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I dreamed again…I was levitating above my covers, my hair starting to leave a trail, and then my body began to rise higher, about ten feet above the canopy of my bed, Ђe Bed of the Queen Mother, ah, that is me, in the flesh, the bed with four life-sized gigantic posts about the four corners of the square of my mattress, dragons the columns were shaped as, and detailed in their likeness.

Ђe material used to make my bed, and the columns, cost a pretty penny, and each column, and the gigantic headboard shaped as a cobra’s head, was chiseled from the experienced, careful, nonchalant hands of an attractive intelligent Greek man I took as my own, when I was in Greece dining with a presently deceased Czar by the name of Rosheak, a man I didn’t care to remember because I was there to entice him and then take everything he owned, as I have, and succeeded at doing.

Ђe slave, the Greek that created my bed, from the blueprints and architect designs to the actual building of it, was an obedient, engaging and often times, over candle light dinner, because I wasn’t as tyrannous as ye might think, very sexy.

In the face of death and espionage he was still a gentleman, and eventually that won me over. I didn’t have the desire to kill him, but I did have the desire to taste his blood.

He didn’t want to die, and I didn’t care how he felt, really, but for his sake, and the fact that his smile made me weak, as weak as a virgin nun staring at a marble statue with a ten inch erection, I spared him because of his beautiful creations, bringing my bed to life, so amazing the bed was it seemed the dragons of the columns were alive and breathing.

His creation became his Immortality, and that granted him automatic immunity, because if I kill him and crush him I will still see his smile, and his hairy body, and his gorgeous eyes, and his amazing body in the eyes, lips and details of the dragons and the bed as a whole, sleeping in it and fighting nightmares; smelling his scent all over it.

It could be enough to drive me mad.

When we made love, when I allowed him to enter the flesh of a very powerful, engaging woman, he opened his eyes as to who and what I was: an Immortal.

I lost control when he started to pound my inner sanctuary with ten inches of pleasurable flesh, biting his neck for just a taste, I couldn’t resist…

I could remember how his bones broke him down while I rode his erection, tossing my mane of hair all about, grinding all over his hips, the cushion of my buttocks pleasing to the cusp of his pelvic bone.

Honestly, it felt like I was wrestling with a bear when he was deeply inside me, and yes he felt incredible, stretching my inner pinkish walls to all new heights, introducing new areas deep inside the abyss of my depths even I didn’t know I had, and never before felt with any over love, or any other vampire.

Just before I bit into his neck and killed him, the slave, ah, yes, Rosheak, exactly 5 years after I married him (with the intent to inherit all that he achieved and acquired, I hypnotized him to the point he skipped the pre-nup, his net worth 1 billion Greek Dollars), I cupped his face, kissed him, and let him know just how much I loved him, which wasn’t love at all.

I loved what he had, little vagabond gold digger that I was, I loved his status in Greece, to have a woman like me on his arm, and to have a $20 million dollar wedding, while I occupied the body of a mortal woman, a famous supermodel (brain dead bitch anyway, so adding some spice to her medulla did my heart wonders…not), on the run from America, and gave her a makeover of course.

I was so supreme in being I rid her body of the diseases plaguing it, before I thought of stepping foot inside wasted flesh.

With the occupancy of my soul, her body was vibrant, and more alive than it has ever been, and when he saw me shopping five years ago, he swept up on me and told me he was going to marry me, and we married three days later, after I gave him some of the sweet stuff.

On our honeymoon, memorable, through rose-colored glasses I saw him, a beautiful man, and only because he had wealth and prestige, something I could merge with my empire, and to add to the wealth I already accumulated.

Ђe room itself, on a private island decked out with the best a billion dollars can buy, dressed the bed of a hundred room cabin, with gold sinks and gold tubs and toilets, I never used, but he certainly hath, in silk and resin, and he, naked, the body of a Greek god, lit candles of all sizes, of all kinds, and loved me in a way I have never been loved.

I think I bit him then, or maybe I didn’t, but I certainly wanted to. To smell this man and be tempted to kill him, to snap his neck and drink, drink, drink, certainly beckoned for my time and thorough action, but I contained myself, because I loved money, and money loves me.

When I say I killed him I killed his Mortal §elf, but not his essence. I can never have enough of him. As a vampire his penis was worth bargaining for. His wealth, plentiful…

Yes, I can never get enough wealth! and that motivated me to marry a man I barely knew, just to come into what he had.

Maybe if I was a mortal woman that would be detestable, and frowned upon by mortals, but for the tale, and the sake of it, the tale I’m about to give, I loved a man I never moved in with…

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