Fe'lare the Vampiris of Glovenshire

There's a new kind of vampire loose in the land. She imbues many of the needs and derives much of the same pleasure as your everyday garden variety vampire, but with one notable difference, she doesn't drink blood.

In the sleepy little hamlet of Glovenshire men live in fear and intrigue. They know what has been unleashed in the night, they know if they encounter her they will eventually die. Still many have succumbed almost willingly to her siren song. For she kills slowly, almost imperceptibly, by increments.

At first, the only symptom of the men she has 'infected' is a general sense of euphoria. Dreamy, absentminded eyes come next followed by an almost feral, insatiable hunger. In the end, they are consumed with a haunted hollow stare. The symptoms change slowly, taking weeks to drain the life from them. But once infected, once they have succumbed to her irresistible lure, they are doomed.

Still, nightly they answer her call, putting themselves directly in her path, hoping, dreading, unable to resist. They know what to expect for she induces men to talk, to return again to the ideals of a junior high locker room. They talk, another man hears and is lured into her trap. They are as drawn to her as she is to them.

She haunts the night, singing her silent siren song, releasing pheromones at a phenomenal rate. It's her call of the wild. And they come. Seeking. Willing.

Poor Andre has repeatedly resisted her summons only to succumb to her enticements this night. His own thoughts and imaginations, drawn from his locker room conversations have lured him. He walks the midnight streets seeking, afraid he will find her, afraid that he won't.

Fe'lare knew he was coming, searching. His approach was inevitable. She waited. Once she has cast her call, they never fail to come.

At just the right moment she emerges from the darkness to walk along the path, towards him. He pauses, hesitates, looks around as if searching for an escape. He knows he has found her, he recognizes her from the descriptions given by her previous victims: the long auburn hair, the bright green eyes that almost glow and the ivory skin covering her voluptuous body.

He waits, she advances. Arriving, without a word she takes his hand and leads him to the fog cloaked shadows at the side of the path. Turning, she takes his face in her hands and kisses him, softly, then possessively, marking him as her own. Her eyes lock with his and he knows he is lost. A small groan escapes him, in spite of her lips on his.
She begins, a slow dance, if you will, of decent, kneeling before him. Slowly she draws out the end of his belt from the buckle, pulls it tighter to release the prong, unsnaps the waistband of his jeans, lowers the zipper and sets him free. She purrs with pleasure at the sight.
The sudden release of pressure and exposure to the cool night air causes him to whimper, both in trepidation and desire. She locks her eyes on his as she takes the tip of him between her lush red lips and into her mouth. She craves the taste and feel of him, her desire is all consuming. He is her prisoner, mesmerized by the sight, the sensation. She draws him deeply within, swirling her tongue as she ascends. Her mouth burns him, searing him, his flesh and his soul. She tugs, pulls at him softly, slowly, repeatedly, taking him deeply into her throat. He has never known deeper, warmer, silkier. She enslaves him with her mouth.
He is willingly defeated as she coaxes from him that which she seeks. Encircling, enveloping, demanding his release.
Fe'lare urges from him what sustains her in explosive gulps, draining him as he gasps for air, tensing every muscle in his body. He cums for her, pumping into her, delivering what is for her the elixir of life. Again and again she drains him, leaving him spent and empty.
He opens his eyes, he is lying on the ground, alone. He knows he will return, night after night to offer himself as a sacrifice, feeding her what she needs to survive while he himself weakens. He does not care, he has come to find no greater meaning in life than to give to her the stuff she craves, indeed thrives on.
It is his duty. It is his pleasure.