The length spread my sex wide open and forced my inner muscles wide apart. I gripped the shaft as it plunged in and out with a furious, frantic rhythm. The orgasm I had expected was pushed into abeyance as fresh ripples of pleasure built inside my loins. Panting hungrily, urging the figure above me to ride faster, I was certain the climax was about to burst through my body.
And then the length was snatched away.
I wailed with dismay.
Before the sound had finished echoing from the mirrored walls of the surrounding blackness, another length thrust inside. A mouth pressed over mine and, as the tongue slipped between my lips, the erection pushed deep into my pussy.
My sigh reverberated around the room.
The Gregorian chant returned – a hypnotic backing track to the surreal experience. Carlos and his harem seemed adept at playing games together because they timed their assault on me with chilling precision. One of them would ride me, filling my pussy with their length and taking me to the verge of a climax. Just as I was on the point of screaming with release – every time when I knew I was about to give in to the cataclysmic rush of an orgasm – they would pull out and let the next one take me. With frustrating regularity, the whole process was repeated again and again.
Consciousness slipped away and I don’t know how long I was there. I only know the torment lasted for an interminable age that had me screeching for satisfaction. When that glorious moment finally came it was so intense it offered no relief.
The pleasure flooded through me in a rage that was brutal.
I pulled hard against the cuffs and felt the steel stretch like elastic. Another climax followed the first and this one was so powerful I wrenched one of the manacles free from the wooden bed. The waves of delight buffeted my body, torturing me with their pleasure and sickening me with their strength. I was dizzy with the enjoyment and sure my body could take no more pleasure even though I needed it in the same way I needed oxygen and water.
The orange lights fluttered back to life.
The chanting monks were reduced to a faraway babble. Around me, Carlos and his blondes were concealed inside their hooded cowls. Struggling to get my thoughts back to the room, I glanced around them and saw each held a whittled wooden stake. Whatever satisfaction I had gleaned from the orgasms was banished by the prickle of dread that now touched my heart.
‘The nameless torment is followed by the destruction of the wampire,’ Carlos said coolly. ‘But you do not need to experience that, do you?’
I shivered with relief as I shook my head.
He motioned at his blondes and they each put their stakes aside and went through the process of unfastening my cuffs. I was dizzied and disoriented but reluctant to show my confusion.
‘Of course,’ Carlos said idly, ‘the nameless torment never ends the way you have just enjoyed. The legion would never allow a wampire to climax. Usually, when the poor creature is on the verge of collapse from frustration, they drive a stake through its heart.’
He brought his fist down to my chest.
I flinched from the fear that he was about to pound a stake into my chest. I’d already suffered that indignity once and I knew it hurt. Because I suspected Carlos would be more capable and accurate than Alan had been I feared he would know how to strike my heart. But his fist was empty and his hand stopped before it reached my chest.
He laughed cruelly and gestured for me to climb from the bed.
‘I have told you what the legion will be doing with Melinda,’ he said solemnly. ‘Now you have to tell me if you are willing to earn my help.’ He raised an eyebrow and studied me with a slow, seductive smile. His gaze lingered over my sweat-soaked body and he drew his tongue across his lips.
Sullenly, I nodded. ‘Rescue Mel and I’ll agree to play in your harem for a day.’ Saying the words made my stomach churn. I didn’t know what I was committing myself to but it felt like I was offering an awful lot. Because I knew I had no chance of rescuing Mel without his help, it was the only offer I could make.
Carlos shook his head. ‘I reciprocate favours,’ he reminded me. ‘Play in my harem for a day, and then I shall help you to rescue Melinda.’
Angrily, I pulled myself from the wooden bed.
My muscles ached as though I had just run a marathon.
‘No deal,’ I said firmly. Striding purposefully past him, I went to the door. Without looking back I called over my shoulder and said, ‘I’ll find someone else to help me.’
The laughter that followed me was rich with disdain.
‘Good luck with finding someone else,’ Carlos chuckled. ‘My offer is an open one. As soon as you realise no one else will help you, do not hesitate to come straight back here so we can negotiate terms.’
Chapter Eleven
I’ll be honest and admit that I committed one crime before leaving Carlos’s home: I stole a robe and a pair of sunglasses. The shades were nothing fancy – last season’s Rayban Predators – but with the midday sun blazing down from the sky, and the long walk back to my apartment looming ahead of me, I wanted all the protection I could find.
It amazed me that I had spent so long at Carlos’s home and I wondered where the hours had gone. I supposed time had failed to mean much when I was trapped in the agonising ecstasy of the playroom. But dawn had broken shortly before six that morning and that suggested I had spent more than six hours in his company. It was incredible to think I’d been with him and his harem for so long.
Rationalising the events in my memory I reasoned that time had flown quickly while the blondes tormented me, but it had also dragged interminably as Carlos presented his history lesson on the legion of vampire hunters. The nastiness of that thought would have buoyed my spirits if it hadn’t reminded me about my best friend’s problems.
My worries for Mel grew more pressing.
Carlos hadn’t mentioned anything about the legion’s usual time schedule. I had no idea how long they were likely to wait before deciding Mel was sufficiently cleansed and purified to suffer destruction.
But I felt certain she didn’t have long.
The need to find someone who could help rescue her made my mood anxious. I was determined to get home, shower and dress, and then do something proactive that would resolve Mel’s problem. Aside from the alluring prospect of getting into clean clothes, it didn’t sound like much of plan.
But I was determined to be positive in my hope to save Mel.
There weren’t as many people staring as I had anticipated.
The fears that I would attract attention on the high street, especially because I was dressed like a quasi-famous extra from Lord of the Rings, turned out to be groundless. In the facile society that is comprised of afternoon shoppers and lunching office drones, more people seemed struck by the spectacle of a transsexual trying to flag a taxi than were interested in my unreal figure bustling down the street in the sackcloth robes of a nomadic vampire hunter.
I thought that observation might tell me something profound about society’s dwindling values. But, because the sunlight was making me weary, the point remained evasive and beyond my grasp.
When I finally made it into the stairwell that led up to my third floor apartment, I trembled with the relief that came from being in shadows. The air was mercifully cool and my skin was no longer smouldering from the heat that had radiated through the robes. I congratulated myself on surviving encounters with Alan and his stake, the legion of vampire hunters, and Carlos and his sultry harem. More importantly I was patting myself on the back for managing to walk home in daylight without suffering too many adverse effects.
My hope that things were starting to improve evaporated when I saw the apartment door was open. The rest of the hall was silent and empty. The mortise lock hung askew from the splintered jamb. My mind leapt to the logical conclusion and I groaned with despair.
Burglars.
‘Shit!’
I figured the TV set would still be there – it wasn’t worth stealing and was t
oo cumbersome to take down the stairs from the third floor. The same could be said for most of my junk furniture and household goods but it was the inconvenience of being burgled that was annoying. I had no time – or inclination – to report the incident to the police. With a sudden surge of panic I fretted the thieves might have stolen the most valuable thing that was stored in my apartment: the half empty bottle of Kevorkian vodka.
I swore again as anger replaced my irritation.
Drawing a deep breath to steel myself, and approaching gingerly in case the thieves were still inside, I pushed open the damaged door.
There were shifting shadows in the gloom of the lounge.
I discounted the idea of burglars, sure that thieves were like vampires and they only operated at night. Too tired to care who I might be dealing with, only anxious to get the strangers out of my home so I could marinate beneath the shower spray, I stepped boldly into the room.
‘Who the hell are you? And what are you doing here?’
A redhead stood in the centre of the lounge, smoking a slender cigar and holding herself as though she was the poster child for arrogance. Everything about her exuded confidence and success – as though she was a leading barrister or some high-ranking media executive. She wore a smart business suit – jet-black wool with a white silk blouse – and she regarded me with the most mesmerising emerald eyes. ‘Oh dear, darling,’ she sighed theatrically. ‘You do have a lot to learn about being a vampire, don’t you? The first rule is you shouldn’t go out in sunlight. It’s not good for you.’ She flashed a smile, revealing pointed vampire teeth and added, ‘It’s also not advisable to dress up like a member of the legion. Sackcloth is not complementary to a girl’s figure. And the legion of vampire hunters is not a jolly group. They don’t have much of a sense of humour about vampires impersonating their members.’
A handsome youth sat on the settee in the redhead’s shadow. He said nothing but he did grin for me and offered a small wave.
I assessed them with a single glance.
She was a vampire and he wasn’t.
Twenty-four hours earlier I would have been enthralled to have the opportunity to talk with a genuine vampire and her cute-looking Renshaw. Now I was too drained to bother with them. I only wanted a shower and a chance to think about how to save Mel.
‘Who are you?’
‘My name is Christine,’ she said, offering a hand. ‘I’m here to teach you all about being a vampire.’ She flashed her gorgeous smile again and added, ‘The council insisted that mentoring would be the best way for me to work off my community service. I’m here to be your mentor.’
I ignored the offered hand and nodded at her friend. ‘Who’s he?’
Christine glanced at him. ‘He’s no one,’ she said coolly. ‘I thought about having him for lunch. But I’ve not properly made up my mind yet. Does he look a little sallow to you? I’m trying to avoid eating things that are unhealthy.’
I walked out of the room and went to the kitchen. The bottle of vodka was by the side of the sink. I found a mug that wasn’t too dirty and poured a large drink. Sipping lightly from the mug, and then returning to my visitors, I studied Christine silently before asking, ‘Don’t vampires need to be invited into people’s homes?’
She shook her head and laughed. It was an engaging sound that seemed to start at the back of her throat and finish somewhere at the small of my back. It was irritating that her mirth aroused me and I shrank from the thought that this woman could inspire sexual excitement. Although Christine was physically attractive, there was something about her poise and demeanour that suggested she was a bossy and demanding bitch – traits I’ve always abhorred.
Additionally, while I had never objected to being a slave to my sexual impulses in the past, my body felt weakened from all the excesses I had so recently enjoyed. Control over my libido seemed to be another of those things I had lost when I became a vampire and I cringed from the idea that Christine would lure me into a bout of demanding passion.
‘You’ve been reading all the wrong books, haven’t you? Do you really think vampires can live forever, feed freely from the mortal cattle: but we can’t enter a house without permission?’
She laughed again.
The shiver tickled all the way along my spine.
Waving a hand to dismiss the matter, wafting cigar smoke around the room with the gesture, Christine asked, ‘Are you thirsty, darling? Would you care to sample this tasty little morsel?’
She gestured toward the toy-boy on the settee.
He grinned with an expression that seemed to say, ‘Sure! Let’s do whatever you want!’
I drank some more of my vodka and scoured the top of the coffee table in search of a lengthy cigarette butt that I could resurrect from its grave.
Christine saw what I was doing and passed me her cigar.
My first instinct was to refuse and hand it back. But Christine was already too occupied to take it from me. She had snatched her toy-boy from the settee and pulled him into an intimate embrace. Her emerald eyes turned scarlet. Her lips were over his throat and peeled back to reveal glorious, glistening teeth.
He seemed untroubled by the peril that faced him, grinning as though this was part of a game he played with every woman he met. Considering his baggy jeans and Abercrombie & Filch top, I figured he would be a part of the American Pie generation that would describe Christine as a MILF. A cynical voice at the back of my mind suggested it would no great loss if Christine and I devoured him. But the prospect left me cold and uninspired.
‘He’s young and fresh,’ Christine murmured. ‘You have to try him.’
I shrank from her suggestion. The idea of drinking blood held little appeal. It had not been particularly pleasant with Mel – but it had served a purpose. Because every vampire I met seemed to have their own personal interpretation of vampirism, with Mel eating garlic and Christine bursting uninvited into homes, I didn’t think it would be such a big deal if I simply deigned not to drink blood. I started trying to tell her this but she spoke quickly over any reservations I could show.
‘He’s hung too,’ Christine enthused.
Her words snapped me out of my reverie.
I glanced at the pair to see Christine had unbuttoned the toy-boy’s baggy jeans and they’d fallen loosely around his knees. She held his erection at the base. Her long fingers gripped tight around his balls. His cock was nothing like the impressive size of Carlos’s thick girth but I had to admit it looked sweetly shaved, clean and tempting.
‘Do you think this stud could satisfy us both?’ Christine asked.
She chuckled and squeezed, forcing her toy-boy to laugh with her.
And I have to admit I was tempted.
I had never met Christine before but she was a fellow vampire. I was fast discovering that there was something about the condition that meant – even though I found her objectionable – we were part of a likeminded sisterhood. My inhibitions dwindled and I pointedly put the vodka aside before it could weaken the last of my resistance.
‘I need to shower and change,’ I grunted.
Without another word I hurried to the bathroom.
‘I’ll save a piece for you, darling,’ Christine called.
Shrugging off the sackcloth robe I turned on the shower and then went to examine myself in the mirror. I wondered how many times I was going to make that mistake before it finally sank in that I could no longer see my reflection. According to the mirror: the bathroom was empty. I could see the shower curtain jiggle when I pulled it this way and that, and I watched my toothbrush dance magically in the air as I brushed my teeth. But other than those curious effects, the bathroom remained a void and the mirror wouldn’t accept that I was there.
‘You naughty little boy.’
Christine’s voice carried easily through the thin walls. She giggled throatily, the sound carried on a wave of obvious sexual excitement. I didn’t know what she was doing with the toy-boy – I didn’t want to know what she was
doing with the toy-boy. But the undercurrent of her voice suggested it was something daring and hatefully enjoyable.
Christine groaned.
The toy-boy exclaimed with reverential glee.
Trying to escape the sounds of their obvious contentment I stepped beneath the shower spray and tried to lose myself in the ritual of cleansing. I had never before realised how marvellous a shower could feel. My heightened sensitivity made me aware of every droplet that splashed onto my bare flesh. The process of wiping away the sweat and grime was an exercise in the most luxurious sensations.
My soapy fingers smoothed slowly over bristling flesh.
The cloying perfume of the carbolic, normally a smell that I thought was vaguely clinical and reminiscent of hospitals, was strong enough to bring me to the point of joyous tears.
But the real pleasure came when I touched myself.
Pressing the smooth bar of soap against my pussy was an exercise in unimaginable bliss. I snatched my hand away, shocked by the thrill. The soap clattered to the floor but I couldn’t bring myself to retrieve it straight away. The torrent of sensations flooding through my body was too strong for me to do anything other than let the waves take their course. Eventually, when I could bend down for the soap, my head moved from beneath the shower’s spray.
Christine’s voice came to me as though she was standing in the same room. ‘You’re a greedy little bastard, aren’t you, darling? Tongue me a little more and, maybe, then I’ll allow you to put it inside.’
She followed the statement with a lascivious chuckle.
I stepped back under the shower’s spray and continued to wash.
It was an exercise in self-indulgence.
I soaped my breasts, concentrating on the nipples, and then I drew slippery fingers against my thighs. The exercise was nothing as commonplace as masturbation. This was a voyage of self-discovery. Learning how my new body responded to various touches and caresses seemed suddenly important. The shower continued to run. And Christine’s cries of satisfaction occasionally made it through the torrent of falling water. But my concentration was fixed on finding out how I could best receive pleasure and how much satisfaction my body could withstand.
Once Bitten Page 10