Lipstick Lesbian Vampire Tales 1 | His Three Consorts

Lipstick Lesbian Vampire Tales #1: His Three Consorts (Excerpt)

Pounding black-metal music and goth-dance classics boom from the towering building’s entrance. The dancing crowd at the City Club, an underground nightclub in downtown Detroit, is bathed in black light creating a surreal and unsafe atmosphere. Nightclubbers reek of cigarette smoke and body odor. The bar has a few exits, but no windows.

A black-skinned femme fatale, Jahmelia, strides into the room on legs long like a stag. Her dark skin makes it difficult to see details of her features. Her gigantic eyes radiate vivacity with pupils black as night. Purple-brown gloss embellishes her plump lips. Long frizzy hair, bound in an elaborate braid, hangs over one shoulder and her pointy breasts heave as she struts menacingly, assessing the dancers.

Her girlfriend, Yvonne, follows close behind with her own foreboding gait. Yvonne’s frosty skin, indigo Nefertiti hair, and lithe build make her the more striking of the pair. Her full breasts wobble as she marches through the parting crowd. Her bright cherry lips shine in the sparkling club light. A sadistic smile tugs at the corner of her mouth. Her eyes, a startling cobalt blue, dart back and forth from one attractive person to the next.

The last to enter is the matriarch, his mistress consort, Bellanca. Her mysterious heritage, somewhere between Greek and Spanish, illustrates the voluptuous beauty of the women in those regions. Silvery-green shadow makes her eyes appear Egyptian, but something older rests there, something years beyond knowing. Her hefty breasts sway as she threads through the crowd. Frightened people part like fish for a shark.

All three women wear some variation of mini-skirt, thigh-high stockings, garters, and stiletto boots, but each has their own signature item. Jahmelia, a military pelisse with gold buttons. Yvonne, a tattered-black English Romani overcoat. Bellanca, a glittered shift made of the finest mulberry silk. High-gloss patent leather, animal prints, or fur adorn their New Romantic outfits. The trio’s out-of-step fashion choices, elaborate hairstyles, and talon-like nails make them seem like they’re from another world.

They form a triangle as they walk deeper into the club.

Bellanca, the oldest, takes the apex position of the triad. The two younger women hold hands as they walk, forming the base. The throbbing beat flitters around them as they zero in on a man dressed in leather pants and vest, a studded collar, and wrist cuffs. Black-ink tattoo designs cover his hands and face. He dances with two deathrock women adorned with elaborate lipstick, stark eye makeup, and torn heavy metal t-shirts.

The fear-provoking trio stops suddenly, as if hearing their own infernal beat somewhere below the music. A cyber girl in black fur with spiked hair saunters past. She glances at Jahmelia and yells above the music, “Party is upstairs, if you’re interested. Room 305.”

Jahmelia ignores her, focusing on the male. The dark vixen whispers to Yvonne, “I smell him from here.” Yvonne’s superior hearing catches every word despite the loud music. She says flatly, “That’s impressive considering the stench in this place. Don’t these pigs bathe.” Bellanca stands there in silence but her eyes roam the large room like a predator unsure of its surroundings.

Jahmelia parts from Yvonne and strides to the man. She stops in front of him and stares with hungry eyes. Now the two deathrock women lean against him. One of them yells above the music, “It’s impolite to stare. He’s with us.”

“But you can watch,” the second woman pipes in with a laugh.

Her Thirst Is Far From Quenched—Keep Reading…

The Hunger Is Eternal—Feed It Here

If you’re craving more seductive lipstick lesbian stories, dive into Lipstick Lesbian Tales for steamy encounters and passionate sex. Prefer a print collection? Hold the heat in your hands with Lipstick Lesbian Tales: The Collection.

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