October, 1793. In Paris, heads were rolling, including just a week before, the queen's. In London, French emigres swarmed the city, frightened, lost and easy prey.
In Devonshire House Angelus leaned against a wall sipping on a glass of weak wine, smiling and nodding at acquaintances, appearing to be easy going and there for a lark. The ball was one of half a dozen so far at the beginning of the Season, welcoming the French nobility. He'd arrived alone, danced sedately with several young ladies and a little less sedately with a few married women, gambled a bit, and partook of the dreadful wine, all the while waiting for Darla to make her first appearance in society that Fall.
She didn't disappoint, sweeping down the staircase to the ballroom, resplendent in emerald satin and gold brocade, her hair in a fall of curls down to her white shoulders.
In the guise of a widowed baroness, which, at the moment she actually was, having married the old coot and killed him within a week, she was out of the annoying but required mourning period, a very wealthy and desired woman. Men swarmed around her and Angelus heard her laughter and couldn't help but smirk as she played them.
London was their playground this Winter, even more so with the additional refugees that could go missing with little to no notice.
He watched her dance with one of the mincing fops, laugh at his wit, ignore the way his eyes fastened on the swell of her bosom, and let himself imagine the kill to come and the taste of sweetly decadent French blood. If he had the pox, so much the better. It added a certain piquancy to the taste. He hoped she'd share, but he had his eye on his own prey if she didn't.
Darla felt her lover's eyes on her as she swirled around the dance floor to a waltz, a dance relatively new to England, but first danced by her nearly ten years before in Vienna. Her partner was a bore, but alone in the world, the only member of his aristocratic family to have escaped imprisonment and madame guillotine. The perfect victim for her hungers. She was uncertain if she would share him with her lover or not.
Either way, the kill would be sweet.
The dance ended and her partner bowed to her and took her arm, guiding her to the refreshment table. As he poured them each a cup of punch, chattering on in a dreadfully thick accent about how dull and drab London was, she listened with only half an ear, her attention on Angelus who was prowling through the crowd, a pretty young thing on his arm.
Now, where had he found her and where was her chaperone?
Intrigued, Darla watched him easily coax the girl out into the night, and knew that was the end of her.
"Shall we take a turn on the terrace? It's dreadfully hot in here." She fanned herself lightly, smiling sweetly up at her companion.
His eyes went dark and hot and he nodded, then set down his half- drunk cup and guided her outside.
It was dark, lit only by a few discretely placed lanterns. Still warm enough, there were scattered couples in corners, hidden to most but not to her predator's eyes. She passed over several as she strolled with her companion, then stopped as she spied Angelus and his chit near the far and very darkened end of the stone terrace. In less than ten minutes he'd gotten the girl bent over the railing, her skirts rucked up her hips and his trousers loosened. One of his big hands was over her mouth, muffling her cries as he pounded into her.
Darla admired his technique for a moment, then drew her own victim into another dark spot, between two columns. She knew he couldn't see Angelus, but she had a good view as the Frenchmen bent to slobber kisses on her neck and shoulder. While she didn't begrudge her lover a good virginal fuck, neither was she going to give herself to the man fondling her.
He did make a tasty meal, though, as she buried her fangs in his throat and tore through his jugular vein. He struggled, gasping, unable to scream as her thumb pressed into his vocal cords, numbing them, and she drank deeply, tasting his decadent life. As he jerked and sputtered, she felt his hardness pressed against her stomach and roughly fondled him through the wool of his trousers. His hand slipped from her breast to her waist to dangle helplessly, and she spun them around, propping him against one of the columns, as she finished him off. His cock jerked and wetness soaked through to her fingers even as he gave a last gurgle and died.
Smiling in satisfaction, Darla licked her lips, then took a handkerchief from her decolletage and dabbed delicately at the corners of her mouth. From years of practice, not one drop of blood had spilled onto her gown, though the corpse's formerly pristine white shirt was slowly turning a muddy red.
Turning from her meal, she strolled over to the edge of the balcony and leaned against it next to the girl Angelus was fucking in a frenzy. Pain colored her face white and she was whimpering rawly into his hand as her body shook with each thrust. Angelus' teeth were gritted, his lips drawn back in a feral snarl, his other hand on the girl's hip through satin and silk, pinning her to the unyielding stone as effectively as his cock pinned her to his unyielding body.
"Do finish with her, lover," Darla suggested cooly. "I know you'd prefer me to this human morsel."
Angelus crowed darkly, "I don't know, Darla. There's much to be said for the heat and blood of a virgin twat, neither of which you've had in many years."
Frowning in sudden jealousy, even while a part of her knew he was goading her, Darla reached over and snapped the girl's neck, instantly killing her. "See how long she stays hot for you now," she replied, her voice sugary sweet.
"You've denied me my meal," he growled, pulling out of the dead girl and spilling his seed on her bunched dress. "Beautiful bitch."
Darla smirked and watched him fasten his breeches. "There's plenty of food out there, Angelus. There's only one me. Now, go throw the little twit onto my gentleman and maybe someone will think they killed each other."
Snorting, Angelus did as she bade, then returned, straightening his jacket. "We should get out of here before someone discovers them and remembers who each was last seen with."
"In this crush? No one will remember, and I want to dance with you."
Angelus rolled his eyes--when his sire took risks it often ended badly--but took her arm and led her back inside and onto the dance floor. They waltzed beautifully together. Angelus was much lighter on his feet than he looked, and she was simply perfect. Anyone watching them would believe they'd been dancing together for years.
Which they had.
And everyone but the prickliest matron was willing to let such perfection and obvious adoration be simply for the romance of it all, despite the woman's recent widowhood, and the man being a notorious rake.
After one perfect dance, they left the ball, eyes only for each other. Angelus' hunger for blood was forgotten, set aside for another, more important need, and Darla, high on rich French blood almost threw propriety to the wind and tossed her lover down on the dance floor.
They made it to her carnage, Darla barking orders to the minion in the driver's box to take them around Hyde Park, before either lost any clothing.
"Why not home?" Angelus gasped as her fingers delved behind the open buttons of his breeches.
"More wicked this way," Darla crooned, then dipped her head and sucked the tip of his cock between her lips, the rocking of the carriage bobbing her head up and down.
Head lolling back on the leather cushion, Angelus groaned and spread his legs around her as she leaned forward from the opposite seat. His hands pulled at her gown, shoving it down her arms until her breasts spilled free. She rubbed them against his thighs, the rich wool rough against their tenderness, making her moan in growing lust, as she sucked and licked her childe free of virgin blood that marked his shaft and balls.
As Angelus grunted and bucked his hips, she lifted her head from his erection and leaned back on her seat, lifting and spreading her legs over his. He was on her in an instance, knees cracking against the wooden floor, uncaring about the dirt staining his trousers. Flipping her skirt and petticoats over his head, he burrowed his mouth between her legs. His large hands took her bottom, lifting her like a bowl as he lapped his tongue along her dripping cleft, twirled it around her clit, thrust it inside her quim.
Darla moaned his name, her fingers digging into his hair to guide him until she yelled and exploded into orgasm.
As the tremors ran through her, he released her and pulled his head from beneath her skirts. Licking his lips, he sat back down, his cock jutting from his breeches. "Ride me," he ordered softly.
Darla's eyes narrowed at the command but even after a powerful orgasm, she still wanted him too much.
She'd make him pay later.
As she moved across to him and straddled his hips, lifting her skirts high and pressing her breasts to him chest, Angelus knew he'd pay later, but, as she sank down, engulfing his throbbing cock and making him groan, he knew it would be worth it. He grabbed her curved ass and began to pump her up and down in time with the movement of the carriage, then faster as their desire grew.
This time he was the one directing and she allowed it, head thrown back, fingers curled into the back of the seat, nails scoring the leather. His cock pounded deeply, making her moan and tremble as her passion built again towards its peak. When he caught the nipple of one of her bouncing breasts between his lips and nipped, she squeaked in painful pleasure and dug her knees into his hips.
"Did you let the French turd touch you here, Darla," Angelus growled against her breast, his accent heavier as his lust increased.
"You fucked your conquest," she retorted, her voice breathy and high.
"But mine was a sweet English lass, at least."
"Mine," he growled even deeper and sank his fangs into her breast, making her yell and shudder at the intensity of the pleasure lashing her. Her inner muscles clamped around his cock and she came again, riding him hard and rubbing her aching clit against the base of his staff with each drive of her hips.
As Angelus strained upwards, Darla scrambled off him and sat down quickly on the opposite bench. His eyes widened and then narrowed and he snarled.
She smirked and tugged her bodice up and smoothed her skirts, letting the pleasure of release roll through her as she rapped on the roof and called, "Home."
"Not another word."
His lips snapped shut and he fumbled with his breeches, finally closing them over his aching cock with a hiss of anger and frustration. Pulling open the curtains he stared out into the night, hoping to spot someone to vent his lust on.
Darla continued to smirk all the way back to her town house, nibbling contentedly on one finger tip as she watched him nearly bursting out of his skin.
Their power plays were always so enjoyable.
After nearly ten minutes of silence, the carriage turned into the drive and stopped before the front door of the modest yet elegant townhouse in the heart of Mayfair. A footman helped Darla from the carriage and she swept into the house, followed by her now sulking childe. Except for two half-demons who could pass for human and ran the house in the day, all the servants were vampires. Darla ignored them all as she mounted the stairs and headed for her bedroom.
Her maid awaited her and helped her from her dress and layers of petticoats, chemise and corset, leaving her in white stockings tied behind the knees with gold bows, and her elegant gold and green embroidered pumps. As the maid took down her hair, Darla stole a glance at Angelus, pacing in the hallway, unwelcome in her room until she bid him enter. Her eyes drifted down and saw that his erection was still prominent against the tight front of his breeches.
Poor boy had to be in pain.
Chuckling to herself, Darla stretched her arms over her head and wriggled, then removed her jewelry and sent the maid off to the safe with the diamonds. "And have the minions bring me a snack in thirty minutes. Something young and sweet."
Angelus growled as the maid passed, making her squeak, as she was only recently turned, then glared at his sire through the open door. Her body gleamed in the light of several candles, beautifully pale and perfect. Her breasts sat high and firm on her body, the nipples pink and hard. The down between her legs glistened, and the sight made his cock throb hard and forced him to shift his stance.
"You may come in, Angelus," Darla beckoned as she strolled towards the bed. "Disrobe and place yourself on your hands and knees at my disposal.
Fighting back his demon's demand that he throw caution to the wind and Darla on her back, Angelus did as she instructed. Nude and nearly trembling with desire, he dropped to his hands and knees, head bowed.
Slender fingers brushed aside his hair from his neck and fastened a tight leather collar around it, attached to a leash. The end of the leash was wrapped around the other set of fingers and a tug sent him crawling to her.
Angelus jumped to obey this command, his eyes glazing slightly as she spread her legs. His tongue lashed out, pushing past the curls, seeking her swollen labia and clitoris. As he lapped, he groaned and grunted and tried to ignore his erection. He was confident that he would find release soon, and the waiting, while painful, always led to the best orgasms of his life.
Darla rocked her hips, driving his nose against her clit, listening to the sounds of licking, the grunts of exertion and determination, reveling in the control she had. Tugging on the leash, she pulled him closer, forcing his face against her wet pussy. She was close again, but didn't want to come until he was inside her.
Caving in, she pushed him away and scrambled onto the bed. The leash dragged him with her, up and over her, between her legs, hard body pressed to soft one. "Fuck me," she commanded, snapping the leash like a whip across his back.
Angelus arched his back in pain, snorting through his nose as he panted needlessly. His cock was nearly bright red and seeping pre- ejaculate. He ached so much for her. As the leash smacked down again, this time over his buttock, he thrust his hips forward, forcing his cockhead into her wet passage. Another lash, another thrust and he was seated. Her legs went around his back, her body arched to his, and their lips met in a hungry, biting, tearing kiss.
Darla fucked him back as hard as he took her, heels drumming against him, fingernails scoring his back and shoulders. She keened over and over, lifting her hips to meet his thrusts, the power of their movements making the bed shudder and bang against the wall.
Blood spilled from her lips as Angelus' fangs caught the soft pink flesh. She retaliated by squeezing her inner muscles until he howled and shook. When she released him, he thrust again, deeper, harder, trying to pound her through the creaking mattress. Every smack of their pelvises together brought them closer to release, and Angelus had enough sense left to make sure she came first.
Squirming a hand between them, he pinched and pulled on her clit until she screamed his name and exploded. Her scream sent shudders down his back to his balls and he growled and slammed into her quivering pussy one last time, coming in wet bursts that made his whole body spasm in glorious relief.
After several minutes, Angelus rolled to the side, collapsing on his back. Still holding onto the leash, Darla rose to her knees and wrapped the looped end around his limp cock, pulling it tight. There was no give. If Angelus moved his head more than an inch, his cock would follow. It was already stirring at the feel of the leather bond.
Smirking, Darla leaned down and brushed her lips over his balls, tasting their combined juices. As Angelus groaned and tried not to move, there was a knock on the door and Darla slipped from the bed to answer it. She was still wearing her heels and stockings and looked completely decadent.
A minion stood at the door and hastily averted his eyes. In front of him was a teenaged boy, blonde and pretty, of obviously wealthy background. He would be missed, which made it even more exciting. The boy was trembling and there were tear-streaks on his cheeks.
"Delightful," Darla cooed and took the boy's hand, leading him into the room and to the bed. She watched his eyes widen in shock, saw him begin to shake his head and slid her hand down to his crotch to fondle the erection he'd begun to sport at the first sight of her. "We're going to have such fun tonight. What is your name?"
"Etienne," he croaked out in a heavy accent. Another Frenchman. "Please madame, please don't hurt me." He tried to shy away from her caressing hand and she tightened her fingers around him.
"Have you ever been fucked, Etienne?"
"No madame, oh please madame..."
"Well, we can't have such a sweet and pretty youth die a virgin."
"Darla, I'm hungry," Angelus growled, still trying not to move, though his cock was half-hard already.
"A commodity of which I am in short supply, my love," he replied through clenched teeth.
She simply gave him a smug look and turned to the young man whose cock was now pushing against the palm of her hand. "Am I not beautiful?"
"And do you not want me?"
"...Oui." Even as his cheeks flushed with desire, terror was growing in his pale blue eyes.
"Then you shall have me," she laughed gaily, tugging his coat down his arms and tossing it to the floor.
"Oh, just ignore him for now. He's been a very naughty boy." As she spoke her fingers were busy removing his vest, cravat, unbuttoning his shirt. The chest beneath was pale and well- defined, yet nearly hairless, curving slightly into a narrow waist.
He'd never have the chance to fulfill the promise of his youthful body, but she'd make full use of it while she could.
Unfastening his breeches, she pushed them down his legs and smiled at the erect cock that popped free. He tried to cover himself, but she brushed his hands aside and made him remove his shoes and stockings. Once he was nude, and prettily flushed all over, she circled him, admiring him from every angle, knowing that she was enraging her lover on the bed.
"Very pretty." Her hand ran down his back, lingering on one buttock, then smacking down lightly and making him yelp in surprise. Taking him by the hand, she led him to the bed and reclined next to Angelus who growled impotently at her. One quick glance showed her that he was fully erect, his cock red and angry looking, held immobile by the leash.
Turning back to the now quivering young man, Darla drew him down between her open legs. "I assume you do know where to put it?"
He nodded, his eagerness obvious, and lunged forward, jabbing the head of his cock against her cleft.
Darla laughed and wrapped her hand around the shaft, guiding him into her. "So ardent. There you go," she sighed softly as he pressed into her, his heat warming her. She looked into his glazed eyes and wriggled her hips in encouragement. "Go as hard and fast as you like, my boy. You won't hurt me."
Etienne's hips began to pump frantically, speeding up as she began to pinch his nipples between her sharp fingernails. Her legs wrapped around his thighs and she moved with him, feeling her own desire growing under his fumbling yet eager thrusts.
"That's it," she crooned encouragingly, "Fuck me. Come for me. Spend your life in my arms."
At that cry, she felt him spasm and shake, his warm seed spilling from him and sending sparks of pleasure through her body. Etienne collapsed on her, panting harshly, nearly sobbing in release, and she stroked him gently, hands running down his back, the heels of her pumps scraping lightly down his thighs.
"Good boy. Did you like that?"
"Oh...Oui, madame. It was...tres magnifique." He lifted his head, and the fear was gone, replaced by wonder.
Darla smiled sweetly then shoved him off of her and onto Angelus. "He's all yours, my darling," she said cooly, sliding from the bed to lean against the bedpost. As the young man squawked and tried to scramble away, she watched Angelus grab him and throw him to his stomach, making the mattress bounce. Cupping her palm over one breast, she delved the fingers of her free hand between her legs, smearing the youth's warm emission over her cool flesh and fondling her swollen clitoris.
"Bitch. I adore you," he cursed at Darla, lust and the leash making his voice hoarse. He ripped the collar free from his neck and cock and threw it across the room, then wrestled Etienne to his hands and knees. The boy babbled in French, terrified and shaking, but Angelus ignored him. One large hand forced his head down to the mattress. The other guided his aching cock to the tightly closed entrance between the boy's ass cheeks.
As Angelus shoved inside, Etienne screamed in pain and shock, and Angelus smiled in lusty delight. He thrust deeper and the screams turned to sobbing gurgles. Angelus crooned and began to pump, each withdrawal revealing more and more blood coating his cock. The young man collapsed and Angelus hauled him up with a strong arm around his stomach, never stopping the thrusts, his pelvis smacking loudly against the firm buttocks that quivered in pain. As Darla watched all this, the combination of pleasure emanating from her child, the obvious agony the boy was in, and her thumb pressing hard to her clit brought her own orgasm, and she trembled and moaned in pleasure.
After she recovered, Darla kept one eye on the activity on the bed as she strolled over to her dressing table and poured a glass of sherry. Delicately sipping the amber liquid, she moved back to the bed and reclined next to the pair. She smiled at the sight of fresh tears streaking the young man's pale cheeks, his eyes glazed with pain, his lips drawn back as he gasped for breath. Reaching out she gently stroked his cheek.
"There, there, child. It will be over soon."
"Please make him stop," came the feeble whimper.
Her eyes widened in mock innocence, the smile never leaving her face as she patted him again. "Now, why ever would I do that?"
A glance and a wink at Angelus, and he roared and dove for the boy's neck, ripping it open and spilling blood over the bedding and Darla. As he drank, he climaxed in hard thrusts that only inflamed him more. As Etienne shrieked and begged, Angelus pulled out of him and flung him over Darla, his lips latched around one side of his neck as he messily drank, red ichor trickling down his face and chest.
Darla bit down into the other side and they both feasted on his young, rich blood.
As Etienne died with a sigh and shudder, they both shoved the body to the floor and wrapped around each other, rolling across the blood-stained bedding, kissing hungrily.
Two Frenchmen and an English virgin in the same night. Definitely a good start to the London Season for them.