*The following is a transcript of a document found in the attic of a house in St Mawes, Cornwall. The house was bought in an auction after the owner died without a will or living relatives. Nothing is known about the author bar his name – Charles Trelewick – and his date of birth (1945) and his date of death (2018). The original was typewritten. It is reproduced here in full, in several sections given its length, with editorial marks where water damage caused small sections to be unreadable.*
——— Transcript Part 1 Begins ———
**Note from the author**
In the mid-1960s I hitch-hiked across the British Isles, young and without responsibilities. From Dover to Cornwall, through Wales and Cumbria through the Highlands and Islands and fens I travelled. The one photograph I still have – from before the events I am about to retell – show me a good looking young man, tan and taut, in my boots and shorts, my backpack with its straps over my shoulder, my scruffy hair and a day of stubble.
In time, after my ordeal, my appearance returned. I convalesced with my uncle who was a doctor lacking in curiosity – and he asked no questions when I blamed my drawn, gaunt, appearance on a slow recovery from a nasty virus.
I could not bring myself to describe the true details of what happened – and I presumed I would not find anyone who would believe anything I said. So I have kept my secrets until now. Even as I write this I do not quite accept it truly happened myself. When I think about it I remember it as a dream, or perhaps as a play I observed but was not a participant in, both sensations so typical of her mental snare. I shudder as I recall, at how delicious it felt to cede control. But it is true, every word of it.
I began to write this down as a warning, though I realise fully that if you ever find yourself in a similar situation I doubt you will be able to do much before it is too late.
So why write this, then? First I am here, and I am grateful for every dawn and each sunset I see. While I live I wish to bear testament to these events. Second, the existence of these creatures in all their immeasurable horror need to be known. And finally, there were moments so exquisite, so perfect, where I experienced such ecstasy that I want to share them, so you might feel the essence of what I felt. And even though I know now how perilously close to unnamable annihilation I was every moment I was under her spell, my god; my god! It was like nothing I will ever experience again in my life nor you in yours, so help you.
*CT, St Mawes, Cornwall, 2007*
**Chapter 1: the storm**
I was travelling north when I was picked up by Mary, a volunteer for a local church who already had two other passengers. Mary was in her early twenties. She had the naive beauty of a girl who had never given in to impure thoughts. Yet when she smiled there was an unmistakably mischievous glint in her eyes that made me wonder if occasionally something else was on her mind. She wore a white t-shirt that clung to her generous bust, cut-off jeans that looked like they had been painted onto her thighs and in the footwell I could see her toenails were pink. Her light hair was in a plait that was in the process of undoing itself. She was happy to pick me up and was eager to find out about me, as if she had rarely left her parish or knew much of the outside world. I told her about my medical studies, from which I was taking a sabbatical, and she told me of the charity work, and the meals on wheels she delivered, and the village shop that she worked at.
Her next passenger, sat In the backseat beside me, was an Au Pair. She was short and olive-skinned and looked Spanish or Italian and was on her way to work for a family in Edinburgh. Her nose was pierced and her black hair lay tidily in a glossy sheet over her collar bone. She wore faded ex-army trousers and similarly surplus boots that swamped her figure, and a vest that showed off her slender but muscular arms. I had not met a hippie before and I supposed that she was one of them. She eyed me cautiously and after a moment offered me a boiled sweet from a battered tin and told me her name was Sofia. She told me in soft tones about a desire to get away, to take the time to reset, to find herself. I agreed with her sentiment and we settled into a companionable quietness, only disturbed by the occasional query from Mary. Did we have partners? No we did not. Did we plan on returning home soon? No we had months to play with. Did our travels make us fitter and healthier? We both supposed so
The last, and most curious passenger, sat next to Mary in the passenger seat. She was a nun. Only her small, delicate, face was visible between the habit and wimple and as far as I could make out she was Japanese. Her eyes were quick and bright and a little nervous, but she smiled at me and nodded at Mary’s stories of her village, and church and this quiet corner of England. She seemed to comprehend but never responded.
It was evening and it was raining, hard. We wound down a hollowway with banks that rose twice the height of the car and under a tunnel of trees. At any other time it would have been beautiful, mysterious, like so many dappled lanes in so many corners of this country. But now, thunder growled in the distance and without warning the car splashed and jolted through a deep ford, a wash of water spilling over the bonnet. The wipers squealed against the weather. It had become dark, suddenly.
‘Bugger.’ Mary muttered under her breath as she crunched the gears. I smiled. She was Churchy but not so churchy she didn’t know how to swear. I glanced over my shoulder and saw the watercourse swollen by the abrupt downpour, foaming and tumbling over the dip in the road. She drove on slowly, the power of the weather reducing visibility to mere yards, the road winding and turning before it straightened and cliffs rose either side and suddenly we were on a causeway that cut across open water.
Out ahead, a sheet of lightening illuminated a hill that rose up out of the sea. It climbed steeply and in that brief moment I saw the way led under a rough hewn arch some distance off. I glanced to the side and was horrified to see that water was up to the wheels and the sea stretched away to a rolling mist that blocked the horizon. Behind my shoulder, waves rolled against a forbidding dark shoreline of broken stone.
‘Where are we?’ Sofia spoke with a quiet urgency.
‘I’ve taken a wrong one.’ There was an edge of panic to Mary’s voice. She put the car in reverse. The wheels churned water. I could hear the surf, relentless, angry, breaking against us. She glanced at the island, swallowed, put the car in first, rolled ahead.
I could see she had no option. The tide was rising fast over the paved path and we had come too far to turn back. We moved towards the island with agonising slowness. The exhaust spluttered like a drowning animal. More than once the car hit a rut in the road and I felt a split second of weightlessness as the sea lifted us. It was a sickening terror, and the black water to the side looked deep and cold. By my feet I felt a trickle of icey brine as the door leaked and I swallowed as I imagined us tumbling into the dark, the small space filling until we were done.
The nun had her face bowed, her hands clasped in prayer. Sofia rolled the window down and was met with a gust of spray. I for my part held white-knuckled to my backpack and willed Mary on. Then the engine cut out.
The headlamps fell dark. The wind and the water howled through the gap Sofia had made and she tried to wind it back up and the window would not budge. She sobbed quietly. Mary turned the ignition and the starter crunched and turned without completion.
A wave hit us. The car slewed, yawed like a boat on a swell. Mary screamed. And the engine burst to life. The headlamps were partly submerged and lit the green spume from below, flecked with tentacles of seaweed. The wheels spun and whined and we moved ahead and with a rush of relief I heard grit under the tyres that spat and pinged against the car, as it gouged its way off the causeway and onto the shore, skidding to a ticking halt.
We sat in silence, breathing hard. The rain fell without pause, broken only by changing Eddie’s of wind that shifted it horizontal, slapped it against the doors and wheels. The headlights picked out a steep outcrop of granite boulders, the ribs of some abandoned boat and a road winding up the tree-less slope.
The radio came on abruptly, a clash of static, interspersed with hissing unclear voices, a wavering ululation of classical music, and a moment of what sounded like plainsong before it fell silent again.
We laughed, all of us, in relief, at the absurdity of it.
The nun said something in Japanese.
‘I don’t know Emiko.’ I raised my eyebrows, distracted from our predicament for a second. Mary seemed to understand her.
‘Sorry about that.’ Mary looked over her shoulder and blew a strand of blonde from her nose. She glanced back ahead. ‘I think I saw a house up there, let’s go and see if we can dry off.’
‘Is that…a good idea?’ There was something about this whole situation that felt odd. I had seen the house too from out on the water. It had not appeared welcoming. And come to think of it, had we been near the coast when we set off? I had not thought so. There were no landmarks and I had no map.
‘Yeah.’ Sofia leaned forwards, rested a hand on Mary’s shoulder. ‘It looked eerie.’
Mary reached back and squeezed it. ‘Relax, people are friendly round here.’
She gunned the engine and headed up and I sat with my concerns, not wanting to appear afraid. The road switchbacked a couple of times and brought us to a driveway lined with dark, indistinct statues. At the end was the house. In the wet darkness I could not make it out in full but I saw against the storm-lit clouds the shape of Tudor chimneys, more than one pinnacled tower, and here and there between the gap-toothed crenellations the hunched form of gargoyles. And up near the eaves a single window glowed with the persistent flicker of a candle.
When we came to a stop, beforeI could say anything else, Mary was out and Emiko was following her, dashing under the portico and inside the huge wooden doors.
I looked to Sofia but her car door was slamming behind her too, her reservations apparently overruled by the promise of warmth, and a second later she was another figure blurred through the thick rivulets that flowed down the windscreen. I sighed, and pulling on my jacket I opened my own door, raised my arm to the driving weather and crossed the ten or so paces to the entrance. Like moths we were, to that unholy flame.
**Chapter 2: The host**
It took my eyes a moment to adjust to the gloom. The hall we were in was circular, and the rafters were so high up they were lost in the brown darkness. Doors led off each side and a wide spiral stair corkscrewed up the wall, like the inside of a lighthouse. I was surprised as from outside there was no indication the building enclosed an atrium such as this. In the centre there was a round table with a large candelabra that must have held fifty thick wax candles, all lit, all dripping onto the polished wood beneath. The front door swung shut with a bang and a clatter of iron locks.
The three women were looking up and when I followed their gaze my mouth gawped. Above the lintels of the doors, rising up until hidden by the shadows was a mural. A huge painting that covered every inch of wall space. At first glance I thought it was geometric or floral patterns but then I realised it was bodies. Naked bodies painted with artistic care. But this was no Renaissance study. Legs were spread, genitals painted in careful details. Women were taken by men in all manner of positions, faces captured in the beautiful agony of orgasm. Men fellated other men and women performed cunnilingus on other women. Bodies gleamed, glistened, and by the light of the candles seemed to writhe with a sinuous life. I looked at the others. Sofia had a wry smile and her hands were deep in her pockets. Mary seemed curious and fascinated. Emiko had her hand over her mouth in pure shock.
Thunder pealed and lightning shone in from stained glass windows higher up the tower which for a moment showed a woman at prayer as a crowd of men ejaculted in great volumes over her body. At the second flash I saw other women around this scene, bodies bare, mouths open as they drank from silver chalices. Beneath the floor on which these obscene figures knelt were bones, a charnel house of jumbled femurs and skulls.
‘If you’d called in advance I could have organised a tour of the gallery when the light was better.’
At the bottom of the stairs on the faded red carpet where there had been no one now there was a woman. She stood near to the wall in a long black cloak with a deep red lining, a pitch-dark top that hugged her close and tight leather jodhpurs above a pair of deep claret heels. Her voice was alto, though seemed to carry a deeper resonance to it, one that made me feel strange and comfortable.
She laughed at our surprise. ‘The causeway can be so unpredictable.’ She shrugged delicately. ‘Come and warm up, dry off, eat.’ There was a fireplace at the rear and I noticed for the first time it was lit. In fact it was blazing. Not for the first time that night I felt a dizziness, almost like deja vu. I knew in my heart that a moment before there had been no fire, and that the laid table with the four plates had not been set, but as in a dream I accepted what had happened. There was an awesome momentum to her magic, as if she could tilt the whole world beneath us and we had no option but to tumble down deeper into her trap.
The four of us went and our host took a seat beside the leg of the stone mantle, a little way off. She waved us to sit. The table was set with cheese and fruit and meat.
‘This is your house?’ Sofia had asked the question.
‘Eat,’ our host said, her arm raised, an imperious finger pointing languidly. ‘I can see you have had quite the journey. I can give the full tour later.’
We did as instructed, and gratefully. As I took food I watched the stranger as she produced a slim glass of what I assumed was white wine or cordial and sipped daintily at it. Where the fire beside her brought light around the mantle it caught her fine angular features, her slender fingers on the stem of the flute, and the shadows of her deep Slavic…[[ End of page lost to water damage]].
She moved little but when she did I saw her curves, her hip where she sat, the side of her breast, and for a moment when her cloak shifted back a porcelain shoulder.
‘I am sorry you could not dress for dinner.’ Her voice was satin. ‘But I laid out a few trinkets if you wanted to try them on.’ She laughed crisply. ‘Just for fun.’
It was of course deeply strange. And yet at the time none of us seemed to notice. I remember her expectant intensity. I remember too the taste of the food, and the rich and warming wine from glasses that were never empty. As we examined what she had left for us she leaned forwards. Leaving the firelight she became a dark form, only her eyes visible, red as embers.
There was a ring beside my napkin. A fine old gold sovereign with a symbol on it half worn away. An oval perhaps, or a set of celtic whorls. Each of the others had a necklace, equally ancient. One with a stone of red cut hexagonally, one green gem in a circle and one blue Crystal ground into the shape of a droplet. The ring fit my small finger well and sat snugly below the knuckle. I saw the others trying on their necklaces and admiring how the light made them shine and glimmer, showing one another as if they were preparing to go out dancing, or off to meet a boyfriend. I had a moment of fever, a sudden flush. I felt queasy. I pushed my plate away, assuming the food to be the culprit. The room swam, colours blended and my vision doubled. I saw our host stand and put her glass on the mantle. The cloak fell away and she was tall and fearsome. She became huge in my vision, gigantic. And then there was the roaring crash of unconsciousness and nothing more.
**Chapter 3: The choice**
I awoke in front of the fireplace. How long I had slept I did not know but I could hear the sound of wind and rain from outside and it was still dark.
I lifted myself on one arm and found I was on a makeshift bed of cushions. They were soft and embroidered in red and gold, unmistakably vulvas. The table was cleared and I was alone. As I rubbed my eyes I saw a change had come over the hall. It was better lit now, even more candles. The fire had been stoked and I felt perspiration run down the side of my neck. I went to unzip my jacket and found, with a start, that my clothes had changed. I was in a pair of white cotton trousers and a similar shirt. The ring I had put on remained on my finger and when I tugged at it the candles guttered and faded and the wind moaned and it made the place seem so terrible and huge and dark that I stopped at once. Of my belongings or of my travelling companions there was no sign.
As I stood to get my bearings I realised I was hard. It was not unusual for me to wake with an erection but this one was thicker, hotter than I had ever felt. A wave of pleasure swept over me as I went to rearrange myself, to point my cock upwards and trap it in the band of my trousers. It was unlike anything I had experienced before. I leaned on the edge of the table for support. It was bodily, as strong as any orgasm, a warm sense of falling; a massage administered directly to the brain.
‘So you’re awake.’ It was our host. She was near me, round the curve of the table. The cloak was gone. Her top, it turned out, was high necked and sleeveless. It hugged her form and tucked cleanly into her glossy leggings. Then she was beside me, without having bothered with being in the space between.
Part of my mind was screaming. This was wrong, so terribly wrong. I wanted to run but my eyes couldn’t peel themselves away towards the door. With each second that passed, with each moment I met her gaze I felt my will melt, and go until all that remained was a compliant calm.
Her hand touched me. It was cool. She rubbed up and down my cock through my pants. Her full red lips were parted a little. Her fingers coiled round my shaft and reached down to my balls. She cupped them, slowly, thoughtfully, as if weighing them. She whispered without speaking, a sound that coiled through the air as dry as sand and I felt, impossibly, the weight against her fingers increase. She lifted against my sack again and her tongue, pointed at its tip, stroked her lips. Her smile was predatory, dangerous.
‘Before your night is out you will know such pleasure.’ She stood off a moment and her hands moved from her throat over her chest. She pulled the top tighter and forwards and swayed. As she did she revealed the sides of her breasts. She wore no bra and they were high and firm. She took my hand and extended a finger and drew it over her cool perfectly soft skin, up over the expanse of alabaster, across the delta of blue veins, to the edge of her ruby areola and she sighed at the touch. I was no virgin but I had not experienced anything like this. I did not know what to do so I allowed myself to be led. Then she pointed my finger to the door on the left of the hall and by some unseen force it swung open.
‘They are ours tonight.’ She slowly lowered into a squat in front of me. Her hands ran up my thighs and she gripped the top of the trousers. She pulled them down slowly. My hard cock stood straight out. My fingers gripped the edge of the oaken surface behind me as I gasped, unable to articulate what I needed, what I wanted.
‘The innocent in white is no longer so innocent.’ A drop of pre-cum had formed on the end of my shaft. She took it on her finger and slowly licked it off with her tongue. She purred and shuddered and for a splitsecond I heard a moan not of pleasure but of fear. I did not know where it came from.
‘The virgin sister seeks to worship at a new altar.’ She opened her mouth and took another drop from me. And as she did she sunk the head of my cock between her lips. Her mouth was slick, wet, hot and she slid easily forwards. And she did not stop. She kept pushing until her face was against my belly. I cried out. I felt no pressure from her throat, just a smooth muscular openness. And then I felt something else as she began to suck. Sheets of pleasure ran along my cock, and through my body. Her tongue swirled, tested, explored and I felt her mouth grip me as her hand once again cupped me and I felt myself grow for a second time.
She moved back and forwards slowly making love to my cock with her mouth. Each time she took it deeply she held there and I could feel her cool breath from her nose, feel her steel-strong grip on the back of my thigh, on the base of my spine. I did not cum but I felt more precum leak and felt her throat rise and fall as she took each drop down.
She pulled back and gasped and wiped her mouth. My head spun and as I looked down it was clear my balls were even larger, firmer. Her shoulders rose and fell with arousal. Her fingers took her nipples through her top and pinched them before she returned to touch me. ‘And the Au Pair…’ she smiled and her mouth opened wide, so very wide, and she turned to the side and took my balls in her mouth. Again, the heat, the smooth slide of her lips and tongue. The exquisite tease of her hand up and down my slippery shaft. She gently tugged at my balls, warming them, loosening them. With a kiss she rose to her feet again, her hand still on my cock. ‘And the Au Pair has gone on a journey she did not expect.’
She stretched her hands above her head and in the same movement pulled my trousers up to cover me. I ached. I throbbed. I needed more.
‘Please…’ I murmured. ‘Please.’
She shook her head. ‘Not yet, not so soon little one.’ She waited a moment. ‘Choose.’ She pointed to the open door. ‘Three rooms, three brides.’ Her hand touched the ring on my finger. Lightening flashed and in the stained glass window I met the hollow gaze of a skull, it’s empty sockets staring down at me. ‘Wed in full sight.’ She pushed against me, her thigh between my legs, pushing firmly on my cock. I could feel myself leaking on my belly, feel my pulse thump.
I tried to think. Tried to understand what was happening. But I could not recall any moment before this, nor any desire other than to obey, to follow the path that had been laid before me.
‘The first one,’ I said faintly. ‘Mary.’
My host nodded. ‘Yes, I think we will enjoy her dreams.’ And taking my hand in hers led me across the hall and through the open door.
——— Transcript Part 1 Ends ———
Source: reddit.com/r/sexystories/comments/p99npd/the_lust_vampyr_part_1