Gothic Bite Magazine is proud to promote the art of various indie artists from all around the world. After the submission a few days ago, GBM now shares the work of Christianmichael Dutton!
An Evening Of Entertainment
Vampyres tread where man doth gopoem from the Bard Caust rhun Trestil Oldtree
E’re where blood shall flow
Fang and might
Darkness and unholy blight
Reap what they sow
Our flesh they harvest and ploughNone quite so dastardly craven
‘Cept the lady called the Raven
Deep in the monster-infested reaches of the wild frontier called the Direcold Woods, stood a castle of ancient construction, a bastion of dark stone and death. Much of the castle fell into crumbling ruin; its parapets, the protective outer walls, and even one of the grand towers collapsed in a giant heap.
Despite the dystopia of the venerable hold, the lady of the castle ruled the lush greenwood with an iron gauntlet within a soft velvet glove.
The locals remembered no other name other than the Raven for the beast, the vampire’s real name lost in the many years of burned history and banned learning. The lady sat upon her gilded chair, breaking her silence with an elongated moan from exquisite pleasure.
She kept her eyes closed as one hand cupped her supple breast from her untied burgundy corset while the other rested on the tangle of sunburst hair between her legs.
“Yes, my child,” she suspired, her voice silky. The lady stroked the peasant woman, opening her eyes for a brief moment before a slight pressure electrified her insides, forcing her hand to push the head as deep into her loins as possible, a fierce grunt exposing razor-like fangs.
Stiff rustic fingers massaged along the insides of her legs as the villager continued her pleasuring work. The Raven breathed, her rasps loud, blending into panting after each lap of the probing tongue.
“Bite,” she commanded. “Bite as hard as you can.”
“Bite, my lady?” asked the nigh-naked woman, moving her face away.
“Don’t stop. Bite, damn you!”
Her lover dove and obeyed, the Raven throwing her legs over the woman’s shoulders, her back arching, clenching her teeth. “Don’t … stop…”
The vampire howled, her eyes flaring wide, turning from deathly black to a hollow gray as she gripped the armrests of her chair. Piercing nails dug into the expensive and rare wood, joining the many scars already on the furniture.
The Raven felt the maiden’s back slick with sweat, something she hadn’t experienced in two centuries since her turning. She took her time spreading her legs, removing them off the peasant. Her hand brushed the cheek of the beauty who did so well pleasing her.
“Lean into me. I will partake your lips.”
The woman rose, shifting the gossamer silk wrap around her body, planting her hands on the lady’s thick legs. Her eyes slowly closed as their mouths met in hunger.
The Raven broke off their embrace, her coal-black eyes staring. “You have satisfied me. You have secured your father’s release from my dungeons.”
The woman bowed. “Thank you, my lady. And my mother?”
“Ah, well, if you wish to bargain for her release, I shall require the services of your love a little longer, shall I? Nothing in life is free; is it not?”
The woman said nothing for a brief flicker of time. With a sullen voice, she said, “Yes, my lady. I will please you again.”
“Not me this time.”“May I ask who, my lady?”
The Raven looked past the maiden to the bleak shadows, a pair of glimmering, feral eyes upon her. “Come, my son. Did you find our loveplay entertaining?”
A man, shirtless, lithe in frame, but bristling with a muscular chest, emerged from the clawing darkness as if pushing aside a veil. He possessed long-flowing silvered hair, unlike his mother, who displayed pitch black in lazy waves.
He snapped his fingers, weak candlelight from the crystal chandelier above from rusted chains providing more illumination. He wore black breeches that hugged him tight, the vampire and the maiden discerning how aroused he was at the moment.
Like his mother, he sported ivory-colored fangs as he smiled— a predator’s grin. He made no sound as his bare feet trod upon the faded rugs of the family coat of arms, a relic of past times when the Raven once possessed a true name, not the bird she can transform into at will, hunting for peasants and loggers every night.
“My eyes have indeed feasted well, mother,” he said, his voice thick and gravel-like. He offered a small nod in the lady’s direction, raising a vessel filled with a viscous crimson liquid that sloshed to its brim. He drank, gulping it down, his unblinking eyes upon the maiden between them. A slight trickle of his elixir ran down his chin.
“I’ve brought you a gift, Braire.” The Raven motioned for the peasant woman to face him, a slender hand running to the neck as a white fingernail grew to almost the size of a small knife. With a slow slice, a thick bead of blood blossomed in a line just below the chin. The woman’s eyes widened with stark fear.
“I wish for her to pleasure me before I feed,” he said as he tossed the exquisite goblet on the floor, shattering it, his other hand tugging the top of his breeches, exposing himself.
“Of course. Take your liberties.” The Raven rose. “But I hunger, so I shall go down to the dungeons and sample what my loyal servants have brought me.”
Braire didn’t look in his mother’s direction; his baleful eyes focused on the maiden, who no longer looked on in fear, her gaze glassy.
“If you sap her will, she will not grant your desires.”
“I don’t care. The useless prey laying there will be enough. After I finish, there shall be nothing left. ” He yanked at the silk wrap, revealing the naked frame within. He snarled as he bit deep, yet the woman uttered a soft moan.
“Very well. I planned on feeding on her father in the dungeon anyway. I had her mother last night, but not before I made her beg for her daughter’s release.” The Raven laughed.
She asked as she approached the door, “Does this girl look like someone you know?”
Braire broke off his embrace. “She bears your countenance, mother.”
“Think of me when you ravage her. When I return, join me in my chambers. I wish to feel everything you’ve done.”
5 thoughts on “Gothic Bite Story Sunday”
Chills! Great story! This was my favorite sentence: A man, shirtless, lithe in frame, but bristling with a muscular chest, emerged from the clawing darkness as if pushing aside a veil.
You got my attention!!! Sounds good!!! Shared on my socials!!💋👍😉
Well done wolfie
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thanks!! Glad you liked it.
Reblogged this on Fallen From the Stars and commented:
My first story on Gothic Bite Magazine. Check it out!