I ate each bite while staring back at her, my cheeks red, my pussy getting wetter and wetter. “Very good,” she said, leaning across the table to pat my head. The gesture was so completely condescending, clearly designed to put me in my place even though we were the same age, that just as I was about to get indignant, I realized that I was still soaking wet—I wasn’t sure I’d be able to stand up without it being obvious. Dana must have sensed something was amiss because she smiled at me sweetly. “Julie, would you be a dear and get up and go ask the waiter for some decaf?”
I was amazed at how her requests and commands, though seemingly nonsexual in nature, were making me feel like I was going to come right then and there, like she had some invisible pointer aimed at my pussy and was ready to shove it inside me. I could feel my skirt sticking to my body, but hoped my arousal wasn’t too visible. I was trembling when I found the waiter, feebly tapping him on the shoulder then haltingly getting out my request. In less than an hour, Dana had transformed me from my usual assured self to a simpering nitwit, but I didn’t mind. I wanted to see what was going to happen next.
“Thank you, Julie. You follow orders very well,” she said, giving me an appraising look. “What if I ordered you to get down on the ground next to me and put your head in my lap? Would you do it?” she asked, staring at me intently.
I stared back at her, wondering for a moment what I’d gotten myself into. Could I really do it? Should I? I had no one to ask, no help lines to call, but I followed the source of all my biggest dating decisions: my pussy. It was telling me to do it, diners be damned, so I slid gracefully to the floor and rested my head against her silken thigh, doing my best to arrange my skirt around me so not too much skin showed. She sipped her coffee and gazed down at me, a now-wicked grin gleaming from her face as she entwined her fingers in my long, sleek brown hair and gave short, subtle tugs. I gasped, then shut my mouth, not wanting to call even more attention to us.
Dana calmly finished her coffee, then loudly flagged down the waiter, calling out and even snapping her fingers. The spectacle unnerved and aroused me simultaneously. I could tell that people were starting to wonder what was going on, but Dana calmly kept her grip on my hair, sending sparks of arousal straight down to my cunt. When the waiter walked away, she leaned down, her lips brushing my ear, and said, “Are you ready for me to fuck you yet, Julie?” Then she tugged hard on my hair, making me gasp loudly. She let go immediately, and I stared up at her in awe. “What are you waiting for? Get up, we’re leaving!” she barked, her tone morphing from seductive to stern in seconds, her voice certainly loud enough for others to hear.
I popped up, grabbed my coat, and was ready to go. By then, my skirt was really glued to my cunt, which was sticky with need. Dana pushed me ahead of her as she steered me toward her car. “We’ll leave yours here,” she said, and by then, there was no arguing with her. I’d do whatever it took to get her to fuck me. As it turned out, that didn’t technically happen, but I’m getting ahead of myself.
She drove, keeping one hand on the wheel and one hand on me the whole time. I was so turned on I was tempted to fidget, but I made myself sit still. She made conversation even as her fingers crept up my leg, but when I tried to clamp them together and trap her hand next to my pussy, she immediately pulled it away, making a tsking noise.
“If you try to get me to touch you, I won’t. Wait your turn, little girl,” she said. And it was those two words—“little girl”—that really set me off. I waited, seething not with anger but with pure, raw lust. We got to her place but she didn’t let me out of the car. “I think I want you right here,” she said, her voice trailing off as she seemed to get a vision of what she wanted. “Strip!”
This was something else entirely. Her street was fairly deserted but still. “I don’t think I can,” I said, my voice trembling not with fear but with the underlying knowledge that I was really getting off on her orders.
She reached between my legs and fondled my wet pussy, pressing the already-damp fabric of my skirt against my sex. “Oh, really? It seems like maybe you protest too much, my dear.” I knew she was right even as I shuddered half in horror, half in pleasure. But still, I began to remove my few items of clothing, taking my shoes off, then lifting the shirt over my head and wriggling out of my skirt, while heat suffused my cheeks. I pretended I really had no choice, even though I already knew Dana well enough to know that she’d respect my wishes should I politely request we go inside. I also knew I could “blame” her if anything went awry.
I settled down wearing just my bra, having already given her my panties, then turned to Dana expectantly, but she looked like I’d bundled up instead of stripping down. She cleared her throat, the noise loud in the confines of the car. “The rest…” she demanded impatiently, and I squirmed as I unhooked my bra, letting my large breasts with their hardened nipples fall forward to face her.
“Now I want you to come for me,” she said, her voice gentle and seductive. “And I’m even going to help you.” With that, she reached into the glove compartment and pulled out a pocket rocket vibrator. By then, I was too far gone to protest against anything she wanted me to try; I’d have pressed my breasts up against the windows for passersby to ogle, I was that horny. This request was more intimate, though and more arousing. Performing for Dana’s eyes alone gave a new nuance to my exhibitionism. Instead of worrying what anyone else thought about what I was doing, I simply wanted to please her with my pussy. I turned on the vibe, which had a much lower intensity than what I was used to, but I was so turned on, it didn’t matter. I sank back against the window as best I could, spreading my legs so she could see exactly how aroused she’d made me, then went to town. Whenever I had the urge to close my eyes, I reminded myself that not only was I displaying myself for her, but I could watch Dana as well, soaking up the pleasure of her eyes taking in my wanton state. Soon I was soaking her car seat as I shoved three fingers into my pussy while the vibe hummed against my clit, my hips rocking back and forth.
I let the shudders subside as I turned off the toy and looked up at her, suddenly embarrassed. We barely knew each other and she’d managed to strip me, in more ways than one, removing any armor I might have been wearing to reveal the girl who just wanted to be told what to do. “Come here,” she said, pulling my head into her lap and stroking my hair. I was naked, but I wasn’t cold or embarrassed with her arm around me, holding me in her embrace. She stroked my head, her fingers darting along my scalp until I felt that heat inside me begin to rise once again. Whereas normally I’d have been quick to let my lover know that I was ready to go again, this time I just nestled deeper into Dana’s lap. She’d let me know when it was time for sex, and I had no doubt it would be explosive when she did.
THE 231ST ANDERSON VAMPIRE FAMILY REUNION IS A THRALL-FREE ZONE
Alicia E. Goranson
The blood juices from the family tables were absolutely electrifying. I mean, the stuff at the guest tables was decent, but Poobah sneaked me a glass and I almost died again in her arms. I knew the reunion was going to be so boring I came close to bringing my own coffin, but Poobah insisted the blood would be worth it. And by god, she was right. The stuff burned my mouth with pricks and tingles and didn’t stop as it ran down my throat and pooled around in my pussy. It drizzled me in this pleasure softness and I could barely stand in my heels. I licked my glass because it was so good to put my tongue against something. Poobah was sparkling at me. I looked up at her and I pressed my tongue on hers. Her mouth was thick with juice and her lips pumped with the stuff. I scraped the insides of her cheeks for every drop I could and she stole it right back. I was going to drag her into any room, even the linen closet, if it meant I could taste what the juice must had done to her cunt.
Which was when her mother interrupted us; her living mother, from when she was alive. Guilt goes beyond the grave, and when her mom asked to be invited, Poobah didn’t say no, like I said she should have.
“Oh, there you are,” her mo
m said, in a rayon cocktail dress that would have blinded Wayne Newton. “You gave me a heart attack, as late as you were. I thought something had happened to you on the freeway and you were too proud to call. Look at you. I thought that by not eating, you would have lost a few pounds. Shows what I know. Come give your poor mother a hug.”
Poobah wrenched my hands still when she noticed I was about to spill the rest of my drink on her mom. I said good-bye and went off to socialize for the many hours it would take before her mom let her free.
The few drops left in the glass weren’t enough for me. I wanted more.
The reunion was held at an old Connecticut manor with so many additions, it had swelled to the size of a Kennebunkport enclave. My problem was, the blood juice was on a table, the table was behind the velvet rope, and the rope was behind a pack of bored tuxedoed thugs who knew I wasn’t family.
My chance came when one of the bartenders left her station with her coat slung over her shoulder. She was a buxom Italian beauty with coarse black hair and a compact living body like a plum hanging from a branch. I said “Excuse me,” and she spun around.
“Sorry, I’m off duty,” she said.
We’re not supposed to turn on our thrall at these sorts of functions, but really, who cares?
I gazed into the corners of the bartender’s soul. It was gold with a touch of green, like a mint julep. I said, “You made the best blood juice I’ve ever had. If it wouldn’t be awkward, could I ask for the recipe?”
She burst out laughing. I blinked.
“It’s just a honey fruit daiquiri with three ounces of blood, stirred,” she said. “The way you guys act about it, it might as well be the second coming.”
I had a very nasty idea. “Are you doing anything now?” I said. “Could you show me how to make it?”
“Well, I’m kind in the mood to crash.”
I swept behind her, dug my fingers into her shoulders and squeezed two knots in her back until they popped. She gasped and slumped forward. “I’m a trained shiatsu masseuse,” I said. “And you are so wound up, you could snap any minute.”
Her head rolled back as I stroked the tender muscles under her flesh. Her neck’s pulsing slowed. “On second thought,” she said, “I could make an exception for this.”
I gave her my room number and a little money for the ingredients. “I’ll take care of finding the blood,” I said. She didn’t ask any questions.
I couldn’t be seen with her but I was afraid my thrall would wear off before she made it to our guest quarters. I tried to make it more erotic by taking down the paintings of Poobah’s dead relatives, and throwing a sheet over the rolltop desk. I hid the washbasin under the bed and counted seconds on my cell phone. My legs danced the waiting-for-sex tango on the bed, floor, bathroom, and back on the bed.
She knocked and shook the two bottles at me when I let her in. “Oh, you got the old servants’ quarters,” she said. “They must really like you.”
“Eh, my girlfriend dragged me here,” I said. “She’s out with her own date right now.”
The bartender put her bottles on the sheet and began to unbutton her top. “That’s fortunate for you. Do I get to know your name?”
I sat on the bed and smoothed out the covers beside me. “Do you want to know it?”
“Maybe. I can throw some business your way. If you’re good.”
I stretched out my legs and rolled down each stocking. “I’m Grackle. And who is the lovely lady who’s about to have her world rocked?”
She turned her back to me as she slid her top off and plucked her bra free. Her plump skin had a few claw marks healing over. “I’m Philistine. Or if that’s too long, you can call me Phil.”
I lifted my dress over my head. “Well, Phil, why don’t you take those pants off so I can work you over properly?”
I wish live people could smell pussy the way I can. I myself never wear any underwear at gatherings like this; she slipped her thumbs around the edges of her thong, and her musk bowled me over. If I could pant, I would have. If there’s one thing I can say for living people, they’re so liquid on their own.
She lay chest down on the pillows I had prepared, and I mounted her thighs. I oiled up my fingers with peppermint and began massaging the muscles from her neck down to her scapula. Her hips rose with every breath and I followed her pulse down each arm to her fingers. Her poor neglected back called to me and I worked it down to her succulent butt. I had to slide off and massage her calves before I started jonesing to stick my teeth in her. I could smell my own juice mixed in with the peppermint while I loosened her legs. She was a rock when I found her but near the end of our session, I had churned her into creamery butter.
She lay quivering with a small puddle between her legs that I had to bite my tongue to keep from tasting.
“Do you ever wonder what us vamps see in that drink?” I said.
“It’s a biological reaction to nutrients your bodies lack,” she said. “Like sugar for me.”
She groaned as I pressed into the cove with her foot. “I mean,” I said, “do you want to taste it the way we do?”
“Without the dying?”
“Without the dying. Though it may be hell on your roots.”
I rolled her on her back while she drew slow breaths and gazed through space to me. She lifted her arms to examine how weightless they had become, and ran them down her olive chest. She stroked her palms with the tip of a hardened nipple and understood that, with the tension gone, her body was finally awake and wanting touch. I kissed her and she pulled me close to keep herself from floating away.
I pressed the shower cap into her fingers. I whispered, “Put this on, tight.”
Her hair had been spread as streaks converging on her head. I missed it when she sat up and shook it in a twist, tucking it under the floral print. I lifted the basin behind her and took her in my arms while I laid her into it. I licked the salt from her shoulder and reached for the bottles she had brought. “How much of each?” I said.
“Nine, six, three,” she said. “Juice, daiquiri, blood.”
I found a glass candleholder and measured out the proportions into the basin. I poured the juice and daiquiri close to her ear, so she could hear the liquid spill and settle around her head.
I leaned in close, stroking her neck to her nipple and back again. I spread myself on her, pushing my pussy into her thigh, and held her arms against the sheets. I spread my mouth over her lips and swallowed her cry. I whispered, “You always knew you’d be providing the red stuff, didn’t you?”
She nodded. I traced her shoulders for the best path for her to bleed, without getting any on her face. Her body quivered as I held it still and licked the flesh over her breasts clean. She was delicious. She was trying to tense up but couldn’t, like water running through gauze, unable to find a place to soak. She was her own river and try as she might, she couldn’t thrash within herself. She was at peace against her will. Her nervousness and doubt were nothing but sweat and rush and she breathed faster, holding on to her body through her lungs.
Then I bit her. Her entire body bled through, as if I was swept in the best damned hangover she ever had. We flew into each other while the red drops trickled over her, into the basin. Her jaw swung and she clicked her teeth together. A cut in one spot hurts, but when the pain is spread out everywhere, it’s so wonderfully intense.
I slipped a finger into her pussy lips and she swayed her head back and forth in response. I followed her thoughts. She was straining to make sense of where the pleasure was coming from, in the midst of her rush. I followed the trail inside her to confuse her more. Her hips began to remember they could move. Her neck began to thrash. She mixed her own blood into the liquid around her head. I pinched her nipple to slow her down. I slid another finger inside her to speed her up.
My tasty Cuisinart and I ran the edge of our explosion as long as we could take it. I licked her wound to seal it shut and my tongue burst into pleasure flame. I couldn’t st
op licking up her chin around the underside of her breast and the inside of her elbow. She squeezed at my fingers inside her and I knew she was almost done. “Do you want it?” I said.
“Yes,” she squeaked.
I pumped my hand into her pussy, but the fingers spread over her clit. I dipped my mouth in the bowl as her body arched up and she gripped my arms. The blood juice was sweet as liquid orgasm and I drained half of it in a single gulp. I swallowed most and dribbled the rest into her lips. She lapped it up hungrily, and her head rose up demanding more. She traded blood juice with me while our tongues locked together until our mouths were clean. I lifted the basin over our heads and poured the rest over our bodies. She went to clean it from my neck, while I caught puddles of it from her belly in my cupped palms and drank all I could. She pushed me down to have at me, but I couldn’t stay there for long before I forced her over to lick her. We fought over and over until our tongues went down each other’s cunts, and locked together as magnets. Her musk added a fourth ingredient to the blood juice, surpassing anything I had tasted before and I could not have my fill. I’m not ashamed to say that I climaxed from drinking her.
When She Was Good Page 18