbs into spasm-induced tangles.

Some empowered glances toward the onlookers warded them off. They may be predatory animals, but, like any animal, they knew to cower when faced with an Apex Predator. I half led, half carried her to our destination. The red-light district ended a block before the garage, the criminal element seemingly never crossing the invisible boundaries.

“Remove the rest of your clothing and walk one step behind me.” She obeyed, tossing her spandex pants, the crotch dripping with her residue, onto the sidewalk.

Four flights of stairs, and we were slightly above the din of the city. The cool air, riding in on a breeze and carrying the fog along with it, accompanied us. Shoving her sweating, nude body against a hard, cold pillar, my hands explored her, her moans echoing off the concrete.

I pinned her hands against the pillar, over her head, my free hand sensuously torturing her body. Her legs shook under my horny caresses; her muscular stomach undulated with passion. Every touch sent her body into erotic shivers; every lick on her flesh elicited impassioned moans.

“Please take me,” she begged. “I’m yours.”

Stroking her inner thighs, my hands growing wet from her arousal, I plunged two fingers into her pussy. Her shrieks of pleasure, crying out for her God, mirrored the ecstasy on her face. Briefly stopping as she convulsed on the precipice of orgasm, I dipped my cum-covered hand under the slit of my new dress, coating it with my sexual ambrosia, and offered it to her gasping mouth. She hungrily licked the mixture of our fluids from my fingers.

Baring my teeth, I held her gaze, holding her at the cusp of release. Her pupils dilated, her body becoming overborne with the lusty passion that a taste of me evokes. As her entire body quivered, loud, horny curses escaping her lips, I moved forward, my lips an inch away from hers.

“I’m going to bite your neck and feast on your blood. When I do, you’ll have the strongest, most powerful orgasm of your life. Do you consent?”

“Pu-please,” she cried. “I need to cum. I need you to make me cum. Please, bite me, drain me. Kill me; I don’t care. Just fucking make me cum.”

Gently, slowly, I pressed my incisors into her hot flesh. Her body’s heat warmed me; her life’s essence revitalized me. Her liquid fire, imbued with vitality, sent my body into volcanic overload, slightly altering my already keen senses and heightening them further. By taking some of her life-essence my own increased.

“Fucking God, aah, ooh, so good. I’m cumming, uunngghh! Please, don’t stop. More, I need more.”

The stripper’s body convulsed, her entire body quaking uncontrollably. My mouth sucking her neck, the blood flowing into me, and my fingers blurring over her clit as my fingers fucked her sex kept her locked in a never-ending state of rapture. She screamed in release, writhed in a sexual fervor, and begged me for more. I could feel her heart pumping quickly, ready to burst from passion, hear it pounding in my ears.

I did not take her life’s spark, her energy was far too vibrant to snuff. I drained her to the point of passing out, still in the throes of extended orgasm, then gently lowered her to the parking garage floor. I left her there; she’d be safe, albeit slightly weakened when she recovered from her goddess-given orgasm.

Contrary to popular mythology and pop-culture beliefs, vampirism is not supernatural. While some myths are true, such as heightened senses, almost super-human strength, and speed, there is no dismissal of one’s soul, if such a thing exists. The perplexing, recently discovered human organ, the Insterstitium, absorbs the blood we drink and replaces our hemoglobin, as our bodies do not produce new blood cells. Some interesting side effects are that we don’t seem to physically age, and the blood enhances our already superior traits and senses.

Having gorged myself, recently, I felt spry and energized. Sprinting down the stairs, three at a time, to the ground level, I exited the parking garage, noting more flashing police lights, and hearing more sirens. The cacophonous chaos of the night had reached its peak. I debated going to a nightclub to unwind but decided that the rest of the evening, in the quiet of my home, under the stars, would be peaceful.

I walked toward downtown, seeking a taxi to take me to my home, a sprawling, luxurious estate on the outskirts of the city. My pace was brisk. At first, the sounds didn’t register, but a second set of footfalls, although stealthy, echoed my own. I entered the downtown province, marveling at no matter how much things change, they still stay the same. The long-gone towers of stone, then brick, had merely been replaced with concrete, glass, and steel.

Hailing a cab, I got in, flashing my bare pussy to the appreciative driver. Immediately under the influence of my sexual aura, his cock swelled to full hardness, a look of desire crossing his face.

“Where to, red?” He queried.

“1492 Columbus Avenue.” I thought about playing with him but decided I wasn’t very hungry.

I wondered who had been following me. The footsteps matched the ones I had heard earlier. It could be a hunter. Every so often, one of the misguided do-gooders shows up, having seen one too many vampire movies. More than likely, it was just another delinquent, trailing me because I had intentionally set myself up as bait in case I wanted a snack. It might also have been another sycophant, a vampire “wannabe.”

It mattered little, now. The taxi drove off as I hummed, “Me and My Shadow.” The driver’s attempts at small-talk, then innuendo, were pathetic. One unknown facet of surviving on human blood is that I not only absorb their life but, also, whatever happens to be in their bloodstream and their soul during the moment. My stripper friend was flying high on euphorics and in a heated state of sexual abandon. Those things affected me, directly and deeply.

Feeling the driver’s lusty thoughts, seeing his eyes staring at me in the rearview mirror, I decided to tease him for my amusement. I spread my legs, flashing him some of my exposed pussy, the lips still sparkling with sexual dew, before the dress fell between my thighs. He swerved; I smiled seductively.

Allowing my fingers to tease my nipples to even greater hardness, I delighted at the feel of the cloth of my new dress as it added a silky, smooth, almost cold additional sensation. My hands trailed southward, over my exposed cleavage, down my firm stomach, and, finally, disappeared under my dress.

Not bothering with subtlety, I humped my overheated twat against my fingers, adding my other hand to stimulate my clit. On a normal night, I’m the horniest demon you’ll ever encounter. When I'm pumped full of hot blood, donated during intense orgasmic bliss, I am insatiable.

I moaned loudly, my back thrashing against the seat, my tits pushing out, threatening to poke through the stretchy, green fabric. I felt the sinful delight of my thighs quivering, even felt the need to breathe, as I neared orgasm. The driver’s eyes were riveted to my writhing body, drool escaping his open mouth.

“I’m fucking cumming. Feels so hot, so good. Aaah.”

I surrendered to the bliss of the spasms that possessed my body. Screaming like the banshee of lust, I announced each cresting wave of pleasure with screaming, throaty sighs, and moaned with every orgasmic shudder.

The taxi driver, distracted by my sexual display, never saw the oncoming truck.

He had drifted left of center, his eyes on me rather than the road. A huge crashing, metallic cracking announced the crumbling of the car. I was thrown forward, through the protective barrier, into the front seat, shattered glass lacerating me as the force of the impact reversed the direction of the taxi, pushing it backward.

Knowing that I’d be unscathed, the collision only intensified my orgasm. I screamed in bliss, not painful agony. The thrill of faux-danger added to my passion, giving me one of the most intense orgasms I'd had in ages. My ecstatic wail matched the intensity of the crash.

Thunderous booms and screeches filled the night’s sounds for a moment, then all was still. The truck idled, chugging slowly, the driver unconscious. My taxi driver was likewise comatose, his nose broken by the steering wheel, his neck pulsing a red fountain, cut deeply by glass shards and flying automotive parts.

Some would call it a tragedy, but I’ve seen too much, in my long life, to be moved by random displays of fate. Although not hungry and feeling energized, destiny chose to offer me a free snack. I drank deeply; he was not going to live, anyway. The only downside was that I got some blood on my new dress. Luckily, my house servants were very discrete and would clean it without a word spoken. A second taxi chauffeured me home without incident.

As I lay beside my pool, nude, a strong drink in my hand, I pondered what I might like to do tomorrow. I had an early appointment, but most of my day was free. I wondered if Lisa would show up tomorrow evening. My cunning intuition did not extend that far. I wondered about the person that tailed me through the red-light district. I wondered whom I'd have for dinner.