The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Kansas City Missouri: 2054.

He awoke from his three hundred year slumber and quickly scurried and slithered from his lair in search of a city. He had hidden his body in the great American Midwest, then sparsely populated with Indians and a few brave whites but now teaming with hum and bustle of humanity. The city he found was Kansas City Missouri.

His long dormant mind raced with excitement at what he saw from a distance. Buildings, shining sleek and cool, jutted towards heaven like fingers reaching for god himself. Traveling carriages without the aid of horses traversed humanity about at amazing speeds along smartly paved roads. Overhead, huge noisy metallic birds soared in the heavens leaving white contrails that cut the blue sky in their wake. Science and technology had indeed advanced just as Mordred envisioned. He could not only see it but his heightened senses could smell it in the very air. When he had reluctantly crawled into his layer on that last day three long centuries ago the air had been crisp and fresh and clean. He could smell flowers and animals and Indians all around him for miles. Now he could barely smell the humans he could see from afar. There were new powerful scents that occluded all else. Instinctively he knew these were the smells of progress, of the machinery and chemicals that powered in dozens of ways the miracle world he now inhabited. These smells reminded him of the lamps of England so very long ago but so much stronger, so much more varied.

He picked up his pace moving quickly towards man’s magnificent city, the pearl of their new science. There was so much to learn and he quivered in anticipation of what he would find. Science had come a long way since he last walked the earth but had it come far enough to unleash his master plan?

In the great metropolis he drew many stares and snickers for his odd, antiquated clothes. Many people studiously avoided him, no doubt judging him defective or mad. This was a situation he needed to rectify immediately and he quickly set out to do so. Attracting attention to himself could be fatal and he wanted to avoid this at all cost.

Finding a clothing store he asked for the manager. He quickly entered the man’s mind, enthralling him. This was a fortuitous surprise for frequently upon awakening his powers of mesmerism were depleted to uselessness until he fed. At those times he would have to find a lone victim and attack with his strength that always survived his sleep. This time his mental powers were weak yet still strong enough to do what he needed done. He quickly convinced the man to take him to his office for a private chat.

Once inside the office he attacked and fed. Not enough to kill but sufficient to recharge his psychic battery to a degree where he could probe the man’s mind, take much of his knowledge and thoughts into himself. He was desperate to learn every single thing about this marvelous new world. Once he had the man well under control he was quickly fitted with the clothes of this new time. He also was given all the money the manager had in his office safe.

He then stepped outside to wait. Soon the manager came out to meet him, glassy eyed and so compliant. The man drove him home in one of the horseless carriages where he summarily enthralled the man’s wife and drained her to death. At last he entered the man’s mind with all his formidable powers. They slithered and crawled through the man’s mind like snakes: seeking, learning, eating and taking. After five hours he knew enough to function in this time and he drained the man to death as well, his usefulness now at an end.

Over the next couple of weeks he bounded about the city bringing a host of wealthy men and women under his sway, draining them of their essence, memories, blood and bank accounts. Soon enough he was able to rent a luxury apartment in an upper class section of town.

He learned that the quickest way to obtain information was with the internet and TV. He had both hooked up in his apartment and now the real learning began. He had three hundred years of history and advancement to digest and understand and his dominant species mind absorbed information at a frightening unnatural rate. He never slept and so he had twenty four hours a day, every day, to learn and for the first two months and aside from feeding, that’s all he did.

And what he learned confirmed the opinion he had formed during the eighteenth century. Science and technology was the new god, the real god, not the old superstitions ignorant men who knew nothing believed in the past. He had once been one of ignorant; sure some god had crippled his ability to attain his true powers with the cruel joke of his long rest. He understood now that no god laughed at a trick played on him. His sleep was simply a function of what he was, a biological being, nothing more or less, no mystical quality to it.

He marveled at the pace of science and he could see that a few recent discoveries had allowed it to advance now not linearly, but exponentially, like a ravenous cloud of locusts, devouring the old and replacing it with the new. He soaked up the advancements like a sponge, so eager to see how far mankind had come: There were phones that allowed one to talk to anyone, anywhere on the planet in an instant, the combustion engine, electricity that transformed night to day, computers that allowed calculation previously unheard of to occur at lightning speed, cars, planes that allowed men to fly like birds, massive submarines that took men to the very depths of the ocean, even space ships to the moon and mars! Man had actually left earth and walked on the moon! The thought of this left him dazzled. He watched the film clips of the Apollo landings over and over mesmerized by the grey, shadowy, ghost like images.

Out of all the new technologies it was air travel that delighted him the most. He could fly from city to city, anywhere in the world in a matter of hours! It was unlimited freedom and access to anyplace he wished to go, anything he desired to experience in person. And this he did, traveling to all the great cities on all the continents. And it was in these cities that he visited the great museums of the world, finally seeing with own eyes all the priceless works of art that gave him such deep pleasure. They were more majestic in person than any picture or words in a book could convey. Being there, just a few feet away from these treasures left him breathlessly staggered with wonder.

He became so besotted with flight that one day he went to a small airport, took over the mind of a middle aged flight school instructor and learned as much as he could from the man’s memories. He wanted to thrill to the control and power of flight, like a bird, himself, not once removed by the hand of a pilot. He had him take him for a training flight. In three hours he could fly the plane all by himself. The instructor, now completely under the sway of the monster sat and chatted with him like an old friend, thinking nothing of the fact that he was no longer flying the plane.

The whole feel of it was so liberating. Ever since he existed he would gaze up at birds with envy, wondering what must feel like to leave the bonds of earth and soar in the air, spiraling, twisting, turning, riding the winds far above those trapped below. And now, finally, thanks to man’s brilliant inventiveness and technology he knew. The feeling was even more sublime and powerful than he had imagined. For weeks on end he returned to the little airport to become free yet again. Finally when he had enough, at the end of his final visit, when he had plenty of memories to revisit when he wished he implanted a suggestion in the instructor’s mind. He returned to that same airport the next night at ten o’clock. Right on time the instructor entered his Cessna and took off. Right on time he then plunged the plane into the control tower setting off a massive explosion. It was spectacular, the brilliance of the red and yellow blast juxtaposed against the dark sky; in its way, as beautiful as the paintings of the masters he so admired. And now it too was a memory he could replay over and over in perfect detail.

Corporations and industry had become behemoths that dwarfed even the largest institutions of bygone days. They were the drivers of the world now, the new elite, the new kings and nobles of the planet. Disease and sickness and plagues that had killed millions unmercifully had been eradicated or inoculated against. Organs, even the heart could be transplanted from one person to another. To the men of the eighteenth century and before modern man would seem as omnipotent magician’s delving in unheard of, unimaginable arts.

He learned of all these things and so much more. Ever curious, so intelligent, he devoured the histories of the precious three centuries he lie dormant. Technological advancements were not just made for mankind’s good. Oh no, the dark side of human nature was well and truly represented with equally impressive results. Machines of war took on all kinds of unimaginable shapes, sizes and capabilities. The litany of destroyers of mankind ran like a railroad track heading to ever larger scales of death and total annihilation: Machine guns, gas, tanks, missiles, fighter planes, bombers, rockets and ultimately the apotheosis of humanities suicide wish, the destroyer of worlds, the atomic bomb. And he was stunned to find they had actually used it! On each other! Nothing was beyond humanities primal urge to destroy each other and themselves; now not just hundreds or a few thousand died in conflicts but hundreds of thousands…millions.

He was fascinated; completely captivated by Napoleon and his adventures of rule and conquest and then the two great world wars and the destruction they wrought on a mass scale unthinkable in his previous awakenings. He spent endless hours reading about them, watching film about them, devouring all the information he could about the great conflagrations and the rulers of nations who lived them.

He fell into a deep funk thinking about how powerful he would have grown, absorbing the stark horrifying emotions of soldiers and civilians as they suffered and died in incalculable numbers. He imagined himself roaming battle fields and German concentration camps at night taking all that pain and terror into him. Happily making the nightmare sub zero retreat from Russian with Napoleon’s disintegrating Grande Army. Lurking with joy at the siege of Stalingrad while its citizens slowly starved to death by the thousands while being frozen by winter and pounded by the Wehrmacht. How powerful would his physic ability of control become when fed and enhanced by this unending flow of powerful dread emotions that never ceased? Instead of controlling a few dozen humans as he normally could it was conceivable he could control hundreds or even thousands!

He pondered the rise and fall of the warlord of a modern era, Hitler, and his story brought back memories of his friend Vlad Tepes. Both had an insatiable desire for power and control and both were ruthless, so free to destroy the lives of those in their sphere of influence. Unlike Vlad, Hitler was completely mad but he also saw a parallel, how each had taken on too many enemies, too many battles on too many fronts to survive. Both their ends were inevitable, almost preordained by their fearlessness and confidence. And of course the same mistake and end held true of even the great Napoleon who dwarfed both of the others.

He wondered with a smile what his friend Vlad would have done with the fancy new weapons of war that could wipe out thousands with the touch a button?

And he wondered with yet another smile what these modern men, masters of science would think if they knew someone on their planet who had supped and drank with the dread impaler, who had urged him on to his violent grotesqueries was now learning about their world in order to replicate Tepes’ bloody deeds on a far grander scale for his own design.

And of course he poured over the internet, then books about his long dead friend. His end had come as he had envisioned but reading about it made it real and palpable and it filled him with a strong melancholy. It was so hard to envision Vlad, so vital, so full of life, so clever, so indomitable silenced for all time by a weaker man’s hand.

But he was never one to dwell on loss very long and quickly immersed himself just as deeply in the beauty humanity had created in his absence. And what beauty it was on so many fronts!

He spent endless hours listening to the music of Mozart. All his wondrous offerings were now available in so many formats, easy to play as pushing a button. The intricate, unearthly sound he produced was simply perfection. It lifted his mind to great heights of joy, freeing it from all other thoughts or constraints, letting it fly like an eagle above any other concerns. And there were other composers almost as good. He poured through their works as well. And those works were a feast for the ear just as paintings were for the eye. Just as Mozart perfectly captured and distilled humanities inner mental beauty so did Michelangelo and others capture the exterior of what man could imagine. These works of composer and artist were the zenith twin genius’s of the human senses.

He worked his way up through the years, bit by bit, quickly catching up with all he had missed. And he found yet another world opened to him. Rock and roll spoke to him on just as deep a level as classical music but in a totally different way. Where classical music soothed and soared his mind rock and roll spoke to his darkness. The violent beats of the drums, the blasting, vibrant, discordant sounds of the guitar and the hypnotic bass beats brought forth to his ear all the dark pleasures that made his existence so exquisite. And it was augmented by the lyrics, words of hedonism, sex and violence and obsessive love, drugs and rebellion. It was like a giant fuck off to conformity shouted at the highest decibel from the young to the old who inhabited the power structure and it was so beautiful. It was the ultimate expression of a hedonistic uninhibited mindset that he found dovetailed to his own.

He listened relentlessly to The Doors, Led Zepplin, Nirvana, The Runnaways, The Pretty Reckless, Godsmack, The Stones and countless others.

As in music he found yet other priceless wonders in modern art and literature. Men like Picasso and Pollock and others opened up whole new vistas for his appreciation for they saw the world as beautifully distorted and discordant, dripping surreal imagery that appealed deeply to his own vision of life. Munch’s The Scream brought a smile to his lips. He had seen that look many times in his life and he had fed off that horror his victims felt. It was as if Munch had been there watching with full appreciation and understanding. Like a kindred spirit.

He read voraciously tearing through Ulysses, Don Quixote, The Great Gatsby, War and Peace, The Sun Also Rises and all the classics. He found these writers came close to rivaling his beloved Shakespeare in storytelling and use of language. And he developed a powerful appreciation for horror and fantasy novels and their masters like King, Straub, Martin, Lovecraft, Poe and others. These men imaged horrors that even he had not perpetrated. He read the histories of great men, honorable men and terrible men who had lived and died while he slept. And he read of the women who defied the long odds, grabbed power and changed the world.

Yet it was the story by Fitzgerald, The Great Gatsby that he kept returning to. There was something about Gatsby’s obsessive desire to turn reality on its head, to shape his world to the perfect ideal he desired that pulled at his own core. He understood Gatsby intimately and why he needed to achieve this end. And he knew Gatsby could have succeeded. It was not his vision that was faulty; it was the manner in which he had attempted to achieve it. And this was a mistake he would not repeat. When he did it, when he finally moved to turn the reality of his world upside down he would succeed.

And it was during this time that he realized humanities creative explosion that he first witnessed in England was adding more and more to his joy of living, giving him a quality of life and interests he had never enjoyed before. Just as their sky scrapers reached higher and higher with each new floor so was their succeeding technological discoveries and diverse, burgeoning arts adding immeasurably to his existence. Human creativity was feeding him in ways that blood never could. And he thought it fitting that this was so, for what were humans for except to enhance the life of the dominant species?

Then one day, browsing for a good horror novel he came upon a book by Bram Stoker, an epistolary novel named Dracula. This book changed his life.

It was about his old comrade Vlad Tepes and it was also about himself.

As he read it his mouth became dry and his heart slowed to a crawl as he absorbed every word in minutest detail.

He couldn’t believe what he had found in pages of this old book: Stoker had taken the liberty of resurrecting his long dead boon companion Vlad Tepes from his moldy grave and brought him to a stunning second life as the master vampire Dracula.

He ripped through the book at breakneck speed, shaking his head, stunned and dumbfounded because its origins were obvious. It was born out of his and Vlad’s relationship so long ago. Somehow Stoker had found stories of him, no doubt passed on by the many peasants whose women he fed on during his time in Wallachia. And over time they had conflated him with the equally blood thirsty Vovoid and made them one…into the cold blooded, implacable undead monster Dracula.

This combining of the two into one was not the only mistake Stoker had made for he was not afraid of or destroyed by the sun nor burned by the cross, holy water or garlic. Neither could he transmogrify into mist or a bat or a wolf as much as he would find those abilities enviable.

But it was the things Stoker had dead to right that captivated him. The feeding on blood, the mesmeric powers of the creature and the survival through the ages as mere men crumbled to dust. It, he, even had a name. He was a vampire; the name of the dominant species revealed to him by a long dead human! The irony of it was not lost on him. And in finding his name he experienced the exalted joy of his own form of rebirth and resurrection. His admiration for Stoker, this amazing man who had unearthed these truths about him was boundless. He longed so much to have been awake when Stoker had existed, so he could enter his mind and find out all this man had known. To drink whiskey with this man in comfortable surroundings, perhaps by a fireplace, talking with him, questioning him late into the night till he got to know the man, his life, knew everything Stoker knew and found out how he had learned these things. He wished so much to ask Stoker how he found out the facts of his existence that had eluded him for so long. How had this remarkable man from England done the impossible?

But as he read it got even better: it was the creation of other vampires that made him take notice with a febrile intensity unlike anything he had ever felt in his entire life. According to the novel, to the great detective Stoker, there was a formula for the creation of vampires. He had to feed from a victim and then let her drink his blood and then finish her off in her mortal form. That was the sequence of events that would allow her to be reborn as a like creature, a vampire!

His head swam with the implications. Had this been the manner of his creation? Had he had finally been given the answer to one of his two eternal questions at long last by a long dead author in England? That last country he had resided in? It had to be so. What other explanation was there for his existence? He had once been human and had been elevated to his new plane by another vampire. In the novel Lucy had been reborn in a rudimentary way, her mind not yet fully functional. Perhaps Stoker had been wrong here too, just a little off. Perhaps rebirth meant total forgetfulness, the lack of memory of one’s mortal life. That would explain why he had no recall of anything prior to his first awakening.

It all fit so perfectly, the logic of it undeniable.

As soon as he finished the chapter with Lucy Westenra’s rebirth he immediately closed the book and placed it gently on the table. He had something to do tonight and nothing would delay him for even a second in carrying out this mission. For a creature of limitless patience, with eternity before him his desperation to immediately replicate the magic sequence of blood sharing was a totally new and foreign feeling. He simply could not move with enough speed or urgency.

He entered one night club after another, scanning for just the right woman. He searched well into the night watching bodies and faces, feeling into minds until he found the physical and mental match he would accept as one of his own, one he could spend many endless years with if he so choose. She was a young college student named Tanya Kelly. She was dirty blond and athletic with sky blue eyes, rocking that surfer girl look to perfection. But she was not just looks. The vampire also sensed she had things going on upstairs. He put her in his thrall with lightening speed and brought her home, wasting not a moment with the usual long, drawn out cat and mouse play he always enjoyed when finding and subduing a new victim.

Tanya stood in the dark shadows of his living room. She had gone to the bar looking for a few drinks and maybe a few laughs. No big deal. But now here she was in this man’s apartment, naked, staring at him with covetous eyes. But even more shocking was what she felt for him. She was stone cold in love! It seemed impossible yet it was true. In a short amount of time the usually levelheaded girl had found her life totally upended. She wasn’t thinking about college anymore or any of the things that had occupied her life until just an hour ago. All she thought about was this man, how gorgeous he was, how overpowering his presences felt, how deeply and totally her love and commitment was to him. How at this moment, nude, chest thrust out, arms back like some soldier in an erotic army ready for inspection, she would do anything to please and satisfy him. Her feelings about this were mixed. She knew it was totally unlike her. I mean to be here with a strange man, naked so soon after they met! She hardly knew him.

Her pretty forehead scrunched up in muddied thought. I….I…can’t even remember his name….did he tell me? He must have. Why can’t I remember? And why am I standing here buck naked showing off my body for him? She shook her head slightly. A part of Tanya kept screaming that something was very wrong here, that she need to get away fast.

“Is something wrong, Tanya?” he asked solicitously.

“I don’t….I….um…..I’m not sure. I feel kinda weird. Spaced out. This just….isn’t…like me.” She had such difficulty getting the words out. Thinking, talking, it all seemed like such a damn chore. She just wanted to stare at this man and smile at him. Be close to him.

He laughed with gentle amusement. “Well the way you were throwing them down it doesn’t surprise me.”

She thought back to the bar. Had she been drinking that much? That wasn’t her habit. She tried to remember but it all seemed so fuzzy, like a dream. She had quick visions of this man sharing a booth with her, talking, whispering, smiling while she just looked at him and nodded over and over again to all the things he said.

But even now another part of her, a stronger part was reveling in these new, beautiful, deep feelings for this magnificent stranger in front of her, emotions so much stronger and compelling than anything she had ever felt for anyone. She never felt this giddy, this alive and this euphoric. It was like some kind of drug had invaded and suffused every brain cell in her head.

When the war between the two sides of Tanya’s mind resolved itself she let out a soft, girlish giggle and she thrust her chest out even more. She wasn’t going anywhere. She wanted to feel what this man could to do her naked body. She thrilled at the thought.

The vampire stood close enough to feel her body heat. She was breathing hard, fully under his control and ready for his instruction. He could feel her inflamed desire coursing through her, driving her to obey her new imperatives. She looked so lovely bathed in the soft shadow of barely lit room. He wondered if he picked correctly. From what he had gleaned of her mind in a short period of time he thought he had but he also knew he had rushed things. But if not, no matter: If he found her incompatible to share years with after she turned he would eventually send her off on her own or kill her. Both expedients were simple enough. If this proved the case the next time he would search longer for a companion. Right now the objective was simply to create another of his kind, to replicate the Stoker/Dracula formula. All other concerns were ancillary.

He ran one finger down her bare arm and gave her a welcoming smile. She shivered to his touch.

I…I….think I….love you, she murmured. She looked down, clearly embarrassed by the intimate confession. Tanya had never made a stupid, impulsive decision in her young life and he could sense her confusion at what she felt.

She shook her head puzzled. Why had she said that? Did she really love this man already? Why was she so fucking confused?

Tanya’s face flushed red. “I’m…sorry I said that. It was stupid. Something’s wrong with me. I feel so strange.”

The vampire caressed her face softly with his hand. He ran a thumb over the light spattering of freckles on her cheek. They were so cute. They made her all the more adorable. He smiled at her. It was such a perfect smile. He looked so boyish and handsome and innocent. Tanya found she really liked that smile a whole bunch.

“But you don’t seem stupid or strange. You look so attractive when you blush, Tanya. You should blush often. You are so very pretty. I’ve never met a girl as beautiful as you. You must know how special you are. You are nothing less than a firm, ripe peach…ready to be plucked from the tree by a strong hand.”

His amazing words sank into her psyche like very sweet thick syrup, gumming up her ability to think.

She blushed even more at the compliment. “I…uh….um…”

The vampire pushed harder, conflating his thoughts with hers until Tanya accepted his as her own, unable to distinguish the difference.

“You should not be embarrassed by your feelings Tanya,” he continued smoothly, his coal black eyes locked on hers. “Feelings and emotions are the essence of life. Without them life would be grey and meaningless and so very empty. Do you not agree?”

She thought about this and did agree. This man was so smart. Everything he said seemed like a revelation, a new true religion being unveiled to her word by delicious word. She nodded.

“Love is the greatest miracle of all. It is bestowed only on the lucky few. Why would you wish to reject such a bounteous gift?”

And Tanya understood he was right. Why would anyone reject love? And she realized just how grey and meaningless and empty her whole life had been until this very moment. All of it, her parents, her friends, college, all of paled in the face of true love.

The vampire watched her closely, seeing her face and eyes smooth out as she embraced her new reality. Then he continued.

“And beautiful young women such as you can’t help having strong feelings. Your body and mind crave things. You need pleasure, you were born for it. You really can’t control it.”

His words echoed in her head. I am beautiful. My body and mind need pleasure. I can’t control it. I was born for it. She felt the truth of it. He understood her, what she needed. The thoughts turned her on. I was born for it…..

“Don’t run from such bliss my sweet girl. But rush towards it with all haste. Wrap your arms about it and hold it tight, never let it go.”

She nodded again like an automation. “Yes. Yes I won’t ever let it go,” she said with a soft but fevered intensity.

“Look into my eyes Tanya. You are right to love me. I was born to be loved. No one is loved as much as I. So very many women have loved me above all else. You can see that can’t you? And you exist to love me as all women are. It is what you were made for. It is what I was made for.”

His eyes suddenly narrowed, the kindness in them turning to cold command. “To love me above all else.”

“To love you above all else,” she repeated. A slight shudder ran through her body as she said it. The words felt so correct, so very true. It felt like a furnace had just been ignited between her legs. God I’m so fucking horny…

“Remember Tanya, you are just a girl. As beautiful and strong as your body is so your mind is just as weak and easily led. All young, beautiful women are that way. I know from long experience. Their minds are so soft and helpless. You need someone to love, someone commanding to tell you what to think and believe. Without this lover you would be so very lost. Lost and helpless forever. You don’t wish to be a lost girl, do you? You need to be in love so you can be found and obey your lover.”

Tanya thought about what he was saying to her. Yes, I am just a beautiful young girl. I’m so helpless and my mind is weak and easy to lead. Without a lover to command me I would be lost.

She shook her head. “No. I don’t want to be lost. I need to love you so I can be led. I’m beautiful and my mind is soft and weak.” She looked at him, taking all of him in with her empty, glazed eyes. The words came so easily off her tongue now because she believed them with all her heart. She realized she felt pride in her honest words about herself; pride and a sky rocketing libido that made her shaved pussy crazy with wet desire.

Look at him! He’s so fucking hot. He’s perfect. He’s flawless. But he’s more than that. He’s so smart and strong and commanding. He’s everything a weak girl needs. I can’t live without him. I would be so lost. I can’t believe he chose me to love him, to obey his every command. I am so lucky. I love him so much.

“Come to me my love,” he ordered in a flat, demanding tone.

Tanya flew into his arms, her head spinning with desire and obedience.

He lowered his head to her neck, kissing and nibbling gently.

“Oh fuck!” she rasped as glorious sensations set sail on her nerve endings like a massive armada seeking to conquer her body.

He immediately sensed her response and instinctively stormed further, burying his fangs into the succulent flesh of her neck.

Tanya’s head flew back involuntarily as she felt pleasure rip through her. Her eyes closed as successive pulses of heat and lust and twirling spirals of euphoria spread from her brain and pussy up and down her spine and then enveloped all of her.

The vampire drank from her with a powerful drive. He was so impatient and hopeful that he found himself shaking as much as Tanya was.

When he pulled his head back his eyes were hooded with dark bliss, just as Tanya’s were. He gazed at her for a long time with dilated pupils, just as hers were.

Finally, regaining some semblance of composure he pointed his finger to the ground at his feet.

“On your knees.” It was an imperative, quick and harsh.

Immediately Tanya dropped at the voice of his command. The mere act of obeying made her pussy tremble and rock with pleasure. Kneeling there on the floor, gazing up at him with adoring eyes, her body experiencing delicious tremors Tanya knew she had found her love, her life’s destiny. She had been so lost in her empty, meaningless life but now she was found. It felt so right.

Her mind was muddled and floating but even in such a vague, disoriented state pleasing thoughts came to her.

Yes…this is where I belong. On my bare knees in front of him, naked, obeying his will. I am beautiful and weak minded and soft. I love him….I worship him. He is everything.

She thrust her chest out and let her arms dangle at her sides, making sure her nude body was fully open and ready for his inspection. She raised her head to gaze up at him with a dazed, soft smile on her face.

She caught her reflection in a wall mirror. She looked so totally out of it, stoned in love as the Journey song had said. She loved how sexy her gone eyes and drunken smile looked on her face. She spread her legs wider so he could see how wet and eager her pussy was for him. She needed to look perfect for her true love. She knew she would kneel there unmoving, showing herself off for the rest of her life if it would make him happy.

“Anything to make you happy,” she said quietly. She had thought the words, not meaning to speak them but in her confused state she had spoken them aloud. She blushed again but also felt proud that her true love had heard her confession of complete loyalty.

The vampire took her in and nodded, appreciating the view and her new found obeisance.

He pulled the knife Vlad had given him and cut his wrist. He did not even flinch as he dug the steel into his flesh. He was almost there now. It was all so close. His new friend Stoker had shown him the way and all he had to do was follow the path.

He held out his bleeding wrist to Tanya. “Drink from me now as I have drunk from you.” His voice was lined with an anticipation Tanya would never be able to understand.

Tanya smiled obsequiously at him and quickly complied, putting her lovely lips to the wound and sucking eagerly. Before long the ingesting of his blood brought her into a very apparent euphoric fugue state. She began to moan and her naked torso began to sway back and forth as though under the thrall of some inner song playing relentlessly in her head that only she was privy to.

Seeing this reaction only increased his anticipation and fervor. He felt it was going to work! He knew it in his gut. This had to be the answer as to how he had been made! Somewhere, long, long ago, a vampire had performed this exact ritual with him! And soon he would no longer be alone to flit through the endless years. He would have a like kind, another of the dominant species to share his existence and its special delights with. He would have someone who understood exactly what it was like to be as he was and to share his ideas and thoughts with.

His whole world, his very existence was about to drastically change.

“Stop!” He commanded.

She slowly pulled her had back as though she was underwater. Tanya raised her head to stare into the face of her god yet again. Her pretty lips and chin were streaked with his blood. It made her look all the more attractive to him. Her mouth split into a lopsided, disjointed smile. Her eyes now glittered with a dark greed, a look that had been foreign to her gentle eyes before this moment. His dark infection was making its first incipient foothold on her mind. He had seen that initial look so many times on so many lovely faces over the years and it never failed to arouse him. Seeing her there, bloody, lustful, her mind absorbing a new ideal of what she was, Tanya looked all the world like a vampire already. He couldn’t wait to make it all real.

He held out his hand to hers. “Rise.”

Tanya took his hand in hers and managed to get up on shaking, unsteady legs like a new born colt.

He moved closer. His lips curled back in a sneer, revealing his monstrous fangs.

“And now Tanya, I will allow you to understand what the nature of my love truly means.”

Hearing this, a soft, needy moan escaped her throat. She didn’t know what the nature of his love truly meant but she knew she wanted it more than anything in the world.

He didn’t waste a moment on that promise.

He drank of her until her strong young heart weakened, faltered then stopped. She had passed from life quickly.

He laid her body gently on his couch, and sat watching. According to novel, three days was the time it took for the transformation to occur. For a creature that had lived over a thousand years three days would seem not even the blink of an eye but now those three days passed by like three thousand years. Every minute that ticked by on the clock was like an eternity.

He never left Tanya’s side, not even to feed, like a parent watching over his sleeping child. His coterie of thralls did not interest him or enter his mind for all those hours. All he could think about was the girls awaking and what it would mean to him. He felt as though he were being reborn again as much as Tanya was.

He sat there, just a few feet away from her, stock still the whole time, his black eyes never wavering from her naked form, a flesh statue possessed by the hope inflicted on him by cruel centuries of being alone, of being the only one of kind, of not even knowing where he had come from. He held that precious, miracle book, Dracula, the book that so closely described him, like a talisman that would finally sweep the curtain from his eyes and begin his journey of understanding of who and what he was. He held it so tightly his knuckles were white.

Finally, excruciatingly the three days crawled by.

And nothing happened.

Not in the morning of the third day, nor the afternoon, not even as nights shadows crept across the land possessing it in its dark embrace.

He sat there, just feet away; he hadn’t moved a muscle the whole time. As dusk fell he closed his eyes. They never opened, not even for the briefest of moments as he clutched the book even tighter.

When the clock struck twelve, the start of the fourth day, his eyes opened on the very first chime. The smell of decay coming off the girl was pungent and ripe. She was bloating with methane gas. Beautiful was last thing Tanya was now. She was no more able to return from death than Abe Lincoln, with his head shattered by that fateful, fatal lead ball, able to open his eyes in his Ford’s Theatre chair, turn around and smile at John Wilkes Booth.

The vampire’s hand slowly lowered to the floor and he released the vile book of lies. Stoker had conned him, teased him and manipulated his emotions so easily, just as he had done to countless others over the years. The vampire could hear the Irishman’s deep chuckle as he enjoyed the last laugh, the sound as real in his mind as if he were standing right behind him, his meaty hand resting triumphantly on the vampires shoulder, his plump, bearded face split by a wide taunting grin.

He thought about how pathetic he had been rendered by his hopes, what a fool he had been to ignore the warning signs, the errors and untruths in the novel. Normally his logical, lightning fast mind would have discerned the truth that was writ right in front of his eyes but like a child, a human, an eager weak mark begging to be hustled he had bought into the whole fable. How could he have let this happen?

He rose from the chair and never looked down at the book at his feet or the corpse on the couch. He walked to the large mirror hanging on the wall and gazed into it, at the preternatural beauty of the young man staring back with marble, black, cold eyes: The clean shaven face, the full thick black hair, the strong jaw line: The face of a living angel.

His gimlet gaze was level as he looked upon himself, for a minute, then five, then ten. He never blinked once during this time. Not even for that tiny fraction of time did he stop the assessment he took of himself. He felt as black as the bottom of a deep pit of crawling snakes. The rage in him was as nothing he had ever experienced. But this time the rage was not at some god who mocked him with sleep, not at some opposing soldier fighting Vlad’s enemies, not even the volcanic hate he felt for the trickster Stoker, no this inferno was reserved solely for the perfect looking man in front of him returning his unblinking stare: The perfect fool.

Finally when he could not bear to see this construct another second he closed his eyes and did something he had never done before in all his life, he let his rage take control. He could feel it come from his mind and flow through his veins and body like some inky penumbra staining all it came in contact with. He willed the fool who looked like a Greek god to show itself as it really was. He could feel the very bones beneath his skin begin to crack and move like mountains under massive tectonic stress while the skin above slide and shifted like mud to accommodate the new reality underneath. The pain that accompanied this change was immense, like a hyenas jaws tearing at his face, it was unbearable to any except a creature such as himself and he welcomed every burning, stabbing, ripping sensation and wished it were more.

Finally when it was over, he opened his eyes to look upon himself, his true self for the very first time. He had known it all his life but never found the need to see it until tonight. Now he desired nothing else.

Hot, fiery breath poured from his nose and mouth and fogged up the mirror like a mist from a hot running shower.

He pulled in one deep breath and screamed, howled, roared like some infernal device. The force of it was so strong that the heavy mirror glass was pushed back instantly against the wall and rebounded as though shot from a cannon strafing his face and chest with the glittering jagged shards leaving deep cuts and producing glass knives sticking deeply within him. He howled again and again, the sound of madness gone amok.

When it ended there was only silence. The outer glass of the huge mirror remained, not intact but jagged with diamond impact cuts, lines and pits. In their now flawed reflection was the distorted, shattered form of a living nightmare, a vision so horrific and unnatural, a creature bent so obscenely wrong that it could cause a strong man to die of fright. A ruin that would beggar even Lovecraft’s mind.

The building superintendent let the police in the apartment four days later. The neighbors had been complaining of an ungodly smell. The superintendent could have investigated first but he waited for the authorities to arrive. There was something, a feeling, a dark aura, coming from the place that troubled him. It was a feeling the crew of the ship Symitar could have told him about, but they were all dead three hundred years past. And he remembered the young, incredibly good looking man who had rented it. And he remembered how that man had looked at him. The superintendent never told his wife but ever since that man had moved in the super had been having the most vivid nightmares about him…..and the apartment: Horrible, distorted insane nightmares that he couldn’t speak about. He had the feeling if he spoke of these dreams they would come alive and consume him till he went mad.

What the police found in that place none who entered would ever forget till the day they drew their last breath. It was as if multiple fragment grenades had been exploded over and over, each in its turn: Dozens of them. Every article in that apartment, every painting, every stick of furniture, plate, mirror even the bed was reduced to unrecognizable particles no more than a foot long.

Everything. Even the woman they eventually realized was there, in tiny bits, in no recognizable form as a human being.

The only thing left intact was a volume of Dracula, by Bram Stoker. It sat on the floor, the only surviving mute witness to whatever horror had transpired there.

Even the most hardened and tenured police officers were stunned into silence by what they witnessed. Because no matter what depredations they had viewed, and they truly thought they had seen it all, nothing could even begin to approach the brutality and primal, unfettered rage that had been unleashed here. The strength of it all, the pure destructive insane force of it seemed wholly impossible and entirely inhuman.

And after that the superintendent was not alone in his nightmares for they spread like a virulent disease infecting the psyche of the men unfortunate enough to enter that dark place.

The vampire never picked up the novel Dracula again. He never learned of its end, how the vampire, the fates finally turning against its reign of terror, just when it thought itself victorious, was destroyed, helpless on its back in its coffin like the beast it really was, bathed in the setting sun, as his former victims gained bloody, pitiless revenge for all the crimes and sins he had committed.