The Dread of Damned

In the humongous room, a 12- to 13-year-old boy lay deeply asleep on the large king-sized bed, surrounded by an expanse of white that seemed to stretch on forever. The white walls, the furniture, and even the air itself seemed to be infused with a soft, ethereal glow, as if the very essence of the room was alive and pulsing with energy. If one looked closely, they would notice that the door to the attached bathroom was slightly ajar, revealing a small crack that seemed to whisper secrets to the darkness beyond.

Anyone brave enough to peek through the opening would be met with a sight that would forever be etched in their minds. In the bathtub, a voluptuous woman lay sprawled out, her stark white hair cascading down her back like a river of moonlight, her eyes gleaming with an otherworldly intensity. Her plump, soft, and alluring figure seemed to moved to a rhythm adding to her other worldly alure, as if she were a goddess risen from the depths of the earth. Her hand moved vigorously beneath the tub surface, while her other hand twisted and pulled at her nipple with a harsh intensity, as if she were trying to awaken a deep, primal power within herself.

This was Seraphina Aetherisin, basking in all her glory, her very presence seeming to command attention and inspire awe. Despite her dignified demeanor, which always commanded respect, Seraphina had grown exhausted from being in control for too long – hundreds, if not thousands, of years. She yearned for someone to tell her what to do, how to do it, and to relinquish control, at least in bed. She longed to be dominated, to be taken, to be possessed by a power greater than her own. However, her husband powerful and commanding in all aspects was extremely gentle with her , though she love him loving, he couldn't provide her with what she desired. His sexual appetite had waned with age and responsibility, and she didn't blame him.

It had been an extremely long time since she had been satisfied. In fact, she couldn't even remember the last time, except for the intercourse they had before the birth of her son Cael. They had tried for five years to conceive, and one day, she had almost pleaded with him to inflict pain during intercourse to make it bleed, which he did with a heavy heart, finally allowing her to experience an orgasm.

Bless his heart, but he was too kind for his own good. Nocturnals were dark, twisted, and unhinged creatures, and it was unclear where he got his personality from. Perhaps it was a result of his gentle upbringing, or maybe it was a quirk of fate, but whatever the reason, Seraphina knew that she needed someone who could match her intensity, someone who could take her to the depths of pleasure and pain.

At that moment, her son's commanding voice, imbued with power, resonated within her, bringing her closer to the edge. He was what she wished for – loving, caring, and cute, with a spark of darkness in his eyes that hinted at a deeper, more primal nature. She would follow him to hell and back in any form, but what he did today had caused her to see him in a new light. Her fingers brushed passed her bruised behind as she continued to assault her slit, while her other hand rubbed, pulled, and twisted her nipple, filled with bites, the pain bringing her to new heights of ecstasy.

She had reached her peak three times in that short, seemingly long exchange, and three times with her own hands. She knew this was not all, that he hadn't gone all the way, but she needed him to. She couldn't wait until he matured completely, until he finally claimed her as his, commanding her obedience and reverence. Though she herself seemed to miss how he had already done that to some extent, mirrored by her very state at the moment – her dignity, pride, and control, which she had clutched onto for thousands of years, were now nowhere to be seen. All that was left was a panting woman, dripping with desire, needy for more.

Her seventh release came stronger than any before, crashing through her, making her come undone. Though she still wasn't completely satisfied, she knew what she needed – a red, girthy, veiny image flashed in her mind, but that would have to wait until he became a complete man first.

"I need to nurture him," she whispered, sprawled in the huge white marble tub. "He absolutely can't be weak-willed and soft-hearted like his father. He needs to be a man, a proud nocturnal looking over all, excluding power and control." Her legs were open, her essence flowing out, creating a pool in the middle of the tub. Her nipples had a few drops of milk and blood clinging to them, courtesy of the teeth marks. She had not healed herself at all, wanting to relish in the delight of pain for a while longer.

The sound of water from the washroom signaled her exit, and she emerged stark naked, wearing nothing, before slipping under the silk sheet. Her son, as if sensing her presence, cuddled with her, making her feel his hardness on her thighs.

And then she closed her eyes, seemingly satisfied.