dr_mabeuse
seduce the mind
- Joined
- Oct 10, 2002
- Posts
- 11,528
The rain has stopped; the streets glisten in the dark, while clouds drift like razors over the face of the foolish moon. It is so quiet that I can hear the soft electric hum of the streetligts, the sound of water gurgling down drains. In the distance the sound of a siren. Tires sizzle on the wet pavement as a late taxi cruises by.
I hunt this city. It suits me. Prey is everywhere, and grows more plentiful every day. In the crowds or alone on the midnight streets, I go unnoticed: just another shadow in the alley, a darkness on a roof top, a passerby.
I don't think of myself as a vampire. That is too crude to describe what I do. I don't feed on blood; I feed upon human emotions, the more extreme and the more intense the better. The hot, raw taste of anger, the strong and powerful tang of fear in all its variations; sorrow, thin and salty, and the bitter and choking flavor of jealousy and resentment.
But the best is lust; sexual excitement, arousal, orgasmic rapture. The taste is clean and pure. but wonderfully complex and satisfying. And of the sources, I prefer young women best. Women who are just entering the flush of their sexual maturity, who are just discovering the pleasure that lies in their bodies, who can still be surprised by their own emotions. Not too naive; not too experienced. Just right.
I don't have to sniff the air to find my prey. I can taste them in the air. Some sixth sense leads me to them, to their homes, their bedrooms. From there it is nothing for me to gain access to them. And the delicious part is that I am my own chef: I am the source of the very enotions I feed on.
For instance tonight. I find myself outside the apartment of a charming young girl, just out of college and holding down a lucrative job, living on her own, capable, self-possessed, socially active, quite beautiful. She is asleep on the fifth floor, having returned tonight from dinner with a male friend. I know that their evening ended romantically, with them kissing and fondling on her sofa. But she is a good girl, and she denied him the ultimate pleasure of her body.
She is not unusually chaste; she has had many lovers, but currently she sleeps alone. But I can see her desires in her dreams as she feels a man taking her, loving her, showing her things she never imagined. I can see her dreaming of herself as a woman no man can resist, as a paragon of sexuality and womanly beauty, as sensual, sexual, effortlessly desirable.
I take myself up to her bedroom window and hover outside on the fire escape. The blinds are drawn, but Ican see through them, see where she sleeps in her big, canopied bed, one of her first purchases.
Like that I am in the room, without a sound, without a rustle in the still and sleepy air. I am still cold from the outside, so I stand there in the darkness watching her as she sleeps. To keep her quiet, I put a modest spell on her, to blur her mind and make her limbs heavy and slow.
How shall I take her? Shall I just appear in bed with her and take her in my arms, letting the feel of my mouth on her breasts awaken her? Should I just place my cock in her mouth? (How that would enliven her dreams!) Should I begin my tasting her thighs, slowly licking my way up?
One thing is certain: before I am finished she shall be very aroused, desperate for my touch, hanging on the edge of pleasure. Only then will I dine on her emanations.
My name is Midnight. Amos Midnight.
I hunt this city. It suits me. Prey is everywhere, and grows more plentiful every day. In the crowds or alone on the midnight streets, I go unnoticed: just another shadow in the alley, a darkness on a roof top, a passerby.
I don't think of myself as a vampire. That is too crude to describe what I do. I don't feed on blood; I feed upon human emotions, the more extreme and the more intense the better. The hot, raw taste of anger, the strong and powerful tang of fear in all its variations; sorrow, thin and salty, and the bitter and choking flavor of jealousy and resentment.
But the best is lust; sexual excitement, arousal, orgasmic rapture. The taste is clean and pure. but wonderfully complex and satisfying. And of the sources, I prefer young women best. Women who are just entering the flush of their sexual maturity, who are just discovering the pleasure that lies in their bodies, who can still be surprised by their own emotions. Not too naive; not too experienced. Just right.
I don't have to sniff the air to find my prey. I can taste them in the air. Some sixth sense leads me to them, to their homes, their bedrooms. From there it is nothing for me to gain access to them. And the delicious part is that I am my own chef: I am the source of the very enotions I feed on.
For instance tonight. I find myself outside the apartment of a charming young girl, just out of college and holding down a lucrative job, living on her own, capable, self-possessed, socially active, quite beautiful. She is asleep on the fifth floor, having returned tonight from dinner with a male friend. I know that their evening ended romantically, with them kissing and fondling on her sofa. But she is a good girl, and she denied him the ultimate pleasure of her body.
She is not unusually chaste; she has had many lovers, but currently she sleeps alone. But I can see her desires in her dreams as she feels a man taking her, loving her, showing her things she never imagined. I can see her dreaming of herself as a woman no man can resist, as a paragon of sexuality and womanly beauty, as sensual, sexual, effortlessly desirable.
I take myself up to her bedroom window and hover outside on the fire escape. The blinds are drawn, but Ican see through them, see where she sleeps in her big, canopied bed, one of her first purchases.
Like that I am in the room, without a sound, without a rustle in the still and sleepy air. I am still cold from the outside, so I stand there in the darkness watching her as she sleeps. To keep her quiet, I put a modest spell on her, to blur her mind and make her limbs heavy and slow.
How shall I take her? Shall I just appear in bed with her and take her in my arms, letting the feel of my mouth on her breasts awaken her? Should I just place my cock in her mouth? (How that would enliven her dreams!) Should I begin my tasting her thighs, slowly licking my way up?
One thing is certain: before I am finished she shall be very aroused, desperate for my touch, hanging on the edge of pleasure. Only then will I dine on her emanations.
My name is Midnight. Amos Midnight.