I slept on Friday night with underpants on. Rhonda usually came to bed with a t-shirt and panties on. Twice she asked me to massage her feet and we ended up in a hot make-out session. I loved touching her breasts when she gave me permission—usually by pulling my hand up under her shirt—but I was certain that neither of us came while we were together.I was surprised when Whitney started arriving early on Saturday morning and getting into bed with us as well, sometimes beside Rhonda and sometimes beside me. That was when she told Rhonda what she was doing to me and the two of them started applying the healing salve to my bruises. Rhonda watched us work out one morning and made sure she came over more frequently to put the salve on. It was sweet."I guess Whitney is being pretty hard on me," I laughed as Rhonda put salve on one of the marks on my leg. I could have done it myself, but I wasn't going to complain. Rhonda looked at me seriously and I raised an eyebrow. "What is it, sweetie?". My desire to feed was the foremost thought in my life. Sex with Grace had heightened my need to feed. I was skirting disaster, certain that if I bedded Grace again tonight, I would have her bl**d coursing through my digestive system. The thought tormented me. I wanted her. Nothing more. My mind was convinced that her bl**d was what I wanted. No, that was wrong. I wanted her bl**d. But not in a way I had ever wanted another’s bl**d before. Feeding to me previously had been the same as any other mundane life task. You did it because you needed to do it. With Grace, the desire to feed was lessened, but not the desire to have her. I thought of her on that white silken bed, disrobed with her rosy swollen nipples. Just that image called to me. I wanted my fangs to sink into her creamy skin. Not once, but everywhere she would allow me to. I would satisfy myself with the endless torment of slowly draining her of her bl**d as I made love to her all night long. Grace heard my thoughts. If it.
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