Nosferatu: Creatures Of the Night (Open)

[WaCough]

Simon De Noir listened meditatively as the night-sounds of the Bayou echoed through the mansion. While he was still in France he had the real estate agent hire a construction supervisor and a crew to cut away encroaching vines, to paint, to refurbish, to restore the outbuildings. “No,” he told the overly efficient agent. “You are not to have electricity put in. I want the place in its original condition. The river is to remain the only mode of access. I want furnishings, lawns, statuary, to reflect its pre civil war splendor. I will worry about the cost. You get it done in six months. If you accomplish that I will see that you are handsomely rewarded.”

Tonight was his first night in “Belle Arbres” and he was satisfied with the work. He stood on the immense verandah in total darkness. The three-quarter moon provided more light than he needed.... enough to cast long and pale shadows across the lawns and into the weeping river. Simon walked forlornly down to the private dock and a stranger watching him move would have been shocked to notice that he, Simon, cast no shadow at all. He stood out on the dock and looked across the river into the darkness of the adjoining swamp. Tears ran down his handsome face and he sighed, “ Oh my Vanya.”

The lives they had shared rolled through his mind, images of Italy, Germany, France, Belgium, Scotland. Each country each home contained images, snippets of her and always her. He had taken this mansion because it was on running water. He wanted it near. He wanted to wade into it and feel frozen in time as Vanya must of felt. He wanted to die as she had died. That dreadful night, he had heard her call his name from five miles away and he wanted to call out Vanya as he ended his so-called immortality. He had tasted only enough blood since she went to keep himself alive...alive till he found the proper place. The right moment. “I am coming soon my Vanya.” He whispered into the darkness of the beckoning river.

Their last grand house in Provence had been one of their happiest. He had acquired four “symbiots” who exchanged blood for power, beauty, sex, and depravity. Four who submitted to monthly bleedings in order to feel his power, his dominance his hypnotic control. Also, they had their way with the mortals within the city, wealth was easy to acquire, unimagined beauty, vigor, strength. Sexual revelries with Simon and Vanya, which surpassed mundane, sex as flying surpassed walking. He had granted them shape-shifting powers: the cloak of the wolf, the cloak of the serpent. And, as “symbiots” of Simon a direct telepathic connection to he and Vanya.

Each wanted the ultimate metamorphosis, to be turned “Nosferatu” but Simon and Vanya had vowed to have only each other. Vanya had her symbiot males, four also. So their family consisted of ten. When Vanya and Simon slept the deep sleep, there were eight to manage, to care for the business of the day. What he and Vanya shared was never affected by the sex, control, power exchanges within the group. Still it was and remained - he and she as it had been for centuries: centuries of love, centuries of telepathy. How could Simon continue. How could he find Vanya again. He may find a symbiot to keep him healthy, to keep up his strength only till he found the right time. Vanya would call him into the running water. He must be thinking clearly when she did.

Simon had killed the human offal who had driven Vanya into the water with their incantations, charms, prayers, their salt barriers. As, she froze locked in the running water they had driven hawthorn and rose stakes into her beautiful body. They had enjoyed it. He saw the entire sacrilege through her eyes. He had shifted and flown to her but their salt barrier held him at bay. They had desecrated his love and he had made each one of them to suffer. Especially that meddling priest, Le Fable. Simon spat into the water thinking of him.

Simon needed to move from the whispering river. The time was not right. He would wait for her call. He returned to the grand house and seated himself at the piano, and tried to play up a vision of his Vanya. He was weak from lack of sustenance and decided that tomorrow night he would travel in the cloak of a wolf into the small village of Dumais Landing. He would not go with enthusiasm, an emotion he had not felt since that night. Still…he needed a symbiot….

 

[WaCough]

Luna-fey and I begin the tale.........

 

[Luna-fey]

Nathalie Vidal

The clientele of Chateau Noir had never heard a voice like hers. It was rich and dusky with a hint of gold on the top notes. It was a quality voice, too good for the kitsch that pleased the audience but most of the people who frequented the local establishment did not come for the music.

Nathalie Vidal was one of those women who looked much taller than her 5'5 average stature. Other than her height, there was nothing average about her. She had a beautiful complexion, ivory white, with high cheekbones and an inviting mouth. Her dark hair fell past her shoulders in soft waves. She was stunning in her off-the-shoulders cheap red dress, a crimson flower tucked behind her left ear. Her eyes were the ripe color of green apples at the end of summer and they were lit with an unsupressed, latent sensuality.

"Give me a beer, Jean," Nathalie called over to the bartender. She leaned over the bar, revealing a hint of cleavage. She had just finished her first set. One of the men got up and offered her his seat. She accepted it, sat down, and crossed her legs. The man looked from the toes of her strappy red shoes up her sultry legs to her narrow waistline. It made him dizzier than the drink in his hand. Nathalie smiled.
"Thank you."

Nathalie's beauty and charisma brought in the crowds. She had a strict "look but don't touch" policy. She could easily have doubled her income by giving "private" performances but Nathalie flatly refused. Her untouchability only heightened her appeal to the greedy delight of Maurice, the manager.
The other girls who worked there were very jealous of Nathalie--and, although she never showed it, she found herself longing for more female friendship but she couldn't trust the women there.

Maurice gave Nathalie the "five minutes" signal. She walked by him, lightly grazing his body and planting a breezy kiss on his cheek.

"But you'll give me ten; I need a cigarette."

"All right, pretty pet, ten. Hurry back," he relented. "You look delectable," he added.

"And you're already adding up the money, aren't you, Maurice?"

Nathalie headed out the back door into the sultry air.

 

[WaCough]

Simon walked gracefully towards the woods; seamlessly his walk turned to a lope. He transformed from a tiptoed run to springing from both hands and feet. Efforlessly her became the wolf. It had been too long since he had exercised these muscles: felt this oneness with the woods. He leapt over dead trees, splashed through standing water, listened to his efficient panting breath. He had missed this dominant power, this Alpha wolf. On a secluded knoll he sank back onto his haunches raised his muzzle to the night sky and howled in sheer joy.

The blood coursing through his veins empowered his mind. The heightened senses, the smells, the sights sent his being swimming in ecstasy. He ran with abandon till her heard human sounds invading the swamp. He was nearing Dumais Landing. He began to salivate at the thought of blood. He needed its revitalizing high. He decided not to take a symbiot tonight. He was too thirsty. He would completely drain this victim. He felt sure he could not stop before sweet death took his meal.

The strains of music came from his left and he loped slowly towards it. He knew that where men sang and danced they drank alcohol and made for easy prey. He could easily entice one of them outside to stand alone with him. Alone looking into his eyes, the chase was over. They were his.

As he neared the "Chateau Noir" he raised himself up to a two-legged walk and walked himself into the body of Simon. He stopped short at the music. A driving accordion with an echoing fiddle, a thumping guitar played an intriguing folksy, bluesy song. He thought of Provence of the ageless music of the peasants. Music had informed and motivated his long life and he felt these shuffle rhythms pass through his soul. Then riding on top of the simple tune rose a female voice. It stopped Simon completely. The texture brought back his beloved Vanya. Yet, the phrasing, the passion was new and enervating.

He neared the orange smoke stained window and saw her performing for a mesmerized crowd. He felt the animal desire to fuck surging through the crowd. "You don't deserve her," he growled still under the influence of "Loki" the wolf. He watched her finish the set. He watched her smooze with the locals. He watched her flirt with the bartender. He salivated; he would wait for her to leave. He would satisfy his thirst on some oaf who stepped out to piss; then he would take her...his symbiot. He wanted to play the grand piano or the violin as she sang. He wanted that voice to take him. He wanted to hear her after he injected her with power, force, and strength. He would make her one of his.

He scanned the crowd waiting for one of them to move outside, but it was she who brushed by the bartender and strolled out into the moonlight. He stealthily approached her from behind. "Exceptional, Miss." She jumped at his voice and wheeled to face him. She was his.

He stared deeply into her eyes. He touched her soul, he revealed his own being showing her endless nights, flights, sexual prowess, images of mansions, wolves, serpents, power, music, intense sensations she could never imagine. She was frozen with the shifting images the heightened emotions. She was a rag doll at his disposal.

He took her in his arm, pulled her firm breasts into his chest. He possessed her with his telepathy. He felt the arousal in her nipples and passed the excitement of his cock to her. Telepathic sex is far too powerful for mortals, he showed her, her own deepest desires. He played with them. He plowed through his own images of epic sexual performances involving him and symbiots, him and Vanya, unbridled animal fucking as a wolf. He peeled away her darkest unexpressed lust and she sank into sexual unconsciousness, overcome with passion, reeling in immortal lust.

He took the back of her head in his hand and leaned her back till her neck opened deliciously to him. It's sensual curve welcomed his attack. She moaned as he sank his teeth deeply into her jugular vein and drank deeply of her vitality. He drank long and deeply but stopped short of taking her soul.

He carried her off to the woods. He would have to transform her telepathically until she understood. He would have to enter her mind and carry her back in a shape she could not understand. He controlled her mind and she changed in his arms.... a sleek, beautiful she wolf. She wriggled to the earth and he quickly shifted himself then led her back through the woods, back to "Belle Arbres". He ached to stop at the knoll and bay with her at the sensual moon. He longed to take her as the wolf, to show her the power and surrender of animal sex. But, that would wait, all that would wait......

 

[Luna-fey]

Nathalie stepped outside. The evening was cool and without the typical heavy haze of humidity. She had just lit her cigarette when a voice from behind her infiltrated not just the space between them--but seemed to echo with its sonorous tones inside her very head.

"Exceptional, Miss."

Nathalie jumped.

A figure seemed to materialize in front of her. Her initial thought was that he was handsome. But when his eyes claimed her own, all rational thought stopped. Everything around her seemed to fade and her perception became completely focused on his penetrating gaze. She saw things--not just saw. She felt them; she experienced them. She had never felt more alive in her own body and yet more dispossesed of it all at the same time.

Images flashed sensually across her overwhelmed senses. She saw a wolf, a wolf that had the stranger's eyes. And then there was a man and woman on a dais covered in crushed velvet. They were fucking, the woman astride the man's lap, his hands kneading her breasts. She saw a serpent, emerald green with its deadly beauty. It coiled itself around her bare ankle and flicked its forked tongue against her skin.

Nathalie shivered. The scene changed again.

The images came faster now and so did her breath. Her nipples swelled and hardened, pressing against the fabric of her dress, begging to be fondled. Nathalie staggered. The man pulled her into his arms, supporting her. She did not resist. Her knees were weak. She was all primal sense and heightened desire. Rational thought escaped her. She rubbed her ass against his groin. He inhaled the scent of lavendar in her hair. He held her gently and yet she felt as if his hands were all over her body--sliding over her hips, across her belly, cupping her breasts, and sliding between ther thighs all at once. And yet he hardly touched her. And yet he seemed to be touching her everywhere.

He took the back of her head in his hand and leaned her back till her neck opened deliciously to him. When his teeth pierced her soft skin, Nathalie moaned. As he drank, the pleasure wafted through her, more intoxicating than any wine. She grew drunk on it. She opened herself to him willingly and shuddered in his arms, gasping breathlessly.

She was a wolf with silver flecked fur and startlingly golden eyes. He carried her through the woods and for a long time there was only darkness and the shapes of the trees and the sound of the brush under his feet.

And then she saw it--a large white mansion, gloriously imposing, flanked with its massive white columns. It was eerily beautiful in the pale moonlight.

 

[WaCough]

He brought the pair of them onto the lawns of “Belles Arbres”. They brushed each other’s flanks as they loped fluidly towards the house. There, with dreamlike ease, they transformed into a walking pair: Simon and Nathalie. She was now finding her strength.

Not merely the strength she possessed before Simon’s bite of possession but the power he had injected. The strength with which he imbued her being as he shared her body. Centuries had inured Simon to walking, moving, feeling with this doubled sensation: this perception of self and other. He had, however, to lead her through her first tentative steps. He helped her to feel and manage the tread of her own foot and his step at the same time. He showed her the primacy of her own thoughts and sensations but also his as an echo or more correctly, a bedrock. He opened her to a doubled vision; filled her with both liberation and exhilaration. Liberation from the essential separation of self, the inevitable loneliness of human existence. Exhilaration in the growing physical strength she now possessed, the bottomless experiences, talents, capabilities, insights that were now hers. He did not name them for her, she would experience them, discover them. She could not have stated what she now had but sensed that it was there.

They walked towards the enormous verandah and he sprang over the five steps leading to its floorboards and landed deftly on the deck. He landed lightly, catlike and she followed suit. New sensations coursed through her body. A large oaken table sat on the porch and she lifted it as she would a china teacup high into the air with only her left hand and laughed with joy. She ran into the house drunk now ... aching to test her own abilities. In the mirror she saw her own radiance, bedazzling beauty more striking than ever. She flowed about the house sinews and muscles agile, deft, powerful. He led her into the sitting room and she saw situated within a bay window, on a raised platform, a spectacularly lacquered and french-polished grand piano.

Nathalie knew a few chords and could vamp to her own singing but she sat at the keyboard and he flowed through her, she played Chopin’s "Heroic Polonaise" with its complicated rhythms and demanding powerful passages. She saw and lived the victorious Poland that the piece celebrated. She was there and the music flowed as naturally through her fingers as if she were combing her own hair. She cried at its beauty. She wanted this music to continue eternally. She had always loved music but this -this was ecstasy. She played herself into a trance.

Then, the song she had sung in the juke passed through her and she accompanied herself with a virtuoso’s surety and sensitivity. Finally her voice entered into the mix but she had never possessed such power, such depth of emotion. It was her voice but her voice as it had never sounded.

Simon wondered at her. Her being was so comfortable to him. Somehow she was a home to him. She had depths of lives that stretched back into her long past and a personal presence he had not expected to find here. He felt an indigenous line in her at one with nature, a wealth of understanding, shamanistic powers in her heritage. When she grew accustomed to his power inside her being, then he would explore her lineage, her soul. She would see with him, grandfather, grandmother, great grandfather, great grandmother, and on and on. He was intrigued by what he was touching. There were caves here in which he could lose himself.

He sat beside her on the piano bench and took up a counter rhythm to her playing and singing and the effect charmed her so that her tears again flowed. At the end of the song she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him: first in gratitude then sexually. As she kissed him she felt his lips, her lips, his desire her desire both as one. In lovemaking one always hopes the lover will move a certain way, touch a certain way, feel a certain way. But here like this… desire and fulfillment were one. His hand worked up to her breast and knew when to tweak, when to stroke. She was both hand and breast. Each desire played off the other and she now understood what sex would be like with him: an indescribable completion. He lifted her as if she were weightless. Her legs wrapped round his waist and they kissed hungrily. She felt his extended cock press against her wanton cunt and they were ready now to fuck…..

 

[Luna-fey]

Nathalie could not define what was happening to her, nor did she wish to. She had cast off ideologies, expectations, and inhibitions as one casts off a tattered garment. She let sensation and desire guide her in this unknown and darkly beautiful threshold that she now crossed.

Simon had not spoken a word to her at the house and yet they communicated fluidly. She understood the things he was making her feel in an unconscious way that was beyond logic, beyond anything that she had ever before experienced. Her proficiency at the piano was inexplicable and yet she did not question it. She let it wash over her. Her fingers flew over the keys and her mind soared with each phrase, each crashing chord. The seams that held time together fell apart and distances wilted like flowers hot and flushed under the midday sun.

And before she had time to think or reason or consider, her mouth was pressed against his. Gratefully, almost filled with something like relief, she kissed him; salty tears still fresh on her cheeks slid down to his lips. Her fingertips grazed the back of his neck. Their breaths mingled.

Nathalie wanted him with a desire she had never known before. She slid her hands across his chest and planted kisses against his neck, making him shiver. She pressed against his body with an artless seductiveness.

His hardness excited her even more when she felt it pressing against her thigh. When he picked her up, she wrapped her legs around him. Their kiss deepened. They undressed one another with a feverish urgency. How his skin burned against her own!

Nathalie parted her thighs for him, eager...wanting. His cock pushed between the soft, wet folds of her cunt. He entered her slowly. She moaned and angled her hips toward him. She was a virgin and yet there was no modesty or hesitancy in her movements.

"Simon," she panted in his ear, her breath tickling his neck. He had never told her his name. But she knew it; the sound and formation of the syllables as fluent and familiar as her own name.

 

[WaCough]

Simon reached between the pair of them and took his raging cock in his hand. He slid it down from her mound, along her clit and to the entrance of her waiting cunt. He wanted to pull her clit, her labia inside her virgin cunt along with his cock. He wanted them both to feel her clit riding along the top of his prick as they fucked. When he rammed himself into her he wanted complete contact with the dancing nerves in her swollen clit. They communicated all of this to each other, as his cock stood ready at her entrance. They would thrust together. They would both feel the pain of her rupturing hymen and the rapture of his invading cock.

As one they thrust: she squeezing with her legs, which were wrapped round his waist, he pulling with his hands on her back and firing his hips forward. They both threw their heads back and roared with the multiple sensations. They left his cock buried deeply in the back of her cunt, stretching extending her. There was nothing but sensation and they were still. Then like a matched horse and rider, they began to pump simultaneously. Long, slow thrusts, his cock nearly slipping out with each withdrawal then sliding slowly back in till their pubes pressed together. They kept her clit riding in and out with his engorged cock and they reeled with both sensations.

Together their pace increased, surrendering to cock and cunt, they wanted only more, faster, harder, deeper, longer. They fucked each other now. She feeling both male and female response for the first time. They fucked to colors and sounds flying and dancing. The fuck became animal surrender to passion. Then, she found she was fucking as a wolf. Then fucking as enwrapped and entwined serpents. They fucked as mist and droplets of moisture. They panted they moaned and they were the universe fucking, regenerating, producing, surrendering.

When she came back to herself they were on the floor. His cock buried in her and still weakly pumping its lasts drops of semen into her. Her legs wound round him and she pulled him in. She was covered in persiration and panting heavily. She was spent.They remained in a dazed state, a state of completion, of sadness, of unity but then they rose and smoothly transformed into a pair of sleek powerful wolves. Her coat was a silvery misty color, her eyes yellow as gold. He wanted her to feel her glorious animal body. They stepped outside and she took off at a run, a run of pure joy. He stayed admiring her grace from the verandah. She carried him inside yet it was her adventure, her experience. She was going to run the forest, inspect the swamp. He felt her exhilaration and left her to explore and enjoy the darkness to find the wolf....

 

[Luna-fey]

Nathalie (wolf)

Nathalie plunged into the darkness without hesitation. Instinct moved her. Her paws seemed to fly across the ground. The pale moon lit the terrain in a ghostly radiance; she had never seen with such clarity. Every sense was heightened. She felt exhilerated with the wind rushing at her ears as she ran.

She splashed through the edge of the swamp, slowing her pace. She took in the scents in the air. Something small and brown flashed across her peripheral vision. She crept low and followed its movements.

It was a rabbit; its fur made it blend into the surroundings but her eyes were keen now. Stealthfully, Nathalie followed it. The rabbit paused, looked around, and sat up for a brief moment on its hind legs. She watched its every move, fascinated. It was a game. The rabbit hopped along. Nathalie followed. It stopped--so did she.

The rabbit moved more quickly now; there was a frantic panic in its running. It knew. It sensed the predatory presence of its stalker. There was no pretense now. Nathalie flew through the brush. She leapt.

Her jaws sank into the rabbits neck. Quick. It never moved again. Nathalie, the wolf, appeased her hunger. Her paws splashed softly once more in the water, washing the blood away.

She sat on the edge of the swamp, the golden eyes looking up at the moon. She howled. Soon the night would be waning.