Bath of Blood

An excerpt from Bath of Blood

"Hush, sweet girl," Malgretha said softly. "Sweet, sweet, delicious girl."

The girl's ragged breathing made her body shudder as Malgretha delved between her legs and licked at her pink lips. "Mmmm, delicious girl," the woman murmured.

Her guest squirmed against the leather straps that held her down and moaned dizzily. Malgretha suckled her moist pussy and teased her taut button until she quaked and groaned.

"I don't— I think I'm going to faint," the poor girl gasped.

"Yes," whispered Malgetha. "Soon you will." She checked the tubes running from both of the girl's arms, draining her rich red lifeblood into Malgretha's fine crystal decanters.

Soon she would bathe again, this beauty of 300 years, and beat back the clock another five years or more. Back to the age of twenty, or even seventeen perhaps, she would rejuvenate. Back to the age of the naked wretch writhing on the slab who, tonight, would give her life to keep Malgretha young.