"A Vampire's History of the World" (closed)

[PennySaver]

"Claudia, how about we take a little break?"

She agreed with that as being a good idea, and when he asked if she could cook, she laughed and said, "I'm the best!"

He spoke about other ways for her to keep herself busy, adding, "Just...don't cross out things you disagree with or something..."

"Can I highlight everything that's wrong...?" she asked, laughing at his reaction. She waved him off, promising, "Post-Its … that's all I'll do."

He showed her what he had in the kitchen, gave her $80 in cash -- after she'd reminded him she needed a couple of girly things -- and headed out to his University office. Claudia raided the closet in the guest room -- her room now -- where she'd earlier seen an old box labeled Goodwill. Just as she'd expected, she found some of his ex-wive's clothing. It was neatly folded up, minimizing wrinkles; it was all too big, but it would do for this one shopping venture.

Michael returned an unexpected five hours later, not the two or three about which he'd spoken. The home was flooded with the smell of salted anchovies, onions, tomatos, and a multitude of lesser ingredients including basil, parsley, green peppers, black olives, pine nuts, capers, oil, chili peppers, and more.

"Have you ever had Gurguglione?" she asked, lifting a lid to show him the mix of sautéing vegetables, cuttlefish, risotto, and ingredients he may or may not have been able to identify. When he pointed to one strange looking item in the pan, Claudia said in a matter of fact tone, "That's octopus. You have no idea how hard that was to find. By the way … I spent all of your money. But, I bought this, too."

Claudia stepped back to model the blouse she'd gotten at Goodwill. It fit her shapely B-cups better than had his ex-wive's blouse. Off handedly, Claudia blurted out as she went back to cooking, "You wife had some big tits, didn't she?

"I learned to make this when I was on Elba," she said about the incredible meal that all told covered nearly every square inch of surface in the kitchen with either food, the discards, or the plates, pots, and utensils required. As she continued to move about the boiling and steaming containers, she went on casually, "I spent almost ten months there in--"

She went silent for a moment, catching herself before she said 1814 as Napolean's cook's assistant. She turned her face from Michael to ensure he didn't see her face going white with panic, then -- remembering that she had to shorten the lengths of time in which she'd done this thing here or that thing there to make it fit her apparently short lifetime -- she continued, "I mean … what I meant to say … was that I was a cook's assistant for ten months … first in Paris, then elsewhere … and I got a chance to go to Elba, where I learned to cook this. I was there for two months."

When Michael asked what year she was there, Claudia thought it better to be vague, fearing he might one day realize that her timeline was a farce, and said, "Oh, I … I don't really remember. My life's been a bit mess up for the last few years as you know. Maybe … three, four, five years ago...?"

She went on to talk about the specifics of what she was doing, the ingredients that were traditional or that had had to be substituted because she couldn't find them, and more. After that, Claudia asked with humor, "Tell me what you did today at work, honey dear. Were you able to verify some of what I told you?"

Michael was still talking when Claudia announced dinner was ready and it was time to sit down. "Pour some wine. That bottle there I chilled to 50 degrees, which is perfect for wine made of Trebbiano grapes. I'm not familiar with that particular vineyard, I was looking for something from La Faccenda, but I..."

Once again Claudia caught herself. She was talking about a vineyard that Napoleon himself had established during his 10 months of exile to the island off the Italian coast. After a years long drought and even more years of mismanagement following the former/current/future Emperor's departure from the island -- a departure of which Claudia was not a part -- the vineyard had been destroyed in a fire in 1834.

The last bottles of wine from the vineyard had been sent to Paris to celebrate Napoleon's return to power, and the vineyard had essentially been erased from European history by the fire. Claudia's speaking of it didn't seem like a big deal at the moment; wine, vineyards, who cares? What she didn't know was that Michael had access to some obscure documents credited to an English diplomat who'd been in Paris at the time of Napoleon's return … and in that document was mentioned the wine, the vineyard, even the method by which the bottles had reached Paris … and sometime in the near future, Michael was going to find that information and realize that there was no way Claudia could have known about it.

But that wouldn't be today, thank goodness.

 

[Knightmare27]

"So you are a cook now too? If I ask where you learned it, are you going to claim you lived with a master chef and then take off unexpectedly? Oh, I bet there is some terrible secret behind how you learned that, too. You are full of terrible secrets, aren't you?", he said jokingly.

"Sure", he agreed. After all, a few sticky labels would do no harm. "Just be careful with the older works. They tear easily."

He was starting to feel like an older work which tore easily. In a few weeks, she had run away from him, overthrown everything he knew about history, raped him. That was entirely too much excitement for him. Sure, she was fun, but she made him feel his age in ways that he had never felt before. It was not his body - finally, all that exercise was paying off - it was that he was just too used to life without some weird cutie doing unexpected - and, sometimes, unspeakable - things to him.

As expected, work did nothing to keep his mind off her. He tried to do some research, fact-checking her claims in between. Yet his mind always bounced back to her. Either just her face, or the mystery of who she was - or the events of the night before. Whenever they bounced to that, he had to get up and take a deep breath. Still, he managed to keep up the semblance of a day of working, then returned home.

When she had told him she needed girly things, he had not expected her to empty the entire grocery store. Some of the things she had bought he vaguely remembered glancing at once or twice. He was not that experimental a cook, but apparently she was.

And Octopus. She had spent his money on some sea creature that always gave him nightmares. And now she was preparing it, as if she had never done anything else before. He was not going to tell her that he hated the idea of eating a tentacled horror. She was putting too much effort into it. And it was also starting to smell too good for him not to have a bite. Given what this girl was like, it probably would taste good.

"Big tits? Well, yeah."

Again with the shamelessness. The same shamelessness she had shown when she had paraded in front of him practically naked. And then she had started to cry, he remembered...

"This does fit you much better..." - too well, he thought. She almost looked tempting - "oh, don't tell me. You also worked as a fashion designer while you were bouncing all over the world", he added in a tone that was mostly joking, with a hint of irritation.

Somehow, she was also a cook. Of course she was. Somehow, she had found the time to read both a whole library (containing some books that should not even exist) AND learn how to cook professionally. This was not even surprising anymore. Next, she would probably start painting professionally, or playing the piano, or maybe some other instrument no one had any idea existed or something...

She really had to work on her skill at hiding lies. Her face had "LIAR" written all over it as she presented that story about how she had learned to cook. Yet he knew she would not tell him the full truth. But why? Her insistence on telling him so many untruths was starting to grate. There was some big secret about her, and he would have preferred if she kept it to herself rather than tease him with obvious falsehoods.

How much of a mess had her life been that she did not remember a whole year? "You learned quite a lot in a year... why did you move around so much, anyway? I mean, sure, you were a runaway. But why not just stay in one place? You are quite obviously a good cook. Do you just like travelling that much?"

Nothing she was saying was making any sense. None of this was making any sense. He was even beginning to regret his choice to let her stay a little. She was fascinating, yes. But she was also a great big liar...

"Honey dear? I don't remember marrying you", he said with a grin. "Well... I was mostly working, but, yes, some of what you said checks out. Then again, there are parts which you should not be able to know. Parts which no one should be able to know..."

Of course the octopus was good. And the wine fit perfectly. How could he have doubted that? Somehow, she had acquired a skill that took others a lifetime to master in just a year. In what she claimed had just been a year. But she had to be telling the truth about that, hadn't she? Bodies did not lie, and hers claimed her to be young. Far too young to have learned so much. Nobody aged that well!

"Thanks, Claudia. I had no idea you could actually make...octopus...that delicious."

He emptied his wine glass.

"It is late. I think we should go to bed... at least I will. I learned so much today. About history...about cooking..."

 

[PennySaver]

"This does fit you much better..." Michael complimented after Claudia turned herself left and right to show off her new used blouse.

She would have bought something new new, but by the time she'd made her steops at four different types of food marts to get all she needed for dinner, she'd reached Goodwill with only $4.60 in her pockets. Still, for less than five bucks, it made her upper half look pretty darn good.

"Oh, don't tell me. You also worked as a fashion designer while you were bouncing all over the world."

Claudia laughed, gently tasted some sauce on a spoon, and held that spoon out to Michael for him to taste as she held her second hand under it for drips. She teased, "A man's knowledge of fashion, gained over a lifetime, wouldn't fill a teaspoon, whereas a woman's knowledge of the same would overflow the ocean."

As with her mentioning of the wine, that quote -- of a 19th century Italian fashion designer -- would come back to haunt Claudia when, days from now, Michael would incidentally and by total accident come across it and remember it having come from his new chef's lips.

When he asked why she moved around so much, Claudia pretended to be too involved in her work over the burners to have heard him. He let it go, like he'd been letting a great deal of things go over the past couple of days.

When he spoke about his work this evening, Claudia was happy to hear that he'd looked into some of the facts about which she'd told him. She could see in his face and hear in his voice that he was intrigued, not so much by what she'd told him but by how she could have possibly known it all.

"Then again, there are parts which you should not be able to know'" he challenged. "Parts which no one should be able to know..."

She glanced up into the taller man's face with a bit of a smirk. She speared a mushroom upon which was a sautéed bit of herb covered pepper and lifted it to his mouth, demanding he try it, and said, "Maybe I just pay more attention to the little things than most people do?"

Claudia could see in Michael's reaction that that hadn't been enough, but for now it was going to have to do. She demanded he take the wine to the table and sit, then grabbed a plate and began filling it. She only served up a spoonful of each item, and yet by the time she'd reached the last of the many offerings, the plate was full. She did the same with her own plate and then set both of them on the table and sat in the chair nearest him.

"The way you eat this," she explained, picking up her own fork and demonstrating, "is you pick one item at a time, put it on your tongue, savor the flavor, chew, swallow, and then pick something different … always moving onto something of which you haven't partaken."

She speared a chunk of octopus, did as instructed, picked a vegetable that Michael likely couldn't even identify, repeated, and went on, saying, "That way, you get the full experience of what life has to offer."

The meal went on, with Claudia talking in between Michael's bites, sometimes asking him what he thought of the morsel, sometimes telling him the history behind the tidbit or its preparation or even the history of the nation from which it had come or in which it had become a national treasure. By the time they'd finished their plates and emptied the bottle of wine, Claudia had practically imparted upon Michael the knowledge of an entire season of some cable television cooking show or kitchen reality show.

The leftovers -- which Claudia had skillfully limited by her experience -- fit neatly into a single container which she told Michael to take to work the next day. After they were put away and the kitchen was cleaned, Michael announced, "It is late. I think we should go to bed... at least I will. I learned so much today. About history...about cooking..."

"Before you go to bed, Michael..." Claudia began. She reached out and took his hand, turning toward the living room as she said, "Come sit. I want to talk to you."

She led him to the couch, urge him down upon it, then stood before him for a moment with an almost flirtatious smile before she said, "You have to trust me."

Claudia moved forward a bit closer, saw his reaction, and giggled. "I'm not going to rape you, Michael … again, I mean. I'm not even going to get kinky or anything with you. But … I am going to sit in your lap. You have to trust me."

She moved forward, put one knee on the couch outside his thigh, then the other, then scooted forward a bit; her crotch wasn't against his or even close to it, as she wasn't meaning for this to be sexual, yet a quick peek downward while she was trying to move revealed that he was suffering a bit of growth within his slacks. She told him not to lean back into the cushions but to sit up tall. When he did, she leaned in just enough for her breasts to make very gentle contact to his chest.

"Gimme your hands," she told him. She took them and placed them on her hips, telling him, "Leave them right there … don't move them and don't pull them away, or this won't work."

She giggled a bit, like teenage girls do sometimes; she may have been more than 400 years old, but sometimes the physical youth of her body overcame the age of her knowledge, wisdom, and experiences. She told him, "I'm going to touch you, don't panic."

Claudia reached out slowly and placed her hands on his head; her thumbs pressed to his lower temples, the "V" between those thumbs and her index fingers curled below his ears, and her fingers moved around within his hair until they were pressing against his scalp and upper neck.

"Feel good...?" she asked after a moment of gently caressing him with her fingertips. "...relaxing?"

Her thumb and fingers continued to massage Michael's skull as she whispered repeatedly with a barely audible volume variations of, "Relax … enjoy … find a calmness..."

Michael had been staring intently at her during this by her direction, but now Claudia whispered to him, "Close your eyes..."

The moment he did, Michael's entire body stiffened, as if he'd been working on the clothes dryer or hot water heater and suddenly made contact with its 220 volt power source; his fingers grasped Claudia's hips so tightly that tomorrow she would have ten very distinct fingerprint sized bruises in her flesh.

"Relax … enjoy … find a calmness..." she told him with a calm voice but higher volume, repeating it a dozen times until finally his grip on her had reduced and his body relaxed once again. Claudia eased him fully back into the couch's cushion, then moved up into his lap so close that her crotch made contact with his cock, which by now was solid as a rock. He could sense the proximity of their private parts, she knew, but in a moment's time, that intimate connection between them was going to be the last thing on his mind. Her last words to Michael were whispered ever so softly and close to his ear, "Remember..."

Suddenly, Michael was no longer in the living room of his little house in the suburbs of Boston … but was instead standing on a rocky bluff looking down upon a small sea port of an unknown location. He was surrounded by endless ocean in some directions and arid, rocky terrain in others; on the water two miles from shore was a French warship bearing the flag of Louis XVIII's monarchy, its sails furled, its anchor dropped, and -- barely visible with the naked eye from here -- its gun ports opened; all about the shoreline and at the docks below were soldiers wearing the distinct coat of arms of the former and now exiled Emperor of France; and at those docks, a small, Genoese ketch bearing the flag of the Regno di Sardegna, or Kingdom of Sardinia, was being unloaded of supplies destined for the residence of that all important resident of the island.

After what seemed like an hour of simply taking in and enjoying the sights, Michael suddenly found himself standing in the dish washing area adjacent to a very busy kitchen as servants hurried about preparing a very generous meal. Half a dozen women and a pair of men rushed about putting the dinner together; they wore early 19th century garb and chattered about in a combination of French and Italian. He himself was rushing around helping as well, and on several occasions the woman who was obviously in charge of anything and everything happening here called a name at him, a name he might or might not recognize as being that of the young woman currently sitting in his lap in his Boston home.

Just as he'd magically moved from the rocky clifftop to the basement scullery, he then found himself standing in the corner of a lavish, well appointed dining room, looking out upon a long dining table at which sat -- at their respective ends -- the former Emperor and Empress of France, flanked on each side by a dozen visiting dignitaries. Michael would recognize each and every man and woman immediately, not because of the multitude of paintings and sketches of them that he'd seen during his scholarly life but because somehow he simply knew them all, as friends, acquaintances, or political colleagues of the host and hostess of the dinner.

Ironically, while knowing who these people were, he also knew that most of them had never been here on Elba during this time period … or … at least history had no evidence of them having been here during this period. Michael could hear and understand the conversations taking place in great detail … even though the languages being used -- French, Italian, Spanish, and German -- were unknown to him here in the 21st century. And what he was hearing had only roughly been recorded by the historians of the day or of the immediately to follow years … and much of this conversation had only been experienced second or even third hand. Much of what Michael believed about this period would be verified by what he heard tonight; at the same time, things he couldn't have possibly known -- things that no one who hadn't actually been here could possibly have known -- were available for him as easily as if here were listening to it on an audible book...

When he blinked his eyes open and regained full control over his faculties, Michael was laying on the couch with a blanket covering him; his shoes were off, but he was otherwise still dressed as he had been.

The sun was peeking around the closed drapes.

"Good morning, sleepy head," Claudia said softly. She was sitting on the worn out arm chair on the opposite side of the coffee table, sipping at a steaming mug of coffee. She nodded toward the voice recorder sitting before him, "You probably have questions."

 

[Knightmare27]

Was he being schooled in eating octopus, of all things? Well, that was what his senses were telling him, and it was just one of the many strange things she had brought to his life. He shrugged and decided to get used to it. As long as she was his guest, he felt, he would have to get used to a lot of things. Was there anything she did not know? Aside from how to act in human society? What was up with her, anyway?

Her enthusiasm for cooking was matched only by her enthusiasm for talking, and she showered him with knowledge during the entire meal. He did not mind - she was fascinating to listen to - but he again wondered where she had learned all of this. That was the one question which interested him now, and that was the one on which she remained curiously silent even as she babbled on happily about trivia she had no way of knowing.

Even the most interesting lecture got tiring after some time, and he was starting to feel the effects of the day. Besides, there was no hurry. She was staying with him for now, so he would have plenty of time to get to the bottom of this fountain of knowledge. If there was one. For now, though, he was mainly sleepy and wanted to go to bed. He announced this to her and got up to do so when she stopped him.

For some reason, he followed her command to sit. Well, part of that reason were her looks, of course... but there was something else beneath that. As if she was commanding him without really commanding. But she was also cute, so he decided to sit and wait for what she had in store. If it was anything like what she had done so far, it would have equal probability of being fascinating or utterly crazy.

"I have to trust you?", he said in a tone somewhere between surprise and rekindling anger. She was in kind of an odd position to ask trust from him, given what had happened... but he did trust her. for now That smile was magical, it transferred control in him from his brain to other parts. Parts that wanted to just sit and see what she was going to do. So he did, despite what was left of his thoughts screaming at him.

Her breasts touched his chest. He could very clearly feel them through the fabric. Warm, moving... her warmth flowed through him as she sat on him like that. Whatever she was planning was unlikely to help with the giant bulge he could feel in his pants. The heavy warmth of her butt pinned down his thighs, but there was something else that kept him pinned in place. Something that made his heart beat faster.

His hands automatically followed the instruction to place themselves on her hips, felt the soft curve, closed around it, even stroked it a little bit... he stopped that. The last thing he needed now was for this to become even more sexual. No. He would just rest his hands on her hips, and try not to let the blood rushing off downwards stop him from...whatever it was she was planning. Whatever it was she was planning.

He was unable to speak and felt nothing but panic at the thought of being touched by her. He felt so many things for her. So many conflicting things... and now she was going to touch him? Any attempts to scream would have been stopped by the complete dryness in his mouth anyway. He braced himself for her touch, promised himself he would not lose what was left of his mind when she did that.

She was giving him what felt like a head massage... a very odd, but relaxing head massage. He smiled and sighed before dropping away into a sort of pleasant half-sleep. Everything, even his feelings, melted away into a puddle of warm, contented goo as he gave himself to that sensation. Yet he did not fall asleep, just into a state that resembled meditation... at least he imagined that was what meditation felt like.

He managed to nod to her question before he fell back into his relaxed state. It strangely heightened his sensations. Now that everything else was out there in the dark, there was nothing here but her gentle fingertips on his head... her breasts still pressed against his chest... her breath on his face... the weight of her butt on his legs. He wondered what would happen next but was far too relaxed to feel any fear.

He closed his eyes, as she had told him to, without even thinking. It just fit. It fit to sink back into that warm darkness, almost become unborn and stop existing, except as a tiny ball of feelings. He relaxed even further. She was in control now, but, somehow, he agreed with it. An odd feeling not unlike sleepiness but completely unlike it came over him, and he almost yawned reflexively before he caught himself.

Michael felt his muscles tightening without knowing why. Like everything else, it just felt right. It felt like what he wanted to do now. So he did. He felt his fingers dig deep into her soft, springy flesh until they felt the firmness underneath. It almost felt as if he was growing into her, as if they were becoming one. He would have been unable to open his eyes even if he wanted to. But he did not, he just wanted to stay.

Something in him realized that she was trying to hypnotize him... but most of him did not care. His smile widened as he heard her repeat the sentence over and over... maybe it really was getting quieter and quieter over time, but maybe it was just feeling like that. Either way, she was hypnotizing him and he was strangely fine with it. "Remember..." He remembered. Suddenly, he was somewhere else entirely.

He was standing on a cliff now, but he was not surprised. It was as if that had always been him, looking down at a ship that had always been there, too. Only after a few moments did it occur to him where he was, and why he should be astonished to see what he was seeing - it was a direct look at history! It was a scene that any historian would have given anything to see! He was witnessing it for himself...

Or was he dreaming it? Sudden change of scene. He was now a servant, doing all manner of things that would have been second nature to a servant in the old days. And they were second nature to him too, somehow. As if he had always been a servant. As if this smelly, smoke-filled furnace of a kitchen had always been his home. It all felt so real. The shouts, the sweat that was flowing over his brow as he hurried along...

Suddenly...he was somewhere else. He had seen countless paintings and portraits of the man he was seeing now, but it was as if he had always known him. The woman next to him, too. Was that...?No, it had to be. Napoleon and Marie Louise, his second wife. The men surrounding him.... he immediately recognized them, for some reason. Even the ones he had never seen a portrait of. He knew their names, knew why they were here...

Wait... was he on Elba? Why was Marie Louise with him, then? Every history book agreed that she had returned to her father, the Austrian emperor, after Napoleon's defeat. What was she doing here? Was this strange dream just jumbling up facts he had read somewhere, or was this girl contradicting all his historical knowledge...again? No, he had to be dreaming. Strange that it all felt so real, then...

He awoke, covered with a blanket. Much to his relief, he was still fully clothed. Well, except for his feet, which brushed pleasantly against the softness of the fabric. Claudia was not there. He was feeling refreshed, so he had to have slept... yes, now he remembered. She had practiced some kind of hypnosis on him and then he had had this weird Napoleon dream. And then she had put him here, apparently.

The sunlight told him that it was already the next morning. What had that all been about? The girl apparently gave some very relaxing head massages. It had put him to sleep almost immediately. And then a dream that had felt more real than dreams normally felt. Oh well. It had been a lovely evening. He had learned how good octopus could taste, lots of food trivia, and he had discovered another of her hidden talents.

He noticed Claudia already up, sitting in a chair opposite him, drinking coffee, looking a lot less confused than he had to.

"Questions? Well, yes. Where did you learn hypnosis? That sleep was incredibly relaxing. And I had a strange dream. It felt so very...real. Historical nonsense, of course. Something about Napoleon on Elba, but he was together with Marie Louise. Do people normally dream that vividly when you hypnotize them? And why didn't you tell me before you did it?"

 

[PennySaver]

"She was beautiful, wasn't she?" Claudia asked. She saw the confusion in Michael's face and -- with a perfectly authentic Parisian accent -- clarified, "Maria Luisa Leopoldina Francesca Teresa Giuseppa Lucia."

For a moment, Claudia let Michael digest that she knew not only about whom from his dream he was speaking but knew the full name of the Empress of the French. Then, holding nothing back from him now, Claudia began.

"She was a beautiful young woman when she arrived in Paris for her marriage to Napoleon," she said in a tone of fond remembrance. "It was and had long been tradition in Paris that those persons of other nations and cultures, as was Maria Luisa, who came to marry into Royalty leave behind their former lives in their entirety. Maria Luisa was undressed until she stood naked before her attendants. Everything was taken … her dress, her undergarments, her stockings, her boots … even the decorations in her hair. They were taken away and, while this was not told her at the time, they were burned until nothing more remained but ashes of a life to be surrendered.

"The attendants..." Claudia hesitated a moment to look into Michael's eyes as she began again with this next word, "...we washed Maria Luisa in a gilded tub until all hint of the past … the scent in her hair … the colors on her face … even the lotions and powders that comforted her body ... until they soon were gone and nothing remained of what had been the daughter of the Holy Roman Emperor and all that did remain was the future wife of the Emperor of France.

"He came to her that very night, you know ... Napoleon. They hadn't even officially been married before he came to her bed chamber ... laid her on her back ... and consummated the wedding to come. I remember losing my virginity, Michael--"

Claudia laughed and blushed, realizing she'd turned the conversation toward her own sexual history. She could have gone back to the topic at hand, but finished her thought. "It hurt ... a lot ... and I can remember wondering why, after such a painful and traumatic experience would any woman ever open her legs to a man a second time...?"

She looked to Michael again, blushed yet again, and continued, "Marie Louise took that pain and trauma in stride ... and after her soon-to-be husband had taken her and rolled away to his back ... she'd asked him to continue. Most history books, based upon the contemporary journals and letters of Napoleon's advisors and attendants, speak of how Marie Louise was only trying to show her desire to fulfill her obligation to Napoleon ... as his wife and as the bearer of his children. They are wrong, though. Marie Louise ravaged Napoleon that night, sending them both to heights of pleasure that..."

Claudia's remembrance of that night, as she peeked upon the scene from one of the peep holes in the south wall of the bed chamber, caused her words to fade off as she remembered the event. After a moment, she looked to Michael ... and yet again blushed a fiery red.

 

[Knightmare27]

"Yes... I guess she was...looked completely different from her portraits. I guess that is what you can expect from all that idealization."

That Claudia knew the full name of Napoleon's wife didn't even register anymore. He had come to expect this kind of thing.

He knew about that tradition, had read accounts of the same ceremony done to her relative Maria Antonia many years before that, when she had embarked on that marriage that had ended so tragically. Yet there was something about the way this young woman told it that sounded... off. Like she had actually been there, was not just reciting an interesting historical fact. There was something in her way of telling it that showed more than just enthusiasm...

"We". She clearly had referred to the attendants as "we". What was that supposed to mean? Had she just gotten into it so much? Yes, that had to be it. Maybe she had played one of those attendants in her odd wanderings? It would certainly not be the strangest things she had apparently done in those few brief years.

He laughed. "We washed? Claudia, I have heard women make themselves younger than they are. But you just claimed to be over 200 years old...at least. You don't look that old..."

How had she switched from Marie Louise's virginity to her own? How did she always manage to switch between the innocent, geeky girl and the temptress without any warning? And, more importantly, how exactly had that happened? He had to admit that, yes, he was quite interested in hearing how that had happened. Hopefully not at the hands of that monster who had apparently bought her as a child slave...

"Yes, I have often heard women say that. I have no idea what it feels like...obviously". Now he was blushing, too. "The first time can feel quite bad to the woman. To the man, it mostly feels strange...awkward. At least when I did it, I was thinking 'that was it? I have now had sex?' But no pain, no. Then again, it does become more fun the second time, doesn't it?"

He surprised himself with an almost flirtatious smile as he asked that last question. What was he doing?

She was back to her favorite topic again, this time surprising him with another alleged historical detail. He could understand very well why they had left out that detail - if it was true, that was. Marie Louise sexually ravaging Napoleon? Well, no wonder Napoleon II had been born so quickly after they met. All the dirty stories about Napoleon he had heard so far had involved other women...never his second wife.

She was blushing again, and he had to, too, going by the fiery feeling in his cheeks. This conversation had taken an odd turn, and he was enjoying every second of it.

"And how do you know that? Did you hide in the wardrobe while they were...consummating their marriage? You do know that they were alone in that bedroom, right? Which one of the two supposedly wrote that down? I bet it was him..."

 

[PennySaver]

"Yes... I guess she was," Michael responded to Claudia's remembrances of Marie Louise's beauty. "Looked completely different from her portraits. I guess that is what you can expect from all that idealization."

"A woman's beauty in that day was so much different than it is today, of course," Claudia said, likely not telling Michael anything he didn't already know. "Beauty amongst the aristocracy, the nobility, the royalty ... it was often a reflection of wealth and comfort, and wealth and comfort often resulted in women of the upper classes being heavier than what is today's concept of beauty. Today, beauty is all about being a Size 2 with big tits and long legs ... in that day it having meat on the bone that reflected your wealth.

"Ironically, Marie Louise was neither wealthy fat nor peasant skinny. She had a beautiful figure that, ironically--" Claudia stood and struck a pose as she said with a smile, "--wasn't much different than my own, actually."

She turned slowly before Michael, letting him get a good look at her curves as she went on, "She was taller than I am, of course, just short of 5'8"--"

Claudia was barely 5'3". "--which was just slightly taller than her husband. And she was just a bit more womanly in size than I ... perhaps two inches across the typical measurements.

Although she didn't explain this, Claudia was a Size 6 by today's fashion standards with a figure of 35-24-35. She was in a partial profile to Michael when she straightened her posture to emphasize her bosom, saying, "And she had nice tits ... bigger than my own. I'm a C-cup, so Marie Louise was a D at least. And firm...? Today people would assume she'd had work done."

"And how do you know that?" Michael asked about Claudia's knowledge of Napoleon and Marie Louise's first coupling "Did you hide in the wardrobe while they were...consummating their marriage? You do know that they were alone in that bedroom, right? Which one of the two supposedly wrote that down? I bet it was him..."

Sitting again, Claudia studied the historian for a moment before standing again and curling around the coffee table to offer out a hand. "Do you trust me still, Michael...? Enough to come with me to my bedroom ... to take off your clothes while I take off mine ... and ... to let me show you the answer to that question in a way that will be ... satisfying to you on a level that ... defies belief?"

 

[Knightmare27]

Okay, there was nothing mysterious about that. She wanted him to go upstairs and jump her bones. Should he? She was so much younger than him... and weirdly sexually forward. Then again, the bulge in his pants was not going to take care of itself, and she clearly wanted it. He overcame his concerns and took her hand. What the hell...

"Yes", he whispered as his throat went dry again. Just touching her once more caused the rush of blood again. Almost without thinking, he followed her upstairs, his eyes fixed on her lovely body every step of the way up. When they arrived, he let go of her hand and began opening his shirt, then his belt. As he dropped his pants, he looked at his huge erection and blushed again. Did it have to be so open about how much he enjoyed it?

 

[PennySaver]

"Yes," Michael whispered, taking Claudia's hand.

In her bedroom, Claudia stepped back from the man, reached to her waist, and easily pulled the new, used blouse up and over her head. Her youthful, 400 year old bosom was well displayed and emphasized by a push up bra, a sight that drew Michael's gaze as he began shedding his own clothes.

Claudia showed no shame in letting her gaze drop as well, as Michael's trousers fell to the floor and revealed the eager erection that strained the fabric and elastic of his boxer-briefs. As he kicked off his shoes to free his pants, Claudia unsnapped her own pants and pushed them and her panties off her hips and down to the carpet. Snapping loose her bra, she soon stood naked before her host, revealing her womanly area to have been freshly shaven last night as Michael slumbered on the couch after his trip to Elba.

"Take those off, please," she asked barely over a whisper as she looked to the underwear, "then … lay in the middle of the bed. Why don't you stack the pillows behind you, so that we can more easily and more comfortably look at one another as we talk."

 

[Knightmare27]

He saw her naked, and dropped all shame. His eyes eagerly drank in every detail of her body, rested on her shapely breasts, quickly brushed over her flat stomach, then fixed themselves on the freshly-shaven area between her legs. The sight made his heart beat even faster, the erection even tighter. His hands shook as he removed the last barrier.

He piled up the pillows behind his back and lay there, naked, looking at her, his penis pointing directly at her. His legs were spread far, inviting her to enter and take him in.

 

[PennySaver]

Claudia waited for Michael to position himself upon the bed, then crawled from its end up to between his legs like a lioness stalking her prey. Between his parted thighs, she looked to and studied his raging erection from one side, then the other … licked her lips ... and then likely disappointed Michael as she continued upwards, telling him, "I already ate … sorry."

She smiled at her raunchy joke, then exploded in a blush as she laughed. She maneuvered his legs back together and sat atop his thighs; her pussy was so close to the underside of Michael's cock that he could probably feel the heat of her juices, and yet she didn't let the two eager body parts make contact.

"You must do as I say, Michael, or this won't work," she told him with that smirk that he'd come to enjoy. "Touch me only as I touch you … when I touch you … understand?"

 

[Knightmare27]

She was putting him through what was practically torture. And she knew it. She enjoyed it.

You like being in control, I see", he said with a smile that only held a hint of bitter memory of the night before. "Well, okay."

He would obey her for now, see what she was planning to do. If it was anything like that head massage, it would be well worth it.

 

[PennySaver]

"Close your eyes, and put your hands on my hips again ... no where else," she demanded. She moved up his thighs more ... pressing the warm wet folds of her pussy against the underside of Michael's shaft. She saw his reaction and warned, "Do as I say and nothing more."

She laid down upon him, pressing her elbows into his chest to support herself as her hands once again found his skull. She began massaging his temple and neck once again, repeating her earlier mantra; down below, Claudia was just barely moving her wet labia up and down Michael's shaft, wetting it more thoroughly with each forward and back movement.

"Remember our first time together, my love..." she murmured.

Suddenly, just as he had been on the rocky overlook overlooking Portoferraio Bay, Michael found himself laying in a magnificent four poster bed, staring upwards at an elegantly appointed, gilded canopy ... and a beautiful, fair skinned brunette who most definitely was not Claudia.

 

[Knightmare27]

Who was that? She was not Claudia. Had he gone insane? Was he dreaming? Nonsense. How could he fall asleep when she was on top of him? Wait! Was that? No! The woman from the dream! The woman he had recognized as Marie Louise for some reason, even though she looked nothing like her portraits. What was going on?

 

[PennySaver]

The face of the young beauty straddling Michael's groin was filled with the pain and pleasure caused by having a cock inside her for the first time. As she moved her body to and fro atop him, she sometimes hit an angle that caused her to wince in pain; the next stroke, though, might stimulate her never-before-touched pleasure button just right to send a shot of pure pleasure throughout her body.

"Es tut jetzt nicht so weh," she whispered through her held breath and soft cries. Remembering she was no longer in Austria, she repeated in French, "It is not hurting so much now."

Suddenly, the pain simply dissipated as she found just the right angle of taking him into her. Looking down into her future husband's pleasure filled face, she began whispering in almost a mantra, first in her Austrian based dialect of German, then in French, "Fühlt sich so gut an ... fühlt sich so gut an ... feels so good ... feel so good...!"

She began to draw and hold breaths for longer and longer periods as her body began to twitch as if she was having a seizure ... and then ... a loud gasp of air rushed from her lungs as the ecstasy of her first ever climax struck and sent waves of euphoria through her...

 

[Knightmare27]

He felt her warm, wet insides gush and hug his penis tightly. For a moment, there was pain on her face. But only for a moment. Pure ecstasy replaced it, gripping her body, shaking it, making her throw back her head and gasp in pleasure. The same wave also gripped him, made ripples go through his body, threw warm shivers all over it. He moaned loudly, his hands still on her hips, gripping tightly, digging into her.

With another loud moan, he came inside her, spent and utterly satisfied. A giant grin spread on his face.

 

[PennySaver]

Below her, Claudia felt Michael's body explode in a trembling that seemed to effect the entirety of him. Even though she couldn't herself see what the Napoleon version of his brain did, she remembered the event very well; spying through the peep hole, the Claudia of March 1810 had seen every thrust, sympathized every grimace, and envied every pleasure filled cry of that first night.

As Michael reveled in the orgasm that was taking place in his mind in that world but was also taking place in his body in this one, Claudia laid her naked body fully atop his also nude form … and once again sunk her fangs into his neck. Again, she only took enough of his life sustaining fluid to sustain her without harming him too much; he had work to do tomorrow, and he needed to be able to think clearly if he was going to investigate this new historical information.

When she was done feeding, Claudia sealed the neck punctures as she had for centuries, slipped out from the heavily breathing arms of her sort of lover, and pulled the bedding from where she'd gathered them at the foot of the bed to cover him to his belly; his cock stood almost straight up, tenting the bedding in a scene that reminded her of that old coming of age movie, Porky's.

Claudia stood over Michael for the longest moment, watching his euphoric body with its heavy breathing and racing heart beat slow down in activity and finally slip into a peaceful slumber. She wished she could do that after feeding, but she knew that she'd be up for the rest of the night. Instead, she settled into his wonderfully comfortable if not ratty as hell arm chair, covered herself with an afghan blanket she'd also purchased at Goodwill earlier that day, and picked up the dog-eared copy of the book Michael had been reading … Dracula. Sure, it was historically inaccurate in so many ways, but then Claudia preferred that the world thought a blood sucking monster looked more like what Bram Stoker had envisioned than like her...

 

[Knightmare27]

Michael woke up the next day even more spent than he had expected to. Whatever she had done to him, it had apparently been incredibly good. All he could remember now was that, somehow, she had looked completely different for a moment... just a brief moment before an explosion of lust had robbed him of his reasoning. And then he had fallen asleep, apparently. Wow, she was good. Almost as if she had drained him...

He got dressed and ready for work and went downstairs to find Claudia sitting in the armchair, covered in a blanket and reading. He wondered if she had slept at all. Well, she did not seem too tired.

"Good morning, Claudia", he said with a smile. "Whatever you did last night was something else. What was that anyway? It was as if you turned into a completely different woman..."

 

[PennySaver]

Claudia smiled with a bit of a devilish smirk at his description of what had happened. She stood and set a course to intercept Michael in the kitchen as he was heading for the pot of coffee she had made after hearing him rise from bed. Without asking for an invitation, she rose to the tips of her toes and pressed her mouth to his in a soft but passionate kiss...

...and by the time their mouths parted and she stepped back to look for his reaction to what her mind had just revealed to him, Michael was fully aware that what he thought he'd imagined during their love making had been something very different.

"Yes, Michael," she said softly, knowing that he was processing the flood of truth she'd just exposed to him...

She had been there in that room, peeping from her hiding place as the Emperor of France deflowered his new Empress … that the 18 year old Austrian girl had ravaged her new French husband -- who she'd been raised to despise -- after discovering the pleasure his cock had to offer … that the 41 year old had been entranced by his new lover in ways conservative French historians never divulged … and that what many contemporaries had thought was just the consummation of a typical marriage of politics had actually been a night of passion few Royals enjoyed from arranged marriages of this type...

And Michael was also realizing that Claudia had put him right there … inside that palace … inside that room … and inside that teenaged girl's pussy.

"Would you like to talk about?" she asked his softly, knowing that he was trying to come to grip with the impossible while -- because she'd wanted it -- knowing beyond doubt that it was possible. She looked to the pot and suggested in a casual tone, "Perhaps you should pour a mug first. This might be a long conversation."

 

[Knightmare27]

Suddenly he knew. He knew that he had not imagined, or dreamed, anything. He had actually been there, and she had actually become someone else. That was what his thoughts were telling him now, but that was impossible. Of course. He was probably going insane. He nodded weakly and did go to pour some coffee. She was right. This would take some explanation. A lot of explanation. His thoughts were telling him things that were not physically possible. Oh, and she had kissed him against his will. She'd better explain that one, too...

"Somehow, I know that I did not dream...that I was really there. I know that this is true...but how can it be? Am I going mad?"

He was murmuring these questions more than he was really asking them. Why was he so sure of something physically impossible. What had she done to him? He had to sit down just because his head was spinning. Sinking into the couch, he weakly held on to his cup. The heat was uncomfortable, but at least it was something he knew to be real. Something that was actually possible. Unlike all the other things he was feeling to be true, which were actually impossible and probably early signs of madness.

His only hope now was for her explanation to be very good. She was usually so evasive. Now he was desperate for some clear explanations. For something else than "you are losing your mind, deal with it." That was something he very much did not want to deal with.

"Okay, I am sitting. Please explain to me what is happening. Nothing of this makes any sense anymore..." he almost felt like he was about to cry, his voice shaking noticeably.

 

[PennySaver]

"Somehow, I know that I did not dream...that I was really there. I know that this is true...but how can it be? Am I going mad?"

Claudia felt a little sorry for Michael, knowing how hard it must be to make his jumbled thoughts come together as something real. She tried to reassure him, "You're not going mad."

Once he was sat and as comfortable as his mind would allow him to be, she began, "I was born on the 27th of May in a little village named Broué, in the Bourdonné countryside, west of Paris. I told you this once already you will remember."

She hesitated a moment before adding, "What I didn't tell you, Michael ... was that I was born in the Year of our Lord 1592."

Again, Claudia paused, lifting her mug to her lips while she studied the man's reaction to what obviously couldn't be true. She continued, "The man who essentially bought me from my parents was named Bernard André d'Amboise. I believe you know who he is..."

As she was saying this, Claudia stood and retrieved an old, leather bound first edition biography of 16th century poets she'd been reading through the night while Michael slept. She set it down in his lap while simultaneously taking his coffee mug which had been a moment away from spilling burning hot coffee into his lap. She put the mug aside and sat on the coffee table, opening the book before him to a Post-It as she reminded him, "I promised you I wouldn't write in your books, so..."

She fingered the first paragraph in the chapter that began a conversation about how historians had long debated even the true existence of Bernard André d'Amboise's. Speaking about the historians and biographers, Claudia said, "They could never truly determine his date of birth, his date of death ... they found writings and letters from him to others and from others to him that seemed to span hundreds, possibly thousands of years. It was obvious to them that the Bernard André d'Amboise about whom they were writing must have been more than one man ... several men, possibly generations of men -- fathers and sons -- who had borne the same name ... lived in the same house there in 18th arrondissement of Paris ... been poets, each and everyone."

She turned the page to a poem attributed to the man that was dated circa 1604, read a line from it, then turned the page again to a second piece of work in which the same exact flowery prose was written; it was dated 1488 and featured a different poet's name. "Many people believed Bernard André was a plagiarist ... that he had copied and reworked the writings of obscure poets from earlier generations and centuries. But I promise you, Michael ... he was not."

Claudia let Michael compare the works; he's obviously read the poems before, but since they were relative to his main thesis, which revolved around English religious and political themes, Claudia wondered whether or not he actually even remembered going through this book in the past.

"He was not a plagiarist, Michael," she said before pausing and saying with a very serious tone, "He was a vampire ... or ... what your society and culture would call a vampire. He was a vampire ... a near-immortal who had been born in Central Europe before the birth of Christ ... who had lived more than 16 centuries across much of the civilized world ... who had ultimately come to Paris where he'd bought me from my peasant parents so that he could feed upon my blood ... and ... where he'd eventually made me what I am..."

Claudia didn't actually call herself a vampire; she didn't have to as Michael already knew what she meant, whether or not he believed it. She studied him for a moment, then nearly begged the man who had simply sat there in silence listening to her incredible tale, "Say something, Michael."

 

[Knightmare27]

Oh, great. The immortal witch who was also a little girl was reassuring him he was not going mad. How comforting. Well, at least it was something. He took a sip from the coffee and looked her in the eyes, holding onto her gaze like a drowning man, which is exactly how he felt.

When she had finished her explanation, he did not say anything. A burning pain in his crotch was the first thing that brought him back to reality. He numbly realized that he had to have have spilled the coffee in shock. He did not even make a noise as he calmly, methodically, removed his pants and his underpants to get the heat away from his sensitive parts. He was so far beyond caring that the fact that he was exposing himself to her now did not even fully register.

As the pain slowly faded, other feelings kicked in. Confusion. Fear. Of course. A vampire. That made so much sense. He was clearly not crazy, and neither was she. What a perfectly reasonable explanation. And yet - how could she not be telling the truth? She was clearly immortal and had powers far beyond a human. In a strange, horrifying way, it made sense. He was not going insane. The world had been insane all along.

Finally, he was able to speak. "Wait...a...vampire? Does that mean you...you fed on me? Have you sucked my blood? I mean, that is what vampires do, right? Will I turn into a vampire now too?"

They were the confused ramblings of a frightened boy. He knew, but they were the only thoughts he was capable of at the moment. It was just too much to take in all at once. Once he had gathered his thoughts, it was time for some smarter questions.

 

[PennySaver]

Claudia watched as Michael casually stripped the wet clothes from his lower half, kicking off his shoes to free himself from the burning heat. She shouldn't have but she couldn't help but smile with girlish humor as he just stood there with his cock dangling before him.

"Wait...a...vampire?" he said, his brain running a million miles to catch up. As Claudia stood and went to the laundry basket sitting on a distant chair, he asked, "Does that mean you...you fed on me? Have you sucked my blood? I mean, that is what vampires do, right? Will I turn into a vampire now too?"

She returned to him and -- as she helped him into a pair of boxers -- reassured him with a calm voice, "No, Michael … you aren't going to turn … you aren't going to become a vampire."

Claudia urged him back into the couch, this time sitting next to him on bent knees so she could look into his face. After a moment, she told him in a soft, almost apologetic tone, "I did partake of you, Michael … of your blood. I did you no harm, though … you must believe me … you must trust me."

 

[Knightmare27]

Her admission did not even shock him anymore. Of course she had. Of course after performing all kinds of spells on him, she had also taken his blood! He instinctively felt his neck... after all, that was where they bit you, right? To his surprise, he did feel two tiny bumps, suspiciously spaced.

"Oh, so that was you, wasn't it? It's not very nice to drink from strangers without asking..."

 

[PennySaver]

"Oh, so that was you, wasn't it?" Michael asked, finding the small but still noticeable punctures. "It's not very nice to drink from strangers without asking..."

"But we're not strangers, Michael," Claudia said with a smirk, "We've been naked together ... practically had sex."

Claudia noticed his reaction to the word practically and feigned a grimace. "Oh ... by the way ... we didn't have sex the other night. I didn't rape you."

She stared at him a moment, then shrugged. "So … that's a good thing … right?"