TicklishLurker
4th Level Red Feather
- Joined
- Jan 13, 2006
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She tried to hurry, yet part of her wanted to linger, knowing the pleasure to come. Yet in her soul she dreaded what was happening to her.
With the high Californian temperatures she would’ve thought she would’ve gotten a summer time reprieve. That he’d be worried that the fog would be too noticeable. Yet apparently he was so vain that he thought no one could touch him. No one would notice.
Granted, he always waited until she was on the short walk from the club to her home. It was nearly 4 am. Very few who were sober were about. The walk was so short she couldn’t find an excuse to use a car. Not a sane one.
The fog came. Caressing her, stroking the blond hair from her face. A face many said looked like Judy Garland when she was young. “Ellen....” a voice said from inside the fog as it surrounded her. She wanted to cry, but already she felt massive fingers on her ribs, hands that spanned her entire rib cage.
He had chosen her for three reasons, he had told her this around the third time. One was because she could sing and he loved good music. The other was because she was overweight - 260 when this started, now 200 as she found herself often unable to eat at all - and therefore had sweeter blood. The final reason was because she was viciously ticklish.
Inside the fog no one could see her, hear her. It was a portable soundproofed room. More, it was an extension of him. Even as his fingers roamed her ribs, the fog penetrated her performance clothing, seeped into her shoes. She laughed, screamed, spoke gibberish as her entire body, from her scalp to her toes was exploited for his pleasure. Not one inch of her skin was left untouched. Not her round, fleshy butt, not her large breasts, not even the skin between her fingers. Her clit was lightly stroked too. Keeping her in her ticklish agony on the edge of orgasm.
When he was finally ready, he let her orgasm, his fangs piercing her flesh. She moaned, laughed, and cried all at once....
..............................................
Morning found Ellen weak. She never knew how she got back to her apartment. The black women’s tuxedo with the fushia collar she had been wearing the night before was tossed on the floor. She had slept nude once again.
The rest of the day was spent trying to get her energy back up for the night. Iron pills, iron rich foods like spinach and hated liver, orange juice was gagged down. As the sun went down she felt better. Slept a bit more. Then up, suddenly energized, singing as she got ready for that night.
Tomorrow was her night off. She’d be safe then. For some reason as long as she didn’t leave her apartment he never came. A full night to rest, recuperate.
Tonight, however, tonight he would be there in the fog. To tickle her. To make her orgasm as he fed on her blood and laughter. She was afraid, yet she wanted it, craved it. It was getting to where she needed it.
....................................................
He had come to this city because he sensed the supernatural presence. As of yet he hadn’t pinpointed it, but he knew it was here. More then that, he knew it was somehow connected to the building he had taken up residence in. When he came to rent an apartment here, the super had quaked in his boots.
Right now, he went by the name of Malcolm Terrace. He had always in his 700 years of life chosen a name with MT as the initials.
He was a dhampire. That strange mixture between vampire and mortal. As immortal as his hated father, without the need of blood or the death in sunlight. He was also massive. A mountain of a man. Tall and broad. Four thin scars twisted along the right side of his face, a reminder of the time he had battled a werewolf for the first time. On his left cheek was a bluish mark that looked like a birthmark, but up close under a magnifying glass one would see it was a tattoo, one that marked him as a hunter.
Right now he was smooth shaven, but as soon as he identified his target he would stop shaving. His rapidly growing beard would allow him to track the days until he finally succeeded.
A sweet siren distracted him from his thoughts. The darling little woman next door. She was so short he knew he could engulf her body with one of his hugs. Sweetly rounded in all the right places with the extra padding he adored on a woman. These stick thin things people thought were women now a days he couldn’t stand. And she sang, sang like a lark. He had always enjoyed good music. To live next door to such talent was a treat worth savoring.
They rarely saw each other except in quick glimpses. Both worked nights. She singing at a club, him hunting.
Vampires, werewolves, demons, he had fought them all. Yet he couldn’t fight the desire to know what her feet looked like, what her face looked like when she was laughing.
He saw her sing once. Before it started to get dark earlier. Her first shift of the evening. So much joy, so much passion, even though she was singing to people who just didn’t care. To whom she was nothing more then pleasant background noise. He wondered what it would be like to have that passion unleashed on him.
Ah, it got very lonely to be nearly immortal.
One thing that bothered him though was the fact she had been wearing almost too much makeup, especially on the right side of her neck. He wondered if she was the supernatural connection.
That night, in the earliest hours of the morning when the hunting was complete, he composed her a letter. Telling her the joy her voice brought him. The worry about the makeup. Though large, he slipped it under her door quietly.
Now, he just had to see if she took the bait.
..................................
“Pleeheease! Nohohoo mohooore!” Ellen cried out in her laughter, trying to escape the fog, though part of her longed to give in. The tickling, the insane, intense tickling....
The orgasm, the fangs, the blackness.
She woke weaker then ever. Barely able to crawl from bed. She was dying, she was sure of it. Much more and she’d be dead. Tickled and drained to death.
When she was finally able to move around more, she found the letter. A sudden overwhelming urge came over her. She found herself next door, pounding on the door as much as her strength would allow.
One look into the eyes of the man, once she was able to crane her head up enough to see, she knew he’d believe, he’d understand.
“Help me. Please help me before he kills me.”
..................................
Malcolm had laid her upon his huge bed and fed her, not telling her that the soup and tea she drank were laced with magic spells and potions that would bring her back from the brink of death. Powdered horn of unicorn picked up at their moonlight winter shedding. Sea salt gathered from then deepest parts of the ocean by mermaids. Stirred with the wing feather of an angel.
“The worse part is I’ve gotten to crave it. I’ve brought lovers home with me for protection, but they always left me unsatisfying because they never tickled me. He has me well trained.” Ellen blushed with shame.
“It wasn’t training.” Tucking on large finger under her chin, he made her look at him. “You always longed for it, wanted it. He had four reasons for picking you, the forth was your unknown desire to be tickled while making love. He gets no satisfaction from truly unwilling victims.”
“How do you know so much about him?”
“He’s my father.”
Ellen suddenly pressed herself to him. “Please, you’re so kind, so gentle. Take his touch from me. Erase it.”
He wanted to say no. He should say no. She was desperate for a touch she invited. Wanted.
Yet he couldn’t say no. Had it been any other woman. Someone too thin, someone with a singing voice like a cat in heat, he could’ve said no.
Instead he moved her forward so he could slip his massive frame behind her. Starting with the back of her ears, her neck, he began to oh to gently tickle her. Bringing forth giggles, not the strained desperate laughter, but soft like a gentle rainfall. When he drew too close to the bite marks on her throat, he stopped and kissed them, his lips like a soothing balm.
Down her back, through her shirt he tickled her. Drawing his fingers up and down her spine. She bought arched away from it, and back to him. Both looking to escape his soft tickling and craving more.
He stripped her shirt away and began to tickle her along the bra line. Then removed her bra, freeing her breasts. Turning her to face him, he placed one hand on her back. In the free hand he produced an angel feather. It was large and a white so pure it almost hurt to look at it, yet at the same time it held all the colors of the rainbow.
With this feather he tickled her under the chin. She giggled and squirmed. He worked it down her throat and she burbled. He tormented her breasts lightly with it and she not only laughed loud and long, but her nipples grew hard. Even they were ticklish and not spared the feather’s kiss. He drew it over her belly and danced it in her deeply indented bellybutton, she squealed.
Fifteen minutes later he put the feather aside and began to work his overly large fingers up and down her ribs. She screamed with laughter but it was a laughter filled with pleasure, with passion. When his fingers found her armpits she threw her arms as much around his neck as she could and held on, giving him free access. Laughing into his chest.
Lifting her up, he crossed his legs beneath her and began to tickle her butt. When his fingers found that sweet spot where her thighs and bottom met she shrieked. He caught her laughing mouth in a deep kiss and nearly lost control of his own body.
Laying her down he placed one hand on her belly to hold her in place as he tickled her fleshy thighs, down her calves. She was wet, he could smell it. Her mating scent hanging thick in the air. Yet he denied her the tickling touch he knew she wanted. Saving it.
She was in heaven and hell, Malcolm’s touch erased all the past. It brought her to new heights of joy. Tears of sheer happiness flowed freely as she let her musical laughter ring up to the ceiling.
A rest. She panted and gasped. He moved her again, making her sit on the end of the bed. Taking one of her tiny feet in his massive hands.
To him, those short, stubby toes were like ripe cherries to a starving man. The fleshy sole so smooth and soft, looking like fresh cream. She had deep creases, some going down into her round, fleshy heels.
Now, he lifted both of her feet to his mouth as he sat on the floor. Tickling them with lips and tongue. His beard stubble was already growing in thickly and when he rubbed her foot against his cheek, she nearly jumped off the bed. He lavished attention on her feet while she laughed until she was too weak to remain sitting up. Her legs dangling off the bed as she laid back.
Like a snake he struck at her core. His tongue and lips teasing, tickling her vulva, parting her folds so he could find her clit. Though she moaned, she also laughed. His tongue was magical, able to tickle pleasure out of that tiny nub of flesh.
Then, as he tormented her with his tongue and lips, so too did he began to scrabble his fingers all over the soles of her feet. She was too weakened to move them, they dangled uselessly as he tickled her to one orgasm to another. Keeping her going over the edge repeatedly as he tickled her soles. Until she couldn’t tell where her clit began and her feet ended.
Careful to not crush her with his weight, he entered her. With his elbows he balanced himself as his hands found her armpits again. Tickling her as he slowly thrusted. Building up.
He had trained himself for years to not spill his seed. To take it back into himself and recycle it’s energy. Yet when her deep grey eyes flew open and locked on his brown ones, when he saw that his tickling torment had released the exact same passion she let loose in her singing, he lost complete control of his body and spilled his highly fertile seed inside her. Seed that would grant her a much longer, healthier life, could make her as close to immortal as he was.
Now, now he had one more reason for stopping his father. For there was no way his father would take his mate. Not again.
...........................................
He kept her with him that night. When his father tried to call to her, bring her to him, Malcolm held her in place. All night long until dawn she tossed in fevered dreams. He stroked her hair and tickled her softly until the nightmares retreated. When she cried he kissed her tears away.
And his beard grew.
..........................................
The next night he stayed at the club all night. Offered the job of bouncer when he had put out an unruly drunk. He took it under the condition he only worked when Ellen sang. Though in 700 years he amassed more then enough wealth, he knew he needed a reason to be here without drinking.
Instead of walking with her, he walked behind her, a good twenty feet. Using the spells he knew to disguise himself from his father.
When the fog came he quickly covered the ground to her. Yet it cleared as soon as it came.
Ellen was gone.
.....................................
“Pregnant?!” He roared. The vampire paced. He was as massive and as handsome as his son, but where Malcolm’s hair and eyes were dark, the vampire’s were light. So light he looked like he must’ve been albino when alive. Rage colored his features.
Rage, and Ellen’s blood.
He had brought her to this place, wherever it was, and had spent hours tickling her skin red. Until her voice was nearly gone. Then he had started to drink her blood and move himself to enter her, but at the first taste of her blood he had yanked away, his arousal gone.
“You unfaithful BITCH!” He shouted, a drop of Ellen’s blood rolling down his chin. “How dare you take a lover?!”
“I don’t belong to you.” Ellen croaked out. “I never have.”
“You will.” He snarled. “Once you deliver that half-breed brat, I’ll make you mine.” He couldn’t kill the child growing inside her. Vampire blood, however diluted, ran in it’s veins. He would have to wait until it was born, then give it to someone else to raise. One of his many tickle brides. “No one can save you, Ellen. You shall be mine to tickle, to torment, to fuck as I please. I’ve spent too much time staking my claim on your body to give it up.”
“You might have my body, but you’ll never have my heart, mind, or soul.”
“Those things don’t interest me.” He sneered. “So long as you are available to warm my bed. You will be my slave, and nothing will change that.”
................................
In the days that followed Malcolm hunted not just by night, but by day as well. Though the police would do no good, he had reported Ellen as missing so she would not lose her job. His he didn’t care about now that Ellen was not there.
His preternatural senses led him on a chase all through the city, but every time he found one of his father’s lairs, he was a few minutes too late. Ellen had been moved again.
His beard soon was at his waist. Then it was halfway down his thighs. He disposed of one werewolf, two demons, and one succubus, but his hunt was for his father.
His father had tickle brides, women so far over the line from human, well on their way to being vampires, all over the city. Their minds were snapped. It was a mercy on them when Malcolm released their tormented souls from their fleshy prisons. And yet he still cried over each one. For once they had been living, vital women like his mother had been. Before his father had finally turned her once she bore him a child. His mother whom Malcolm had been forced to hunt down, to kill.
On the day his beard reached his ankles, he finally caught up with his father.
............................
Heavy with child, Ellen cried. Not out of fear and desperation, but early grieving. She knew her child would be delivered soon. Had it been nearly nine months? Or did children bearing vampire blood develop quicker in their mothers’ wombs? She didn’t know. She hadn’t seen the sun in so long that she was as white as chalk.
A massive shadow suddenly covered her and she closed her eyes. Not wanting to see her captor again.
“Ellen.” Malcolm fell to his knees along side her bed, taking her face in his hands. “Thank God, thank God.” He kissed her forehead, cheek, lips. His beard tickling her and making her giggle. His heart broke, not in sorrow, but in joy for his heart had been encased in ice until this moment.
“So the slut’s lover had arrived. Hello, sonny boy.” The vampire sneered behind Malcolm.
Malcolm did not waste time with words, with sounds. Rising up, he spun and attacked. As fierce as any dragon he had ridden. As controlled as any ice wizard. From a magically concealed sheath he drew forth a sword. So did his father.
Metal flash, sparking as it struck against each other. Both were a match in speed and quickness. Now the father had the upper hand, now Malcolm. Ellen had to roll from the bed, barely missed by Malcolm’s own sword as his father danced out of the way. She crawled to a corner and curled up as tight as she could.
It was a dance of death. The father managed to cut off over half of Malcolm’s beard and drew forth a line of blood.
This snapped something in Ellen and struggling to her feet, she picked up one of the pieces of wood from the bed and as Malcolm started to back his father up, she raised it above her head and drove it forward.
It plunged into the vampire’s back, bursting through his undead heart, and out his chest. Ellen stepped back as Malcolm’s sword swung, severing the vampire’s head.
His father, so long undead he had forgotten his once mortal name, was now nothing more then dust.
..........................................
“Erik’s asleep.” Ellen said as she nuzzled Malcolm’s neck. They had named the baby after a half brother of Malcolm he once had. The vampire blood as reacted badly with the woman their father had taken as a mate - she was part fairy - and she bore a child so hideously disfigured he grew into a masked madman. Malcolm had loved his half brother, but in the end had to destroy him when he threatened to blow up the Paris Opera House.
All for the love of a beautiful female singer.
Pushing thoughts of his brother out of his mind, Malcolm drew Ellen close and began the slow tickling of her back. Delighting as she squirmed against his chest.
“I take it no hunting tonight.” She giggled as she rubbed his smooth cheek.
“And no singing for you. Except the song of laughter. Now, be a good little wife, and take off those shoes.”
“Make me.” Ellen teased, kissing the tip of Malcolm’s nose.
And he did.
~~The End~~
With the high Californian temperatures she would’ve thought she would’ve gotten a summer time reprieve. That he’d be worried that the fog would be too noticeable. Yet apparently he was so vain that he thought no one could touch him. No one would notice.
Granted, he always waited until she was on the short walk from the club to her home. It was nearly 4 am. Very few who were sober were about. The walk was so short she couldn’t find an excuse to use a car. Not a sane one.
The fog came. Caressing her, stroking the blond hair from her face. A face many said looked like Judy Garland when she was young. “Ellen....” a voice said from inside the fog as it surrounded her. She wanted to cry, but already she felt massive fingers on her ribs, hands that spanned her entire rib cage.
He had chosen her for three reasons, he had told her this around the third time. One was because she could sing and he loved good music. The other was because she was overweight - 260 when this started, now 200 as she found herself often unable to eat at all - and therefore had sweeter blood. The final reason was because she was viciously ticklish.
Inside the fog no one could see her, hear her. It was a portable soundproofed room. More, it was an extension of him. Even as his fingers roamed her ribs, the fog penetrated her performance clothing, seeped into her shoes. She laughed, screamed, spoke gibberish as her entire body, from her scalp to her toes was exploited for his pleasure. Not one inch of her skin was left untouched. Not her round, fleshy butt, not her large breasts, not even the skin between her fingers. Her clit was lightly stroked too. Keeping her in her ticklish agony on the edge of orgasm.
When he was finally ready, he let her orgasm, his fangs piercing her flesh. She moaned, laughed, and cried all at once....
..............................................
Morning found Ellen weak. She never knew how she got back to her apartment. The black women’s tuxedo with the fushia collar she had been wearing the night before was tossed on the floor. She had slept nude once again.
The rest of the day was spent trying to get her energy back up for the night. Iron pills, iron rich foods like spinach and hated liver, orange juice was gagged down. As the sun went down she felt better. Slept a bit more. Then up, suddenly energized, singing as she got ready for that night.
Tomorrow was her night off. She’d be safe then. For some reason as long as she didn’t leave her apartment he never came. A full night to rest, recuperate.
Tonight, however, tonight he would be there in the fog. To tickle her. To make her orgasm as he fed on her blood and laughter. She was afraid, yet she wanted it, craved it. It was getting to where she needed it.
....................................................
He had come to this city because he sensed the supernatural presence. As of yet he hadn’t pinpointed it, but he knew it was here. More then that, he knew it was somehow connected to the building he had taken up residence in. When he came to rent an apartment here, the super had quaked in his boots.
Right now, he went by the name of Malcolm Terrace. He had always in his 700 years of life chosen a name with MT as the initials.
He was a dhampire. That strange mixture between vampire and mortal. As immortal as his hated father, without the need of blood or the death in sunlight. He was also massive. A mountain of a man. Tall and broad. Four thin scars twisted along the right side of his face, a reminder of the time he had battled a werewolf for the first time. On his left cheek was a bluish mark that looked like a birthmark, but up close under a magnifying glass one would see it was a tattoo, one that marked him as a hunter.
Right now he was smooth shaven, but as soon as he identified his target he would stop shaving. His rapidly growing beard would allow him to track the days until he finally succeeded.
A sweet siren distracted him from his thoughts. The darling little woman next door. She was so short he knew he could engulf her body with one of his hugs. Sweetly rounded in all the right places with the extra padding he adored on a woman. These stick thin things people thought were women now a days he couldn’t stand. And she sang, sang like a lark. He had always enjoyed good music. To live next door to such talent was a treat worth savoring.
They rarely saw each other except in quick glimpses. Both worked nights. She singing at a club, him hunting.
Vampires, werewolves, demons, he had fought them all. Yet he couldn’t fight the desire to know what her feet looked like, what her face looked like when she was laughing.
He saw her sing once. Before it started to get dark earlier. Her first shift of the evening. So much joy, so much passion, even though she was singing to people who just didn’t care. To whom she was nothing more then pleasant background noise. He wondered what it would be like to have that passion unleashed on him.
Ah, it got very lonely to be nearly immortal.
One thing that bothered him though was the fact she had been wearing almost too much makeup, especially on the right side of her neck. He wondered if she was the supernatural connection.
That night, in the earliest hours of the morning when the hunting was complete, he composed her a letter. Telling her the joy her voice brought him. The worry about the makeup. Though large, he slipped it under her door quietly.
Now, he just had to see if she took the bait.
..................................
“Pleeheease! Nohohoo mohooore!” Ellen cried out in her laughter, trying to escape the fog, though part of her longed to give in. The tickling, the insane, intense tickling....
The orgasm, the fangs, the blackness.
She woke weaker then ever. Barely able to crawl from bed. She was dying, she was sure of it. Much more and she’d be dead. Tickled and drained to death.
When she was finally able to move around more, she found the letter. A sudden overwhelming urge came over her. She found herself next door, pounding on the door as much as her strength would allow.
One look into the eyes of the man, once she was able to crane her head up enough to see, she knew he’d believe, he’d understand.
“Help me. Please help me before he kills me.”
..................................
Malcolm had laid her upon his huge bed and fed her, not telling her that the soup and tea she drank were laced with magic spells and potions that would bring her back from the brink of death. Powdered horn of unicorn picked up at their moonlight winter shedding. Sea salt gathered from then deepest parts of the ocean by mermaids. Stirred with the wing feather of an angel.
“The worse part is I’ve gotten to crave it. I’ve brought lovers home with me for protection, but they always left me unsatisfying because they never tickled me. He has me well trained.” Ellen blushed with shame.
“It wasn’t training.” Tucking on large finger under her chin, he made her look at him. “You always longed for it, wanted it. He had four reasons for picking you, the forth was your unknown desire to be tickled while making love. He gets no satisfaction from truly unwilling victims.”
“How do you know so much about him?”
“He’s my father.”
Ellen suddenly pressed herself to him. “Please, you’re so kind, so gentle. Take his touch from me. Erase it.”
He wanted to say no. He should say no. She was desperate for a touch she invited. Wanted.
Yet he couldn’t say no. Had it been any other woman. Someone too thin, someone with a singing voice like a cat in heat, he could’ve said no.
Instead he moved her forward so he could slip his massive frame behind her. Starting with the back of her ears, her neck, he began to oh to gently tickle her. Bringing forth giggles, not the strained desperate laughter, but soft like a gentle rainfall. When he drew too close to the bite marks on her throat, he stopped and kissed them, his lips like a soothing balm.
Down her back, through her shirt he tickled her. Drawing his fingers up and down her spine. She bought arched away from it, and back to him. Both looking to escape his soft tickling and craving more.
He stripped her shirt away and began to tickle her along the bra line. Then removed her bra, freeing her breasts. Turning her to face him, he placed one hand on her back. In the free hand he produced an angel feather. It was large and a white so pure it almost hurt to look at it, yet at the same time it held all the colors of the rainbow.
With this feather he tickled her under the chin. She giggled and squirmed. He worked it down her throat and she burbled. He tormented her breasts lightly with it and she not only laughed loud and long, but her nipples grew hard. Even they were ticklish and not spared the feather’s kiss. He drew it over her belly and danced it in her deeply indented bellybutton, she squealed.
Fifteen minutes later he put the feather aside and began to work his overly large fingers up and down her ribs. She screamed with laughter but it was a laughter filled with pleasure, with passion. When his fingers found her armpits she threw her arms as much around his neck as she could and held on, giving him free access. Laughing into his chest.
Lifting her up, he crossed his legs beneath her and began to tickle her butt. When his fingers found that sweet spot where her thighs and bottom met she shrieked. He caught her laughing mouth in a deep kiss and nearly lost control of his own body.
Laying her down he placed one hand on her belly to hold her in place as he tickled her fleshy thighs, down her calves. She was wet, he could smell it. Her mating scent hanging thick in the air. Yet he denied her the tickling touch he knew she wanted. Saving it.
She was in heaven and hell, Malcolm’s touch erased all the past. It brought her to new heights of joy. Tears of sheer happiness flowed freely as she let her musical laughter ring up to the ceiling.
A rest. She panted and gasped. He moved her again, making her sit on the end of the bed. Taking one of her tiny feet in his massive hands.
To him, those short, stubby toes were like ripe cherries to a starving man. The fleshy sole so smooth and soft, looking like fresh cream. She had deep creases, some going down into her round, fleshy heels.
Now, he lifted both of her feet to his mouth as he sat on the floor. Tickling them with lips and tongue. His beard stubble was already growing in thickly and when he rubbed her foot against his cheek, she nearly jumped off the bed. He lavished attention on her feet while she laughed until she was too weak to remain sitting up. Her legs dangling off the bed as she laid back.
Like a snake he struck at her core. His tongue and lips teasing, tickling her vulva, parting her folds so he could find her clit. Though she moaned, she also laughed. His tongue was magical, able to tickle pleasure out of that tiny nub of flesh.
Then, as he tormented her with his tongue and lips, so too did he began to scrabble his fingers all over the soles of her feet. She was too weakened to move them, they dangled uselessly as he tickled her to one orgasm to another. Keeping her going over the edge repeatedly as he tickled her soles. Until she couldn’t tell where her clit began and her feet ended.
Careful to not crush her with his weight, he entered her. With his elbows he balanced himself as his hands found her armpits again. Tickling her as he slowly thrusted. Building up.
He had trained himself for years to not spill his seed. To take it back into himself and recycle it’s energy. Yet when her deep grey eyes flew open and locked on his brown ones, when he saw that his tickling torment had released the exact same passion she let loose in her singing, he lost complete control of his body and spilled his highly fertile seed inside her. Seed that would grant her a much longer, healthier life, could make her as close to immortal as he was.
Now, now he had one more reason for stopping his father. For there was no way his father would take his mate. Not again.
...........................................
He kept her with him that night. When his father tried to call to her, bring her to him, Malcolm held her in place. All night long until dawn she tossed in fevered dreams. He stroked her hair and tickled her softly until the nightmares retreated. When she cried he kissed her tears away.
And his beard grew.
..........................................
The next night he stayed at the club all night. Offered the job of bouncer when he had put out an unruly drunk. He took it under the condition he only worked when Ellen sang. Though in 700 years he amassed more then enough wealth, he knew he needed a reason to be here without drinking.
Instead of walking with her, he walked behind her, a good twenty feet. Using the spells he knew to disguise himself from his father.
When the fog came he quickly covered the ground to her. Yet it cleared as soon as it came.
Ellen was gone.
.....................................
“Pregnant?!” He roared. The vampire paced. He was as massive and as handsome as his son, but where Malcolm’s hair and eyes were dark, the vampire’s were light. So light he looked like he must’ve been albino when alive. Rage colored his features.
Rage, and Ellen’s blood.
He had brought her to this place, wherever it was, and had spent hours tickling her skin red. Until her voice was nearly gone. Then he had started to drink her blood and move himself to enter her, but at the first taste of her blood he had yanked away, his arousal gone.
“You unfaithful BITCH!” He shouted, a drop of Ellen’s blood rolling down his chin. “How dare you take a lover?!”
“I don’t belong to you.” Ellen croaked out. “I never have.”
“You will.” He snarled. “Once you deliver that half-breed brat, I’ll make you mine.” He couldn’t kill the child growing inside her. Vampire blood, however diluted, ran in it’s veins. He would have to wait until it was born, then give it to someone else to raise. One of his many tickle brides. “No one can save you, Ellen. You shall be mine to tickle, to torment, to fuck as I please. I’ve spent too much time staking my claim on your body to give it up.”
“You might have my body, but you’ll never have my heart, mind, or soul.”
“Those things don’t interest me.” He sneered. “So long as you are available to warm my bed. You will be my slave, and nothing will change that.”
................................
In the days that followed Malcolm hunted not just by night, but by day as well. Though the police would do no good, he had reported Ellen as missing so she would not lose her job. His he didn’t care about now that Ellen was not there.
His preternatural senses led him on a chase all through the city, but every time he found one of his father’s lairs, he was a few minutes too late. Ellen had been moved again.
His beard soon was at his waist. Then it was halfway down his thighs. He disposed of one werewolf, two demons, and one succubus, but his hunt was for his father.
His father had tickle brides, women so far over the line from human, well on their way to being vampires, all over the city. Their minds were snapped. It was a mercy on them when Malcolm released their tormented souls from their fleshy prisons. And yet he still cried over each one. For once they had been living, vital women like his mother had been. Before his father had finally turned her once she bore him a child. His mother whom Malcolm had been forced to hunt down, to kill.
On the day his beard reached his ankles, he finally caught up with his father.
............................
Heavy with child, Ellen cried. Not out of fear and desperation, but early grieving. She knew her child would be delivered soon. Had it been nearly nine months? Or did children bearing vampire blood develop quicker in their mothers’ wombs? She didn’t know. She hadn’t seen the sun in so long that she was as white as chalk.
A massive shadow suddenly covered her and she closed her eyes. Not wanting to see her captor again.
“Ellen.” Malcolm fell to his knees along side her bed, taking her face in his hands. “Thank God, thank God.” He kissed her forehead, cheek, lips. His beard tickling her and making her giggle. His heart broke, not in sorrow, but in joy for his heart had been encased in ice until this moment.
“So the slut’s lover had arrived. Hello, sonny boy.” The vampire sneered behind Malcolm.
Malcolm did not waste time with words, with sounds. Rising up, he spun and attacked. As fierce as any dragon he had ridden. As controlled as any ice wizard. From a magically concealed sheath he drew forth a sword. So did his father.
Metal flash, sparking as it struck against each other. Both were a match in speed and quickness. Now the father had the upper hand, now Malcolm. Ellen had to roll from the bed, barely missed by Malcolm’s own sword as his father danced out of the way. She crawled to a corner and curled up as tight as she could.
It was a dance of death. The father managed to cut off over half of Malcolm’s beard and drew forth a line of blood.
This snapped something in Ellen and struggling to her feet, she picked up one of the pieces of wood from the bed and as Malcolm started to back his father up, she raised it above her head and drove it forward.
It plunged into the vampire’s back, bursting through his undead heart, and out his chest. Ellen stepped back as Malcolm’s sword swung, severing the vampire’s head.
His father, so long undead he had forgotten his once mortal name, was now nothing more then dust.
..........................................
“Erik’s asleep.” Ellen said as she nuzzled Malcolm’s neck. They had named the baby after a half brother of Malcolm he once had. The vampire blood as reacted badly with the woman their father had taken as a mate - she was part fairy - and she bore a child so hideously disfigured he grew into a masked madman. Malcolm had loved his half brother, but in the end had to destroy him when he threatened to blow up the Paris Opera House.
All for the love of a beautiful female singer.
Pushing thoughts of his brother out of his mind, Malcolm drew Ellen close and began the slow tickling of her back. Delighting as she squirmed against his chest.
“I take it no hunting tonight.” She giggled as she rubbed his smooth cheek.
“And no singing for you. Except the song of laughter. Now, be a good little wife, and take off those shoes.”
“Make me.” Ellen teased, kissing the tip of Malcolm’s nose.
And he did.
~~The End~~
