Eliano’s lungs burned as he ran through the darkness of the midnight streets. His boots pounde

Eliano’s lungs burned as he ran through the darkness of the midnight streets. His boots pounded the pavement to the sound of his heaving breaths, heavy and exhausted from his desperate flight. The sound of his footsteps echoed across the filthy canals and boarded up storefronts as he ran towards the harbor. It made the streets seem somehow unnatural and frightening. During the day these avenues were alive with people. Canal boats, laughter, music, children darting underfoot with their mother’s shouting from the windows above. All of the messy, beautiful sounds of life in Venezia. Tonight, the street was dead silent as if crouching back in fear. It just wasn’t natural. His lung’s burning, Eliano ran all the harder knowing in his heart that he was already lost. Nearly to the safety of his anchored ship, his legs suddenly gave out beneath him sending him tumbling to his hands and knees. He stopped for a brief moment to catch his panting breath, crawling into the darkness between two ancient buildings. His throat felt dry and his heart raced frantically in his chest. Cold sweat beaded on the back of his neck, mixing with the blood oozing from a dozen wounds that tore at his naked back. The cool autumn air would have felt pleasant if his head wasn’t swimming with dizziness. Taking a deep breath, he struggled to his feet and continued to stagger on towards the docks. Every step was a fresh agony as he fought against the weakness that weighed him down. Turning down a dark alley he narrowly avoiding running head-first into a trash pile, scattering a colony of skittering rats. His foot hit a glass bottle which went clattering across the stone street to burst against a lamplight as he fell. In that moment, the pain of his broken ankle flaring through his tortured mind, Eliano knew that he was dead. He had fucked up. He’d fucked up badly. A pretty girl shows up in his life with a bright smile and near perfect tits, and he decides to end his rather successful streak of staying well away from women. Especially women found in the low taverns he was forced to frequent by his light pockets and the miserliness of his master. Instead, dazzled by that bright smile, he got himself all hopeful and when she asked him over to her place, he found himself face to face with the very pits of hell. Eliano was not a coward, he had served in the army, stormed ramparts, braved the storm-wracked seas, and run with waterside gangs most of his young life. Yet when the shadow fell over him, he sobbed like a child and his lips gave birth to a litany of profanity laden prayers. Even that died off when the woman stepped out of the shadows. No. Not a woman. Whatever it was had given up that guise long ago. Her clothing was fit for a gothic coven. She wore a black leather skirt slit at the sides to reveal netted stockings, a black lace corset laced with blood red straps, and tall black stiletto boots to match. Her black lipstick matched her dark clothing and stood in stark contrast to the milky complexion of her sharp-edged face. But he was not looking at her clothes. His gaze was captivated by her face, hellishly beautiful and terrible at once. Her eyes were black soulless pits, devoid of any hint of life or the grace of Heaven. So enthralled was he that he barely noticed that her well-manicured nails had shifted into long, boney claws. Leathery wings unfolded behind her back killing whatever light dared approach them. A long, pointed tail swayed through the air behind her as she looked down at him with fanged smile. She stood over him, a black shadow in the moonlight as she stepped forward. The sound of childish whispers followed her, making her predator’s smile even more terrifying.“W-What are you?” he begged. There was no profanity now, no confidence, no prayers left to say only the small terrified voice of a man confronted with his childhood terrors.Fatalia’s clawed hand shot out. Eliano’s jaw shattered instantly with a sickening crack as her hand sliced through his cheek and extended out the back of his throat. She watched in pleasant fascination as her fingers closed into a fist around the bloody bundle of flesh at the back of this throat. Nerves tore and bones shattered as she pulled the man’s spine through his mouth. A horrifying mixture of blood, saliva and spinal fluid spilled onto the street at her feet. She pulled her hand back, whip-like and took his head with it. It hung loosely at her side, dripping onto the floor, as what remained of the man slumped to the ground little more than a fleshy sack of meat. A shocked murmur, half-prayer and half curse, alerted her to the two vagrants that lay in the shadows, now awakened from their drunken slumber. They stared wide-eyed at the blood-soaked goddess in front of them frantically making the sign of the cross as they stared in wide-eyed horror at the nightmare before them. The pair were filthy, wasted with hunger and disease. Hardly suitable for her lustful needs and yet they were all she had. She had never been this terribly weak before. Her entire body was screaming with need, searing with the agony of simply keeping her corporal form. She had only herself to blame, having starved herself for weeks hoping to make the next kill all the more enjoyable. The gore-streaked sailor that lay at her feet was supposed to have broken her fast. He was young and strong, virile and full of life when she had lured him from that seedy tavern. The perfect prey to fuel her starved spirit with the blessed power of his life’s force. Fatalia smiled. He had put up a fight, this one. She enjoyed the ones that fought, their desperate fear only adding to the sweet taste of their destruction. But she had misjudged her own weakness and his panicked strength. In the throes of heady passion, she had let her guard slip and her prey had escaped, fleeing out the door and into the night. As if he had the slightest chance of escaping her. Cursing under her breath, Fatalia considered the motley feast before her. The two were repulsive. Both wasted away by the poverty of the streets and ridden with the pox. Whatever thin seed remained in their shriveled balls would hardly satisfy her gnawing hunger, but she had little choice now. Her cunt was still dripping from her victim’s last manly thrusts and the taste of his lust still burned in her belly. She was starving and there was no way she would have the strength to seek out new quarry with what little she had left. As disgusting as the thought was, the two beggars would have to do. A curl of revulsion twisted her lips as she approached them, watching them cower, crawling shivering with fear into the shadows at her approach. She was lust and hate, fear and glory personified. Terror of man since before the Fall. A queen among her kind. Terror about to feast. Fire trailed in her footsteps and the air itself burned where she dared tread. Her prey, enthralled by the command in her hell-lit eyes, rose obediently and dropped their pants, stroking their pathetic manhood to hardness as they prepared for their demise. Fatalia spread her wings shrouding them in her darkness. She could feel the fluttering excitement in her belly as her cunt readied for its orgasmic feast. Her clawed hands reached out, drawing them to her scornful lips. Ever so briefly they would taste the eternal passion of Hell before their souls were devoured, their fleeting human lust consumed in the fires of one who had strode this pathetic world since Creation itself.An explosion of hot blood splattered across her face as both their head were shorn from their necks. The sudden eruption drover Fatlaia back, spitting gore as the lifeless bodies tumbled to the ground. Sputtering in anger she wiped her blood-blinded eyes with the backs of her hands and bared her daggerlike fangs to the foolish intruder who had stolen her meal. An intruder that would soon taste death at the claws of a queen of Hell. Face and fangs dripping with the blood of her stolen meal, she bared her fangs in a hissing scream, her terrible anger ready to be unleashed.Lillinaria stood her ground before her sister. Unlike the raging – and horribly exposed – demoness that stood furious before her, she herself was calm, composed, and more than a little amused. Unlike her sister, she stood in completely human form. Her shining blonde hair draped in perfect bangs over a face almost, but not quite, too beautiful for a mortal woman to possess. She wore green eyes today. Men always loved her green eyes; so bright and lovely, comparing them to emeralds or tropical tree lines as they lay their souls down at the flick of her smile. Her buttery dress was made of the finest China silk fashioned with a host of tiny white pearls that shone even in the shadow of her sister’s dark wings. Her coat was the purest and most expensive ermine, a gift from a pet that she had kept at bay for weeks before playfully devouring him in a night of flawless passion. Her flesh was creamy white, her bosom rising proudly but not whorishly from the front of her dress offering the perfect amount of cleavage to lure in even the most chaste of lovers. She had crafted herself as a vision, alluring and sensual, innocent and dangerous, a delicate courtier welcome in all the best houses and beds of Europe. In fact, the only thing marring her feminine perfection was the dull shine of the blades in her delicate hands which dripped crimson with the blood of her recent victims. “You fucking bitch!” Fatlaia screeched as she stepped through the gore-soaked remains in a fury. Lillinaria had been a thorn in her side for time beyond reason, one of a dozen dark sisters that served the throne and a pathetic rival to her own glory. Always the lesser, she had rarely come into open conflict, rather sniping from between the safety of their master’s legs. Never a true threat yet always and ever a pain in her ass. Lillinaria stood her ground under the weight of the other’s hate. To an outside the scene would look ridiculous. A slight and genteel girl clad in silk and ermine standing blithely before a fiend out of nightmare, only the bloody daggers in her delicate hands giving testimony to her own hellish nature.  “Enough with the roaring. I do believe the neighbors have had enough noise and spectacle for the evening.” she remarked, letting the blades fall from her grip. The ringing sound of steel on stone echoed through the alley as she stepped back, making a show of protecting the hem of her dress from the filth and mess around her. “You always did love the slums and refuse, didn’t you? I never could understand the attraction. Of course, as they say… you are what you devour.”Lillinaria’s flippant manner in the shadow of her rage only angered Fatlaia more and for the briefest of moments she felt herself slipping, the urge to tear the blonde’s body apart in a slaughter of human flesh nearly too potentially satisfying to ignore. At the last she held back, the fear of something far greater and more terrible still checking her thirst. Hate as they must, the anger of the Throne was never to be dared. Instead she let her form slip down, her bestial form disappearing once more into the no less dangerous form of the dazzling brunette she had used to lure her prey. “What the fuck are you doing here, sister? Shouldn’t you be at some foppish party surrounded by pasty-faced weaklings?”“Oh, well dear me. The very idea of preferring men who are clean, bathed, mannered rather than the boorish thugs that fill your bed each night must seem far too alien for you. The very thought that my own sister would even consider men such as these… ugh, disgusting.”“Spare me! The last thing I want to hear from you is a critique on how I spend me nights. Especially from you!” Fatlaia responded, her anger over her lost and much needed feast seething hotly. With the loss of not one but two opportunities, she was faced with returning to her lesser haunts and taking whatever was available. Her plans for a post-fast orgy were dashed and she could not go another hour without feeling the tensing hips of a suddenly horrified male between her thighs as he gave up his immortal soul one gush of bursting ball-seed after another. “The stories of you and the Lemure are legendary and far more disgusting.”“Well, eternity is a long time after all and a girl does need her little kinks.” Lillinaria teased, the hem of her dress sailing over the filthy stone as she slid by her engaged sibling, her eyes coolly laughing at her sister’s obvious distress. Her sister had obviously had enough of their chat and was headed towards the mouth of the ally in an obvious rush to get on with her night. “The truth of the matter is, you’ve not only gotten pitiful in your choice of prey but sloppy as well. Chasing the last through the streets like that, so that any might see. Killing with claw and fang. It is a threat to us all. And don’t think it has not gone unnoticed.”Fatlaia stopped in her tracks. Normally the whore’s prattling meant little enough to her but for some reason her lilting tone implied a threat she could not lightly ignore. She turned dangerously, her voice held low, “What do you mean?”“What I mean dear sister is that it’s been decided you be taught a lesson. And that I teach it to you.”Sliding into a defensive crouch, Fatlaia eyed her sister warily. There was a threat in those words, and it made her uneasy. Lillinaria was a vile bitch but overt threats were not her style. Erven given her own infernal strength the slut was no match for her on her best day. Of course, this was far from being her own best day. Fatlaia was weak from her self-imposed privation and the chase and transformation had taken more out of her than she wanted to admit. As pathetic as Lillinaria was, the bitch was practically seething with devoured souls, her own strength bolstered by a recent feast of strong male lusts. Fatlaia was still certain that she would win a battle between them even now, but to transform back into her other, truer form now would drain precious radiance that she could not well afford to lose unless the situation was indeed desperate. She had to take control again, remind the wretched whore who was the stronger power here. Fatlaia stood up tall in her human form, her spine straight and darkness filling her ancient eyes. Darkness and more than a hint of danger. When she spoke her voice reflected that danger, rising from her black lips in a low growl that would cow any mortal before it, “And just what would you intend to teach me… sister? Speak carefully. You know who I am.”Fatlaia’s head cracked into the stone pavement with a sickening ‘thunk’, her life’s blood joining those of those victims who had already added their ghosts to the Hell-shadowed alley. The blade had come from behind, swift and silent as the murderous thought that preceded it. The shining blade, forged out of a metal and imbued with a power never dreamed of by human minds, had sliced true and clean through her neck with nary the slightest splatter of blood. Fatlaia’s body fell soon after, hesitating a single moment as if it was still trying to determine why it no longer had a head. An easy smile still adorning her moon-pale face, Lillinaria bent knelt to consider her unlucky sister’s head, careful as always not to stain her favorite dress in the gore of the alley. With gentle fingers she reached out, stopping the head’s rolling spin. At the mouth of the alley she noted the sound of a blade being returned carefully to its scabbard. She knelt there for a long minute unnaturally still not even needing to take the simplest breath, her physical body having died long before. “Ynisynora. Is there some reason you are still here?”Blonde dreadlocks hung back from the woman’s strong yet sad face. Piercing hazel eyes set buried in deep sockets watched silently as Lillinaria stretched forth her tapering fingers to shut the eyes of the lifeless head. Fire had left a terrible scar upon her face, stretching from the bottom of her neck in ragged flesh, running up along her cheekbone and carving through her left eye; leaving a stinging burden that had followed her through millennia. A second scar lay unnoticed beneath her shirt, a jagged and ugly scar where once stood her firm breasts. Despite her tender flesh and pained, expressive eyes there was nothing in the woman’s presence that would draw a look, her spirit seeking little more than obscurity despite her nearly seven-foot-tall frame.“I wanted to thank you.” the giantess replied in a pained and raspy voice, “It felt… good. Good to finally take my vengeance of the proud bitch.”Lillinaria stood, stepping from the alley as if she had completely forgotten the horror behind her. It was still early in the evening and if she were lucky, she might still catch the late theater crowd as it made its way to one wine-soaked orgy or another. She did not bother to look at her sister. No one did anymore anyway, her ugliness bearable only to the most decadent of demons.“You are quite welcome, dear Ynisynora. It must have felt wonderful to finally get your revenge after what… well, after what she did to you.”Ynisynora reached up to her scar, unthinking of her action, then tore her fingers away from her ruined face blushing red with embarrassment. She had been condemned to these horrible, ugly scars. Scars which followed her from body to body, from form to form, casting her ugliness upon her for all of eternity. Once she had been a beauty to rival the brightest of angels. Not anymore. With her beauty fell her allure and with that her radiance. Unable to inspire lust, unable to feed on its glorious sin, she had languished for centuries, saving up every ounce of strength for one promised moment of revenge. That moment had passed. “What… what happens now? To her? To me?” she asked in a fearful whisper. Lillinaria dd not bother turning to face her sister. Honestly the thing was far to gruesome to look upon and not partially because it was a fate that might curse any of them, including herself. Instead she lifted up one dainty white-gloved hand to signal her coachman who sat dutifully waiting for her at the end of the street. Faithful, silent, and discreet Giorgio was an absolute and rare treasure. he had served her faithfully for years beyond his mere mortal span, just as he would do eternally if she had her way.“What happens? Well, for yourself, my dear sister? Well, without even the thought of your revenge to keep you going and with… well… after all, looking like that… I suppose you will just end up fading away into the ether. Sad really but its not like you have any use beyond this moment.” Lillinaria trilled casually,  secretly relishing the thought of one less sister to consider in her future plans.By now the coach had arrived, the hooves of the matching cream-colored horses ending their slow trot at her feet. The coachman sailed from his seat with a professional grace to offer her his hand as she mounted the first step. “And for her brilliant carelessness, our beloved sister will be condemned to existence at the feet of the Throne serving our master’s disapproval of her sloppiness. After all, leaving bloody corpses all over the place isn’t exactly very smart now is it? She will be condemned to stay there until a mortal host accepts her willingly. As if that would ever happen!”With that she climbed into the carriage and took a quick leave, the horses more than willing to speed their way from the bloody scene. In the morning the local police would be called to a horrible scene, one found by a horrified fisherman who would have nightmares eternally about what he had found in that gruesome alley. Without any further work the detective assigned simply wrote the whole thing up as a murder-suicide and ordered the bodies – belonging to no one of note – be buried in Potter’s field with all the other vagrants and vagabonds. On each grave was written the same name, Unknown, and each bore simply the date of death, the Year of Our Lord 1820.………………………………………………………………………………………….Eleonora crawled out of their bed, her body aching from a morning of sex with her lover. Not that Berto was a passionate lover, or even a skilled one, but the man was heavy. She could still feel his thick gut crushing the air out of her lungs as he lay atop her. His very sweat stunk of garlic as he heaved his pathetic manhood int and out of her, breathing with effort as she held her legs wide for his meaty hips. Luckily, he hadn’t lasted long – he never did. A short half-hearted blowjob was enough to get his cock hard enough to fuck. It was always the same with him crawling between her thighs, heaving with the effort. She still hissed and moaned as he entered her, telling him how good his thin shaft felt as it pierced the first few inches of her starving pussy. She moaned as he thrust into her, urging him on, grunting and wailing under him as she begged to be filled with his hot, manly seed. Saying and doing anything to get him to blow his pathetic little load so that she could get on with her day.Normally he was happy enough to cum across her breasts or ass, cumming even faster when she offered to swallow his sour-tasting cum. But lately he had been insisting on fucking his load deep into her hungry cunt. As deep as his less than heroic cock would go in any case. His sister had announced that she was pregnant with her third child now and Berto had it in his head to become a father. He mentioned it one night, just as they had gone to bed, pulling her into the gentle embrace of his hairy arms. As he whispered in the dark, telling her of his dream of having a family and children of his own he could not see how Eleonora had buried her head into her pillows, sobbing quietly as he unfurled his heart to her. She had heard these words before. They were Franco’s words. Those soft pleas in the night showing her the world he had hoped to build with her. A family. Children. Grandchildren. Sitting on a porch holding hands as the evening wore on with the sound of their offspring lighting the house behind them with music and laughter. She remembered with shame how she had refused him. Thinking far too much of her own life, her own selfish wants and needs, she had lied to him. She had betrayed him, her own sweet and loving Franco. Even as he took her into his arms each evening, each evening for three long years, making love to her and filling her nights with glorious sex, she had secretly been taking the pill. Eleonora cringed with shame remembering his heroic efforts to get her with child, fucking rivers of hot, potent cum deep into her secretly infertile womb. Now she sobbed as he thought of how callously she dismissed the man’s sad eyes each morning when the tests came back negative; cruelly ignoring his obvious pain. All for what? She had lost everything. Her own selfish needs, a cheap fantasy, had cost her he husband, her happiness, her very life. And now she was going to do it all over again to poor Berto.She climbed into the shower as he slept, washing the stink of his sweat off her body. A thin trail of his watery seed disappeared in the spray and along with it whatever hope or fear she had about becoming with child. Berto was a good man, loyal and loving, steady and caring. But, try as she might, Eleonora could feel nothing for him but a sad pity. Greasy and rotund, uncouth in his manner, Berto had never had a woman steadily in his bed. She needed him. His apartment. His support. His protection. But that was all. Try as she might she could not bring herself to love him and there were times, times when he looked at her over the dinner table with that forlorn look in his eyes, that she sensed that he knew it. She fought back a tear as she thought of Franco once more. Of Franco and Pamela and their coming child. The child she should have borne him. She turned the knob on as far as it would go, burying her sobs under a blast of scalding hot water until her back was searing red with deserved pain. Eleonora stepped out of the shower and dried herself off, making an effort not to glance in the mirror. What lay there frightened her; a traitorous bitch about to destroy the hopes and dreams of yet another good man. For a moment she thought of reaching down to the back of the vanity, to that hidden spot under a mad pile of feminine hair products that hid her special toy. She had not used it, not bothering to subject herself to the disappointment, for over a month now. Each time was the same, one attempt after another to desperate attempt to bring herself to orgasm. Ever since she had found herself in Berto’s bed – No. Even before that. Ever since Franco had cast her from his life, she could find no pleasure in sex. Neither the biggest, hardest, roughest cocks she could find nor her own hand could bring her past the edge and bless her with the release she so badly needed. Each time had been a tearful nightmare, begging her own body for mercy, while having sex with Berto had become a bothersome chore. The closest she had ever gotten was when she let her imagination drift to Franco once more; imagining that it was his body pressed hard along her own, his lips at her neck, his seed blasting between her shivering thighs intent on sparking life within her cold, traitorous womb. But that brought with it even more tears and more torturous regrets.As she dressed, she listened to him snoring. He sounded like a boar snorting in the woods and, come to think of it, he reminded her of one in more ways than just his snore. Morning had risen and the sounds of an early Saturday were beginning to drift through the open windows. Berto would want breakfast after his sexual efforts. He would want to wake to the scent of coffee and a smiling woman still captivated by his prowess, alight with his fevered lust. Perhaps it was only her guilty heart speaking and not any sense of love, but she would provide him with both. She would even make pancakes for him! She still had some of the mix left from the American market by the Rialto. When he woke Eleonora would dot on him, watch his eyes come to life as she poured the maple syrup across his plate and called him her stud. It would make him happy and she owed him that at least. Afterwards she would take a jog down to the shore, perhaps take a few pictures and enjoy the few hours of good weather before the promised rainstorm that was rolling in on the horizon. It would be good to clear her head, to get away from the humid stench of the canals and feel the sea breeze on her face. Perhaps she might even forget her troubles for an hour or two, pretending to be alone and free as she found her way though the markets. It might be the last chance she would have she thought as she poured the buttery pancake batter into the sizzling pan and watched the coffee steam on the stove. Eleonora had already come to a decision. Running her hand gently over her belly she imagined how it would feel. How her life might be. How it might have been with Franco’s child growing inside of her instead of Berto’s. But that as a regret she would have to somehow live with. Behind her she heard him grunting as he made his way from the bed, the scent of breakfast putting a serene smile on his otherwise homely face as he slid a bathrobe over his thick, hairy body. She turned to him, gifting him with her best and most grateful smile as she set the table before him, yielding herself gently as he brought her into his arms for a morning kiss. Yes, she thought, tonight she would do away with the pills and give herself over to his desire. There were far worse fates than motherhood after all. After breakfast she would take him back to bed for one last, and sadly brief, fuck before heading out and finding what the morning light held in store for her.  -- source link

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