And I took lots of pics of tulips for Teppy.

Ah, how I love my Plei....

Mmm... girl porn. Moody, heady, girl porn.

More coming, Plei.

more:

"No." Maria is seventeen, and Italian, and she takes things literally. "You are here."

"So I am." It's too much. Maria is too much. The white woman can smell her, the olive oil and meal soap she uses, a tiny streak of sweat between those golden breasts, the perfume of crushed violets from Parma that she has rubbed behind her ears, at her wrists where the life flicks in those spidery blue lines, in the hollow of her throat. Suddenly, she leans forward, her pale straight hair swinging in a curtain across her face. She puts one hand to Maria's cheek, and kisses her.

The girl's response astonishes her. She has been expecting resistance, tears, denial of her own needs, Catholic terrors about hell. After all, this is Italy. But suddenly, somehow, trying to take Maria into her arms, she has wound up in Maria's arms instead. The girl, inexperienced and fiercely eager, has become a clumsy and oddly endearing seductress.

"Kiss me." Maria's breath is warm against her ear; it tickles, lifting blonde hair. If the girl has noticed that the golden woman she yearns after has no breath of her own, she isn't saying so. "Please."

"I'll do better than that." Mindful of her own supernatural strength, not wanting to frighten the child, she begins lightly, sliding one hand up, sliding it down, a rhythm of want and release across nipples that suddenly curve forward, defining themselves. The girl's breathing is fractured by soft panting whimpers, sensual beyond what the blonde woman can tolerate.

She slides her free hand under the skirt, up the powerful thighs, slipping a fingertip between them. She makes a noise that would be breath catching, if she could breathe; Maria is naked under the single layer.

"I have your birthday present, cara." Her hands are moving, bringing Maria to the brink of life, the edge of death. Something in her, some spark of what, in life, might have been conscience, makes her say, "It will hurt. If you say no to me, I'll understand."

The girl's eyes beseech her; all of Maria, in and out, seems dewy, moist as a rose in the morning. She smiles, and leans forward, putting her teeth to the girl's throat. She can feel the flow of life, frantic and turbulent, slamming against the walls of the great vein.

She pulls her head back, and offers her wrist to Maria. "Bite," she says. There is absolute authority in her voice, and Maria leans forward to do what she is told. "Bite until there is just a bit of blood. You must take a part of me into you."

She's surprised at the pain; normally, she would have opened a vein herself, deft with centuries of practice. The blunt teeth hurt, but she welcomes it; after all, she is about to inflict a different sort of pain, more durable and more damning, on Maria.

"I have your birthday present, cara." Her hands are moving, bringing Maria to the brink of life, the edge of death. Something in her, some spark of what, in life, might have been conscience, makes her say, "It will hurt. If you say no to me, I'll understand."

GAH!

End...

She's surprised at the pain; normally, she would have opened a vein herself, deft with centuries of practice. The blunt teeth hurt, but she welcomes it; after all, she is about to inflict a different sort of pain, more durable and more damning, on Maria.

The girl looks up, her eyes hazed with desire. There is blood on her teeth, from the blonde woman's mangled wrist. Her companion kisses her, slipping her tongue between those perfect lips, forcing the girl to swallow if she wishes not to choke. Blood and saliva trickle down her throat.

The blonde pushes Maria back into the window seat's soft cushions. She lifts the flouncy skirt above the girl's waist. Quiescent now, sensing there is a greater mystery coming than what she had expected, Maria lets her lover in, stroking, kissing, hands making magic and new mysteries. As the girl bucks beneath her, the blonde slides quickly and puts her teeth together in the violet-scented throat.

As she feels the life drain out, she holds the girl, willing her not to be afraid, comforting her, wanting her to know what she has gained. First there is coming to life, then there is life, then there is the little death, then the full death. In the trees up the mountain, the cinghiale piglet is being devoured in the raptor's nest. It has gone full circle.

Maria will be reborn.

Gahgahgah.

(concerned)

You ok there, Plei?

Yerp! (Rewriting some stuff, annoyed that I have to pause for such trivial things as "eating")

It sounded as if you were choking....

Good on the writing and the OK.