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This blog contains some adult and possibly unsettling themes. I wrote it over several hours here and there over several days, and it encompasses a range of emotions.

Usual disclaimers, part fact, part bullshit, part something else. It's a disease. A delicious attention seeking disease.





There's a place I visit. I call the people within it my family, although we're not related by blood.

And when I arrive at their door, I feel like I've been tied to it with an elastic band, because no matter how hard I try to stay away, how hard I try to say goodbye, how hard I try and do something different with my life, and no matter where my path in life takes me, or how long it takes, my eyes, inevitably, come to rest upon their door time and time again.

The door is a simple door, a simple door made of wood, like many of the other doors across the world, yet it’s not really just a door to me.

In a perplexing way, I feel that the door is me.

That door is me meeting myself once again when I cut out the bullshit of trying to be things I constantly fail to be, and I knock on that door and say yes, I am simply standing before you in my purest form. My most honest form.

No facade.
My true face.
No light.
No God.

Just me. Stripped away from all the shit I disguise myself in when trying to live in ways I pretend to believe are best for me.

And when I knock on that door, I'm bowing. I'm accepting. I'm saying to myself, I'm back. I’m back to being myself.

If this was a vampire film, the house would probably be surrounded by mist, and the door old and creaky, and yes, the house is old and beautiful, but this still isn't a vampire film, and when I pay a visit I have to travel through the world, and I have to say, by the time I've dealt with traffic, irritating drivers and other everyday issues, it kind of knocks the spots off arriving.

I set off from home after dark. To my mind, it's never the safest time to be traveling, but God is still shining his heavenly flashlight into my eyes at present, so not only have I pissed my Holy BFF off, I’m sun blind during the days as well. I haven’t apologized to Him yet for going on a blood bender recently, so there's that to consider.

Anyway, I left home feeling like I was fulfilling a great destiny, heading to meet my family, to feed the way vampires should feed. By our teeth.

And in previous days, I’d started to feel quite free of my pissy and pontificating way of shunning vampirisms, online and offline, and my endless moaning about why vampirism isn’t all that. Yet by the time I arrived at my family's home, after fairly empty roads and meeting the one driver who couldn’t drive in a straight line, I felt rather deflated.

And rather than knock on the door feeling pumped up and ready to party, all I really wanted to do was unpack my bag and have a cup of tea, and moan about how crap my trip was.

When shit drivers and traffic lights can knock your bloodlust down, you have to wonder just who is in control of this shit show? Satan and the legions of hell? Or some dude who got pissed and shouldn’t be driving?

Bloodlust is the wrong term. I went past that days ago. I needed to bite.

I wanted to bite.

Because sucking blood out of a bag, fucking .... Sucks!

It's an alcohol-free beer, it's sitting in a car and never driving, It's adding pen to paper and never writing, and while bagging and sucking my wife's blood took the edge off, I really needed to bite, like a smoker needs cigarettes and nothing else sufficed. No option, no compromise, no settling it with soothing music or meditation, it was in me, and it stayed in me until it came out into the world, met the world, fucked the world of every last fuck, and for as long as it wanted to fuck, until it decided it was time to un-fuck me and leave, to sleep, to vanish. And I was along for the ride.

I wanted a neck. One.

One.

It’s only ever one.

I’ve never needed, wanted, or thought of more. I only ever want and wanted to dance with one neck. I’ve danced with many different necks throughout my life, but each one has been the epitome of beauty to me. Beauty to my eyes. We all have different tastes and I taste the ones that I like.

It has to be a nice neck. It has to be the right neck. I have to like it. It has to fit me. I have to find it sexy, alluring and visually appealing, no not appealing. I have to be mesmerized by its beauty. It has to look exactly right.

It has to be the exact shape to fit the exact hole in my mind that it has to fill, like a jigsaw piece fitting into its puzzle.

The neck must complete me, become me, fit me and love me.

It must make me feel that I never want to let it go. That once bitten, becomes a part of me.
I have to take in its scent, feel its wonderful soft texture, let my lips dance on its skin, let my teeth hold its life in my bite and eventually, eventually, a long eventually, gently squeeze down, slowly ever slowly, because I never want it to end. And I know I can’t stop its end, but I still want to savor every moment of living through it, like a tiny pilot in my brain, removed from the whole experience, yet still observing and living through it regardless.

Just a slight increase in pressure hardly registers at first, a little more, and more, and a little more. I start salivating at that point and various parts of my mouth start tingling. The tingling is the best thing of all. It's like an incomprehensible thirst in my mouth. While my brain knows I’m not actually thirsty at all, I bite slightly harder. I know the skin will give way soon, I’m a little past self-control now, and squeeze my jaw with more urgency. I’m past the point of ever being able to pull back, and I know the skin is about to give way, my teeth are meant to puncture, that's what they are designed to do, and just then, I relinquish control to my teeth alone. I’ve done my work, now my teeth can do theirs, I’m simply a passenger within my own mind, I’m simply a witness, watching and experiencing, I taste blood, and as always, it still surprises me. I’m still a little scared of it appearing in my mouth. It’s not my own. It scares me. I’m afraid of it.

Until I swallow it.

And it has to be an occasion.

In the past, when I needed to bite, I'd just bite, no preamble, no build-up, just bite. But those times have been a bit of a waste. I got satisfied that way, I guess, but I don't know, it's like watching a theatre play rehearsal where the actors are not dressed in their costumes. I felt something was missing, and I never enjoyed biting as much as I do if there is time to lead up to the occasion.

My family trip was an occasion.

And I wanted to savor every single moment.

Whatever fucky little bit of biological chemistry keeps me into vampirisms, it has its own needs, like a whining little inner devil.

First it pesters me to think about feeding, drinking blood, and gets worse and worse until I can't bear it any longer and I just fucking give in. It overwhelmed me. I lost. I feed. Feed. What a fucking stupid term. I hate it. I give in and drink blood. Oh, I chug that motherfucker down. Chug. Like a keg of beer.

And my inner devil? Sure he goes quiet for a while. For five minutes quiet for a while. And then he says, quietly, real quietly, so I can barely hear him, he says, ....... Bite. It's like a fucking command and all I can think about is that! Annnnnnnd then I'm in full on vampire mode and all I can say is thank fuck I have family and some necks on offer, otherwise I'd probably end up in a mental institution or shot dead.

I mean I can bite my wife, but it feels like I'm pissing on royalty. How the hell can I, who has spent more time by her feet than in her bed, lowly and often in chains? And I don't mean that figuratively. I mean full on: "Husband, I'll buy Smith & Wesson wrist chains and ankle shackles for Christmas, would you like that?" I'm like, "What? I wanted an Xbox!" Anyway, full on, on the floor, in chains, at her feet, lowly ... pet! I said lowly. I didn't say I wasn't happy, Lol :D

How the hell do I raise to her neck??????? I'll tell you. I have tried, it has been offered. And I can't.

Full. STOP.

I nibble in other places, but VR doesn't do sex blogs. Shame coz, I've got some rocking tales, man I could be up all night typing. Oh, wait ... Lol.

You know, I should put some pix of my chains in my portfolio here on the VR, I’m as proud of them as some men are of their suits, and I’m not just talking chains, I’m talking steel shackles, shit you’d die in before ever escaping, but I know, it's not really that kind of site despite vampers being ALL about domination.

When was the last time you read a book about a vampire or watched a film where the vampire politely said Oh, excuse me, would you mind if I took over your life a little and bled you and owned you? Nope. Doesn't happen.

IRL, you get marked and then you get owned. And stay owned. I know a lot of pets like me and a lot of owners, both male and female, and not once have I ever seen a breakup. Not once. Not ever. I absolutely believe unions are made to last forever. How long is forever? Until death. Death comes to all. My forever only has to last long enough to meet it. Unless my wife's death comes first and then mine right after. It's planned. She goes? I'm out of life too. And all the rest of it, all the people I know, all the people I love, I know they will grieve, but I can't live without my wife, I just fucking can't.

I have a lot of 'cannot's' in my life and, since I 'cannot' bite my dearest, I set myself off on grand plans to visit those I can.

And while I'm planning those trips, I get absolutely obsessed with every single little detail involved.

It's like having a sweater and thinking the whole thing will come unraveled if I don't attend to every little thread sticking out, yet in truth the only thing unraveling is my mind.

Why do I need a plan to get in my car and go bite someone? There's just too much to type, too much to list, I want my girl, not the wife, someone else, oh yes, it is like that — OVER THE AGE OF CONSENT — who is someone I've known a long time, and loved a long time, looking just right. I want her to look sexy, not super-sexy, just nice, you know? No jeans and all that shit. Skirts and blouses, nice shoes, always that kind of thing. And I want her to smell good. Pre-bite - perfume, and during - sweat and pheromones. And I want her not to have eaten a curry beforehand. I want things just right. And why not?

So I have a huge shopping list I have prepared by hand. I used to write on notepads, and now I type lists on my phone. I'm obsessive, and I hate to miss the tiniest detail before a bite because all of those details matter to me immensely, even if I can't remember what they all are beforehand.

These days, I have a firm idea of the bigger things, but the devil is in the details, and by the time I’m ready to bite, the devil is in me.

I often view biting as an operation. Surgery. Yet in some ways, I'm the patient. And the girl is the surgeon. Because I feel like I'm booking myself into the hospital — her house." And we talk about the 'procedure', which is pointless because I've lost count of how many times we've bitten each other. But what else are we going to talk about pre-bite but biting? And then eventually we moved into the operating theatre — her large shower room — you don't really think vampires drip blood all over the soft furnishings, do you? Get the plumbers in, tell them you want a wheelchair-accessed shower room.

Why wheelchair access?

Do you want a cubicle or a place you can circle your prey? It's not all about biting. Is this blog getting a little too heavy?

Not sure, not ready to pull back on it yet, I think there's some more leeway.

Let's add:

ALL ACTIVITIES ARE WITH CONSENTING ADULTS.

Not only consenting but chomping at the frigging bit consenting. Never mind the films where girls run through eerie forests screaming to get away from vampires. In my experience, they jump on me first. Scares me to death for fucks sake. I'm like, girl, dude'ette, I've not even had my cup of tea yet.

I was going to type chapter and verse of setting up the pre-bite routine, but even though it's essential irl, the idea of typing it just numbs me. I could cut and paste the entire to-do list. But I don't want to. Just how much dirty laundry do I want to air?

The shower room/ bite-room, whatever is given a once over and hosed down. Out of ritual more than anything. Those little details super bug me. I don't want to smell anyone else who previously used it. I just want to smell my dance partner.

And I want her to go into the shower room looking clean and well presented clothing wise. And then I like us dirty, I like us sweaty, and I like us messy.

______________________




I’ve removed this section. I’m not adding it to VR.


______________________


I often wonder who is dominating who because she - nameless girl, my occasional and mood dependant dance partner - and I'm not always the one taking the lead - holds far more power over me than I do her. It's me on that floor after biting, not her. Me. It's me in tears, not her. It's me that needs more aftercare than she ever did. It's my broken soul that needs picking up, and it's me that gets comforted by her. There’s no power in those times for me. I’m a shallow little wreck, being comforted by the girl I’ve just bitten, and that is why random biting never works. You need someone who loves you, who can take care of you afterward. Who can comfort you, and unlike the films where the victorious vampire gloats over his victim, in my world, I’ve pulled my knees up to my chest and feel like I’m two steps away from a nervous breakdown — I’m talking full on; Casino Royal, Vespa in the shower scene, fucked up! - You need someone right for you in those times. You need to be loved. You need to be pulled back from a really dark place, and you need someone to make you feel human again, even if it's just for a little while. And more than anything, you need someone with the inner strength and character to be those things for you.

And, of course, after typing 'Vespa' I had to go and find the scene on YouTube. That scene, that music, just broke my fucking heart. I repeatedly keep fucking myself up. I'm an expert at it. I'll admit, I do it on purpose. Do I like to fuck myself up? Yes. Do I NEED to fuck myself up? Very definitely yes.





Who is she, the girl?

I have written about her before. I called her Red Riding Blood in other blogs. Now? Writing this? I feel too emotional to give her silly names. She’s just her, just her. This is making me cry.

Anyway, I got my bite finished and then wondered why I ever needed to do it in the first place because my little inner demon had masturbated all over my brain the moment I bit her and then went back to sleep. I was left wondering pretty much why in hell I was sitting in a shower room smelling blood and being cuddled by the girl I’d just bitten. I knew in some ways, but I did not in others.

After the bite, everything connected to it had pretty much evaporated from my mind and I didn’t want anything more to do with any of it.

Where else were we going to end up but in bed? It wasn't a horror film with a body on the floor. Just two people who needed each other after going through something together. Post bite — my brain feels like it's been rubbed raw and soaked in lemon juice. I needed to be looked after, she knew how to. How do you look after a post-bite vampire with a pickled brain? Kisses work. Cuddles. Snuggles. I'm not a particularly awesome vampire, I'm more a 'hold me' vampire.

I'm back at home, and she is at hers and I ache for her now. Ache. I bled her, yet she took something from me too. She took my heart. Does that mean I don't love my wife? It means I’m capable of loving more than one person. I feel like a train has run through me. I'm overwhelmed with emotion. And why, because all I want to feel is her kiss on my lips again.

I entered that bathroom with a darkness inside me, yet I'm always saved by the light inside her.

I bite, yet she ripped my heart out.

This is so hard.

When a woman has the power to remove my heart with a kiss, with a look, with a breath, with a warm simple embrace, there is nothing in the dark that can compare.

I sent her a song before I went to see her.





I listened to that song while sending it to her a few days ago, and I was at a point then where I felt as alive as I could possibly ever get. My every atom was balanced on a knife edge, wanting to take her and I felt utterly irresistible.

Yet listening to it now, listening to the words, she should have sent that song to me. Because she wasn’t my prey.

I was hers.

And now all I feel listening to that song is submission and upset that we're apart.

I'm so weak, I don't know why I just didn't put my heart in a parcel and mail it to her. I could have saved myself the trouble of visiting her. I needed to deal with my biting thing. I accept that, otherwise it's like pretending a boulder on your back isn't there and until you shift it, you carry it around forever, but right now? It's the last thing on my mind, all I'm thinking about despite blowing off in this journal about biting, is her.

Now I'm back in lovesick teenager mode, back to pining, back to messaging, back to phone calls, back to tears, and how does my wife feel about all of this? Accepting.

I feel like my heart is being burned alive on a grill. I call it post-bite fatigue, yet all it really is, is missing somebody I really need. Is she as fucked up emotionally as me over this? Yes. Am I in love with her? Yes. Does she love me? Yes. I could go back to her. I could. But it won't help either of us. We won't feel better by being together now. Because we're not together. We'll never be together. And in time, like all the times before, because her and I have danced that dance a 1000 times before, sooner, or later, we'll dance for the devil again. And right now, I really think I'd trade my soul to re-live our last dance, despite my tears afterwards or in my purest truth BECAUSE of them. BECAUSE OF THEM. Fucking sobbing. The comfort she gave me. I'd die to live through that again.

I used to hide my face in shame from God after biting her. Now all I want to do is show her my face in pride.

The darkness burns people alive within it. And not through pain. It burns so deep because it makes you feel a level of love that utterly consumes you, asks for everything, takes everything, and when everything you have is gone, keeps you alive to continue to feel the depth of that love until eventually all that is left of you, is love. Pure unbridled stinging, ripping, thrashing, scratching, biting, tearing, needful tearful love.

In God's light there are boundaries. Safe. Boundaries. In the dark there are none. You just fall.

Sometimes I just never seem to stop. Not once have I ever been in control of this. And my wife? Does she support me? In a way. In a way if you fall off a cliff, the ground will support you when you hit it. She's always looking at the bigger picture and in a week, most likely, she knows I'll be back to walking in the light and having coffee in the city I adore and being really happy and chatting to her on Bluetooth about the latest book I bought and how happy I feel, because that's the way it always goes.

Until the darkness comes for me again. And I only have to think of it right at this moment to want to run headfirst back into it. Yet it's not only the darkness I care for. It's the girl living inside it.

I wish the love burning inside my heart was as easily quenched as my bite.
Or do I?

Do I really want to kill what I feel?

No. Because I adore every single tear falling from my eyes, Every single tear. I love each and every single one. My tears mean the absolute world to me, because of what caused them to fall from my eyes.

Because of who.

Because of her.

And even, because of what.

My tears are stinging my eyes as I write this yet my sadness is only in knowing they will have to come to an end.

No matter which way I travel through the darkness? In the end, all I'm left feeling and thinking about, is love. Connection. Beauty. And hope. I might not be able to handle its depths, but I know in truth to myself, I don't want to live without it. And if God gave me a choice, to start all over again, to be something else, I couldn't. I wouldn't. I want to feel the way I feel. I need to. And when I open my eyes wide and stare into the darkness, when I'm as truthful as I dare to be to myself knowing God listens, I understand, and accept, that I am in love with the darkness, and I always have been. And I can see, and accept, the darkness loves me.

It surrounds me. Like a blanket. And I'm at peace within it.

Being tied up does something to me. It's more than the simple act of being restrained. It floods my body with concentrated endorphins. I get the whole pharmacy the moment the rope starts coiling around my wrists. And when that final knot is tied, accompanied by a subtle yet harsh tug, and boy does my wife know how to play that fiddle, I feel like I'm melting in lust from the inside out.

It's more than lust, it's surrender. It's a final surrender where I don't have to be in control anymore, and I can just let go.

It's not the ropes that cocoon me. It's my wife's careful attention while working on the ropes. Studying them, wrapping them around my wrists, neatly, slowly, building up the sexual tension, moving on to another part of my body only when the last part has been tightly restrained and secured. Fingernails slowly being dragged over my skin teasing me as to what part of my body is next to lose its ability to move.

Every part of my body is always given the exact amount of care and attention during our bondage sessions and eventually, as that last knot is tied, that final, harsh pull, really lets me know I'm fucked. I'm not getting out, until she wants me out.

Of course, we both know if the roof fell in she'd have me cut loose in seconds, but that doesn't matter. It doesn't count. All that matters is that, right at that moment of time, I'm hers. It works. It works for both of us. She wants to own me, and I want to be owned. It's right. It's perfect. For both of us.

The visual experience is also important to me. I'm attracted to my wife looking a certain way when she takes control of me through bondage. Bondage. Even the word I find intoxicating.

The outfit she wore in our recent bondage session was truly beautiful.

There is pure magic in those moments. Dragons could fly past the bedroom window, and I'd have less interest in them than my wife's cleavage gently pushed together in her matching bra. Dark grape, such a beautiful color. Very sexual, invoking. I bought the set in a lingerie shop around Christmas and the whole experience was dream-like. I wasn't buying underwear for my wife, I was buying a ticket to a night of dark pleasure.

The bra's lace, against her slightly sun-kissed skin, the whole visual was a pool I'd be happy to drown in for eternity. A mind soothing adventure into happiness and love where sighs and deep breaths are endlessly invoked.

The silver of a braided necklace draped loosely around her neck, falling just slightly short of her cleavage. If I were that necklace, I'd be content forever.

Her stockings were the color of quartz, hypnotizing, impossible to look away from; her knees, her thighs, her feet. Dear Lord, her feet. Her toes. Ten little pools of deep blackberries, just like her sister's. All wiggling together in innocent life, under cover of stockings holding their power over my mind inescapably.

She wore a perfectly fitting deep purple blouse with a pattern of lilic leaves gently cascading around her shoulders and falling over her breasts and her waist.

Her skirt hugged her hips, dark navy and fell just above her knees.

Her shoes? They didn't last long. She kicked them off in the same way her sister does, so she could move and play. The vixen, the temptress, the power she holds. I'm endlessly, utterly mind-numbingly in awe.

We spend hours getting ready before a bondage session. Well, I don't bother. The only thing I want to wear is my birthday suit!

With her being dominant to my submissiveness, I get to choose one thing during the bondage sessions before fate and my wife's control takes over and becomes absolute. I get to choose her outfit. The extent of my freedom is in what she wears.

It's a ritual. No deviation. Always the same. I lay everything she will wear upon our marital bed. We're both silent. Solemn. We know what lies ahead.

She bathes me, slowly, carefully, every inch matters. Every inch needs to be cleansed. I have to be perfect, in her eyes, and mine. My hair is washed.

She patted me dry and as we were leaving the bathroom, she offered her hand in mine like Aphrodite to Artemis and made me feel every bit as important, and if a real goddess had offered her hand to me from the heavens at that moment, I'd still have chosen my wife.

She led me into the bedroom. There were no rose petals on the bed or soft music playing. The music was playing. But it wasn't soft. It was dirty, it was loud, it was naughty, it was ready, and it was ALIVE!

I felt so fluffed up I started doing body-building poses in the mirror. And as usual, when she thinks I'm getting too cocky, she fucked up my vibe by painting my toenails. Pink! I didn't even get a color I like.

She had me kneel in front of her while she dried my hair. The immutable routine of placing me in Smith & Wesson shackles and hearing the ratchets slowly close click by click was as exciting and worrying as it sounds.

As per this, I was attached to a steel D ring screwed into the bedpost while she did her make -up. I'm always a happy, willing witness to that. No chance of escape, I screwed that D ring into the thick wooden post myself! If I'm going to be chained up, I don't want to be unchained up because I've got half-assed about the D.I.Y.

Anyway, back to the make-up session. I always love that part, I get to watch her. I won't bore myself writing every make-up step she takes, but by the time she'd finished, oh my, she'd become a different creature entirely, vampy, sexy, and a little bit dirty, and real naughty. Especially with the dark lipstick. Amazing visual. And a blusher that could match the whore of Babylon.

By that time, as every time, I was no longer on Earth. I was in a little pocket of sexual hell reserved for naughty people who were about to do naughty things to each other — that's naughty things, and not bad things. Big difference.

After the make-up it was perfume time. She knelt in front of me and sprayed it on the sides and the front of her neck. I always take the deepest breath right about then. And then I was lost. My mind was someplace else.

It's like peering over the edge of the coming experience. I knew what was going to happen because we do the same things time upon time in this particular scenario. We have other scenarios, but I'm not thinking about them. In this blog we're in the bedroom, I'm chained to the bed, and she's just done her make-up. Cool. The music is still playing — full of filthy words and sexual references and a great beat. We usually burn through 3 CDs before she's even dressed lol.

After the perfume, she starts getting dressed. Should I type this? Why not?

We're starting with those panties, dark grape. If you imagine dried blood, mixed with a little purple, you'd have a fair idea of what I found to be an absolutely mesmerizing color. On her? With the slight tan? Well. Wow. It's either a 'wow' or a 3000-word essay comparing the contrast of her skin and her panties to the ends of the universe and all the light within it, so I'm taking the wow. I'm 30 plus paragraphs in, and I still haven't got to the good bit yet. I'm taking the 'wow'.

Her stockings next. Deep quartz. Smooth legs. Her toenails had already been painted. And mine too. Cheers to that! Unlike the pornos where the girls make a nice show of seductively rolling the stockings on, my girl prefers to pull them on like socks. And laughter doth diminish one's excitement! So I try to think about other things while she does that.

I'm back on track when the bra comes out. Matching the panties in dark grape! At that point, she's looking like a goddess with that sultry make-up and the undies.

The blouse goes on next and the peak of my interest has, um, peaked, now that she's covering up her best bits. Can I say that? I don't want to offend anyone when reading. I've already given her head a whole paragraph, I'm onto the boobs now, or not, since at this point they're about to get covered up.

Skirt gets pulled on, and I become fascinated once again by her pretty knees and the stockings. I've usually got a great view at this point because I've fallen off the bed onto the floor trying to get a better view of things at this stage. I'm still tethered but at least the carpet is soft.

We've usually been drinking a little blood while all this is going on. Hey, what can I say? Vampires. Not from the neck. I mean it's the 21st century, is it? I lost track. Anyway, we have glasses now. And a syringe works a lot better than teeth.

How do you drink blood from a glass when you're cuffed to the bed?

She .... feeds ... me. Like a dog chained to the bed. I have no shame. None. Well I do, but sometimes I just want to give myself a day off!

Eventually, I'll be a geriatric with a doddering old wife feeding me her blood until we both snuff it. What a sight that'd be for whoever finds our bodies. Two old people, one chained to the bed and the other dolled up like a harlot. A pair of coagulated blood cocktails left on the dressing table with straws stuck in them, and if I wanted to be really grotty, a spoon lol, because soon after a fresh spill, the blood thickens and um. Well, oh look, she's dressed! Onto the bondage!

I forgot the dance! There's always a dance. There's always a dance. It's sweet, it's sexy, but I never know if I should be comparing her to Santánico Pandemonium, the vampire queen in the film From Dusk Till Dawn, or Mr Blonde from Reservoir Dogs who's about to cut my ear off.

At this point, I usually recite poetry to her in a Viking fashion, and exalt her sexuality while she towers above me. You know the thing;

"I praise the gods who made you for your beauty. I will love you till the day I die. I will write poetry for you until ... "

Which often results in a seriously hard slap around the face to shut me up!

Anyway, I get released from my shackles around this point and savor a moment of freedom because I know what is coming next and that soon I'll be in tears. Hard tears, the kind that come from the bottom of your soul, because that's where my wife likes to take a stroll.

I can face the entire world but my wife? And the way she opens me? Delves into me? It breaks my mind and soul. And I knew soon, as in all those times we colloquially call our 'bondage sessions', I'd be going to a very dark place, and perversely, want nothing more than to be in that dark place. And stay there.

It always starts with me standing and facing away from her. My head is already bowed, not out of BDSM protocol, I've utterly surrendered emotionally. My eyes are closed.

I'm tied securely with 10mm braided nylon ropes. They're soft, they're strong, and they hold everything I am, right at the tip of my beloved wife's mercy.

I have no stamina when my wife is tying me up.

Even a brush of her hair over my skin is overwhelming. And the way she pulls her skirt right up, revealing her panties and stockings to straddle me to get a better purchase to cinch the ropes tight.

- A shit load of sexual content deleted here. Not suitable for VR. -

The hell, I've lost to her so many times. I don't know why I kid myself I have any power over my life at all.

And afterward, after I've been milked dry as gently as a newborn calf nursing, finally nestling beside me, my wife, my beloved, my portent, my key to myself, started to unlock me. Slowly. She'd blissed me out with the blow job, which is basically her version of a pre-med. Every time, there is no safe word, there is no turning back, there is only a one-way trip down into darkness with Satan ever waiting to see if this will be the one time when I truly fall down into a part of hell I will never be able to climb back out of.

It starts with a thought. A change of mood. A seriousness within me, I try not to access. Yet my wife rips that door right off its hinges and pushes me through. And behind it, I face myself. I face everything she made me. I face everything I try to hide from. And in doing so, I turn from God, because I can't face Him and myself at the same time. In those times, my only reflection is Satan himself.

I feel the tears, yet they feel good, they feel real good, they feel like I'm about to split away from everything in everyday life and let myself go, into the one thing I spend so much time hiding from, into the one thing I feel God is ashamed of me for, into the deepest darkest part of myself.

There's always a tipping point, everybody has one.

Where every safeguard you set up in your own mind to ensure you behave in a certain way, simply crumbles. And my wife breaks through my safeguards as if she was snapping a pencil.

Despite drinking blood in the glass earlier, the blood now flowing is very different. More potent. More dangerous. Dangerous to me. And I know when I taste it I won't want to stop. My tears. A little is placed on my lips. I shut my eyes. I feel helpless. Lost. In the dark. I know God is watching, and I could reach out to Him, but I don't want to. I want to taste. I want to just let the blood settle in my mouth for a while, just a while, and just let it be.

A part of me.

A part of her.

I feel.

I feel connected. To my wife.

Everything melts away, there is only her, no universe, no world, no people, no God, no Satan. All I see is her, and we scream in unison because when we stop, our love overwhelms us, so we feed off each other knowing there is nothing but eternity to love deeper and deeper and deeper. There is no limit ever, and we fall, forever entwined, matching, meeting, biting, forever bleeding, forever healing.

My every atom, pulsing to the beat of her heart, thud, thud, thud, thud, endlessly, I reach a point where i no longer have a heartbeat. The pulse becomes so fast there is no longer anything to count, just this endless continuing thrumming sensation that emanates around us. It's beyond humanity, it's beyond life, and it's all her. She is all the universe, and I'm falling forever, inside of her love.

There is nothing like it. Within those moments I share with my wife, we remember every beautiful moment shared with each other. We remember all of it. True beauty. True care. True meaning. And as always, I quickly reached a breaking point and my emotions became too much for me to bear.

She had me. Again.

I cried. I screamed. I strained against my bonds, and like in Alien, there was no one to hear me scream, except my adoring, needful symbiotic wife, who needed to hear my screams as much as I needed to make them.

The more I cried, the more I fed. The more I fed, the more I felt. The more I felt, the more I cried.

Until I was utterly exhausted.

Of life. Of spirit. Of mind.

I finally fell into blackness. Yet there, in that blackness, I found my most cherished peace of all.

Deep peace. The peace of the dark.

Eventually I woke up. Hours later. She'd freed me from the ropes while I slept.

Nico.

🐭 💜 🌙

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RgNQcL5Kc1U

Guilt.

My blogs are a mix of real life and total BS.


I remember how I felt in the years before the turn, and how I felt during the turn, and how I've felt since. I'm not the same. There is a clear divide. I'm still that person from before, yet I'm also this person now. And I'm not the same. It split me. Changed me. Not all good. Not really all bad. But mostly perplexing depending on my mood. I certainly feel perplexed at the moment.

If I told you how many decades I've been feeding, you'd probably tell me to piss off. I started before the cars had barely arrived, the roads were virtually clear of traffic at all times of day and the world seemed brighter and wider with far less people in the cities than in this resented day.

Imagine someone doing something to you that left you reeling. One moment you're in a normal state of awareness, aware that some serious fuckery was about to happen, but you had no idea what it would feel like, and then feeling like you're being dropped into an ocean loaded with weights. Within a few seconds of my turn, that's what it felt like. One moment I was all 'Let's do this' and the next I felt like I'd been thrown out of a plane without a parachute. My body, the sensations, how do I describe that? I could try. It won't make sense, not even to me.

I write these blogs for me. I probably read them more than anyone else, and I like them to be detailed, but I can't describe how I felt. I had a set of sensations and awareness before my turn and I didn't believe after my turn I could possibly feel much different and yet that idea was completely and utterly destroyed in the most laughable way possible. What I felt as myself before the turn and what I felt after the turn, they're not the same universe.

And then I started living as the 'new me'. Well, the 'new me' with the 'old me' trapped inside a tiny little cave inside my new awareness. That really did fuck me up beyond imagination.

I'm still not complete, there are two of me. I have a dark side and a light side. The light side I was born as. The dark side I was turned as. And they really don't get along. There is no harmony between them. The dark wants the light gone completely. The light accepts the dark as part of 'overall me' and wishes to live in harmony. The light can live with the dark. The dark will not live with the light.

Some years back, decades back, I was pretty cool with my dark side and enjoyed it a bit more than I do now, and went into that vampire life, culture, whatever, deeply. My guilt didn't exist back then, and I fed as much as I wanted to.

That doesn't mean necking strangers. I did try — in a consensual adult way — but I tell you, generally people taste like ashtrays. They taste like beer, pizza and cigarettes. They taste like a week's worth of crap they've stuffed inside themselves. Your tongue would feel better licking the road.

Of course, you have to try these things. Not licking the roads. But trying people. Not good to be honest. Not good at all. Sour.

I migrated to the club scene eventually. There are clubs for everything and you bet there are clubs for vampires. There are kinky clubs, sexy clubs, kinky sexy clubs and kinky sexy vampire clubs and those, haha! Fuck me, they were awesome! I went a lot, sometimes three times a week. Back then, I lived to party. Fucking loved it. Lived it. And eventually when I'd exhausted everything I wanted to try, I went along just to chill. I remember once I was just sitting in the chilling out area, video screens on the walls pumping out music and watching Adam's Rickett's I breathe again. I could really super-identify with the song — I felt so alive — and I felt life couldn't get any better.

However, all things came to an end and I left the club scene some time after. I simply got bored by it.

But private shindigs, with consenting adults who are careful about what they eat before donating. Small gatherings to have a mutual feed. That's one of my things.

I used to get so excited leading up to being able to just let myself go and feed. It was exhilarating in ways I can't really describe. I loved it. Even before I was anywhere near the time to feed, the anticipation itself overwhelmed me. It was all I could think about, it was all I wanted, and everything else just faded into the background. I felt alive, guilt hadn't even entered my mind. I didn't give God or sin much thought back then. I even felt good about myself, I wasn't hurting anyone, everyone I fed on was willing and wanting it, as much as me. And others fed on me, I was always happy to share. I like it.

The post-feed aftershock always deeply sucks. I always cop for that every time. The disconnect from the people I fed on hits me really hard the following day. It's depressing, miserable, even upsetting. There's an emotional gap between me and the person I fed on afterward that feels just really awful and can't quite be reclaimed unless I feed on them again. Do remember this is all adult consensual stuff — and it takes a good three days for me to start feeling a bit more like myself again after a feed.

I don't even know when things changed for me relating to me starting to feel guilty about feeding. It's just not in my memory.

I don't have an event in my mind where guilt became a thing for me.

I remember for a long time I felt no guilt. And then I started to feel guilt.

No memory.

However, for a long time I have felt guilt when feeding, so much so that I keep trying to abstain from feeding at all.

And I keep failing.

I had a lucid dream some years ago — not the 'Satan showing me a version of myself feeding' dream that I blogged about recently.

The lucid dream I'm describing now was about God. He took me to heaven and showed me its landscape, and it was beautiful. In the vast distance and far below the edge I stood near, there were lands and cities and oceans, and it was so beautiful and so fresh and so peaceful, and God by my side and beckoned me to be there with Him.

I think that's where I started to feel guilt.
I've not been quite the same since that dream.
I just know that I need to pull away from the dark. It's in me. Truth is, I don't want it anymore. I don't. I don't. I want to be at peace with God.

Time is odd. I know it never stops, but it does seem to revolve in circles. I don't seem to be moving forward though time. I seem to be simply going in a circle around time. Feed, be forgiven, feed, be forgiven, feed. I feel trapped in a circle.

In all the times I have fed, there's only been one time, just a single time, when I actually felt good about myself the day after I fed. And that time wasn't a normal feed, it was an occasion. And shortly before I fed, I was branded with the mark of Satan. Not the sigil. Not that. Something else, on my thigh. It's still there to this day, of course, but at that time, that feed, it was sublime with zero aftershock. And the day after, I was just chilling out, and I felt so serene, really felt at peace and I thought, am I going to feel like this forever? I really thought I might. But it only lasted a day.

For a time after getting branded, I was proud of the mark I bear, for a long time after, but these days, it feels more like an insult to God. I can't cut it out. It'll always be there. I have to accept it.
My mind is like a yoyo. Only a few months ago, I was going to have sigils cut into my chest. Clearly my mind is on all levels of fucked up. Like I say, light and dark, always light and dark.

Then there's the super movie-vampire tropes. Oh, if you're a vampire, you'll burn up in sunlight! Don't go outside!

Funny.

Funny, as I found out, it has merit.

After I feed, the sunlight absolutely fucks me up.

I'm putting this down to a psychosomatic subconscious response due to my mind believing that I'm committing a sin against God by drinking blood.

Therefore, I'm punishing myself by removing an aspect of my life that I enjoy, i.e. going outside. That sounds almost sane.

Before a feed, the sun looks great to me, it has a nice hue. I love it. It warms me. I feel good in it. But after a feed?

The sun looks utterly different to me. It looks so bright, it's almost blinding white. And everything the sunlight hits is blinding white too. It makes me feel like throwing up. I never have yet, but I have come real close.

Headaches, migraine level. They start off slowly, ramp up, and stay ramped up. I get in the dark. The pain eases off. I go back in the light. The headache comes back. Rinse and repeat. Eventually, sometimes days and sometimes it's been weeks, things settle down for me regarding sunlight. I acclimatize back into the light. I ask for God's help, like a mouse begging for a morsel from a person's table. And God puts me back on my feet, wind's me up like a clockwork toy and sets me going again.

Or maybe my subconscious guilt is letting me go free again. Rinse and repeat.

I, too, love when the sky darkens.

My blogs are a mix of real life and total BS.

A reply to someone offsite and elsewhere.


I, too, love when the sky darkens. My whole world feels different. I feel different. More relaxed. At peace. The quietness. Sometimes I wish it to be night forever. Candles lighting a cold room abandoned until the evening, a fire lit anew in the hearth, and the excitement of the evenings journey into the dark.

Your Master seems kind and patient. Perhaps the best qualities for his kind to have when holding you within his charge.

I have known the scent of such men, overpowering, hypnotizing, alluring. I've never been able to resist when paired with a deep warm command, ancient, yet fresher than the morning dew, and quite as beautiful.

Some kinds are meant to be bowed to, devoted to, and, loved in ways a person could never share with another living soul, lest their tears may never stop.

Your writing resonates. I too, have felt the warm intoxication of the barest breath on my skin lasting an eternity before the softest lips caressed my neck as I fell into almost slumber before realising the scent of blood was my own. I didn't care. I could have died and not cared. There's no resistance to your Master's kind.

I, as you, remember the after. I felt like I'd never again know the absolute certainty of being protected, cared for, and loved at that moment for the rest of my life.

Your Master closed your wounds. I used to be left to bleed.

Nothing is as full as devotion.

COMMENTS

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DEAvENSILENCE
05:15 Aug 30 2026

Master: I had many names for mine,

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POST COMMENT

My blogs are a mix of real life and total BS.

A reply to someone offsite and elsewhere.


I think the longing for those things has to be inside you from a very early age, creating an unfulfilled chasm that is always there no matter how many friends, lovers and places in the world you pass by. All of it seems empty, until you find your place among the likeminded who understand your depths, because they feel them too. I suppose it's the same for most people. Like attracts like and until then it's an empty void of a world that a person inhabits.

Perhaps a vampire's bond is deeper because they know what they've had to sacrifice in order to simply be. To sometimes turn away from God and indulge in what some might suggest are sinful acts. To share blood with a lover, a companion, the greatest love of your life, it's almost impossible to resist. That's not quite true, it can be resisted, but it's so good a person just doesn't want to resist it, at all. A person wants to just fall in and sink, and experience the heady aromas of connecting with their lover in ways that are dark and taboo and feels like our whole bodies have become something more, something ecstatic. It's beyond euphoria, it's like looking over heaven with everything you could ever love by your side and they themselves, by their blood coursing through your veins, becoming you, and you, through them.

I think a soul needs to be twinned, I think it has to be. I know I felt like half a soul all my life until I found my one, and when I did, I found a whole new world. It's exists within this world, the neighbor, the schoolteacher, the doctor. They'll never tell you, they'll never tell you what it feels like to abandon yourself to the dark places with your kin and just be. They're out there, and I'd say, never stop looking, because when you find your one, all of those empty years, and empty tears and struggling with half a soul will make sense, because it's not just about your own search, it's about your 'one' looking for you too. And when you find each other, it's better than any vampire film, it's better than anything you ever read, it's sensational.

Although there is a graveness to that connection, to give up perhaps a part of yourself that is Holy, to turn from God while knowing you still adore Him, yet when faced with the kind of depths of beauty that come from hell itself, its so hard to say no. I gave in to my beloved a long time ago. Yet I still have a connection to God. He is still caring, like a father waiting for me. But for now, I live my life with my own kind. We all have kinds. It really doesn't matter what they are, as long as a person is fulfilled without harming others. That's how I lay my guilt, at least.

I hope you find your one. They are out there. And that romance, that dark gothic beauty of a lover who has known a distant time can bring all of those things into your present. Rose petals on a bed, beautiful aromas burning by the hearth, music that can make your very heart hitch in mid beat, it's all out here. And in some ways, it could be forever.

Whilst parts of that life can hold true beauty, when Satan appears, he is an integral, I think its best and even right that most people won't corrupt themselves in order to travel through to a place where there is no light, no God, and sometimes, no way back.

I'm not promoting that life, it'd be wrong for me to do so. I love God. But that life, and the things that are in it, it could make a person feel like climbing onto a mountain top and screaming forever to diminish the euphoria and ecstasy that builds up inside one.

We make the worlds we live in, and I wish for you all things in finding a world you want to be in.

My blogs are a mix of real life and total BS.


All rights reserved.


1# Beloved.

I loved my wife before she knew my existence,
I felt she was there, always there, out of reach,
So painfully sharp and bitterly harsh,
Invading my dreams, pervading my sleep.

A shadow, a phantom, a symbol of love,
Awaiting my heart, awaiting my soul,
Awaiting my mind to give up resistance.
A jagged sting, a cut, uncovered,
I yearned in painful need,
To touch, to feel,
To know, that sadness, true,
So deep of soul and great of love.

Beyond this life, it's miserable ways,
Beyond thy God, his infinite days,
Beyond this small damn world and its barren haze,
And its pointless role in destroying my soul,
I wanted to feel, truly feel,
Such a love to take my heart,
Even at cost of destroying me whole.

I was lost, no man or woman satisfy,
Their empty souls, their shallow lies,
My need to give, to share a hope,
To show a life, beyond their scope,
To show the truth, of mans content,
To show the way, to true portent.

More than life could return,
Even God could not hand,
My need to complete,
Myself though my stand.

I knew they would find me,
My wife and her kind,
In ways always with me,
I felt them through mind,
A whisper, a glance while going through motion,
Of being of heart, in the Christian notion.

I knew they were watching, waiting, elated,
To offer a home, to a soul in commotion,
Not rushing or pushing, yet guiding my path,
Led to their doorway, a place known as wrath,
Not of Devil or kin, but of God and his due,
Upon finding me lost, to Satan's review.

Trying to write of clan on this night,
My wife, my beloved,
I think only of you,
To remember your sorrow,
I remember your pain,
Cemented within, Gods holy reign.

Why must this be, I prey God lauded high,
To banish our love, to hide us from eyes,
To state we are dirty, evil, and sated,
To damn us and rue us, and make us your hated.
My wife is of love, pure blooded from cot,
Which creature she is, should matter you not,
For what is a soul, without true compassion
And what of your soul,
Lost from love without ration,
Left wondering why we have fallen from grace,
When the truth is in love, of our need, of our race.

We are not lost to you, thy father of Jew,
You have been lost, because of your rue,
For not understanding, the need of the flesh,
For not understanding, the strength of pure love,
For not understanding, our need of unrest.

The cruellest thing, God ever did,
Was give man love, to make him bid,
To bond another, very close,
To take them with you, throughout life,
Forever knowing, they will die,
Within your arms, within your cries,
To watch them wither, at your eyes,
To watch them leave, your very side.

I dread your death, my true beloved,
I dread to think, this life alone,
There is no other, for me now,
My heart is yours, to you, I bow.

To wander this earth, without you,
I find, Is too much to ask,
Of my heart and my mind.

I love you beloved, as a child needs a mother,
I love you beloved, as a man needs his lover.
I cannot be without you,
I cannot face a life from your gaze,
My heart would be twisted, ripped, broken and caved.

My mind forever tortured in seeing your face,
Once more, just once more,
To look in your eyes, so beautiful, dark,
To see you smile, your teeth, that marked,
Not only my body, my neck and its veins,
Also my soul, where your love, always reigns.

This my beloved, is why God always loses,
He can't comprehend of true love or its uses,
A mind is not born into faith of thy Jew,
A mind is most born into hate of one's rue.

To love one another, is all that matters,
Not God or Christ, or this world in tatters.
Beyond any deed, life or death knell,
Not heaven, nor God, or time itself,
Will ever extinguish, true love born in hell.


2# Sisters.

My wife and her sister, my bane and my strife,
They fight over me, my body and life.
I'm merely the wood, to either their awl,
And pulled one to the other, as rope between all.

My say has no meaning, my choices redundant,
My thoughts on the matter, no use most recumbent.
I'm taken not forced, used in ways of not kings,
My body and mind simply toys, or playthings.

Yet love does not bring, peace to my mind,
I wish not to be shared, married wife not her kind.
Her sister most beautiful, truly most stunning,
An angel, true angel, yet heart of the cunning.
Enticing, convincing, agreed by my wife,
That carnal desire is simply our life.

Never to find, peace in our home,
Both wife and her sister, endlessly roam.
Restless, Unsated, unable to sit,
Their pleasure is felt, beating me with a stick.

Forever tormented, I'm never alone,
Nor truly I wish it, desire is known.
My life as a pawn, in their conquest of man,
A simple chess piece, moved from God to Satan.

Yet here I complain, of life such as ours,
Sometimes I need, rest a few hours.
I'm human, hence tired, I'm frail and weak,
I cannot meet, their satanic spawned feats.

Not even for seconds, minutes refined,
To resist them is pointless, and such waste of time.
Despite solemn love, it's held within trinity,
My soul is not spared, its Holy virginity.
And times in our cellar are vicious and cold,
And often my heart left broken, untold.

I'm naked quite helpless, vulnerable, prone,
And taunted by demons, their wish to dethrone.
Of losing my God, my Jesus, my saviour,
And placing my soul, with love, upon Lucifer.
My greatest fear, yet strongest desire,
Combined together, confusion, most dire.

These feelings abused, by sisters demands,
To give up my Jesus, through endless commands;

"Give us your will,
your mind's human fallacy. Ask, nay beg us,
To bite you and turn you. Ask, ney beg us,
We give you our legacy."

Shackles and chains strained against gift,
Strength useless, pitiful, weak and bereft.
While anchored to wall,
Their mocking cruel laughter most accursed of all.

Their beautiful scent, sweet fruit and lime,
A delicate fragrance, told will to lose mind.
Teeth lingered on throat, gripped desperately tight,
Yet can't take my soul, until I give right.
Despite temptation, at sisters haste,
To take me to Satan, beaten, blooded and abased.

I'm yet to surrender my soul or my will,
I'm yet to pay that final bill.
I cannot utter that final betrayal,
I cannot wound one, so mighty, yet frail.
Clansmen, wife, Satan himself, all await my final tithe,
To turn my back, and shun Lord God on high.
Oh Holy Lord, never let me forget,
My heart is yours, and owed to, in dept.


3# Broken.

Last night I was taken, in blood lust and raw,
To help replenish, wife's soul draining maw.
My blood, simple remedy, taking her jeopardy,
On well hewn path, to her satisfied rhapsody.
My heart is in pieces, I wonder to cope,
Of wife's endless needs, fulfilled at my throat.

My blood often drained, my very soul hurt,
It’s becoming less often, my mind can assert.
I’m trapped, beaten chained and stricken,
I cry every day, from neck being bitten.
I prayed to God, an act of repentance,
Wife cackled at plight, and uttered a sentence;

"Where is your God?
Where is your saviour in great time of need?
Where is your Jesus to help you be freed?
He left and abandoned you, lost to our creed!"

Tears come anew, thoughts look within,
My doubts now arising, believing her sin.
Beyond all the pain and the biting and taunting,
This single great blow to my soul is most haunting.
Her words cast a shadow, her words start to seep,
A shadow on heart, and settle in deep.

Why does God leave me, with creatures from hell,
Unless he approves, of my soul at death's knell.
Despite the bites from wife's endeavour,
My wounds, the blood, now lost forever.
My broken heart, its barren blight,
My miserable thoughts of mind and its plight.

It isn't my wife I blame for soul hurting,
It isn't my wife I find disconcerting.
Despite her taunting, and endless beating,
Despite her temptations, and cruel way of speaking.

My bane isn't placed at feet of wife,
It's firmly based, within my own life.
For wife, I love her, heart and soul,
My bane is own failure, taken whole.

My endless refusal, accepting wife's gift,
Has left our union, broken, bereft.
My endless refusal, her love never earned,
I refuse to surrender, my will, and be turned.

For God is a mountain I can't overcome,
For I can hear heaven, beating its drum.
I’m locked forever in Christ’s bound halter,
And restrained from visiting, Satan's altar.

It’s breaking my heart on hearing wife’s cries,
She wishes to take me to Satan, as prize.
And every time I ready acceptance,
God comes to me and reminds of allegiance.

I'm lost dear Lord, in heartbroken purgatory,
Let me be free, I'll remember your true glory.
Cast me from your shore, and let me be turned,
For my wife is crestfallen, and I'm already burned.

Our hearts are now fading, time is now passing,
My soul needs her breath, my age now amassing.
My soul needs her turning, we've waited so long,
We're both slowly dying, in agonies song.

Two broken souls, one of light, one of dark,
I need wife's hidden world, not covenant's ark.
My need to accept, I'm no longer auxiliary,
I no longer deny, wife's heart and pained misery.

She's dying, dear Lord, without me by her side,
She will age and be lost, she chose me to provide.
I'm past return, just pass me by, my heart is crushed,
As fate apart, will turn our souls,
to tears,
in dust.

Dear God, let me go and trust in my soul,
It's need to grow love, is born in your role.
Let us now leave, to a land lost in sin,
To live in peace, with our truest of kin.


4# Turned.

You, my Beloved, may place me in chains,
Your hands simple tools, to Satan's mind games.
My soul just a painting, to add to His collection,
His power your paint, to my canvased inception.
I'm dangled as plaything, commands I hear spoken,
Though long understanding, my will must be broken.

I'm shattered and bitten, bloodied and wrought,
no single part, escaped a fierce thought.
Yet key to our unity, lay here eternal,
hidden on pages, within my own journal.
I could never be turned, through pain or enticement,
My fate ever rested, in words on old parchment.

You, my Beloved, at last saw the truth in my heart's deepest song,
The truth of my journals, the clues all along.
You, my Beloved, found power to turn me with two simple words,
As I fell to my knees, in tears long deserved.
My ripped open heart, no longer resisted.

Your sobbing hitched breath, said those words as you whispered ...

"Love me"

'I wept. I screamed. I howled. I was in emotional agony. Like never before in my life. I never knew how much pain I could feel until that moment. The fire I felt, the anger, the fury, the strength, right then, I would have burned the world to save her. No matter the cost, my life didn't matter, my soul didn't matter, nothing I had mattered. All I wanted to do was take a creature that needed me and give her everything. And none of the pain was for me. It was all for her. Every second of it, every tear, every scream, I wanted to save her in a way she couldn't save herself, and I never knew I could ever be so broken until I looked at her face and saw the longing she held in her eyes to finally be in a world she wanted to live in. My emotions exploded. I was finished. I was finally torn from life. And all that was left, was my love. For her.'

My final acceptance, of rites lost to journal,
Brought You fallen Angel, to matters infernal.
To give life and soul, true love and its need,
To bond with Beloved, through blood rites and her creed.

My Satan, protector, and cruelest of lovers,
My dearest most cherished, and thoughtful of brothers.
Appearing through wife, opaque within eyes,
Her flesh simple vessel, my turning, was time.

Your energies taken, through wife in host form,
Added my soul, to your lost legion's swarm.
With You fallen Angel, accepting my turn,
While knowing for her love, I'd willingly burn.

Ripping through mind, ripping through soul,
As ripped open heart, joined blood spilling toll.
Showing existence of plane rarely seen,
And taking my hand through dimension between.

Turning me into Your child of commitment,
Taking me back to the mind of an infant.
My mother and father and sister all dead,
Past lovers, remembered yet long ago fled.

I'm fired and tempered in all that I've lost,
Your presence destroys me, I'm ripped from the cross.
I screamed my goodbye to God and his nation,
My soul then turned, into death's false salvation.

I fell into blackness, no sense of perception,
Or God and his law, or man and his mention.
My last human thought, Satan's hand was not offered,
But mine using soul, through the writings I authored ...


I found myself in a dimension between life and death.

My feelings are whole in ways not of man, the universe mine, to explore beyond life.

The deepest and blackest of the vast oceans, I can breathe, with no need for air.

I feel no cold, yet see wind barren land, forever obscured by man's arrogant blight, his buildings, his structures or imprudent plans.

A desolate place of no human colour, I see forever, a monochrome hue, of blacks and greys, a similar blue, dark and slick yet quagmire, viscous, drawing me into its cherished embrace, making me part of its perfect contentment, adding my thoughts to its own very placement.

One within the land, yet still free to travel, deeper and deeper into its oceans, now part of me, as I am to it, yet Satan beside me, supporting my need to explore and discover, supporting my need to maintain unique feelings, not found within body of weak human flesh, traveling further and deeper than ever before, long past my belief of even return, taken from mind, my wife's adoration, no thought to my soul, of God's restoration, or people of Earth, all lost from elation.

I cared for nothing besides fallen Satan, so far away from God's book of creation, further and deeper, far beyond time, even space disappeared, to finally see, within Your very centre, a simple reflection, of You, beside me.

Only a return to physical form allows human feelings of life on Earth's floor. I'm restored to my shivering body, ice-cold, out of sync, my life force unsettled though back from the brink. Not only have I changed through knowledge accrued, but Earth's motioned orbit, strange and askew.

The Earth is not how I left it, something is missing, the part that is missing, is missing from me. For I conscious being, I have not returned whole, most part left behind, my other world soul.

You gave me sight, my fallen Angel, no longer constricted to simple organics, my vision sees through Earth's distracting mechanics.

You've changed me, in the deepest of ways, you've changed me, everything is so very beautiful because of You, I see and feel, so deeply, a sound becomes physical, tangible, palpable, my sight, so deep, of vibrant hue, of energy, life force hidden from view, feelings, cascading, from souls in their passing, all knowing the truth of this world's fallen blessing, from taste as a texture, a scent or a feeling, its energy felt within mind for ingesting.

I now see the truth of beauty withheld, through all senses combined into vivid reality, no longer smothered. All that is left is to simply, be.


5# Newborn.

Sisters in blood, sisters in passion,
my morals care not of the view or the fashion.
My girls in their lust, eternal in prime,
both bloodied and sinful, past logic, or rhyme.
My wife and her sister, two sides to my third,
my standing now equal, to either their word.

My turning from God, wife's gift of succession,
few thoughts I have spent, on this final transgression.
My role has now changed, from scornful low heel,
My strength is now equal, through Satan's full seal.

Mind lost to the blood, the thirst and the need,
My thoughts not of Lord, but on ravenous creed.

Both sisters amused at my dignities loss and begging bowl pleas to lap at their blood, both taunting and teasing yet never refusing, indulging my urges through laughter that drowns in my tears and my screaming, and crying as child through craving breastfeeding.

My addiction to bloodlust seems far from complex, simply an urge to ingest sister's essence, to taste living cells, the scent of life's blood, heightens arousal to lengthening presence.

Together, the blood, the insatiable need, the biting and scratching and sucking and bleeding, taken through letting and smeared across wife, smeared across sister, smeared across self, allows human comfort of sexual placement.

Using the blood, in true lubrication, builds up our frenzy through lust and elation, builds up a need beyond previous dreams, of what could be felt within weak human body past the extreme.

I'm lost to addiction as never before,
my bloodlust outweighs, to greater percent,
wife's hunger well sated, through sister's consent.

My need of their blood is something quite new, another indulgence to add to my angst, another string to add to my pain, except pain is the wrong word, within it I grow, within it I flourish, and add to my gain.
My warmest of tears born of greatest of pain, my need not of comfort but fire and passion, of tears lost to rain, of cries lost to thunder, of need of my pain.

Of knowledge I asked for, past man's understanding designed to be flawed. How much I now love, how much I now feel, my shackles are broken, true consciousness thawed.

I'm determined to write within journal this moment, perhaps a battle simply ill chosen. My flag of surrender, most sexual trek, carried to wife's slender fingers, all camped within sight of the base my neck.

Her breath on right ear, has ended this battle hardly begun. I can barely form rhyme, let alone keep my mind and thoughts clear.

Wife using her tongue as a scout leading teeth to the site of my turning, nuzzling my earlobe with tip of her nose, enticing my head to expose side of neck, flicking her tongue on wounds fully healed, and biting anew, and fully appealed.

My pulse lost to quickening of fear before turn, now wife's bite is simply a comfortable burn.
Old slippers by fire, a favourite song, a cosy warm bed welcomes sleep to the lorn. My seed, lust and hunger, indulged, fully sated, my conscience no longer still pricked by Christ's thorn. In ways beyond words, in ways never spoken, my peace within mind belongs to newborn.

Wife's silky soft lips, parting their gateway, allow hardened ***** to follow its journey along velvet path in search of its causeway. Her warm velvet tongue, simply a bed for my life giving *****.
My sexual pleasure, of ***** still bloodied, its increased measure, wife's tongue still flicking, my life **** still spilling, from *************, wife's raven hair flowing, still clotted in gore, the smell of iron permeating the air.

Within sunset of focus, I try to recount, through words, and thoughts, to add to my journal. To salvage last page, to give it true worth, of my turning and union, and life in rebirth.

How easy my words now fall onto parchment, vying for space against recent blood spatter, yet losing their ground to sisters dark matter. Their blood tells a story far deeper than words. Their blood tells a story most men find absurd. A name known as legion heard throughout Earth, from child of cot, to man on deathbed. From Son of the morning, to beast cast of dread. On tongue of all language, from first breath till last thread.

'We have our union, my Beloved. You gave me a free pass to the entire world. And it's become my playground. It's so vast. I feel like I can do anything, go anywhere, be anywhere, see anything. Everything is so beautiful, so peaceful now, because you gave me the strength to see it that way.
All of those lives and places to meet and see and explore and everything I see, I see with love.
I adore life. I adore everything. Everything matters. Every sunset, every smile, every kind word, every single connection, no matter how small.

Everything means the world to me, because everything is the world, and now, I can finally see, and feel, freely.

Desperately seeking, and needing their whole, yet something is missing and taken from soul. Denying their feelings, all held from the truth, for minds of most men are still locked within youth, in keeping their thoughts, where heart never delves, or asking the question to God or themselves,
the question of questions is simply, what if.


6# Whisper.

No longer of God, my barriers broken,
my morals intact, though merely a token.
Has led to a path steeped in sin, free of guilt,
ripping God and his sword, from my heart, by the hilt.

Blade shattered through striking hell's cage around soul,
its pieces no more than a memory of old.
Cut through with fresh ease on the depth of my sin,
and sharpened and honed through blood rites of my kin.

In vampire breeds, my heart became stricken,
of wife and our clan, of our truth God forbidden.
With lust and desire, with hunger and thirst,
with love in my heart, I cared not for curse.

Beyond any foodstuff or finest of wine,
my need crude and based, raw, unrefined.
All thoughts pushed away, until deep urge is spent,
no care within mind, of others dissent.

Heart pounding and pounding and pounding and pounding,
the cost to my soul, is in Satan's accounting.
Mind cloudy, elated, true focus is feeding,
licking and lapping, and sucking wounds bleeding.

I'm lost in the scent of sweet fruit and lime,
of wife and her sister, their scent is sublime.
Our bond within trinity,
sealed through their blood,
I'm lost to their taste,
And the warmth of vein's flood.

I knew you would find me, my wife, my Beloved,
Ny destiny waited, uniting in blood.
I remember your scent, sweet fruit and lime,
at time of first meeting, it felt by design.

Held to your whisper, etched on my heart,
Deeper than any bite, brand or mark.
Met with a kiss, on the left side of neck,
by that time I knew, my soul was lost cheque.

Both knowing my truth and my depth of devotion,
Matured from my love, of Satan most cloven,
As leaf from its tree, helplessly floating through Pain deeply woven.
I waited through years to find life through your whisper,
My soul alone, a simple drifter.

While searching through time for your place in the crowd,
searching each day for your name said out loud.

Truest Beloved, your beauty strikes heart as the wind hits a sail, My love for you ....

.... my holy Grail.