Night Kiss – Nightkind Part 1

Night Kiss

By Smokedawg

In among the club-goers, Mariah was certainly worth noting, but not someone who inherently stood out. Looking to be in her late 20s, with her shoulder-length hair a barely controlled, thick and silky mass of dark ringlets, her eyes twin cocoa pools and her lips a deep, glossy black on an otherwise pale, gray face. She had precious few piercings—a small jeweled ring through one nostril and two dangly wood and brass totem-like earrings—and no tattoos. But otherwise, she fit the goth scene quite well. Several others in the mixed crowd of college students, artists and alternative sorts sported more lavish goth accoutrements and attire, but Mariah wasn’t there to hang out with people who wished they were vampires or ghouls. They weren’t her type. 

Literally. 

After all, they were only human. 

They might have been a snack on another night. Someone to take a small amount of blood from and leave with fevered dreams, dim memories of an intimate encounter, and a slightly aching neck or thigh. Of course, a fraternity or sorority member out on the town, a construction worker coming home late from a bar, or a socialite at a posh wine bar would suit that need just as well. 

But Mariah was searching for something more significant tonight. Her twin children were well past 17 now; over the course of the next year or so, they’d both be out on their own and in need of their own sets of thralls to feed upon. They’d nursed at her breasts for nearly their first five years and then fed from her own thralls for the past dozen since their fangs came in, and it was time to start building their own coterie of humans from which to get regular meals and form intimate bonds. 

Twins. Damn Frederic for getting twins on her. After 55 years on her own with her thralls, one Nightchilde would be enough to handle, and she’d had to raise two, and one of them a male. Daria was little enough trouble most of the time, but she’d been giving some of Mariah’s thralls an occasional whiff of her own Ambrosia, so it was clearly time to have her out by 18 at the latest. And Matthew, as with all males of their kind, had no Ambrosia with which to bind a human, instead using the psychic bondage on which his gender relied. His mind had been questing lately and it was uncomfortable for her thralls. The older he got, the more brutal the mental probing would become, and Mariah couldn’t risk her bonds with her thralls; he would have to be out of the estate within the next six months before he did permanent damage to anyone. 

Males. Her entire species could have been well rid of them as far as she was concerned, except for the inexorable mating cycles every 13 years that required their existence, and thus the continuation of the Nightkind. 

Mariah extracted a cigarette from her purse and lit it up with a satisfied sigh, white smoke trailing across her so-dark lips, and up through the curls of her hair. One of the few human vices that her kind could enjoy as much as humans could—better, in fact, since they got more kick out of it and didn’t count cancer among their health risks. She probably shouldn’t start up smoking so early in her hunt, though. The smoke might carry her pheromones far, and she was barely started on wandering the area to take stock of the candidates. It wouldn’t do to attract too much attention this early, but at the same time, if she kept moving, no one would fixate on her until she was ready. And it was always amusing to watch the passions slowly rise in the room in the wake of her smoky transit. If things got too heavy, she could switch to a joint or a clove cigarette, the smoke from which her pheromones wouldn’t bind to so tightly. 

So much easier for her to move around openly this past decade, with the goth scene gradually gaining more widespread acceptance, she mused, as she pulled again on her cigarette and let a lazy plume of smoke disperse around her face and behind her as she strode. Her ears picked up a slight gasp from behind her and she smiled to herself, wondering who would end up being the recipient of the woman’s suddenly enflamed passions. 

In the early days, Mariah had to keep to the darkness and away from the crowds all the time for fear that her pale skin and black lips would frighten humans off before she could get close enough to ensnare them or just take a taste of them. Even now, it was challenging at times if she picked a place to roam where she stood out too much. 

Daria would fare better; she’d gotten the auburn hair of her father and her skin had a slightly amber tinge that would be less striking than Mariah’s silvery gray. She also had her father’s dark burgundy lips rather than the black ones that Mariah and four generations of females before her had borne. That also meant Daria’s Kiss would be more hallucinogenic than soporific, but such was the nature of things. Mariah couldn’t do much to counsel her on how best to make that work for her, and the girl’s father was who knows where for the past 15 years. But Daria would manage; she always did. And Mariah suspected the girl had already begun trying her Kiss on Mariah’s youngest thrall, Patrick. She’d probably have to let Daria have him in the end. 

Matthew would likely be lurking among the goth scene almost exclusively for however many more years or decades it lasted. He certainly favored Mariah in appearance, and his lips were not only as black as hers but his skin paler by far; almost white. He knew all too well how difficult that would make things for him. After all, he and his sister had absorbed almost all Mariah’s own experiences over the years they had nursed, essentially making them as aware as an adult Nightkind from their early years. It probably explained why he was so intent now on learning how to take minds by force instead of learning subtlety, particularly since his chemical lures weren’t as potent as a female’s. Too few males of her kind had any patience for subtlety; perhaps she could convince Daria to help guide her brother down a more sedate path before the two parted ways. Being twins, they would probably stay near one another for at least a few more years before drifting on to separate territories. 

Mariah shook her head wearily. It was a wonder the two genders could stand each other even when in the metabolic throes of mating season. Several more years before that dance came around again; thank the Powers that impregnation was so rare among the Nightkind. Several more decades before conceiving again—if ever—would be welcome. 

She had gotten caught up in her own thoughts, and had been absent-mindedly smoking her cigarette and blissing on the nicotine rush while loitering near a cluster of college-aged kids. Many of them were now making out heavily with each other, a few with no regard for their traditional gender tastes. A few had begun to slowly drift Mariah’s way, their eyes dreamy and their bodies drawn instinctively by the pheromones in the smoky haze that orbited her. 

Not liking the smell of most of them, and not feeling like juggling two young men and a young woman simultaneously anyway, she quickly veered off. She hazarded a quick glance behind her and saw the three blink in confusion, and then begin a fervent three-way dry-humping session. Reluctantly, Mariah dropped the half-smoked cigarette to the ground and crushed it out, scanning the crowd for likely fare so that she could get to the heart of the matter quickly and leave. 

She just wasn’t feeling the crowds tonight, and she didn’t want a sampler platter. She needed a keeper, and fast. And she’d have to be hunting nearly every night for the next several weeks for more candidates. Between them, Daria and Matthew would need 20 humans total to start their adult lives, and Mariah was only willing to give up maybe five or six of her own 16 thralls to the children. 

Fifteen minutes later, she was fairly sure she had her mark. He’d come into the club 10 minutes earlier, and seated himself at the bar, where he was nursing a beer. He was dressed casually, but well. He looked to be in his mid-30s or so, but as she drifted closer and closer, she realized his eyes, behind his glasses, looked younger. He was curious about the scene and watchful, but not that into it. He struck her as being alone tonight, but not a loner by nature. His hair was cut short but stylishly to compensate for his slightly receding hairline, and he had a neatly trimmed goatee. From the back pocket of his jeans poked a paperback novel. 

A curious, seeking nature, and a reader besides. Two things in his favor. And at the age of nearly 70 herself, Mariah was still relatively young by her species’ standards but certainly more in favor of someone with a decently matured mind to go with a young outlook; unseasoned youth were no longer her style. He was a little out of shape, but cute enough. She could work out the rough edges along the way. If he proved worthy, she’d have the next several decades for it before she used him up. 

Her psychic capabilities weren’t anywhere near those of a male Nightkind, but sufficient to make one of the men on a barstool near her quarry suddenly become very uncomfortable with his surroundings. As he moved off, Mariah slipped onto the stool before anyone else could. 

The man she had targeted was shy, clearly. He had noticed her, but was trying to figure out if—or how—he should approach her. She blew gently in his direction, as covertly as she could, letting the tiny traces of her pheromones tickle at his neuroreceptors as the minutes wore on. Finally, she made the first overture by leaning over slightly and smiling. 

“Does the gentleman buy drinks for lonely neighbors?” she asked, pouting her dark, moist lips ever so slightly. 

He blushed. It was adorable; something she hadn’t seen in a long time. “I would love to, ummm…” 

“Mariah,” she responded, holding out her hand in a manner that clearly indicated she wasn’t looking for a handshake. He took it lightly in his own hand and kissed her fingers lightly. 

“A pleasure,” he said. “My name’s Josh.”

“I hope you don’t mind if I call you Joshua. I’m an old-school kind of woman,” she purred. 

“Not one bit. What are you drinking?” 

“Rum and Coke.” 

While Joshua caught the bartender’s attention, Mariah did her best to make her immediate vicinity very uncomfortable for anyone besides him. She wouldn’t be able to keep the area clear very long; it took too much attention and she’d have a stunning two-day-long headache for her troubles if she tried. But if she couldn’t get him to a more secluded booth in the next 15 minutes, she had no business being Nightkind. 

For the next several minutes, they chatted about all the safe topics. It was clear he was confused why a seemingly goth girl like her was interested in him, even if he didn’t say it out loud, but he was also clearly fascinated by her pale skin and black lips. How much more fascinating his body would find them when it discovered it wasn’t lip gloss that made them shine so much. It didn’t take long to determine that Joshua had a sharp mind, a kind nature, a goofy sense of humor, and had clearly been a full-fledged geek in high school and college—finally growing into himself comfortably. Even if none of that had been appealing to her, the sweet smell of his blood under his skin was enough. The good stuff, in a fairly appealing package besides. 

And so she pulled a cigarette from the pack in her purse, and asked if he could light her up. Adorably, he fumbled a lighter out of his pocket before she could fish her own out for him. As there wasn’t any noticeable level of nicotine on the scent of his blood, her radar immediately went off. If he was a smoking fetishist, so much the better; saves all the time of wearing down the inhibitions and working up the libido of an anti-smoker to get things going. 

She leisurely puffed the cigarette to life as his hands shook ever so slightly, and then she raised her eyes to his slowly and let a thick wave of smoke roll out over her lips before exhaling a thin stream of remaining smoke toward the side of his face. He immediately inhaled, probably not even realizing he was trying to capture her errant smoke, and she grinned. She’d been told that smoke from her lungs smelled not just of tobacco but also varying shades of patchouli, sandalwood, musk, ginger or cinnamon. Whether it varied by her mood or the recipient’s she couldn’t say; it all smelled the same to her. But no one who’d ever gotten a lungful had yet complained. 

Her kind had learned long ago how well the pheromones that existed in various levels in the Kiss, the Balm and Ambrosia bonded to inhaled smoke and that made cigarettes and cigars among the best vehicles for ensnaring prey, whether for a snack or to add as a thrall. As such, she conservatively estimated that 80 percent of the Nightkind she had met smoked to some degree, both for their own pleasure and to catch humans. Those few who didn’t tended to be either uptight or the sort who sought to limit the pleasure experienced by humans whom they fed upon. Mariah shied away from such as them; it was a reprehensible thing, she believed, to deny ecstasy to those who provided one’s sustenance at the ultimate cost of their own freedom—and decades later, their lives. Nightkind like that tended to be short on other forms of polite behavior as well, and lacked respect for the covenants typically. 

She sipped at her drink only enough for show. Too much alcohol did nothing for the Nightkind except give them body-wide cramps, and frankly, cramps every 13 years when she went into estrus were quite enough. Instead, she concentrated on her smoking, giving him lingering gazes with bedroom eyes and bringing her exhales ever closer to his face. 

When she finally rewarded him with a full exhale aimed straight at his lips, he sucked down her smoke as if he were a drowning man seeking and finally finding a pocket of air. He had completely forgotten his drink. He was still conversing with her, but she wondered if he even knew half of what he was saying anymore. The bulge of his dick in his pants was clear. 

The seduction was at least half the fun, whether with a new human or an old thrall. The other half was the use of all the other tools in her biochemical arsenal. The sticky, sweet gloss of a Nightkind’s kiss made a human pliable and unable to resist. Just as the oily Balm of a Nightkind’s saliva erased the pain of fangs sinking into skin, prevented undue blood loss, healed the punctures, and stimulated the human’s body to make more red blood cells and platelets. And the Ambrosia…oh, Joshua would experience that soon enough. But not until the end. 

Mariah leaned forward, brushing her warm, satin-smooth cheek against his rougher one, and licked one of his earlobes. He shivered, both at her touch and the lingering scent of smoke from her lips and in her hair. He pressed against her, almost leaning into her for support, and she whispered to him, “We should move somewhere more private.” 

Pulling away from him slowly, dragging her cheek and lips across his face, she double-pumped the remainder of her cigarette and slowly blew a thick white cloud into his face. He sighed, and then gasped as her other hand brushed lightly across his cock through his jeans. A few people were gaping at the sight or her smoking and stroking him. Let them stare, Mariah thought savagely. Crushing out her butt, she took Joshua by the hand and led him away, psychically blazing a trail through the other humans and driving four of them out of a nearby booth in a dark corner so she wouldn’t have to fend off or deal with anyone but him. 

She snuggled up next to him, and lit her own cigarette this time. A long brown More this time, both for variety and because the heavier-flavored cigarette would carry more of her aphrodisiacs into his lungs. She stretched like a tiger, pushing into him and exhaling as her face came alongside his. And then she leaned over and kissed him. 

Between the smoke and the gloss her lips produced, he melted into her Kiss and returned it with twice as much fervor as she had offered it. She pulled away from him, a tiny string of slickness still connecting them, and she took a deep drag, then kissed him full on the mouth again, exhaling into him. 

He was shuddering and letting his hands roam all over her now, across her belly, up over her breasts, along her throat and into her thick hair. She broke the kiss again, inhaled another lungful of smoke, and gently blew it across his face. 

“I…” he began, and she answered him with a shush, quieting him with another kiss and a taste of her smoky tongue. 

Her hand went to his pants again, rubbed slowly and firmly there. Not too much, though. It was tempting to give in to his passion and let him have release, but better that he be pent up. Cum did poorly for her nutritional needs but made an excellent dessert after dining at a human’s throat or thigh. He groaned, pushing his crotch into her, rubbing it against the tight black denim shielding her sumptuous little ass, and she said, “No, no no” softly, touching a finger to his lips and turning around to straddle his lap. She took another drag, and give him a deep, searing, smoke-filled communion with her full black lips. Her tongue searched and massaged his own and she lingered there to let him taste all that he could of her Kiss and Balm and smoke. 

Not that there had ever been any doubt, but he was hers now. Nothing left but to finish things now and start Joshua on his new life. Whatever job, friends, family or life he had lived now were dust to him. He would forget them as surely and as quickly as she had seduced him, and never look back. 

She slid back onto the seat of the booth, and took another inhale, this time just for herself, and let the smoke linger in her lungs before letting it slowly flow over her lips and up into her nostrils in a languid French inhale. Then into the air to drift in a ghostly cloud between them. 

“You’re mine now,” she said. There was no hint of question in her tone, but Joshua answered with a quiet, breathless “yes” all the same. 

She burrowed her face into his neck, and kissed and licked the side of his throat while he sighed and moaned. She bit, not to pierce yet, just to tease, and let the smoke of the cigarette in her hand drift across them and between them. She sucked and nipped until he was almost crying out for her to give him release, and then bit hard. Whatever pain he felt was but a moment as her Balm entered his bloodstream. She gave the Balm to him even as she drew out his blood. Not enough to harm or incapacitate him. He’d be lightheaded and dizzy, but that would pass in a matter of hours, and she might taste him again, just a little, to ensure that he knew his new role. 

When she was done, she withdrew, and licked what little blood was left on his neck, sealing the wound completely. Then she took a deep, deep pull on the More and blew the smoke onto him, and then into him, as she gave him another wet, sticky kiss. 

“Come,” she said, and led him out to the street. Her 10-year-old Mercedes was where she had left it, her thrall Annette sitting in the driver’s seat. She could smell the quivering anticipation from her that she would feed her mistress later tonight as well and perhaps breathe her smoky breath. As a reward for her current and continued patience, Mariah leaned into the driver’s seat and gave the woman a smoky kiss and the lightest of nips on her throat, just barely breaking the skin. Then she dropped the spent More to the ground. 

Joshua she led into the backseat, stripping him slowly as the car pulled away. He wasted no time in beginning to peel off Mariah’s own clothes, but then forced himself to match her slow pace. When they were naked, she traced a black-nailed finger down his chest and belly, and touched his throbbing dick. She licked her hand, the Balm providing a perfect lubricant, and grabbed his cock firmly, pumping it in lazy spiraling motions. 

“You are my thrall. For the moment, you need know nothing else. You will learn more about your future from your thrallmates and myself in the coming days.” 

Joshua merely nodded, unable to think of anything else but her words and her desires. 

“There is one last thing, Joshua,” she said, releasing his cock and tracing her middle finger between her labia. “You’ve known my Kiss, and the Balm in my bite. And now you will know my Ambrosia. There is no turning back.” 

With that, she maneuvered her body around into a 69 position, and pulled his face into her sex. The scent of musk and honey overwhelmed his senses and drew his nose and tongue deep inside her. She enjoyed his ministrations for some minutes before she lit another cigarette and wrapped her slick black lips around his member. The Ambrosia he was consuming would bind him to her forever. It would ensnare his mind as thoroughly as its stickiness covered his tongue and filled his throat; it would be his addiction, the thing he would need from her often, and the thing that would keep his body healthy and unspoiled until she finally drained his life away in 30 or 40 years. He ate her out greedily, but sensuously, and she released his cock to blow a stream of smoke toward his face and bind him even tighter to her. As his passion grew, his tongue explored deeper and more thoroughly. 

Oh, already such a cunning tongue you have, Joshua, she thought. Oh, what other tricks might I teach to someone with such natural talent? No, I won’t be giving you to Matthew; he needs someone who deserves or desires to be treated roughly. And Daria is too young to appreciate you. You can replace the one Daria is already stealing from me anyway. 

She blew more smoke toward his eager, probing mouth and felt the beginnings of her orgasm, and the final rush of Ambrosia that would scour away Joshua’s independence and will. She took one last drag and swallowed his cock as her body began to shake. The warm smoke covered him and embraced him as surely as her lips and tongue, and within seconds of her own release, she swallowed the salty-sweet aperitif of his cum as her Ambrosia continued to drip into his mouth. And then, she covered his panting body in smoke exhale after smoky exhale, like a blanket of musky, tickling warmth to cover him as he drifted into dreams of her and her alone.

(The next installment in this series is “Night Lust”…click here to view that story.)

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Let me acknowledge the huge debt I owe for many inspirations here to Octavia E. Butler’s novel “Fledgling” as well as other novels and stories with vampire-like beings, such as Jim Butcher’s “Dresden Files” series and Clive Barker’s “Cabal.”

~ by Smokedawg on May 10, 2009.