Chapter 12: Teaching a Professor.
The faculty wing of Sandale University smelled of dust, insomnia, and weak coffee. Laura and Ellie moved through the third-floor hallway like a draft, bare feet making no sound on the worn linoleum. A single fluorescent tube buzzed and flickered, staining everything a sickly green.
“It’s like a tomb,” Ellie whispered, her nose wrinkling. “A really cheap, depressing tomb.”
“The best kind,” Laura murmured, stopping before a door marked Vance, A. - Lit. 302B. A sliver of warm, buttery light seeped from beneath it. “She’s in there. Working late. Always working.”
Ellie pressed her ear to the wood. The soft, rhythmic tap of keys echoed within. “How do you want to do this?”
A slow smile spread across Laura’s lips. “Together. But first, a lesson.” She turned, grasping Ellie’s hands. “Remember the feeling on the roof? The pressure, the need shaping itself? That’s the key. It’s not about muscles. It’s about want. Focus on the want to be inside someone. The want to claim.”
Ellie closed her eyes. Her brow furrowed in concentration. Laura watched, fascinated, as a tremor went through Ellie’s slender frame. A visible ripple of change, a gathering and lengthening. In moments, a cock, slightly slimmer than Laura’s but just as real, stood erect from Ellie’s body. It was a deep pink, the head flushed and wet.
“Fuck,” Ellie breathed, looking down at herself. “It’s so… strange. Powerful.”
“It’s you,” Laura said, her own desire stirring in response. “Now, let’s not keep the professor waiting.”
Laura turned the locked doorknob. A soft click as the mechanism yielded to her will. They slipped inside.
Dr. Alisha Vance’s office was a cocoon of organized chaos. Towers of books leaned precariously. A single lamp on the desk pooled light on a messy manuscript, illuminating the auburn highlights in the woman’s hair as she bent over her work. She was beautiful in a worn, tired way—fine lines around intelligent eyes, a full mouth pressed into a line of frustration. She wore a cream silk blouse, untucked from her tailored slacks.
She didn’t look up. “I said no more extensions, Michael. The deadline is the deadline.”
Laura was behind her in a silent rush. Cold hands landed on Alisha’s shoulders.
The professor jerked, a gasp catching in her throat. She began to turn, but Laura’s grip was iron. Ellie moved into the circle of light, naked, radiant, her new cock a blatant declaration.
“What is this?” Alisha’s voice trembled, caught between outrage and terror. Her eyes darted from Ellie’s face to her sex, disbelief warring with a primal, unwanted thrill.
“A change in curriculum,” Laura purred, her lips brushing the shell of Alisha’s ear. She inhaled the scent of jasmine hand cream, fatigue, and the dry, papery smell of intellect. Under it all, the hot, copper thread of blood. “You look tired, professor. We’re here to… reinvigorate your studies.”
Laura’s fingers made quick work of the blouse’s buttons. The silk parted, revealing a lace-edged bra. Alisha whimpered, her body rigid. “Don’t…”
“Shhh,” Ellie soothed, coming around the desk. She trailed a finger down Alisha’s cheek. “We saw you from the sky. Working while the world sleeps. Don’t you want to feel alive?”
With a sharp tug, Laura ripped the blouse and bra straps down, freeing Alisha’s breasts. They were full, heavy, tipped with tight, ruddy nipples. Alisha cried out, but the sound was strangled. Laura’s other hand slid around, cupping her roughly, pinching a nipple until Alisha arched back against her with a pained gasp.
“See?” Laura’s fangs elongated, gleaming in the lamplight. “Your body knows. It’s tired of words.”
Ellie leaned in, capturing Alisha’s mouth in a fierce, devouring kiss. The professor’s resistance melted into a muffled moan. Her hands, which had been gripping the desk, came up to clutch at Ellie’s arms. Laura took advantage, bending Alisha over the scattered pages of her manuscript. She yanked the professor’s slacks and underwear down to her knees in one brutal motion.
The cool air hit Alisha’s skin. She broke the kiss, panting. “Please…”
“Please what?” Laura asked, running a sharp nail down the cleft of Alisha’s exposed ass. “Please stop? Or please fuck me?”
Alisha didn’t answer. She just trembled, her face flushed, her eyes glazed with confusion and a dark, dawning arousal.
“My turn first,” Ellie said, her voice husky. She guided the tip of her cock to Alisha’s entrance, which was already slick with reluctant wetness. “You’re soaked, professor. All those lonely nights…”
Ellie pushed in. Not slowly. A single, deep, claiming thrust that buried her to the hilt. Alisha screamed, a raw, torn sound of shock and overwhelming sensation. Her fingers scrambled against the desk, sending a stack of books thudding to the floor.
“Oh, god, she’s tight,” Ellie groaned, beginning to move. Each withdrawal was slow, each slam forward ruthless. The wet, slapping sound of skin on skin filled the book-lined room. “Your perfect, smart little cunt, taking my dick…”
Laura watched, her own hunger a fire. She kissed Alisha’s shoulder, then let her fangs scrape the pulsing cord of her neck. The professor jolted at the sensation. “She’s close,” Laura murmured against her skin. “I can hear her heart trying to burst. Come for her, Ellie. Mark her.”
Ellie’s pace became punishing, her hips a piston. “Come on, you brilliant bitch,” she snarled. “Come all over this strange cock.”
The vulgarity, the impossibility of it, shattered Alisha’s last restraint. Her body convulsed, a wild, keening orgasm tearing through her as Ellie fucked her through it. Ellie followed with a guttural cry, slamming deep, her own release pumping hot into the professor’s clenching depths.
As Ellie pulled out, glistening and spent, Laura was already moving. She turned Alisha, who was boneless and dazed, onto her back on the desk. The ruined manuscript crunched beneath her.
“My turn,” Laura said, and her own freshly-formed cock pressed insistently at Alisha’s well-used opening.
But she didn’t enter. Not yet. She lowered her mouth to Alisha’s breast, sucking a nipple hard before letting her fangs pierce the soft flesh beneath the curve.
Alisha arched off the desk with a shattered scream as Laura began to feed. The blood was rich, complex, flavored with stress and sophistication and a deep, unmet longing. It was the best vintage Laura had yet tasted. As she drank, she finally sheathed herself in Alisha’s warmth, beginning a slow, relentless rhythm. The dual sensations—the pull at her throat and the fullness between her legs—drove Alisha into a writhing frenzy. Her hips bucked, meeting Laura’s thrusts with a desperate, needy hunger that was no longer reluctant.
“Yes… god, yes…” Alisha babbled, her hands clutching at Laura’s back, her legs locking around her waist. “Don’t stop… it’s so… more…”
Laura drank deeper, feeling the woman’s life, her memories—translating ancient Greek, a bitter divorce, the quiet despair of tenure committees—flow into her. She fucked her harder, driving her toward another climax even as she weakened her.
When Alisha’s pulse became a frail flutter, Laura withdrew her fangs. She looked down at the woman, pale and gorgeous in her surrender, blood smeared across her breast and throat.
“Now,” Laura whispered, her voice thick with power and Alisha’s blood. She bit her own wrist, opening a deep, dark well. “Drink. And join the real world.”
Alisha, acting on an instinct older than reason, seized Laura’s arm and pressed her mouth to the wound. She drank greedily, messily, a starving woman at a feast. As she swallowed the vampiric vitae, her body began to change. A new strength suffused her limbs. The bite marks on her breast sealed themselves into silver scars. Her eyes, when they fluttered open, shone with a hungry, crimson light.
Laura finally allowed her own release, coming inside the new vampire with a deep, shuddering groan.
Silence fell, broken only by ragged breathing. Alisha Vance lay on her desk, transformed. She looked at her own hands, then at the two stunning creatures who had unmade and remade her.
Ellie, her cock having receded, helped Alisha to sit up. “Welcome to the night shift, professor.”
Alisha touched her throat, her new senses drinking in the room—the smell of sex and blood, the pounding of a thousand hearts in the dormitories nearby, the cool, dark call of the sky beyond the window. A slow, radiant smile erased every trace of weariness from her face.
“The library,” Alisha said, her voice now a captivating whisper. “The head librarian, Agnes. She’s one of yours, isn’t she? I’ve seen her… patrolling.”
Laura exchanged a glance with Ellie. The network was weaving itself faster than they’d imagined. “She is. You know her?”
“We served on the disciplinary board together,” Alisha said, standing with a preternatural grace. She looked at her ruined clothes with distaste. “A rigid woman. Unimaginative.” Her new eyes glinted. “I think I’ll go say hello. Compare notes.”
She walked to the window, unlocked it, and inhaled the night air as if for the first time. Without a backward glance, she stepped out into the void, falling silently before arcing up toward the library’ spires.
Ellie leaned against the desk. “Well. She’s a quick study.”
Laura listened to the fading beat of Alisha’s departure, then to the steady, dual rhythm of Ellie’s heart and her own. The campus hummed beneath them, a farm of sleeping potentials. She felt the shape of it all expanding, a beautiful, dark syllabus they were writing in real time.
“Come on,” Laura said, taking Ellie’s hand. Their fingers, sticky with blood and other fluids, laced together. “Let’s go wash up. The night’s still full of possibility.”
They left the office, the door clicking shut on the overturned books and the lingering, metallic scent of a birth.