Hilda cleared her throat with mock authority and repeated herself: "We were discussing the Oedipal subtext behind Hamlet's relationship with his mothe...."Hilda's reference to the i****tuous themes of the famous Shakespearean play hit very close to home, as was her intention, exacerbating Henry's horniness and making him increasingly flustered. Not even looking his mother in the face, his eyes glued to the two swaying sacks of succulent sweater meat before him, Henry stammered out his words:. The pain was fleeting, just a flash and it made the pleasure much more intense. The blood we might draw was meaningless really, only making us hungry for the real stuff. Vampire blood is dead to us, like wine turned to vinegar and it was only useful for the turning, when it would mix and spread through a dead girl's veins. Vampire blood had a life all its own in that sense.And I locked my thighs to Angela's face, her cheeks, moving my body as I dragged my tongue along her slit, making it stiff. More

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